His Ruthless Temptation

Chapter Eight

The woman who was driving hadn't spoken much since we'd left Medellín. At first, I was grateful for the silence. I couldn't bring myself to trust anyone right now. But the quiet only gave me more time to think, to replay every moment in my head.

The road stretched endlessly before us, the hum of the old truck's engine filling the silence. My thoughts swirled chaotically, untethered, replaying the moment over and over again. The memory of the gunshot felt like a physical weight in my chest, pressing down harder with each passing mile.

I had pulled the trigger.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. I'd shot someone. For what I knew, he was probably dead. I'd aimed for his chest, not directly at his heart, but close enough to cause real damage. My mind clawed through the details I could remember: the way he staggered, the blood blooming across his shirt, his cold eyes staring back at me. I didn't stay long enough to see if he fell unconscious, if he called for help, if he...

The thought of his death churned my stomach. Was he still alive? Had his men found him in time? And if he was dead...

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the truck window, trying to drown out the questions. My hands trembled in my lap, the gravity of what I'd done crashing into me all over again. Never in my life—never in the brief time since I became an attorney, fresh out of law school and determined to uphold justice—had I imagined I'd end up here, on the run, with blood on my hands. My principles, the ones I'd clung to so fiercely, felt like a distant memory. The person I was starting to become in just a few short days was unrecognizable to me.

But what choice had I had?

From the moment Acero entered my life, he had unraveled everything. He had kidnapped me. Every move he made left me no room to breathe, let alone find a peaceful way out. I'd tried to reason with him, tried to manipulate him, even tried to outsmart him, but nothing worked. I genuinely felt like this had been my only chance, the only path left to me.

And yet, no amount of justification could steady my trembling hands.

I forced myself to stay awake. Every time my eyelids began to droop, fear jolted through me like an electric shock. The woman glanced at me occasionally, as if debating whether to speak. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice tentative.

"¿Qué pasó, mija? Pareces asustada." (What happened, girl? You look scared.)

I stiffened, my guard shooting up instantly. "Tuve un accidente," I said, keeping my voice low and steady. "Perdí mis cosas." (I had an accident. I lost my things.)

Her brow furrowed, her hands tightening on the steering wheel. "¿No tienes papeles?" (You don't have papers?)

"Por eso voy a la embajada americana," I said quickly, avoiding her eyes. (That's why I'm going to the American Embassy.) "Ellos pueden ayudarme." (They can help me.)

She didn't respond right away, her silence stretching uncomfortably. I could feel her studying me, trying to piece together my story. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead.

"Bueno," she said eventually, nodding. "Puedo dejarte cerca." (Alright. I can drop you off nearby.)

"Gracias," I mumbled softly, the words barely escaping my lips. She glanced at me briefly, her expression neutral but curious.

"Me llamo Rosa," she offered after a pause. (My name is Rosa.)

I hesitated, my mind racing, before I nodded slightly. "Mucho gusto," I said evenly, avoiding giving my name in return. (Nice to meet you.)