Anson (The Black Stallion Book 3)

by Maggie Ryan

  “I said home! I’m not going to let some fucking weasels chase me from my home. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  The engine started, and the caravan of black vehicles began their journey through the streets of Buenos Aires like on any other night. But as Natalia stared out the window of the car, she had a sickening premonition that this night was far from ordinary. She could sense something. There appeared to be less vehicles on the street. People seemed to be locked behind closed doors, and the few she saw appeared to be watching and even waiting. The roads seemed… quiet. That was until she heard the first gun shot.

  It took everyone in the car a moment to realize what happened when they stopped behind a car that had suddenly slammed on its brakes. A rain of bullets fell upon their car as blood from the driver splattered the leather interior.

  Pop

  Pop

  Pop

  The lullaby of her life.

  The shattering of glass, the shouts of men, the warning of death screaming through the air. As she ducked onto the floor, protecting herself from the spraying of bullets and flying shards of glass, she looked between the seats and could see the driver slumped over the steering wheel as bullets continued to puncture his lifeless body. The guard in the front seat was firing his gun at rapid speed, bleeding from his own bullet wounds. Montez was also firing out his window at an enemy she could not see.

  Facing death as it marched toward them, she knew now that she had made a horrid mistake. She should have gone with Anson Steele. God, she should have gone. And now because of her foolish pride, she was going to die. Her only remaining hope was that at least Montez would die before she did so she could meet her maker knowing the bastard was finally dead.

  Chapter 7

  Anson whipped the steering wheel hard to the left, careening around the corner. He’d been following the caravan on a parallel street, but when the sound of full-out war exploded in the evening air, he knew the threat of attack he’d overheard one of Montez’s men discussing had become reality. He’d had two chances to save Natalia, and now it could be too late.

  “Fuck!” he yelled, twisting the wheel yet again in order to avoid colliding with a car that had pulled perpendicular to the road, effectively blocking the path of Montez’s vehicles. Bullets whizzed everywhere, puncturing metal and splintering glass, ricocheting off the pavement and bricks of buildings lining the street.

  Jumping from his Jeep, he ran towards the battle. Cars lined the street, bodies fallen where men had piled out of vehicles only to find a bullet with their name on it. The first SUV, Montez’s car, was riddled with jagged holes; bullets had punctured the metal in too many places to count. Passing what had to be one of either Ortez’s or Hernandez’s men’s vehicles, he ducked low, snagging the gun from the lifeless hand of one of the warring cartel members. Every training course he’d ever run, every mission he’d ever been involved in not only played through his head, but had him acting without hesitation. Frankly, he didn’t give a damn who won the turf war, he only cared about one person, and she was in the car that was obviously the primary target.

  Firing both in front of him and behind, he ran to the vehicle and, ignoring the driver’s door, yanked open the door to the back seat. It looked as if a bomb had exploded inside the interior. Blood was everywhere.

  He could not believe his eyes. Despite the glass shards that glittered in her hair, torn bits of stuffing from the ruined upholstery clinging to the blood that coated her flesh, Natalia was alive. Though Montez’s fingers gripped her hair, strands caught around the barrel of the gun he was holding, she wasn’t cowering in fear.

  “Help me!” Montez demanded, yanking her forward.

  “Go to hell!” she screamed, pulling back despite his hold on her.

  Anson lifted his gun as Montez did the same. Not willing to shoot and possibly hit Natalia, Anson moved forward to better his chance. Before he could pull the trigger, Montez had the gun at Natalia’s temple. Anson’s heart stopped as Montez pulled the trigger and… nothing happened.

  “You bastard!” Before Anson could even twitch, Natalia drew her arm back and slammed her fist into Montez’s nose. Blood spurted and his hand dropped, releasing her hair.

  Never looking away from his face, ignoring the bullets that continued to pierce the car, she calmly ran her hands over the bodice of her dress, smearing the cloth with Montez’s blood. “You always did prefer me in red. How do you like it now, you limp dicked bastard?”

  “You cunt!” The words were ugly but barely audible, and Anson understood why as he saw the drug czar’s shirt was covered in blood, more oozing from a wound in his neck.

