by Fox, Logan
Noah shook his head. His jaw moved as if he was clenching down on his teeth.
“Tell her,” Finn said, “and she might let you live.”
A flash of something — pride, hope, a twisted kind of love — shot through her. He believed in her. Thought she could pull the trigger. She almost believed it herself.
Noah shook his head and let out a low chuckle. “Oh, she won’t do it. She and I, we have an understanding. Don’t we, Elle?”
Her arm muscles tensed. The gun was heavy. Holding it straight like this, it took everything she had. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered furiously.
Noah cocked his head at her. “You’d prefer mi corazón?”
“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”
“That’s what Bailey said your father called you.” Noah’s mouth curled into a smile. “Mi corazón.”
Cora took a step forward. It was stupid and risky, but she wanted to see doubt in Noah’s eyes. Maybe even fear. It would mean he was human, and she wouldn’t have to shoot him. Wouldn’t have to end him. No blood, no death, no roses.
A faded beam of light caught the side of the Taurus. It didn’t look as beautiful as it normally did, here in this gloomy room, but the shaft of light highlighted an inscription carved into the gold fitting on the slide.
Creo en ti, mi corazón.
I believe in you, my heart.
36
His Bloody Goddess
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space. Noah’s shoulder jerked backward; the only indication a bullet had struck home. Injured, but still lethal. Noah’s hand slid under the closest pillow on the bed. Came out holding a Ruger.
Dread sloshed over Finn like an arctic tidal wave.
He surged forward, ears still ringing, fully intent on grappling the man into submission.
But then Cora pulled the trigger again. The second shot went wild, burrowing into the wall behind Noah’s left ear. Finn fell backward and scrambled up against the wall.
Jesus fucking Christ. He’d heard the bullet coming past his head.
“Cora!”
She ignored him. Or maybe, like him, the ringing in her ears muted all sound. Another shot. Another miss. She was holding her weight wrong. Perhaps not releasing her breath before pulling the trigger.
Noah lifted his arm and cocked his weapon in the same motion.
“Cora!” That roar burned his throat.
The next shot took Noah in the face. The man slammed into the wall, legs snagging on the nightstand. But he’d barely slid down an inch before another shot took him in the throat. Finn watched, lips slowly parting in rapt wonderment.
Cora was a fucking goddess. Naked and glistening. A small streak of soap suds still clung to the hollow above her hip.
Snap.
Noah jerked like she was electrocuting him. Blood spurted from the artery she’d opened in his neck.
Another wild shot. Immediately followed by a solid thunk to the man’s chest, just above his heart.
His stomach. His groin. His diaphragm. His face. His face.
“Cora! Enough.”
Fuck, he was getting hard watching this. What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe it was some fucked up response to the adrenaline surging through him. Some kind of bloodlust drawn from a primal part of him.
Let’s take her here, with all this death in the air. Remind her who she belongs to. She’ll fight you again. Bite and scratch. Draw blood. More blood.
He shoved his pistol and slid his arms around Cora’s stomach, drawing her flush against him.
Another shot. He could feel her countering the recoil, her shoulder bumping into him. The bullet took Noah in what used to be an eye in his ruined face.
“Stop.” Finn put his mouth by her ear. “Baby, stop.”
Her arm dipped, and then came up again.
Snap.
Noah’s nose splintered.
Click, click, click.
Finn slid his hand down her arm and twisted the Taurus from her fingers. She sagged against him, and he went down with her. Her breath came hard and fast, hitching. Shock. He dragged the coverlet from the bed, yanking it hard to get out from under Noah’s unmoving weight, and wrapped her in it, blood and brain matter be damned.
It didn’t stop her shaking.
Because she was staring at that limp body, with its one hand dangling over the side of the bed, red snakes twining over a finger. Blood collected and fell silently to the carpet.
The room sang at him, its song pulsing with his heartbeat.
He held her to him, his Cora, his bloody goddess, and inhaled her. Roses. Thick, cloying. He wiped the blanket over her skin, but it smelled musty. Better than sweet roses. So sweet, in this devastation, it stank of putrefaction. He swiped hair from her face and pressed his lips to her cheekbone. The corner of her mouth. Trying to elicit some kind of response from her.
Anything. Fucking anything.
W
Her body thrummed. It came from her fingertips, still curled like she was holding her gun. They tingled and ached in memory of each violent burst of gunfire.
A mouth brushed her cheek. Pressed warm and soft against the corner of her mouth. Finn’s smell came to her, but the room’s death mask of roses and blood fought it back.
“Tighter.” Her voice was surprisingly calm. Devoid of emotion.
Finn’s grip grew stronger.
“Tighter.”
She couldn’t move. But it was so warm. So safe. A rock wall curving around her.
“Tighter!”
She could barely breathe.
And it was fucking wonderful.
W
He held her so hard, his arms quivered. But he would have done anything for her right then. Captured the moon and brought it down to earth, holding it above his head like Atlas. The Milky Way for a necklace. The eclipsing sun for a wedding band.
