What the hell? I thought. What’s happening? I blinked, trying to see outside the car as we slammed into something that caused the car to stop and our bodies to thrash against the seatbelts. Looking up, head spinning, I saw blood on the glass that separated the front of the car from the back. Panic cut through me.
“You okay?” A voice was trying to push through the heavy white noise that was buzzing in my ears and the seemingly slow-motion visuals outside the car. Gunshots fired in quick succession somewhere in the near distance. My body quickly unfroze . . . but it was to a stark realization.
Tanner was lying across me.
Covering me.
Protecting me.
His blue eyes were looking into mine as he asked again, “Adelita? You okay? We have to move.”
His thick, tattooed arm was an iron seatbelt across my waist. He had kept me safe. He had made sure I wasn’t injured as the car veered into the ditch at the side of the road. Blood trickled from his nose and from a gash in his head. He’d been hurt. Hurt protecting me.
I could hardly breathe at that fact.
And he’d called me by my name. Even with all the chaos, the blood and gunshots, it occurred to me . . . he had called me by my name.
“We need to move,” Tanner said again, moving back from me. Shock rendered me speechless when he took my hand in his. He pulled me to his side of the car, and the door flew open. I held my breath, fearing it would be the attackers, but my fear was quelled when I saw it was Vincente.
“Come, Lita. We need to get you to a safe house.” Another round of gunfire sounded in the distance. My attention was drawn to the mass of red blood on the panel of glass between the seats.
“Marco . . .” I said, my stomach cramping in panic as I saw his eyes wide open, staring at me coldly . . . dead. “No!” I whispered.
“Adelita, come, we need to move,” Vincente said. “We have the attackers busy further down the road, but we need to get you out of here now while we wait for backup. They are strong, and we don’t have enough men to keep you safe.” Tanner pulled me out, keeping me by his side. I was scared, in danger . . . yet I could only concentrate on how Tanner was keeping me close . . . not letting go. My heart stuttered as he shielded me as he scanned the road. I reminded myself of all the awful things he’d said, that he’d done. The way he looked at me. Just to remind myself he wasn’t a good man.
But then I replayed his father hitting him, and Tanner just letting him. Of his words . . . Do you ever feel like your life is not your own . . .?
On Vincente’s command, one of the guards from the second car came over, pulling me from my thoughts. “Get them to the safe house a few miles north,” Vincente ordered. The guard nodded and, holding his gun high, went to make sure the entrance to the forest was clear. Vincente addressed me and Tanner. “Stay there until help arrives. There are supplies if this takes time. An emergency phone to check in on the situation. Cameras to keep watch for anyone approaching.”
“I’m staying to fight,” Tanner said. He looked bloodthirsty, his eyes flaring with adrenaline, the muscles in his neck tensing. My stomach fell at the thought of him staying . . . I tried to push the stupid feeling away. Why did I care if he joined the fight? My father’s guards would protect me. Always had. Let the White Prince fight. Let him take on my father’s enemies and risk his life for the sake of his pride.
Yet the sinking feeling in my stomach didn’t go, no matter how much I tried to convince myself I didn’t care.
I shouldn’t care.
I didn’t want to care.
Do you ever feel like your life is not your own?
Vincente smirked, unmoved by Tanner’s domineering, intimidating presence. “You’ll go with Adelita. I like my life, and if something happened to the Klan heir on my watch, I would lose it. No help from you is worth that.” Tanner gritted his teeth like he was going to argue, but when the guard signaled for us to move, he cursed under his breath and dragged me into the mouth of the forest. He yanked on my arm so strongly that I wasn’t sure I’d keep up with him. He was pissed. I could see that. But pissed at the situation? Or the fact he had to stay with me? If that was so, why protect me? Unless it was so the deal wasn’t broken with my father . . . Was that his motivation? Why did I care if it was?
We didn’t stop, instead diving deeper into the forest. My ankles strained with every step I took; my shoes were not appropriate for hiking. But we kept going . . . and all the time Tanner didn’t release my hand. I should have been watching for threats, but instead I watched him as his eyes roved around the forest, never letting down his guard. I knew he must have been trained for this somehow. The way he was acting, it was like he knew how to keep safe. American military, maybe?
Up ahead, my father’s man moved swiftly along the uneven path that led to one of the many safe houses my father had around this land. My heart raced, the fear of the attack leaving me reeling and on edge. As the daughter of Quintana, this was not the first, or even the tenth attempt on my life. But I never got used to it. And my mind was overwhelmed with the fear that this time would be the time that took me away.
It was no doubt a rival cartel. It always was. Men hungry for the wealth and power my father possessed. I was always going to be the best leverage for any of my father’s enemies. Everyone knew I was the Achilles’ heel of Alfonso Quintana.
Time passed and darkness fell. The forest became thicker and thicker, making it harder and harder to see. Still, Tanner never released me. His hand in mine felt unyielding and strong. In a break in the tree-lined darkness, I saw my almond skin against his tattooed white hand. The brief slices of moonlight made them look not so different as Tanner believed.
My legs were tiring and the incline became steep. My arms were heavy, my feet stumbling the more exhaustion set in, the more I lost energy. A twig suddenly snapped somewhere beside us. Before we even had a chance to hide, a series of gunshots rang out, cutting into bark and dead leaves. We dropped to the ground, I assumed for coverage, but when Tanner exhaled a pained breath I realized something was wrong. A gap in the high tree above let in enough moonlight for me to see blood trickling from his bicep. “Tanner,” I whispered, just as the guard got to his feet and started firing.
Footsteps drew near. My heart beat faster as the attacker approached. And then a gurgled sound came from the guard. Fear held me in its grip. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. Then the guard dropped to the ground, immediately fighting to get back up like a wounded animal would do. Tanner scrambled to where the guard lay. “How far to the safe house?” he asked him. The guard held onto Tanner, trying to fight, to cling onto life, but then he lost strength and something like acceptance settled in his dark eyes. Acceptance that he wasn’t going to survive. My chest tightened in sympathy. In sadness.
“One more mile . . . that way . . .” the guard managed, pointing west. He handed Tanner a key from his suit pocket. I could see the guard was dying; his labored breathing echoed like cracks of thunder in the silent forest. Tanner took the gun from the guard’s hand, then reached for me, pushing me to hide in the nearby trees. He waited, like a statue, for the gunman to betray his location. Breath held, I watched Tanner, heart firing in my chest. In the area we were in, blood was everywhere, red blotting out the green of the grass and trees. I could see the blood running down Tanner’s arm. Blood had stained his face from the impact of the crash. His hands were soaked in blood from the guard’s wound. I glanced at the guard to see his eyes were closed and his chest no longer rose and fell.