  “Natalia, we have to go!” Anson yelled, drawing Montez’s gaze to him.

  “You! What the fuck are you doing here?” the drug czar demanded. “Help me!”

  “Fuck you,” Anson snarled, ignoring Montez’s look of disbelief that the gringo he’d allowed to dance with his slave was no longer groveling in subservience as the wounded man’s eyes began to glaze over. “We have to go, now!” he repeated, reaching to pull Natalia off Montez.

  “Wait!” she screamed, twisting in his arms.

  “I’ve got you, come on. Shit!” he cursed when a bullet streaked between their heads, shattering what remained of the rear window.

  Anson grabbed her around the waist, pulling her against him as he tried to back out of the car.

  “No!” she screamed yet again. “Let me go!” She attempted to twist from his grasp, her feet kicking. Anson gasped as he felt a sharp pain, loosening his grip enough so that she was free.

  “Fuck, Natalia!” He reached for her again, but not before she’d drawn back her arm and he had to bite back his own moan as her fist connected with Montez’s crotch, drawing a deep, agonized groan from the man.

  “For my family. The Bautisto Alvarez family. Burn in hell, you fucking bastard!” Natalia grabbed the gun that was hanging from Montez’s fingers. She reached into the man’s coat, pulling out a fresh magazine, ejecting the empty one and slamming the full one home.

  Another bullet blasted into the car and Anson groaned. “Shit!” Enough was enough. Grabbing her chin, he forced her to look at him. “No more fucking around! We’re leaving now.” She nodded, but before they could exit the car, the opposite door opened, causing Montez to tilt out, one of his men barely catching the injured drug czar. Looking up, Anson said, “La tengo, entiendo Montez!” Not giving the man a chance to question why a gringo had Montez’s woman, Anson pulled Natalia completely out of the car. “Shoot anybody who so much as moves a goddamn muscle, got it?” At her nod, he grabbed her hand. “Now!” he shouted, firing his own gun, hearing her fire Montez’s as he half dragged her to the Jeep.

  She scrambled over the console, standing to fire over the windshield as he climbed into the vehicle. More men spilled out of the SUVs behind Montez’s, guns blazing, bullets slamming into the Jeep’s frame. “Shit!” Anson shouted. He yanked the gear shift and the vehicle careened in reverse, fishtailing from one side of the street to the other until he gave one final turn of the wheel to spin it completely around to face the opposite direction. Pressing the gas pedal to the floor, he yelled at her to hang on as they fled the scene, leaving unbelievable carnage in their wake.

  If they’d been in the States, there would be dozens of police vehicles, sirens blaring, racing to the scene. However, they weren’t in the United States—they were in a country where the law was corrupt, content to look the other way as long as money appeared in officials’ bank accounts. The empty streets were counter to the massive crowd that had attended the fair. That was actually fine with Anson as he didn’t need to compete with other cars or dodge spectators. What he needed to do was get as far away as possible—as fast as possible.

  Reaching to his right, he grabbed Natalia’s arm, yanking her down into her seat. “Are you all right?”

  “I-I think so,” she said, her voice no longer loud, the rage that had filled her in Montez’s car obviously dissipa
ting with every block they traveled. “How… oh, God, you came for me!”

  Not taking his eyes off the road as he made another turn, he nodded. “Of course I did. I told you I came to get you away from Montez.”

  “Is he really dead?”

  “If not now, he will be. He was covered in blood and had been shot in the neck.”

  “He needs to die.”

  Anson heard the pain in her voice and he nodded again. “Yes, he does.” He wanted to assure her that everything would be all right and yet he couldn’t. Nothing would be all right until he got them the hell out of Argentina. Twisting the wheel hard to make the next right turn, he groaned.

  “Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” she said.

  “What? No, it’s just blood—”

  “Yes, your blood,” she said. “Pull over.”

  Shaking his head, he continued driving. “I’m fine. We’ve got to get as far from the city as possible.”

  “Anson, you’re shaking and you’re so pale—”

  “I’m always pale.” He chuckled, grimacing as even that caused a stab of pain.

