Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(100)

I don’t have to look up at Cain’s face to know that there’s a cyclic storm of unanswered questions brewing in his head. Is he wondering about the father that’s in jail? Or the one who called today?

I don’t need to look, and yet I do. My heart stops.

I don’t miss the subtle shake of his head, the clenched teeth.

The disappointment.

The anger, as he realizes that the woman he’s been nothing but kind and generous and loving to is a liar.

I hear the agony in my voice as I whisper, “You need to let me go.” For good. I’m no good for him.

“You want me to let you go? Fine.” I see him swallow hard and then his face turns stony. “Consider yourself gone.”

“What is this?” The guy flips a few strands of my black hair through his fingers. “A wig?”

“You want to borrow it?” I ask smoothly, letting my eyes shift pointedly to his receding hairline.

I get a cold, flinty glare in return. “You’ve got a smart mouth, don’t ya?”

It’s the only thing keeping me from pissing my pants right now. I bite down on my tongue to keep quiet and scan the small hotel room for anything important to note. It’s a different hotel than before, but just as high end. Eddie and Bob are here—without any family as cover—but so is this new guy. He’s on the heavier side, with beady eyes and a couple of days of dark scruff that camouflage the pockmarks on his cheeks. He calls himself Manny. Apparently he’s Eddie’s new partner. Maybe he is, but there’s standard protocol and Eddie has clearly broken it.

Manny is not supposed to be here. The second I saw him sitting on the bed, I made a move to leave but Bob was there, blocking my exit, grabbing my purse before I could think to pull out my gun.

I knew I was trapped.

The pain in my chest instantly blossomed. There’s nothing I can do except pray this isn’t a setup, try not to lose control of my bladder, and get the hell out of here the second I have the chance.

Bob goes about his body search again. Thankfully it’s silent and quick this time—with less groping involved—and I let myself breathe a tiny sigh of relief. I’ve received not a glare, not a word, not a flicker of an eye to do with “the incident.” I can’t help but notice that his nose looks somehow different. A bit swollen. And there’s a lump on the bridge. I wonder if that was courtesy of Nate.

I remind myself that this is a business. A disgusting, illegal business but, as Sam rationalized before, everyone in this room just wants to make a lot of money. I just need to chill out and—

The sound of a small click is the only warning I get before the cool metal of a gun presses against my temple.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

Each one slower, louder, harder. A strange wave of calm washes over me for a moment. And then my stomach drops out from my body, taking with it my ability to speak, to think, to breathe.

“So, what kind of f**king moron is this Sam guy, anyway? I mean, who sends a little bitch in for this kind of deal? You’re good for shoving eight balls up your snatch and driving across the border. Did he really think we wouldn’t put a bullet in you and walk away with the money and the goods? He’s not the only one who can bring this in for us.”

I fight against the shakiness in my legs as Manny drags the barrel of the gun along my cheek toward my mouth, to trail my lips. I can’t stop my knees from wobbling. They’re barely holding me up. “Not so mouthy now, are we?” He pushes the gun in slightly, just enough that I can taste an odd mixture of dirt and metal and salt and oil. The tiniest whimper escapes me. “Of course, a bullet is messy. I hate dealing with that kind of mess. It takes hours to clean up.”

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.