Finn kissed the side of her neck. The hollow behind her ear. He couldn’t stop trying to warm her chilled skin with his mouth.
She shivered, and he knew then she would live.
When he moved his head, trying to find her mouth again, he saw she was staring at Noah’s dead body. He took her chin in hand and tried turning her face, but she resisted him.
So he slid his hand over her eyes, blocking the slow drip of blood.
And then she sagged against him like he’d stolen the only thing keeping her bones hard.
“Cora.” He swallowed, squeezed her until she made a sound of protest. “I lo—”
Outside, the dog stopped barking.
37
Rabid-Crazy
“What did you say?” Cora whispered.
Outside, tires on gravel.
Cora’s head swung to the side as if she could see through the walls of the old farmhouse.
Finn stood in a rush. “Fuck.”
Cora’s legs twisted around each other, and she nearly fell. Every ounce of energy had been drained from her as if Santa Muerte wasn’t happy with just Noah’s life and wanted Cora’s life force too. She fumbled with the coverlet when it wanted to slide from her shoulders.
It was too warm to let go.
Finn was halfway down the hallway when he spun back to her. “Cora!”
She stumbled into the bathroom, her body screaming at her that she was going the wrong way. No time for clothes. No time for decency.
He was here.
But she couldn’t leave Santa Muerte behind. Her clothes were in a pile on the bathroom floor. She yanked them on, struggling with her soaked-through jeans. She found the pendant nestled between the folds of her shirt.
She just slung the chain around her neck as Finn barged into the bathroom.
“There’s no fucking time!” he yelled as he dragged her out.
W
Jesus Christ, nothing could be that important. Finn wanted to rip the goddamn necklace from her throat and throw her over his shoulder. Leaving it there, so it would never be the thing she chose over escape. Over life.
&nb
sp; Footsteps now. A chorus; too many. Another vehicle, the determined crunch of gravel speaking of weight and breadth. An SUV. Backup? That could have explained why this Noah had been so at ease, knowing Finn was seconds away from being neutralized.
There was a back door. He had Cora’s hand in his but didn’t remember taking it. This time, there would be no turning back for trinkets. She couldn’t pull away and get herself killed.
He raced into the kitchen and kicked open the back door. It gave easily — old wood, rusting lock. Noah hadn’t expected his prisoner to make it past the bedroom door.
Outside, purple twilight flowed over his face. They’d barely made it down the rotting steps to the dusty backyard when Finn heard the growling gallop of a frenzied dog.
He turned. Got his hands up. And could already feel the mutt tearing out his throat.
Cora yelled. A chain snapped. The dog yelped in pain, and then barked and growled as it strained at its choke chain. Foam dripped from its jowls as it barked furiously at them, pissed it couldn’t reach them and end their miserable lives.
“Fuck my life,” Finn muttered, scrambling to his feet.
When had he landed on his back?
Cora grabbed his arm. Now she was the one leading as he stared like a dumb fuck at the dog rabid-crazy at the end of its chain.
. . .
Heart lodged in her throat, Cora grabbed Finn’s arm and hurried forward, trying not to trip over the uneven ground in the clustering shadows as the last daylight retreated.
Then came the voices.
Spanish.
She glanced back at Finn, her eyes wide. His face was a storm; brows together, lips thin. Face white. The dog had obviously scared the living crap out of him; fuck it, she’d almost peed herself. They hurried around the side of the house, but she threw herself back as she rounded the corner, flattening her back against the white-washed wall.
“Shit,” she whispered, giving Finn an urgent look. “They’re coming this way.”
Finn’s jaw clenched. He turned to look at the dog. It had followed them, but stood more than ten feet away, straining on its chain. Still barking.
Which was probably why they were investigating.
“This way.” Keeping close to the house, Finn raced back to the kitchen door. Passed it. Peered around the other side of the house.
He immediately flattened himself against the wall and gave her a furious shake of her his head.
They were trapped.
Her eyes flashed forward. A twelve-foot high chain link fence ran the perimeter of the property. Like the basement door, it looked brand new and intimidating as shit.
But it was the only way.
She ran at it, circling wide of the dog as it snapped at her ankles. She threw herself at the fence and began scaling it. The sunlight should have been warm, but ice flowed through her veins. Finn arrived a second later, skin still waxy, and launched himself up behind her. She made it over a few seconds later, leaving the fence rattling and shaking in her wake.
Finn was halfway up when the dog’s chain pulled loose. She heard a panicked, “Fuck!”, and spun around.
The dog had Finn by his calf. It dug in its heels and yanked with such force that Finn lost his grip and slid down the fence.
“Finn!”
“Go!” He kicked at the dog, but it just closed its eyes for a second, completely ignoring the blow of Finn’s boot heel to its forehead. Then it was pulling him backward, muscles coiling under its skin. Finn slid again, barely catching his grip.
“Cora, go!” He looked furious. At her or the dog?
So she ran.
But not into the forest behind the house. Cora ran along the fence, slapping it with her hand, making it rattle.
“Hey!”
A bandana’d Mexican swung to her, pointing his assault rifle in her direction.
