Page 27 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

When I try to palm his face again, he leans up, extending his arms so far his elbows lock.

Thankfully, multiple men grab him off of me just as black dots swarm my vision.

“Cuff that fucking bitch and put her in my room!” he bellows.

The man with the hoop earring lifts me from the floor. “Her hand is bleeding–”

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK! ON MY MAMA THAT BITCH BETTER BE CUFFED TO MY HEADBOARD OR IT’S OVA WITH! JUEGAS CONMIGO SI QUIERES CABRÓN!” He lets the other men drag him out of the room, but he only has eyes on me.

He wipes the bottom half of his face, but since his hands are saturated with blood, it doesn't do anything. Still, he does it and grins. “I got you, Snow. You know I always get mines on the back end!”

“You got him good on his face.”

I turn to the man, hugging myself as the adrenaline finally leaves my body in shivers.

He grins, and gestures for me to follow him. “He’ll need stitches. Let’s get you cleaned up before you guys have round two.”

I take tentative steps after him, thankful we turn left toward the rest of the house, and not right toward my bedroom.

Nan is in the hallway, shaking her head at me. She mutters something in Spanish, and I duck my head, somehow knowing she’s chastising me.

The man says something back, and guides me past her, to another hallway, then what looks like a primary bedroom.

“Don’t trip about her,” the man says, pulling me into a bathroom. He finds the first aid kit easily, and silently cleans my hand and bandages it. I’m dumbfounded as he leaves me in the bathroom, only to return with some towels and some folded clothes.

“I’ll be right outside. You got ten minutes.”

Autopilot kicks in as I shower. All the fight has left me. I’m glad I’m out of that godforsaken room, but now, seeing glimpses of the rest of the house, I know how futile me trying to escape really is.

This nigga has henchman. Guys in pajamas and some in tactical gear that listen to him and do his bidding.

I’m never leaving here.

Resigned to my fate, I dry myself quickly and put on the men's t-shirt and sweats. The man is waiting outside when I’m done, and I let him lead me to the bed. I lay down, and sigh as he cuffs me to the iron rods.

“Look, pretty girl. Rico would have killed you weeks ago if that’s what he wanted to do. You may be missing some fingers or toes, but you gon’ live.”

“Doubt it, but thanks.” I throw him a brittle smile, but he returns an earnest one.

“Trust me, we all been taking bets and honestly, I won the pool. All the other cousins bet you’d be dead before the first week was out. You got heart, and he respects that. You’ll be straight.”

He taps my shin before ambling over to the door.

“Wait!” I call out, not ready to be alone. “What’s your name?”

He turns just as he reaches the doorway. “If I see you again, I’ll tell you.” He winks, and closes and locks the door behind him.

I deflate, melting into the soft bed. My eyelids become heavy, and even though I know I shouldn’t fall asleep, and that this may be the last time I ever fall asleep again, I still let it take me, praying for a quick and merciful death along the way.

Rico

Thirteen stitches in my fucking face.

I’m lucky I can still see, my cousin tells me.

Permanent scarring, even with plastic surgery. Vision may be impaired while healing. I’m fitted with an eye patch I’ll be wearing for the foreseeable future.

This bitch turned me into a pirate.