He folded his hands behind his back and stared at the ground. He didn’t think the boy could pull the trigger with him watching. He might not be able to pull the trigger at all. Killing a man at point-blank range was no easy feat. The aftereffects were unpleasant, as well.
Güero edged closer. He took careful aim. Armando held his breath and waited for the blast. Seconds ticked by, but it didn’t come.
“Stop being such a pussy and shoot him in the head,” Benito said.
Güero scowled at him. “I’ll shoot you in the head if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“In the chest, por favor,” Armando murmured. “For my daughter’s sake.”
Benito strode forward. “Let me do it.”
Tito started arguing with his son, telling him not to interfere. They shuffled around in the dirt, kicking up dust. If Armando wanted to fight, he should do it now, while they were distracted. Even though his wound ached and he was weary of violence, he had a strong survival instinct. His muscles tensed with anticipation, but he held still.
For Sarai.
The chaos sparked Güero into action. He aimed at Armando’s chest and fired twice in rapid succession. Both bullets hit their mark.
Armando fell over in the dirt and stayed there, his heart exploding.
He’d imagined that he wouldn’t feel anything, but he did. He felt an incredible amount of pain. Agony wrenched through his entire torso. His chest locked up and his lungs seized. Dark clouds floated across his vision. He thought about Sarai, and how she’d loved him as a little girl. She used to beg him to pick her up every day when he came home from work. He’d swing her in a circle and lift her up like an airplane, flying her around the house.
He also thought about Alma. The light of his life. His true love. Maybe, by the grace of God, he’d find a way to join her.
Chapter 24
Ian carried Sarai as far as he could.
She fought the whole way, kicking and screaming. When she bit his shoulder, he dropped her in the dirt. After a moment of rolling around on the ground and struggling to free her wrists, she stopped. She stared up at him with a dusty, tear-streaked face.
“Untie me,” she ordered in Spanish.
He didn’t think that was a good idea.
She stomped her feet. “How much is my father paying you? Go back there and help him, you coward!”
Massaging the nape of his neck, he glanced around for Maria. He spotted her with Hugo at the edge of the canyon. Relief overwhelmed him at the sight. She was safe. Her brother was safe. Hugo was sitting on a rock while she made a sling out of Ian’s pin-striped shirt.
“We’re going that way,” he said. “You can walk, or I’ll carry you.”
She followed his gaze, sniffling. “I’ll walk.”
He lifted her to her feet warily. His eyebrow was swollen and bloody, and his shoulder smarted from her bite mark. He didn’t need any more abuse. She walked at a fast clip, seeming eager to reunite with Hugo. He tried to stand up to meet her, but Maria urged him to sit back down. She tied the shirtsleeves in a knot over his shoulder.
Hugo waited for Sarai with an expression that was part lovesick puppy, part extreme discomfort. Jesus. The poor kid already had it bad.
They were about twenty yards away when more gunshots echoed through the canyon. Sarai froze, glancing at Ian. It was the Smith & Wesson. Ian knew what that meant, and so did Sarai. She turned and started running the opposite direction.
“Goddamn it,” he muttered, taking off after her. His leg wasn’t completely healed, and it was difficult to keep his footing on the sandy earth. But Sarai couldn’t run fast with her arms tied behind her back, either. He picked up the pace and started gaining on her. Then she tripped over a rock and went down hard. The impact snapped the ropes at her wrists. She got one hand free and kept going, sprinting through the canyon. He couldn’t catch her.
By the time they reached Armando, it was too late. He was lying on his side, eyes open. There were two small bullet holes in the center of his chest. The exit wounds in his back weren’t as neat.
The men who’d killed him were gone.
Sarai sank to the ground and started pummeling his dead chest. “You can’t leave me like this,” she screamed. “I hate you! I’ve always hated you!”
Ian winced at these harsh words. He was no fan of Armando Villarreal, but Sarai’s emotional reaction was tough to watch. Ian couldn’t think of anything worse than a daughter shouting that she hated her father right after he’d been executed. After he’d sacrificed his life for hers.
Ian considered his own relationship with his mother. How would he feel if he found her dead of an overdose on the bathroom floor?
The same way. The exact same way.
Sarai pounded her fists against Armando’s lifeless body for another minute. Then she collapsed on top of him and released a series of ragged, gut-wrenching sobs. Hugo and Maria appeared in the distance, a twin mirage on the blurry horizon.
“My mother is a drug addict,” he told Sarai in Spanish.
“So what?” she shot back, wiping her nose.
“I hate her. I try not to, because it’s an ugly feeling. It makes me ugly.”
She stared at him with a mixture of contempt and despair.
“I love her, too, but the hate…” He made a claw shape over his heart with one hand. “It’s there.”
“How do you get rid of it?”
“I don’t know.”
She returned her gaze to Armando, uncurling her fists. More tears slid down her face. He didn’t know if his words had any effect on her, but he was glad he said them. Voicing those thoughts out loud felt better than holding them inside.
When Maria appeared next to him, Ian wanted to draw her into his arms and never let go. Instead he kept his distance while she hugged Sarai. He watched Maria cry for Armando Villarreal, real tears of sorrow and affection. Ian didn’t begrudge her tears as much as he’d anticipated. It was difficult to be jealous of a dead man.