“Oh. That was Holton, I guess. He was getting a little desperate. I told him it was a stupid idea. You mess with a man’s wife and kid, well…” he pauses, eyes narrowing infinitesimally. “There’s no coming back from that, is there?”
My phone rings then. I’d almost forgotten that I had it with me.
“You have a fucking phone with you?” he asks, furious.
I reach into my pocket as the call goes to voicemail but it starts to ring again immediately. It’s Santiago. I see his name on the screen.
“You do not answer that!” Abel roars, lunging for the phone.
I’m on my feet in an instant. “Let me talk to him. I can help you. I can tell him—”
He grabs the phone from my hand and throws it so hard against the far wall I see it smash.
“That takes care of that,” Abel says. “You should have told me you had a damn phone with you. He’s probably on his way here now. Let’s go.”
He takes my arm and drags me to the door.
“Abel.” I pull back, but he’s much stronger than I am. And he’s desperate. “I’ll talk to Santiago when he gets here. You’re right, he’s on his way,” I lie. I have no idea how he’d find me. “I’ll explain—” I stop when he opens the door and turns on me, the look on his face contorting it, making it into something terrifying.
“He killed Dad, you idiot. If he’s willing to kill that old man even knowing he had no fucking clue what I was doing, you think he’s just going to let me walk away? You’re dumber than I thought if you do.”
He drags me outside and toward the car. I resist. I fight with all I have and manage to kick him in the shins hard enough that he loosens his grip, and I slip out of it. I’m almost away, running toward the street, when I hear the honking of a car horn and see the shiny Aston Martin glint in the sun. I’d thought it inappropriate for a funeral, but he’d insisted on letting Marco drive Eva in it. Saying it might help cheer her up. Several cars behind the Aston Martin is a Rolls Royce.
I slow as the Aston Martin gets closer because it’s not Marco behind the wheel. It’s Santiago.
It takes that moment for Abel to catch up with me, recapture me, and drag me back toward the open passenger door.
“Please, Abel!”
I fight him. I fight with all I have because if I get into that car, I’m dead. I know it. He would rather drive us into an oncoming truck and kill himself along with me and my baby than let my husband win.
Because Abel has nothing to lose. He’s forfeited his life, and he knows it.
And as he forces me toward the car, I give an almighty shove and somehow, someway, manage to trip him, and I run. I run faster than I’ve ever run in my life, and Santiago’s almost here. He’s turning into the lot. I can make it. He’s so close, I can make it.
I can see his face now. Santiago is so near I can see his face.
And it’s that that has me stop.
His expression of horror. His open mouth. I think he’s screaming. I think it’s a scream I see. But he’s too far away, and Abel... oh my God, Abel... But before I can finish that thought, there’s a sound like I’ve never heard before, and I feel a pain that I’ve never felt before. Intense and abrupt and propelling me at an impossible speed.
I don’t register the screech of tires. I don’t hear the screaming of horns. And when I open my eyes, I see my hat. It’s down the road caught under the tire of a car. The veil is torn, blowing in a breeze.
And I realize all the noise has stopped. No one is screaming. Not Abel. Not Santiago. Not even me.
31
Santiago
Time does not slow for tragedy. It's something I know intimately, how quickly a life can be extinguished. A blink of an eye. A single breath. A split second. There one moment and gone the next.
I'm helpless to stop it as I watch Abel's car collide with Ivy's body from behind. The impact is a blur, a fraction of a moment when she is propelled into the air and then onto the pavement, rolling to a stop with such finality, it feels like I'm dying too.
Nothing can prepare you for such an event. No amount of adrenaline in the world can force your body to cooperate as the shock of what you're witnessing threatens to freeze you.
My car comes to a stop. I struggle to release my seat belt, howling in frustration as my eyes connect with Abel's for one split second. He doesn’t look at his sister as he directs the car forward without slowing. He only has eyes for me. A sneer on his face, as if to say he won.
I force myself to follow a series of simple commands, even as every muscle in my body goes rigid. One is to take a deep breath. Two is to pull the brake. Finally, I manage to untangle my seat belt, flinging open the door just as Abel veers around me and speeds off toward the exit.
I glance at his taillights and then back at Ivy. As soon as I saw Ivy’s phone location on the GPS, I didn’t think. I just took off, Marco and the rest of the guards scrambling to catch up with me. They were following me as I wove through traffic, but they are still a few seconds behind. It's just me, standing between my past and my future. My chance to kill Abel or save my wife. It's not even a choice.
I tear my gaze away from the squealing tires as Abel turns the corner and disappears from sight. I'm running. Lungs burning. Heart pounding. Fists clenching. When I reach her, the sight drops me to my knees.
Her head is lolled to the side, blood-streaked across her face.
"Ivy." My voice is barely a whisper when I reach out to touch her, hesitant. "Wake up, angel. Please wake up."
I'm not supposed to move her, but it's the only thing I want to do. I want to cradle her in my arms and tell her it's going to be okay. I will find a way to save her. Instead, I reach for her hand, only to realize her arm and several of her fingers have been broken. They are already starting to swell, bruises forming along the skin. Her dress is torn down the side, scrapes and gashes marring her legs and her arms. She's bleeding from her lip and possibly somewhere else. I can't tell.
I'm trying to drag my phone from my pocket when I hear Marco's voice, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "I already called, boss. They’re on their way."
I look up at him, a desperation I've never known altering my voice beyond all comprehension. "What do we do?"
He swallows, eyes glassy. "I... think you need to check her pulse."
My chest heaves, emotion threatening to break free as I stroke my wife's face. Marco watches on as I move my trembling fingers to her throat, trying to feel for a pulse. It's the most terrifying moment of my life, and I'm shaking too badly to feel anything. I dig deeper, pressing my fingers into her skin, begging for something. Anything.
"Help me," I plead. “Marco…”
An ambulance turns the corner. Marco did right. He called for the Society's medical team. Ivy will have a fighting chance. I have to believe that.
"Excuse us, Mr. De La Rosa." Someone taps me on the shoulder as paramedics begin attending to her, rattling off information as they try to move her onto a stretcher.
I can't seem to let go of her arm. The edges of my eyes are darkening, my vision narrowing to a pinpoint as my breathing becomes too shallow to draw air.