Page 102 of Cartel Devil

I know Joaquin won’t fireman carry me again because it’d expose me as a target. It’s awkward, but he sweeps me into his arms and cradles me as he runs. I move to wrap my arms around his neck, but he stops me.

“Curl them in against your chest, don’t expose them.”

“But it would protect your neck.”

“I protect you, not the other way around.”

“Bullshit. Are you really going to say something that asinine right now? Are you trying to pick an argument for later?”

“Protect me when you’re not pregnant, mi corazón.”

I gaze up at him for a moment before tucking my chin and resting my head against his shoulder. He didn’t call me that to silence me—though it has that effect. He’s reminding me that I matter to him, and not just because I’m pregnant.

“Diaz!”

I look up at Joaquin since I can’t easily turn my head to look around. I recognize the voice. It’s Mikey D. Sounds like a shitty DJ’s name, but there are at least ten Mikeys working for my uncle along with several Mikes and Michaels.

“This way. The don’s cars are waiting.”

My uncle’s men got here faster than Enrique’s. I don’t give a shit who’s who as long as Joaquin trusts them. He switches course as more gunfire erupts behind us. This time, it’s closer, so I know it’s our men returning fire. I didn’t think Joaquin could run faster with me in his arms, but he releases a burst of speed to get us to the SUV’s open door. He’s climbing in as he moves me to the middle seat. His door’s barely closed before we peel out.

I think about the fourth SUV that was with us. I don’t think it blew up. I think those men stayed behind to deal with the dead and wounded.

“Mass General.”

“Thank God, you’re going to get looked at, Joaco.”

He looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind.

“We aren’t going for me. You’re having an obstetrician look you over. Then all the doctor’s findings are going to Madeline and Tía Margherita. Don’t bother arguing, Tre.”

I know it would be futile, but I’m still terrified. Not that someone’s going to kill us. It’s looking at the wounds on Joaquin’s back. He’s leaning forward because it must be excruciating to put any pressure against the multitude of cuts. I can’t tell how deep they are, but his entire back is bloody. I see a shard of glass protruding from one, but I don’t dare pull it free. How he has enough adrenaline to handle this is a testament to the life he leads. The training I’m sure he’s had, and the experiences I can only guess, at best.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Joaquin

In the past week since we arrived in Boston, I’ve aged at least fifty years. At least, that’s how many years this craziness has shaved off my life.

“Joaco, what about Salvatore? He’ll be here soon.”

“That old ass cabrón can wait until I’m ready. If he gives anyone shit about me being late because I’m taking my pregnant girlfriend to the ER after we were nearly blown up, I’ll tell the other two families. He’ll never live it down. Sylvia will finally come to her senses and kill him.”

It hurts like a bitch to twist so I can look at Tre while we talk. But it hurts like a motherfucker to press my back against the seat. I’d like to ride in silence, but I know I’ll pass out if I don’t force my mind to remain active. I’m already freaked out about what could’ve happened to Tre. I don’t need her freaked out, fearing I’m dead, because I passed out.

“Who do you think this was about?”

“Right now, it doesn’t matter. Whoever did this will suffer.”

That’s a promise I’ll take to the grave.

“Promise me something, Joaco.”

“If I can.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”