It didn’t.
The man from the beach at the hotel in Ibiza stepped around to my front, staring down at me as I glared at him. A fresh well of blood slickened my hands, trailing over skin to puddle on the ground beneath me.
“My son is very anxious to see you again, Isabel,” he said, crouching down in front of my face. He reached out a hand to grasp my chin, turning my face from side to side as he studied me. “I hardly think you were worth all this effort.” He grunted, releasing my face so suddenly that my temple smacked into the floor and spots danced in my vision.
He turned, striding for the front of the plane. “Then why bother?” I asked.
He glanced at me over his shoulder, a cruel smirk transforming his face. “What kind of father would I be if I didn’t give my son the toy he’s wanted for thirteen years?” he asked, chuckling under his breath. “And when he’s finished with you, I’ll send you back to Rafael piece by piece to repay his precious gifts he’s sent me these last few months.”
“He’ll come for me. You’re a fool if you think otherwise,” I said, resolved to the fact that everyone knew it. Even if Rafael didn’t love me, allowing his pregnant wife to be taken would show a weakness his reputation couldn’t tolerate.
But he did love me, and he would burn the world to the ground to see me safe.
“Then perhaps he’ll get to watch. How kind of him to save me some postage.” He turned, slamming the door behind him and leaving Faye and I alone.
We didn’t speak. There was nothing else to say.