Page 99 of Cartel Devil

It’s really, really bad.

There must be bodies.

“Don’t look, chiquita.”

“But what if they need help?”

“Our men are doing that right now.”

There’s a finality to his voice that tells me it’s more of a body count than a rescue.

“We have to go. Can you walk?”

“I think so. I don’t know.”

To say I feel a bit shaken would be the understatement of a lifetime. My ears are ringing as my heart races so hard that my ribs ache. My nose still burns, and the air’s grown so dry, that my throat’s scratchy. But I grit my teeth and accept Joaquin’s help as he far more gently grasps my upper arms and eases me to my feet. He shifts to keep me from seeing the entire scene, but I spy enough to understand.

“How’d you know?”

“The sound the engine started making.”

I grew up in Boston, but I’m momentarily disoriented with the plumes of smoke. I sweep my gaze over our surroundings, trying to get my bearings again. The few people who were on the streets around us have disappeared, scattered to the wind, wisely sheltering somewhere. A handful of Diaz men surround us while I spy a mix of Vizzini and Diaz guards tending to ones on the ground. I’m too rattled for my sluggish mind to take in much more than that. I observe Joaquin, and he appears unfazed, but I know that’s not the case. He’s just been trained not to show his emotions. It’s so fucked-up, but it’s so calming at the same time.

He slings me over his shoulder again and takes off. I don’t know how he can run with me like this. I swallow my moans as his shoulder digs into my belly. It’s already tender. I squeeze my eyes shut to battle back the nausea from being upside down and bouncing with each step.

“Chiquita, I know you can’t be comfortable, but we have to get inside somewhere now.”

I hear the strain in his voice, and I can tell he’s scared he’s hurting the baby or me, but his fear that someone might open fire on us outweighs that worry. We can’t head back to the bakery because it’s too far, and whoever did this likely knows we were there. Joaquin bolts through an alley, crosses a street, and runs down another alley. I have a rough idea of where we are, so I open one eye a crack as Joaquin slows. He spotted a bank. Just before we turn the building’s corner, he sets me on my feet. His men holster their guns but continue to surround us. Joaquin hustles me inside.

“Good afternoon.”

A far too chipper man greets us. Or maybe he’s totally normal, and I have no grip on reality. Joaquin guides me toward some seats, and I gladly sink onto one. My heart’s still drumming in my ears. Maybe it’s actually a ringing from the noise the three explosions made. I don’t know how no one was screaming. Maybe they were, and I couldn’t process yet another stimulus.

“What can we help you with today?”

“Nothing. My wife suddenly felt a bit dizzy, so I brought her inside to rest for a couple minutes.”

“Oh, ma’am, I’m sorry to hear that. Can I get you some water?”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

I close my eyes and inhale through my nose. I sense Joaquin hovering even more, yet he says nothing and doesn’t even touch me. I keep my voice so low that I worry he might not hear me.

“Daddy, I’m all right. I just need a moment. Hold my hand, please. I need to feel you next to me.”

“Anything you need, mi corazón.”

That’s new. I’ve heard the term before, so I know it means “my heart.”

“I like that, Daddy. Will you keep calling me that even when you’re not worried?”

“Yes, and worried doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel right now.”

I open my left eye a crack—just enough to see him—and immediately notice his face is incredibly pale. Like he was stripped of his suntan in an instant. I don’t have the chance to ask him if he’s hurt because the guy comes back with a water bottle. Joaquin takes it from him and opens it for me. I know to sip even though I want to guzzle it.

Joaquin thanks the guy and pulls a chair closer to mine. He rests his hand on my belly as he whispers to me.

“I activated my tracker. I’m certain the men have done the same. Did you do yours?”