Page 106 of Corrupted Bride

Bullets rip into the space my head should’ve been. I take down a guard camped at the far end of the hall, shooting him in the knees first. His rifle swings along the floor, spitting into the walls, and catches my elbow. I grunt as pain flares and my left arm goes numb. I shoot him in the head, ending the wild fire, and stagger to my feet.

I’m bleeding, but it’s not fatal. Though I’m not sure my arm will ever be the same. I feel the joint grinding, something broken and ruined on the inside. Fuck, it hurts like hell, but I grit my teeth and push forward, thinking about Dario alone in the dark, how I would’ve given anything to rush back to save his life. What’s pain? What’s suffering? If it means I can have him back? I’d do anything, give anything.

And now I want to give the gift I never got to my wife.

I kick aside the dead guard. He was standing in front of a door set back from all the others. Fortunately, thanks to Graciela, I know better than to go through it; instead, I reach upwards, and with an agonizing grunt, I pull down the attic ladder.

Getting up isn’t fucking easy with one arm but I manage. The shooting is still going strong downstairs. I have to trust Nico can hold his own as I shove myself into the nearly blacked-out interior. Paper covers the top windows. Insulation drifts in the air and it smells like dry wood. I bump my head on a roof beam and curse.

There’s noise ahead. Shuffling, mumbling. I take a moment for my eyes to adjust and spot a bare bulb with a pull-chain dangling from it.

I yank hard and click on the light.

Cruz sits in a chair. There’s a gag in his mouth, his hands bound behind his back, his ankles tied together. In that instant, I see Dario in a similar pose, beaten and bloodied. Cruz looks better than my brother did at least. His black eye is yellowing and he doesn’t seem like he’s in terrible shape.

I pull the gag from his mouth.

He spits to the side and breathes in deep before looking at me desperately. “Marisol? Is she okay?”

Fuck, I’ve never felt such pride before in all my life. This boy has been through hell. His own cousin kidnapped him and kept him in a fucking attic. And his first words are about his sister.

“She’s fine. We have to get you out.” I cut his bonds.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Your arm looks bad. What’s happening down there?”

I meet his gaze and hold it firmly. “You’re going to see things when we leave this attic. Prepare yourself.”

He looks startled—then surprises me by laughing.

“If you killed those fuckers, I’m not going to be upset.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Cruz gets to his feet. He seems unsteady but shakes me off when I try to help. “I’ll be first. You only have one arm.”

I don’t argue. He takes the ladder and waits as I manage to shuffle down to him awkwardly. Back in the hall, I check the nearby rooms, but they’re empty.

“Ruben?” he asks hopefully.

I shake my head. “Already left for the funeral.”

“Damn. How’d you get in?”

“Javi opened the back door.”

He scratches his chin. “Javi, huh?”

“I have a feeling your brother is going to apologize.”

“It’s not his fault.”

That hits me hard. Not his fault. I hope to God Dario was thinking the same thing as he died in the dark.

I like to tell myself he knew, and he never blamed me.