Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“Hide him!” he instructed. I put my palm on Hush’s sweaty head. He was trembling, his arms and legs jerking with the strength of his seizure. Hearing another gunshot, I tried to pick him up. He was too tall. Too heavy.
“I can’t!” I cried, and Cowboy edged away from the window. He put the gun in his belt and lifted Hush up. I chased after him. “The storm latch!” I said and led him downstairs. I lifted the secret hatch in the floor of the closet.
Cowboy looked at me. “We need to get in too.”
I nodded, readying to follow, as Cowboy lowered Hush into the small space that was built into the house years ago. It wasn’t visible. It had always made me feel safe, knowing I had a place to hide.
Cowboy gave me his hand, his blue eyes frantic. “Come on!” he urged. I took his hand . . . but my fingers slipped through his when I heard another gunshot, then the horrific sound of a horse in pain. I whipped my head in the direction of the front door, my heart falling. “Sandy . . .” I whispered, just as another shot fired. The same heartbreaking cry from a horse rang out, and then . . . “No . . . Clara’s out there . . .”
Before I knew it, my legs were running for the door. “Sia!” Cowboy shouted behind me. But I couldn’t stop. Clara was in the stalls. She was working late for me tonight. I burst from the front door and sprinted over the fields. I heard the front door open behind me, Cowboy calling my name. But I couldn’t stop. Teardrops from my eyes caught in the wind and sailed to the south.
I saw movement from the stalls. I saw men walking along the length of the barn, shot after shot firing like they were piercing bullets into my heart. My horses . . . the creatures that kept me sane . . . kept me safe . . .
Someone emerged from the front of the barn. He was dark-haired, with tan skin. Mexican, I thought. My legs trembled, making me trip. He looked up . . . and a smile grew on his lips.
“Clara!” I shouted. He’d seen me. There was no need for silence. They had come for me. I knew my days had been numbered. “Clara!” I screamed again . . . and then shuddered to a halt.
“Sia,” a familiar voice said in greeting. I turned my head to see Pablo, Juan’s right-hand man, coming out of a blacked-out van.
A shot rang out behind me. I flinched, and then whipped around to see Cowboy firing at the men coming from the barn. Cowboy caught up with me and grabbed me by my arm. Men closed in around us. I narrowed my eyes, peering into the barn. A sob ripped from my throat when I saw pools of blood forming rivulets on the concrete floor.
“No!” I shouted, legs buckling as they gave way on the grass.
Pablo checked his cufflinks, like he didn’t have a care in the world. He flicked a hand at some of his men. “Take her.” Cowboy picked me up and pulled me to his chest.
“She’s not going anywhere.” He aimed his gun at the approaching men.
“Cowboy.” I ghosted my finger over his arm. “Don’t.”
“I got this, cher.”
“No,” I said. “They’ll kill you. There are too many.” As the last of those words left my mouth, a dull thud came from behind us. Cowboy’s heavy body toppled, dragging me to the floor with him. I scrambled from underneath his arm. Cowboy was out cold. I wrapped my arm around him. Pablo came to stand beside us.
“Where’s the other one?”
My pulse raced and my stomach fell. Hush. He was talking about Hush. “He left.”
Pablo’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true.”
Pablo clicked his finger at one of his men. “Search the house. If he’s there, get him and follow behind. Black guy.” He smirked. “Shouldn’t be too hard to spot.” He looked at another. “Get these two in the van. We’re leaving.”
“Clara?” I asked, my soul screaming at me because it already knew.
Pablo bent down. His eyes skimmed over my face and body. “You look better older,” he said in English. His lips kicked up at the side. “Juan will like that. He doesn’t tolerate women aging disgracefully.” He stood, then, looking at me over his shoulder, said, “If you’re referring to your little friend . . .” He paused, leaving my breath suspended like his words. “She’s dead.” He shook his head. “Silly whore thought she could pull a shotgun on us. Accusing us of being ranch invaders . . . whatever they are.” He tutted. “She should know the cartel if she sees us. People in Mexico would never mistake the Quintana family for common criminals.”