"He's gone off the rails," the guy tells me. "I don't know where he's been. But he was supposed to handle this shit, and he left it for us."
I carve a U into his forehead next, and he starts talking faster, spewing whatever he thinks will save him as I move onto the C.
"He said you'd be looking for him, and he couldn't let you find him. He was getting too paranoid, so he wouldn't tell us anything. But we knew the gig was up. Abel was going completely insane. That’s why one of my guys delivered the note to you. So you could come get her."
“Purely out of the kindness of your heart?” I muse, slashing the blade to complete the K.
“Look, we fucked up, okay? I know that!” he screeches. “We just wanted some respect. You can’t blame us for that.”
“Respect is earned,” I remind him. "Now tell me what the doctor did to my wife."
"All he did was give her the sedative," he pants. "Come on, man. You're carving me up like a fucking pig."
"It's the least of what you deserve." I move onto the Y and O as blood pours down his face, blinding him.
"I'll help you find Abel. I swear it. Just give me a chance."
"Your chance was up the moment you decided to fuck with my wife." I finish off the U with a flourish, stepping back to admire my handiwork. "Which one of you left the bruise on her face?"
He swallows, and I know it was him before he even conjures up a half-ass denial.
"Boss." Marco glances at me from behind, signaling I need to hurry things along.
I nod and then look at the piece of shit in front of me one last time. "Did you touch her anywhere else?"
"What?" He shakes his head in disgust. "No way. Abel wouldn't let us do that."
"You're lucky I'm in a forgiving mood," I tell him.
"Really?" He perks up, blinking his bloody eyelids hopefully.
"Yes," I answer flatly as I drag the tip of the knife to the pulsing vein in his throat. "I forgive you for being so fucking ignorant. You didn't know not to touch what belongs to me."
I stab him in the throat. Once. Twice. Three times, until his blood flows in rivers down my arms and the gurgling noise in his mouth fades to nothingness. When I drop him to the floor, Marco kicks him in the face for good measure.
"Just checking." He shrugs when I look at him. "We gotta go."
I pivot toward my wife, pausing briefly to untangle the hair from her face. Blood smears over her cheek when I stroke it, and warmth fills my chest when I pick her up and cradle her limp body in my arms.
"Time to go home." I whisper the words against her ear, finishing them with a kiss. "Where you belong."
6
Ivy
I feel heavy. Arms and legs like lead. But he lifts me without effort, and when my arm falls away, he carefully adjusts his hold, tucking that arm over my belly. I realize the zip ties are gone and try to open my eyes, but I can’t. I only get glimpses as we hurry through the small house and what I see is a massacre. Blood. Death.
I groan, and he hugs me closer, and when I’m alert again, I feel the vibration of the moving car beneath me, and panic sets in. They’re moving me again. I’m on the floor of that car again.
“Shh. You’re safe. I’m here.”
Santiago.
He pets my hair, fingers gentle, and I take in the scent of him. It’s not those men. I’m not on the floor of the car. I’m lying on leather, and my head is on his lap, his hands gentle. He wasn’t gentle a little while ago. Not with that doctor. Not with the man.
“Shh,” he repeats, telling me over and over again that he’s here, and that I’m safe.
I’m quiet again. Heavy. When I stop fighting it, I feel myself relax so completely it’s tempting to give over to it.
I’m safe.
Santiago is here. I am safe.
The baby, though. Our baby. I try to concentrate, to mentally scan my body. I’d feel if they’d done it, wouldn’t I? If they'd taken the baby. Does Santiago know what they did? Did he arrive in time to stop it?
An immense sadness tugs me back into a reality I can’t quite join yet as the drug continues to leave me paralyzed.
“Shh,” Santiago starts again, repeating those same reassuring words again and again and again. I want to ask him about the baby. I need to know. But my mind is as fuzzy as my limbs are heavy, and I drift off again to the soothing sound of his voice.
* * *
I hear lowered voices as I begin to wake. I turn my head and breathe in a familiar scent. The pillow I’m lying on is soft and warm. His. One of the voices I hear is Santiago’s. He’s talking to another man, but I don’t recognize the other voice, and I can’t make out their words.