Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
He pushes the door open and says something to Travis. I look down at the pale agent. His lips are chapped, eyes sealed. He’s still breathing—just barely.
“Get up,” I tell him, but he doesn’t budge.
Clark comes toward me, looking down at the barely breathing DEA agent. “He’s worthless, Gia,” he mumbles. “He won’t make it off this plane. He’s lost way too much blood. ”
“We have to take our chances.” I tuck my gun behind my back, reaching down and grabbing his arm.” Help me get him up.”
“Before I do that, you have to agree to let Travis go back home.”
I frown up at him. “How?”
“We need to find him a way. We meet some of The Jefe’s men and see if they can torch and get rid of this jet, but we have to get him back. He did the job; he got us here. Now we have to let him go. My father will ask him questions, but he’ll do what you told him to do. He’ll say that you made him do it with a gun to our heads.” Clark shrugs. “Not like it isn’t the truth.”
My eyebrows pull together, gaze shifting over to Travis standing near the door of the cockpit. He’s already looking at me, lips pressed thin, eyes stretched as he drops his gaze to the barely breathing DEA agent.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But once we find him a way back, he’s on his own from there.”
“That’s fine.” Clark walks away, murmuring to Travis, whose automatic response is a sigh of relief. Clark digs in his bag nearby and hands Travis some money, clapping him on the shoulder before turning to come to me again.
After Clark and I strap on our bags, Clark picks up most of the agent’s weight. We struggle carrying him off the jet, Travis trying to help from the back, dragging the agent’s mass and our own luggage toward the barbwire gates.
Outside of the gate is a security booth, and from where we are, I can see a man standing in it, wearing all black. He sees us and immediately comes sprinting out of the booth, a handgun pointed our way. His eyes drop to the bloody agent, and he panics, coming to a halt and shouting for us to stop in Spanish.
When we don’t stop, he shouts even louder. He points his gun up in the air and shoots, trying to scare us off.
“Damn it. Wait here with him,” I grumble, slipping from beneath the agent’s arm. Clark grunts, cursing at the agent to stay steady as Travis rushes around to keep the balance.
I hold my hands in the air, marching ahead as the man continues shouting obscenities, demanding that I stop now before he shoots.
“You can’t shoot me!” I yell in Spanish.
“Why the fuck not?” He steadies the gun, aiming it at my head. “This is private property, and without a code and proper paperwork, you are not allowed to use this airstrip!”
“The Jefe!” I shout, and his eyes go round, gun still aimed.
“What about him?”
“I’m with The Jefe. You can’t shoot me. You shoot me or hurt any of them, and he’ll be pissed.”
The man’s bushy eyebrows dip beneath his black cap, his mouth a narrow line. “You’re lying! Anyone can say they’re with The Jefe to protect themselves! I let you get through, and it’s my head on a fucking platter!”
“Call his people—the ones who work most with you and this private strip! I know you have their numbers. Tell them La Patrona is here! They’ll understand!”
I glance back at Clark and Travis, who are now struggling with the agent. He’s a big man, probably both of their weights combined, and Clark may have been right. He won’t make it far. Not in his condition.
“Wait there!” the guard commands, stepping back slowly. He hustles to the booth, still glaring out the window. In seconds, he has a phone pressed to his hear, lips moving rapidly as he speaks.
I see his eyes get bigger as he stares at me and then, in no time, his mouth clamps shut, and he places the phone down. He steps back out again, this time without his gun aimed at me.
“La Patrona.” He rubs a hand over his face “His woman. I am so sorry.”
I ignore his apology. “What did they say?”
“They are on the way here, Patrona.”
“Who did you speak with?”
He shrugs. “I’m not sure. A man.”
I groan. He has many men working for him.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” the man asks hurriedly. “You can understand that I was just doing my job—protecting the strip. Doing what I’m paid to do.”
I step up to him. “I understand.” I glance back at Clark, Travis, and the agent. The agent’s head bobs and his knees buckle.
Shit. He’s done for.
Clark curses loudly, dropping his heavy body on the red dirt and then bending down, pressing two fingers on his upper neck to check his pulse.