He offers a one-shouldered shrug. “Don’t prove me wro—”
It’s not heartburn that cuts him off this time. It’s gunfire. Relatively silent a moment ago, the compound is suddenly alive with noise and shouting and the crack, crack, crack of weapons fired. Julio, somehow, heaves himself to his feet.
“Singa la puta!” he roars, throwing his glass on the floor.
I get to my feet, adrenalin punching through the alcohol. This is not fucking good. It still feels like I’m on a goddamn merry-go-round as I follow after the lumbering form of Julio as he makes his way toward the front entrance of the villa. Outside, all of Julio’s guards are bristling, directing their weapons through the fence toward the burning headlights of a vehicle on the other side.
“Back in the fucking car, puta!”
“Shoot!” one of the guards yells. “Fucking shoot!”
Julio takes in the scene through outraged, bloodshot eyes. “What the hell is going on?” His yelled demand does little to calm the gunmen, although one of them does answer him.
“Some bitch rolled up out of the desert. She’s a fucking cop!”
A spike of fury roils up from my belly. A cop? It can only be that fucking DEA woman, Lowell. That’s probably why my burner’s been ringing off the hook the whole afternoon—Rick trying to tell me she was coming. For a second I almost want the guards to have their way. But then the figure standing in front of the car shifts, a slim body falling into silhouette, and I see that I was wrong. It’s not Lowell, or any other cop. It’s a doctor.
It’s fucking Sloane.
I rage past the gunmen, shoving them roughly out of the way as I charge toward the woman on the other side of the railed gate. All I can see is the startled, petrified look on her face as she stands locked in place, hands outstretched, as if to ward off the bullets with the palms of her fucking hands. I have to stop when I get to the gate—it’s locked. I let out a roar so loud I can feel it tearing at my throat. I smash my fist into the thing, shaking so violently I can barely stand up straight.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” I yell directly into her pale, shocked face. I can’t…I can’t even think through the anger. My hand feels like someone just laid into it with a hammer, but that doesn’t even register. She shouldn’t be here. I made plans, made sure she wouldn’t find herself caught up in all this. Wouldn’t be in any danger. She. Should. Not. Be. Here. “What the fuck?” I ask again, this time growling it under my breath, trying to get a handle on myself. She starts shaking too, hands trembling by her sides.
“They could have…they could have shot you,” she whimpers.
I cast a distracted look over my shoulder, vaguely registering the fifteen M16s now pointed at my back. Julio’s dark bulk wades forward through the sea of muzzles and magazines, one eyebrow raised so high it almost hits his receding hairline.
“Someone you know, Zee?” He looks pissed.
“Yeah.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think! “This is—this is Beth. She’s—my plus one.” I turn back to her, trying to light her on fire with the depths of my anger. “And she should not be here.”
“You have never been more correct,” he replies. His voice is clear of the alcohol now, just like mine. Funny how severe anger can have that effect. I’m angry with Sloane, and Julio is furious with me. “You gave a whore fucking directions to this place?”
Bile churns in my stomach at the title he just gave Sloane, but I can’t say a word about it. I pretty much just called her that myself when I said she was my plus one. I want to plant my fist firmly in his face, but instead I say, “Sorry, Julio. My mistake. I was supposed to pick her up, remember. She must have come looking for me.”
Julio shakes his head at me, mouth hanging open. “That was very inconsiderate, mi amigo.”
“I know. Apologies, brother. I didn’t think.” There is no way he’s gonna fucking buy this. He knows I’m not that completely, utterly, astonishingly stupid. You don’t give this address to anyone. No one. Especially not some girl you wanna fuck. You blindfold them and lead them here in the trunk of a fucking car, making sure to drive in circles to confuse the hell out of them first.
Andreas appears at Julio’s shoulder, tense with fury. Jaw working, Julio looks like he’s come to some sort of decision. “Get her inside,” he snaps, staring straight through me. “Bring her to the study. It’s only polite that you introduce me to your friend.”
“Julio!”
Andreas’s objection is pre-empted and cut short with a raised hand from his boss. Julio turns and stabs a finger into the other man’s chest. “Open the fucking gate, Andreas,” he hisses.