Page 68 of Cartel Devil

I try to roll, but he won’t let go. Instead, he presses me down as he comes onto his knees and pulls his gun in one fluid movement. He and the driver shoot and hit the car as it peels off. I don’t know whose bullet hits where, but the rear windshield shatters, and the back passenger tire bursts. It doesn’t stop our attacker from driving off.

Our driver yells in Spanish into his earpiece as Joaquin lifts me into his arms. The driver gets the back door open, and Joaquin’s pushing me in before I understand what’s happening.

“¡Mass General ya! No me importa cómo nos lleven. Háganlo sin matarnos.”

“Joaco?”

“I said ‘Mass General now! Don’t care how you get us there. Do it without killing us.’ Rest, chiquita. We’ll get you to the ER as fast as we can. Just stay with me, little one?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Joaco. I⁠—”

The sharpest shooting pain I’ve ever felt bursts through my middle, and I look down. I spot what Joaquin already had. There’s blood on my jeans, and it’s not from a cut or him. It’s along the inside of my jeans pant leg.

“Joaco!”

“I know, chica. We’ll be there soon. I promise.”

I’m too stunned to do anything but stare. It starts as a tremble, but I’m soon shaking. I don’t know if it’s the pain, shock, or fury that someone tried to hurt us. Hurt our baby. When Joaquin’s terrified gaze meets mine, I realize I’m about to make the most stoic man I know panic.

“I’m okay, Joaco.”

“I—I⁠—”

He keeps me cradled on his lap and strokes my hair as I cling to him. He has no words, and neither do I. Neither of us says anything as we ride to the hospital. The driver’s talking to someone through his earpiece, but I can’t understand him. Joaquin doesn’t weigh in. He just watches me, his gaze shifting between my face and the blood on my pants. I try not to think about the obvious implications.

A particularly sharp cramp makes me cry out.

“Tre!”

Chapter Fifteen

Joaquin

Every part of me hurts.

Never have I appreciated my training more. I’ve dedicated years to building my pain tolerance and learning to mask my reactions to everything. I don’t want Tre to see how uncomfortable I am. She hasn’t noticed my injuries, and I don’t intend to point them out. Right now, we’re both more focused on the implications of the blood on her jeans.

The headache and chest pains could be from the car hitting me dead on or from the panic nipping at me. The blood I feel trailing down my back is definitely the road rash. I feel the gash on my right hip from the fender hitting me, but it grounds me. It’s something real among all my racing thoughts.

“Joaquin, I’m scared.”

“Me too, chica. But we aren’t far from the hospital. Just a couple more minutes.”

I struggle to keep my voice as soothing as I can. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. I don’t want to patronize her when we both understand the danger—both from the attack and that the baby’s in. She never uses my full name now. I don’t remember the last time she did. It tells me she’s barely holding on.

“What if—what if we don’t get there in time?”

“No matter what, I’m staying with you, Tre.”

“That’s not what—Uhhh!”

The sheer agony in her scream pulls forth the darkest part of me. The part that wants to go on a rampage. The part that’s so singularly focused that I’d leave her behind to avenge her and our child. The part that won’t stop until there’s not a single scrap left of whoever did this.

Her nails biting into my forearm brings me back to reality. I said I’d stay with her, and I won’t make promises I can’t keep. There’ll be time to deal with who did this later. I’ll make all the fucking time in the world for it.

“Chiquita, we’re pulling up right now. Tomás will get a wheelchair and nurse.”

“He won’t pull his⁠—”