BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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IRUN through the building, my chest tight and my legs burning, but I don't stop. I can't. My head is on a swivel, checking every corner, every shadow, praying no one's following me. My heart's hammering so loud I swear it's gonna give me away.
I'm here for one reason, and I'm not leaving without it. No matter what.
My grip tightens on the small, crappy knife I found—it's barely more than a letter opener, but it's all I've got. My breath comes in short bursts, fear gnawing at the edges of my mind, but I push it down. I don't have time to be scared right now. I keep telling myself that if I just get through this, I'll be okay. We'll be okay.
But deep down, I'm not sure I even believe that.
I sprint down the hallway, my footsteps echoing off the cold, concrete walls. Suddenly, I skid to a stop, my heart slamming against my ribs as I almost lose my footing. I grab the wall, barely catching myself before I fall. My breath comes in shaky gasps as I press myself flat against the wall, forcing myself to peek around the corner.
I catch a quick glimpse—two guards, armed and alert, followed by at least six more behind them. My stomach twists, and I yank my head back, my pulse now thundering in my ears.
Shit, shit, shit. I'm trapped.
I glance down at the small, crappy knife in my hand and groan inwardly.
This thing is practically useless.
Hearing the footsteps get closer, I drop down to the floor, putting all my weight on one leg, the other extended straight out. My hands press flat against the cold surface, my pulse racing as I wait for the right moment.
As soon as I see two pairs of boots step into the doorway, I sweep my leg across the floor, knocking the first guard's feet right out from under him. He crashes onto his back with a heavy thud. I spin around in one fluid motion, quickly rising to my feet, locking eyes with the second guard.
I've got maybe a second before he reacts, but that's all I need.
The guard glances down at his buddy, still groaning on the floor from the hard slam. He doesn't waste a second before snapping his attention back to me, his eyes narrowing as he raises his H&K MP5, the barrel aimed right at my chest.
Shit.
Without thinking, I raise my guard and twist into a spinning crescent kick. My foot connects with his hand, and the gun goes flying, clattering to the floor. He lets out a grunt, clutching his hand with the other, but the jolt from the impact sends pain shooting up my leg.
That kick hurt like a bitch.
But there's no time to focus on that. He's disarmed, and I've got to make my next move fast.