  “No, you’re bleeding and if we don’t stop the blood, you could bleed to death.”

  “I said I was—”

  “Look out!” she yelled, reaching for the wheel and jerking it to the right, causing the Jeep to swerve. Anson shook his head. His vision had blurred for a moment, masking the view of a goat that had run into the street. It was only then that he felt a burning pain. Glancing down, he saw that his shirt was soaked in blood.

  “Well, fuck,” he said, shocked to discover that the sharp pain he’d thought had come when one of Natalia’s stiletto heels had connected when she was fighting him was instead the result of being shot. The adrenaline that had poured throughout his system at the scene was evidently dissipating as he felt a wave of nausea and dizziness that caused his stomach to heave.

  “Exactly,” Natalia said, still keeping her hand on the wheel. “If we don’t get you patched up, we are indeed fucked.”

  “Hotel,” he said, forcing himself to ignore the fire in his body and concentrate on finding refuge. “Hotel de Rosa Roja, in San Telmo.”

  “Really? Why is everything always fucking red!”

  “What?”

  “Never mind, I know where that is,” she assured him. “Stop and I’ll drive.” When he once again shook his head, she sharpened her tone. “Don’t make me bloody your nose. Stop the fucking car before you kill us both!”

  “God, you’re bossy,” he said, lifting his foot from the gas.

  “And you’re stubborn. Pull over!”

  When he pulled to a stop, she jumped out of the Jeep and ran around the front as he climbed out. “Here, let me help,” she said, slipping an arm around his waist, causing him to groan. “Oh, sorry.”

  “That’s all right, just let me catch my breath,” he said, bracing his left hand against the Jeep, fighting back the next sickening wave of nausea that had instantly gripped him.

  “You can catch it later. Get in the Jeep.”

  “Yep, definitely bossy,” he said, moving around the Jeep, biting back another groan as he climbed in.

  “Shut up,” she said, her tone without rancor as she took his left hand. Anson’s heart stuttered at the contact, and yet when she pressed his palm against his right sleeve, slick with blood, and said, “Keep pressure on it,” he realized she hadn’t meant the gesture in any intimate way. She swiped her hand against the skirt of her dress, adding yet another smear of red to the white fabric before she climbed behind the wheel, pulling back onto the street.

  Anson leaned his head back, his eyes half closed as he berated himself for being incapacitated. It wasn’t a circumstance he was familiar with, and he discovered that he didn’t like it. Still, he wasn’t a foolish man and knew that he needed to face reality. He needed to assess the damage the bullet had inflicted before he could make the next move. It wasn’t long before the Jeep slowed as it entered a warren of narrow streets.

  “Last room on the end,” he said. “You can pull around the back.” Once she had, Natalia came around to help him out. “Get the guns,” he said, once again taking a moment to rest.

  “Now who’s being bossy?” she asked and the smile her words brought disappeared as she slapped his hand away from the duffel he was reaching for in the backseat. “I’ve got it.” Opening it, she slid the guns inside and this time when she slipped an arm around him, she did it carefully. Together, they rounded the corner and she said, “The key?”

  “I’ve got it,” he said, attempting to shove his left hand into the right front pocket of his jeans only to discover there was no pocket. Again, his hand was slapped away.

  “Keep your hand on the wound. I’ll find it.”

  Fuck, he might have been shot but he wasn’t dead. That became evident when her hand slid down his leg to slip beneath the outer covering that served as chaps for the gaucho pants he’d purchased to wear to the fair. His cock stirred as her fingers dipped into the deep pocket in the loose white pants. Anson grimaced, silently berating himself as he remembered exactly where she’d been for the past six months. Eyes the color of emeralds lifted to his and he also remembered how she’d slugged Montez.

  “Bossy and might I say, you’ve got one heck of a right cross, Ms. Alvarez.”

  She seemed surprised, a quick grin appearing before she said, “And don’t you forget it.”

  “I’m not likely to forget anything about you,” he said, meaning every word.

  Natalia rolled her eyes, pulling her hand free with the key in her grip. “You’re already becoming delirious. Let’s get you inside.”

