A meaty hand snatched her arm hard enough to make her squeal in pain. Acting on instinct, she dropped her head to sink her teeth into the thick, tattooed forearm attached to the hand.
Blood filled her mouth, but she didn’t let go. She tossed her head from side to side like an animal, tearing through flesh with enough force that she felt something come loose.
She would’ve kept going but a blow to the side of her head sent her reeling. Francesca released the arm. Blood dripped from her mouth and white lights danced in front of her eyes as she listed into the side of the car. Fingers twisted into her hair.
And then they let go.
The man dropped to the ground next to her. The scent of cauterized flesh singed her nose. She stared at him, uncomprehending, and at the smoking hole in his back. A ring had been burned through his clothing around the wound, exposing just enough undamaged skin to see the twisting body of a snake.
The squeal of the van’s tires made her jump. Francesca’s head swiveled. She watched as the black van, its back door still open, peeled away from the scene at a reckless speed.
Luis stood by the trunk of his car, his feet braced shoulder-width apart, and fired at the back of it until the van disappeared from view. As soon as it rounded a corner, his attention snapped back to her. He’d looked perfectly calm during the attack, but now…
Luis dropped his gun on the ground and dove for her. His eyes were wide as saucers as he knelt beside her, and his hands were everywhere, patting, rubbing, and searching for wounds that didn’t exist.
In a panicked voice, he demanded, “Where are you hurt? Were you shot?”
Francesca opened her mouth to assure him that she was pretty much fine, actually, only to realize that there was something in the way. Gagging, she spat out what could only be a chunk of her attacker’s forearm.
Luis’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “What?—”
“Not mine,” she wheezed, horrified.
His gaze bounced between her and the dead man. Finally seeing the bloody hole in his outstretched arm, a visible wave of relief crashed over him. “Oh, that’s all. Good. Okay. Anything else?”
“I hit my head, I think?” she answered, too shocked to cry or scream or vomit quite yet. “Not too bad. Just a bruise, probably.”
“Thank fuck.” He grasped the back of her neck to bring her in for a hard kiss to her forehead. Helping her up onto shaky legs, he ushered her back into the car.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“We’re getting the fuck out of here,” he answered, slamming her door shut. Completely ignoring the body on the ground, he jogged to the driver’s side and slid in.
Whatever contentment she’d seen before vanished. He gripped the wheel tightly enough to bleach his knuckles white.
Still tasting blood in her mouth, she whispered, “Was that Malachi?”
“I’d bet everything I have on it, yeah,” he answered.
Her stomach fell. In an instant, she understood why Luis had been so upset that she left the house. If she’d been on her own when that happened, there wasn’t a chance she could’ve escaped.
Nausea rolled in her stomach. This time, she was the one to reach across the console. Wordlessly, she tied the loose end of the rope around his wrist. Only when there was a double knot in place did she shrink back into her seat.
TWENTY-FOUR
Francesca didn’t givemuch thought to where he was taking her. She only blinked owlishly when they pulled through an ornate iron gate in an expensive neighborhood dotted with miniature mansions.
“Is this the Amauri Estate?” she asked, peering up at the house.
Luis cut the engine. Untying his end of the rope, he answered, “No. This is my parents’ house.”
A jolt of something uncomfortable broke through the haze of her shock. “Are we staying here?”
“No. We’re picking up my go-bag.” He took a long, dark look at her face. “And you’re getting washed up.Beforeyou look in any mirrors.”
Suddenly tempted to glance in the rear view mirror, she asked, “Why? Is it that bad?”
“It’s… pretty bad.”