Page 92 of Saving Grace
Sirens sounded in the distance. Someone must have called 911.
“Whoever’s paying you, better be worth it,” I said, standing up.
“Grace …”
“Don’t die on me, Troy,” I said softly, walking toward his second—or rather his ex-second.
“Dammit, Grace.”
“You’ll let him live,” I said, stopping in front of Cristiano.
He looked at his men. “If he moves before we leave, shoot him.”
I glanced back at Troy, begging him with my eyes to stay alive and not do anything idiotic.
I saw shadows lurking around the buildings before I stepped into the vehicle. I didn’t think anyone had a plan to save me as the van’s door closed upon me. But I was hoping the quicker I complied, the quicker someone could help Troy. My heart was only now processing the loss of Roger— my constant shadow and a good man. He didn’t deserve to die this way.
Now, I just had to stay alive for Matt and our baby.
We were on the road for about twenty minutes. I didn’t know which direction we were headed since I was hooded with my hands cuffed behind my back from the moment we left the small town. I was in my pajamas and slippers, not exactly ideal attire if I had an opportunity to run from these bastards.
Judging from the conversation in the car and on the radio, only Cristiano and a driver were in the van with me. His other two men followed in a sedan behind us. Before they threw the hood on me, I recognized them as part of Troy’s gang.
“So why take me, Cristiano?”
“A certain assassin seems to be obsessed with you.”
“You’re working for El Segador?”
The biker laughed. “Hell, no. No money in that. The cartel wants us to get rid of him, and you, my dear, are our bait.”
“I don’t understand. He works for the cartel.”
“The Reaper works for himself and he can’t be trusted anymore. The cartel wants to reinvent itself and remove every trace of the Vargas leadership. Do you think they didn’t know about the accountant wanting to get out? They had their smugglers bring in the heroin that day, and orchestrated it so the last remnants of the Vargas regime converged there and got wiped out—the accountant, his trusted smugglers, and his hit squad, including The Reaper—all supposedly wiped out by an act of terrorism. They’ve got their new distributors in play as emergency personnel, but they underestimated The Reaper’s cunning. He never shows up in public places and prefers working in the background.”
“But the men who abducted me worked for him.”
“There was confusion in the change of orders. The Reaper managed to maintain control of one of the ambulances meant to ferret out the heroin and used it to whisk you out instead.”
My head was beginning to hurt. “So, The Reaper knew about my deal with the accountant, but not the airport bombing?”
“Correct.”
“He must be pissed that he’s been betrayed.” Lots of cross and double-cross. I remembered the warning from the dying man.
Trust no one.
“I imagine the cartel is a bit nervous,” Cristiano admitted. “They’re thankful that you’ve preoccupied their assassin while they figured out ways to solve the problem.”
“They came to you.”
“I wasn’t planning on betraying Troy, but when he made a deal with that accountant, he turned pussy.”
“Don’t you want to lead a more honest life, Cristiano?” My thoughts went to the accountant’s “cousin.”
“Doing what?” the biker responded. “Working as a mechanic? Like Roger?”
My blood boiled. I had the sudden urge to head butt him. “You murdered a good man in cold-blood, you asshole,” my voice turned thick. “He’s twice the man you are.”