  “This might hurt a little,” she warned once they were inside and standing in front of the sink. She tugged his shirt from the waistband of his pants and began pulling it up.

  Anson gritted his teeth as fabric that had stuck to the wound pulled against his flesh. Natalia hesitated and he said, “There’s a knife strapped to my right calf. You’re going to have to cut the shirt off.”

  Natalia squatted down and pushed his pant leg up, pulling the knife from its scabbard. With as much care as possible, she began to slice the shirt. Anson saw her pause for a moment as swirls of deep black appeared beneath the split fabric that had covered his right arm. Even the thick smear of blood couldn’t conceal that he had a tattoo, the black ink vivid against skin that was growing paler with every moment. She glanced up and their eyes met for a second before she once more focused on her task, slicing through the cloth until she could pull it off, tossing the ruined garment onto the floor.

  “Is there an exit wound?” he asked, unable to see clearly due to the blood that was still oozing.

  “Turn a bit and I’ll look,” she said. When he’d made a half turn, he felt her fingertips running along his flesh. “No, I don’t see one.” She paused and looked up at him. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it’s not good,” Anson said. “That means the bullet is still inside.”

  She nodded, turning to reach for a washcloth, soaking it in the hot water she’d turned on a few minutes earlier. “That means it’ll have to come out.” He hissed a bit when she began to wash the blood away.

  “It’ll have to wait. We need to get as far away from here as possible. I have a feeling that was but the second battle of what is likely to be a very bloody war.”

  Though she kept washing his side, she said, “What do you mean, the second battle?”

  “My pops informed me that the Ortez and Hernandez cartels blew up one of Montez’s labs and burned it to the ground. It is sure to cost Montez a lot, and whoever takes over for him is bound to retaliate.”

  “You’re well informed, but I’m afraid the cost is much higher than one lab. Okay, hold this as tight as possible and turn again.”

  Anson took the second washcloth she’d handed him and pressed it to the wound. He again gritted his teeth as he turned once more. She began to wash his torso and back, and he asked, “What do you mean? The
cost is higher?”

  “I mean that when no one could give him the identity of the woman they believe is responsible for leaking information to Ortez, Montez ordered the deaths of every prostitute in Ciudad Oculta. It’s his way of sending a message that no one fucks with him.”

  Anson’s gut clenched. Was that the answer to all of Montez’s problems? Kill anybody without regard to their innocence? God, he hoped the bastard was dead. “Another reason why we need to leave. I’ve got a first aid kit in the bag. Just squirt some antibiotic ointment on the hole, wrap it and we can go.”

  Natalia rinsed out the cloth she’d used to wash him in the sink, shaking her head. “No. I’m impressed that you are still standing, but if you continue to move around with a bullet inside you, it will only do more damage—”

  “It can’t be helped. We can’t take the chance of finding some doctor who won’t immediately inform Montez’s men of our location.” He moved towards the duffel she’d dropped on the bed only to find his uninjured arm taken.

  “Anson, I can remove the bullet.”

  He couldn’t help that his eyebrow lifted in skepticism. Nothing they’d learned about this woman indicated she had any medical training.

  “I’m serious,” she said, obviously seeing his disbelief. “Since the age of twelve, I’ve spent my entire life preparing for things like this. I’ve trained and know what to do. The only question is, will you trust me?”

  The question hung in the air as he considered his options. About to respond that he’d take his chance with the bullet remaining where it was until they got somewhere that wasn’t Buenos Aires, he saw her drop her eyes.

  “You’re bleeding again.”

  She was right; blood was slipping down his arm and he knew that he was in trouble. When she looked up to meet his eyes, he nodded. “I’m placing myself in your hands, Natalia,” he said, praying that he wouldn’t regret doing so.

  He leaned against the sink countertop as she prepared for the operation. She stripped the bed of everything but the bottom sheet and then yanked the shower curtain from its rings and spread it across the bed. Layers of towels went on top of the curtain. He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed that she’d even thought of protecting the mattress, or worried that the action suggested she expected this to be a messy procedure.