Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(101)

His words aren’t missed. The promise in them stops my heart from beating altogether, as if someone has put his hand over the pendulum to stop time. My time, that is.

A calming numbness begins to swell through my body, mingling with the terror, and my thoughts drift morbidly away. I wonder how much of my blood will actually hit the gold-and-tan striped wallpaper. That would leave a lot to clean up. Will they do it here or somewhere else?

A loud click sounds in my ear. Not the safety, not the chamber loading . . .

The trigger.

Manny just pulled the trigger.

Cold rushes in a sudden wave from my head down to my feet, every part of my body paralyzed except for my eyes. They take in hotel room, Eddie, Bob. I’m still here.

I’m still alive.

Maybe I didn’t hear that. Maybe it was just my imagination.

Manny’s mouth is moving again. It takes all of my focus to hear his words. “ . . . or we could also cut this tight little body up into a thousand pieces and feed it to the gators.” He shows me two silver teeth when he smiles. I stare at them, wondering how long he’s going to drag this out, as he moves the gun from my mouth, sliding it down my chin, following the contour of my throat. I swallow hard as it keeps moving down my neck to my chest. The barrel of the gun tugs down the top of my shirt until it exposes the lace on my bra. “Of course, I’d make good use of this first. Such a waste not to.”

My focus slides to his hands—big, rough-looking, hairy-knuckled hands. I’m sure he’s not gentle. A single shudder courses through my body. I’m sure this is going to be ten times more horrific than what I lived through with Sal.

And I won’t be walking away this time.

I wonder what will happen after I’m gone. Will Sam care? Will he seek revenge? Or . . . was this the plan all along? Botched drug bust that leaves girl dead in hotel.

Maybe Sam does truly love me.

Enough that he can’t actually do the killing himself and so he’s set Manny up to do it.

I wish I had kissed Cain today. Just one last kiss. Will he care that I’m gone? Will he even bother trying to contact me again? Will he figure out that I’m dead?

Now I can see the gun, see Manny’s hands, see his finger on the trigger as it pulls. I jump with that clicking sound but otherwise stay still. Stay frozen. How? I don’t know. How have I not lost consciousness now?

“Damn clip. Not sure how many bullets I have in here,” Manny murmurs with a cruel smile.

“Manny,” I hear Eddie call somewhere in the background. At least I think I do. My senses are sharper and at the same time feel completely unreliable. “Quit playing games. It’s unnecessary.”

“You are an odd one,” Manny murmurs, ignoring his partner. “I have a few bitches bringing stuff in from Mexico. They drop to their knees for me as soon as I show them my gun, groveling and crying. But you . . .” His jaw offsets as he ponders me, his eyes shifting down to my chest. He pushes the metal harder against my chest . . . harder . . . harder . . . until I grit my teeth to keep from crying out in pain. “Trying to be tough. I’ll bet you’d cry by the end. That’s all right, though . . .” With the gun still pressed painfully against my chest, his free hand reaches down to grab hold of an inner thigh. I can feel the heat from his fingers as he squeezes my flesh painfully hard. “I’ll make you scream one way or another.”

The cool feeling deep inside me spreads wider and wider, fully taking over my senses now, as my breathing turns shallow.

And I know that shock has settled in.

Shock is good.

Shock will get me through this.

If anything can get me through this.

Eddie’s still talking in the background. “This is good stuff, Manny. Don’t burn this bridge for us right out of the gate.” He’s sitting on the bed, his hand over the suitcase, his face calm but his eyes full of wariness.

At first I don’t think Manny heard him. But then I see his eyes tighten, and I can tell he’s weighing his options. I imagine I know what they are: on one side of the scale is a valuable shipment of drugs that he could walk out of here with for free, but have to deal with a body and possible repercussions; and on the opposite side is a long-term business relationship. How long-term, really? Will it be two drops or ten before he make good on his promise? I imagine it’s only a matter of time.

“It’s all good. All here,” Bob says, thumbing through the multitude of vials. “Let’s finish this up and move on. We don’t need a mess to clean up.”

“Just remember this moment if you ever think to come in here with the cops in your pocket.” With one last long, hard look at my face, Manny drops his arm and steps away. I don’t allow myself to take a full breath, even as Bob hands me the camera bag full of money, opened.

I struggle to keep my focus on the money as I flip through a few bundles, making sure they’re not just newsprint or blank paper. Though, really, I don’t see what the point is. If these guys want to rip Big Sam off, they easily can. If they want to rape me and chop me up into a thousand pieces for the gators, they can do that too. Manny’s right. Young women are used as expendable mules across borders for small deliveries, not to complete massive transactions in hotel rooms. Sending me in here is just a disaster waiting to happen.

“We’re good,” I manage to force out, though my throat is bone dry. I throw the strap over my shoulder and turn, my hearing warped, my vision blurry as it focuses intently on the door.