Well, let them shoot. At least they wouldn’t be pointing it at Finn. And she was a moving target. Much harder to hit.
Behind her, the dog began barking again. Finn had escaped.
There were four men on this side of the house. All Mexican, all anonymous behind their black bandannas.
“Stop, or I’ll shoot,” the lead man said conversationally.
Like hell he would. No one on the wrong side of the law warned you before they began shooting. They wanted her alive, that much she knew. It was probably the only thing that had kept Noah from raping and then killing her. He feared someone higher up — and so did these men. Sicarios were chosen for their loyalty; they would do anything for their capo, even sacrifice themselves.
Cora’s lungs burned, but she pushed herself faster, darting into the trees. Making sure she stayed in sight so they wouldn’t lose interest. The fence made a right angle, bringing her to the front of the farmhouse. Five SUVs. Too many men to count.
She should have been looking where she was going. Her foot snagged on an exposed root, and she fell forward into the bush hugging the fence.
Shouts followed her. The thunder of boots. She fought the mass of thin branches, scrambled up, and froze when a pistol shoved into her kidneys.
“Nice and easy,” someone said in a thick Spanish accent.
“I don’t do nice.” She arched her back, moving her torso out of the line of fire. Then she twisted, shoving the man’s wrist away from her. He fired a shot, but it struck the ground between her feet and puffed up dirt and grass.
Yells from the farmhouse. More gunfire.
Her hands slid over his, grabbing the barrel of the gun, twisting it. He yelled as she snapped his finger, and tugged his pistol free. Then the gun was hers.
She shot him in the leg. The stomach. Was still taking aim for a headshot when arms caught her and hauled her into the forest.
38
Swan Dive
Cora fought free and spun around. She brought the gun up, but Finn knocked it from her hand before she could shoot him with it. She had a feral look in her eyes — the leaves in her black hair made her look like Tarzan’s sister. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her after him before the confusion could clear from her face. Behind them, the fence rattled.
He sprinted through the trees, dragging Cora behind him.
Goddamnit, why hadn’t she fucking listened? She could have been far away by now. So far, he wouldn’t have found her again.
And maybe that was better. Maybe that was safer. Because he had no intention of letting go of her hand. Not now, maybe not ever.
His breath tore through him, more fire than air as they started up an incline. Using branches and tree trunks to haul himself higher.
Cora fought up the ridge behind him, face set with a familiar look of determination — a slight frown, hard jaw, voluptuous mouth. A femme fatale so magnificent it made his chest hurt. But behind her — and too fucking close — two men. He dragged her in front of him, shoving her ahead despite how she protested.
Then he cast a quick look over his shoulder, trying to see how close their hunters were.
Which was when the ridge ended. Abruptly. Which would have been great to know before he crashed into Cora’s back and sent her plummeting over the edge.
His stomach twisted, shooting his heart into his throat. He barely grabbed hold of a branch, leaning precariously over the edge of the hungry canyon before pulling himself back.
Cora’s scream cut off a second later.
W
Water snapped around Cora like a fist. It dragged her down, squeezing air from her lungs. Her ass struck a rocky bed. Her head buzzed, but she managed to get her legs under her and kick.
She broke the surface of the river with a gasp, floundering wildly as the water dragged her with it.
But there was nothing to hold on to. Nothing to stop her. Her feet brushed the bed as she bobbed, but the river was too deep for her to stand.
A volley of gunshots tore through the air. She swung around, smearing water from her face as she tried to find the ridge she’d fallen from.
Just trees.
Thunder.
More yells. The violent patter of automatic gunfire. Screams.
W
Finn heard a splash, but before he could leap after Cora, a hand caught hold of his collar and jerked him back. He landed on his back, sliding a foot down the incline before coming to rest against someone’s legs.
He stared into the muzzle of an AK-47 pointed unceremoniously at his head.
“Don’t move,” the man said.
“Like fuck.” Finn jerked up, slapped the AK away, and drove his fist into the man’s groin. He went down like a felled tree. Finn managed to grab the AK before they both slid away down the hill. Someone shot at him, but the shot went wild, and the bullet lodged in a nearby tree.
Finn got the AK up. He squeezed the trigger and took out one of the men following. The second took cover behind a tree. Finn held down the trigger, walking backward until the weapon stopped roaring.
He tossed down the useless weapon and scrambled up the last few feet to the ridge. Paused for the second it took him to scan the length of the Rio Grande. Cora bobbed, fighting the current from her position in the middle of the wide river.
Fighting, but not winning.
W
Cora swam as hard and fast as she could. Battling against the current. Trying to make it to the river bank. It was so close — two yards, maybe less — but it could have been a mile away.
The river sucked at her, as inexorable as gravity.
It felt like trying to swim in a leaden scuba suit. The water became thick soup. Then wet concrete. Fire in her shoulders and legs. It was good, that fire, despite how much it burned. It told her she was still alive. As long as her muscles burned and ached, she knew she could still feel.
The urge to just stop swimming, to just let it take her and be done, was strong.
