Page 40 of You Can Run

Santiago held his breath.

Ferrera straightened, something clicking into place behind his eyes. “Texas has a lot of water,” he said. “You'll need to do better than that.”

The blade pressed closer. Julian's breath broke under it.

Santiago understood then, with a clarity that left no room for negotiation, that what he'd offered was not going to be enough.

Santiago felt the grit of the kitchen floor pressed into his cheek, every grain sharp against skin already slick with blood. The back of his head throbbed where the pistol had struck him, the pain pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

He tried to move his hands and felt the bite immediately.

Plastic dug into his wrists, cinched tight enough that even the smallest shift sent a burning pressure up his arms. His fingers were already tingling.

He forced his eyes open.

Julian was on his side a few feet away, wrists bound the same way, chest rising too fast. There was blood at his collar where the blade had caught him, a thin line that Santiago couldn't stop looking at.

“You have a nice home here, Santiago,” Ferrera said. “It's a long way from Torreón.”

Santiago swallowed against the swelling in his throat. “Take whatever you want. There's money in the safe. Just let him go.”

Ferrera didn't look at him. “I don't want your fucking money.” He gestured toward the hallway. “Check the rest of the house. People in a hurry always leave something.”

The woman disappeared down the hall without a sound.

Santiago tracked her absence, then forced his focus back to Julian.

Stay quiet. Stay with me.

Ferrera moved through the kitchen, unhurried, his fingers trailing along the countertop. He stopped at a framed photo on the wall of Santiago and Julian on their wedding day, laughing on a beach. He studied it for a moment.

“Where did he take her?” he asked, still facing the photo.

Santiago shook his head. “I told you. I don't know.”

Ferrera stepped forward and drove his boot into Santiago's ribs.

The air left him completely. His body curled inward, his mouth open on nothing, the pain spreading through his chest in sharp, blinding waves.

He couldn't breathe.

“Again,” Ferrera said.

Santiago forced his body to uncurl. He dragged in a breath that burned all the way down. Blood in his mouth again.

Don't say anything. Don't –

“They said something about a man.”

Julian's voice.

Santiago's head snapped toward him. “No—” It came out as a rasp.

Julian's eyes were wide, fixed somewhere past Ferrera, his breathing ragged, the panic rising in a way Santiago had been trying to hold back since they'd hit the floor.

“I heard it,” Julian said, the words rushing now, tripping over themselves. “Before they left. They said a name. Miller. That's all I heard. I swear, that's all.”

Santiago felt something drop out of his chest.