Manipulate (Deliver 6)

She turned down another road to see if the sedan would follow. When it didn’t, she released a heavy breath.

“Oh, thank fuck.” She wiped a clammy palm on her jeans. “Jesus, Tula. Way to get yourself all worked up over noth—”

A car flew out of the intersection in front of her and slammed on its brakes.

She skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding a collision with it.

Blinking rapidly, she schooled her breathing and stared at the car.

Another black sedan with tinted windows.

Dread hardened her stomach, and a chill tingled across her scalp.

What the hell was going on?

The sedan blocked her path and didn’t attempt to move. The doors didn’t open, and the window tint concealed the occupants.

Alarms fired inside her, her instinct screaming to get the hell out of there and fast.

She shoved the Jeep into reverse just as a huge military truck appeared over the hill straight ahead.

Mexican soldiers in helmets, green uniforms, and sunglasses jogged alongside the armored vehicle. They gripped assault rifles and machine guns and headed directly toward her.

She gulped for air, her fingers frozen on the stick shift.

Had she driven into a battle zone? Or was something going down in one of the buildings behind her?

With the gear shift in reverse, she glanced at the rear-view mirror.

Another sedan pulled in behind her, barricading her.

No, no, no.

Her blood pressure careened toward detonation.

She eased out of reverse and dropped her phone into her purse. Hooking the strap over her shoulder, she gripped the pepper spray, prepared to run on foot.

Until the soldiers swept in around the Jeep and raised their rifles.

“Get out!” The man beside her door tapped his machine gun against the window. “Now!”

They were here for her? Why? What did she do wrong?

She dropped the pepper spray and held up her hands, her entire body trembling as she twisted toward him.

Apparently, she moved too slow. He yanked the door open and wrenched her out with his gun in her face.

In a blur of uniforms, she was pushed against the hood of the Jeep, face down with her feet kicked apart. They pawed through her pockets and dug through her purse while other soldiers held her in place.

Her palms slicked with sweat, and adrenaline coursed through her system, shutting down her ability to think clearly.

“What’s going on?” she asked in Spanish, her heart pounding painfully. “What do you want?”

“Petula Gomez?” A soldier shoved her passport in her face.

It took her a second because honestly, only her mother had called her Petula. “Yes.”

“Gomez?”

“Yes, that’s my passport.” Ice trickled down her spine. “Why are you asking?”

The man tossed her I.D. into her purse. “Arrest her!”

It happened so fast. One minute, she was bent over the hood of her Jeep. The next, she lay in the cargo hold of an armored vehicle with her arms handcuffed behind her.

Soldiers sat around her, guns in hands, faces stern, refusing to answer her questions.

Terror attacked her in waves, chattering her teeth and locking her joints. She couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t catch her breath. She feared for her life.

The truck rumbled into motion, and her heart wanted to rush out of her chest. She’d been pulled into something really nasty, and she had no clue where she was going or what would happen when she arrived.

She traveled five or ten minutes before the vehicle stopped. Cruel hands yanked her out of the truck. When she stumbled, a fist swung from behind and punched her across the face.

Stunned to the pit of her stomach, she gasped through the pain and swallowed down bile.

Another strike hit her tail bone, and she staggered forward, trying to remain upright with her wrists shackled.

Rather than letting her walk on her own, two soldiers dragged her by her arms and hair into an unmarked building.

“Why are you doing this? I didn’t do anything!” Her breathing came in frenzied bursts. “Where are you taking me?”

The butt of a gun rammed into her back, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending her to her knees.

She cried out and bit her tongue through the agony. “Please, just give me a second.”

She’d been speaking Spanish the whole time and knew they understood her. They just didn’t care.

Hoisted to her feet before she was ready, she tried to keep her legs beneath her as they ruthlessly hauled her down a dark hallway.

After a few dizzying turns, they wrenched her into a concrete room.

A man stood beside an old metal table with peeling paint. He wore the same green uniform as the soldiers, except his was decorated with colorful ribbons and gold medallions.

She didn’t need to see the merits to sense his superiority. It wafted from his stiff posture, raised chin, and hard brown eyes. A trim beard outlined his squared jaw and thin lips, accentuating his dominance.

A tremor skated through her, stealing her voice. This man was evil, his rottenness so thick it clotted the room.