Page 71 of Ravaged Hearts

Movement at the door caught my eye. Red silk.

Gabriela.

She aimed a small snub-nosed revolver at Jorge’s back. The weapon shook in her hands as she shifted on her feet nervously.

Vaughn must’ve spotted her approaching before I had. He’d been baiting Jorge to keep him distracted.

“Patrón!” yelled the jerk holding me.

Jorge spun to face his wife. Sergio tossed me aside and reached for his weapon. Gabriela swung her pistol toward my guard and shot him. One, two, three times. Sergio went down.

Her aim reverted to Jorge.

He held a palm up. “Gabriela, I will?—”

Gabi shouted a war cry, firing shot after shot into Jorge until she’d expelled every round in the chamber.

Click, click, click.Gabi continued pulling the trigger despite the lack of ammunition. Her arms dropped to her sides. The weapon slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

Except Jorge still stood. Patches of blood stained his white shirt, but the small-caliber bullets weren’t enough to take him down. He staggered as though he were about to topple. Thenhe groaned and pressed a hand against a wound in his chest. The other hand still held the knife.

“Hope,” Vaughn called, and jerked his chin toward Sergio’s corpse and the pistol beside the man’s hand.

But Jorge noticed, too, so I dove for the gun. My knees skidded along the hard floor, slipping on Sergio’s blood. I reached for the weapon with my bound hands.

Jorge leapt for me. But Vaughn lashed out, clamping his legs around Jorge’s waist to reel him in. The overhead chain rattled as the pair struggled. It bought me time to snatch the pistol.

Vaughn released Jorge, who staggered to the back wall, crazy eyed and gasping for air.

I aimed and fired. The first bullet found Jorge’s heart. The second, his skull. He slumped to the floor, leaving a red smear down the wall. Jorge’s eyes were unblinking. Lifeless.

It was over. Jorge was dead. A shuddering sob left my body as I lowered the weapon.

I turned to face Vaughn. He hung limp from his bindings, his torso covered in blood.

Then I saw it.

Jorge’s knife was embedded in Vaughn’s chest.

33

HOPE

Iran to Vaughn. “No. No!”

He remained conscious, barely.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said through gurgling, labored breaths.

What the fuck was he talking about? Everything wasnotall right.

My hands hovered over the wound. There was so much blood. God, it was everywhere.

“What do I do?” I asked, my voice ragged with panic.

Did I pull the knife out? Did I leave it in? How the hell did I help him?

“Nothing.” Vaughn groaned. “There’s nothing you can do.”