Visions of Skyfire

Chapter 57

Miguel made it out of the rain forest.

With his skin still buzzing from the electrical charge in the air, he raced down the hilly incline to where they’d left the cars. The van he ignored. If the others survived, they could take it. He jumped into his jeep, fired up the engine and floored it. Spinning the wheels, he did a quick turnaround and headed out of Palenque as fast as he could.

His gaze studied the view in the rearview mirror, but as far as he could tell, no one was following him. And the lightning had stopped. Was Teresa really responsible for that? Damn. The continuous blasts of lightning bolts slamming into the earth had left him partially deaf. His ears were ringing and his heart crashed crazily in his chest.

He wasn’t safe. Miguel knew that. He wouldn’t put it past the big Eternal to come after him, and if he did, then it wouldn’t matter how fast and far Miguel traveled. The man made of fire would find him.

“F*ck!” He punched the steering wheel a couple of times and didn’t feel any better.

The jeep jolted and bounced over impediments in the road, but kept on going. Just like him, Miguel assured himself. There were problems, sure. But he’d keep going. Parnell still needed him. He’d be able to explain. Hell, who would have known that the damn temple was magically protected?

Teresa, that’s who, he told himself with a furious glower. She must have known what was going on. She’d done it deliberately. Her and that f*cking old woman. They’d tricked him. Anyone could see that. It wasn’t his fault. Hell, if it was anyone’s fault, it was Parnell’s for not expecting this to happen.

Yeah. That was it. Parnell’s fault.

“But I won’t tell him that,” Miguel murmured. “I won’t blame him, so he won’t blame me. He’ll see I did everything I was supposed to. Not my fault it didn’t work. F*ck it—we can catch up to them. We’ll stop them. We can still get the damn Artifact.”

The Artifact.

Ever since he’d first learned of that magical shard of black silver, Miguel had hungered for it. Who wouldn’t? Immeasurable power locked inside a hunk of metal? The key to controlling whatever the hell you wanted to control? If Miguel could only get his hands on it, he could be a king. He could live as he was meant to live.

Not in a damn desert or rain forest, either. He was thinking penthouse. Acapulco, maybe, to start. But with the Artifact, he could go anywhere, do anything.

It was still within his reach.

He would just make Parnell understand the situation. The farther he got from Palenque, the better he felt. In fact, he could almost convince himself that he’d done Parnell a favor. The lightning had killed off most of Miguel’s men and the others wouldn’t last a day in the rain forest. Something was sure to eat them. Another problem solved.

He drove for hours, finally arriving back at the tavern where he’d left Parnell the day before. In the pit of his belly, nerves were alive and churning, but he didn’t let them show. A real man was nothing if not confident.

Miguel wasn’t looking forward to this confrontation, but he knew he could talk the boss around. This was the kind of stuff he was good at. Spinning a well-crafted load of bullshit was Miguel’s specialty.

Smiling, nodding, he silently encouraged himself and hopped out of the car like a man without a care in the world.

“It’s all about attitude,” he told himself, plastering a self-assured smile on his face as he headed for the tavern.

Before he had gone more than a few steps, though, he heard powerful engines roaring up behind him. He turned to watch as three black SUVs skidded to a stop behind his battered jeep. Dust flew into the air in waves thick enough to make Miguel cough and turn his face away.

When the dust settled, he turned back and saw men climbing out of the cars. Big men in black suits, wearing sunglasses, carrying automatic weapons. Fear ratcheted up so fast inside him, he thought his heart would jump right out of his chest. And still he fought for calm. For cool.

“I’m here to see Parnell,” he said. “To explain.”

“Boss ain’t here,” one of the men said.

“Well, get him on the phone,” Miguel argued, looking from one face to the next, finding no sympathy. No sign of mercy.

“He don’t want to talk to you. Said he knows what went down and you’ve failed too many times,” one of them said and nodded to his friends.

He knew?

How the hell did he know?

“No, wait. I can do this,” Miguel said, throwing up both hands as he spoke, fast, panicked. “I know Teresa. I’ll get her. I swear.”

They weren’t listening.

He watched, terrified, as six gun barrels were turned on him. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. It was over and the man who would be king was going to die in the dust of this godforsaken desert.

Should have killed that bitch, was his last thought as gunfire erupted and a hail of bullets cut him down.