After ten minutes of being back on the road, my curiosity was starting to drive me crazy. I was determined to remain on their good sides, but I couldn’t help wanting to know my fate.
“If you don’t mind my asking, where are you taking me? Who are you taking me to? Are you going to kill me?”
The man next to me snickered, the driver huffed, and the front passenger glanced back, keeping me pinned in his gaze.
“You’re definitely not going to be killed. However…” he paused before releasing a teasing grin. “You’ll probably hate your new husband enough to want to kill yourself,” he stated.
What?
Arjen Vallin wasn’t the man I wanted to be with, but I don’t believe he was bad enough to make me want to kill myself. Who was this new husband they were taking me to meet?
For someone that hadn’t had a boyfriend for six very lonely months, I was now engaged to a big-time arms dealer, was pretty sure I was in love with his brother, and was being driven to someone else that I was apparently going to marry.
“Who am I engaged to now?” I questioned. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I was promised to Arjen Vallin.”
“Angel Ramirez,” the one next to me announced. “He has been talking about you nonstop and already threatening our lives if we didn’t bring you back by any means necessary,” the front seat passenger volunteered. “We’ve lost ten men over you, all while attempting to avoid a war.”
Ten? War? What was going on?
“Angel Ramirez? Why would Angel Ramirez want to marry me? I’m engaged to Arjen Vallin.” The news sent my mind in a million directions, connecting to horrific ideas, each with its own tragic outcome.
“You are set to be wedded to Angel. That’s all you need to know,” the man next to me stated. The finality in his tone didn’t stop me from asking more questions.
“How did I come to be engaged to Angel Ramirez? Are you the guys who have been stalking me for the last few weeks? Why does he want to marry me? I don’t have anything to offer him.” I continued to question them, but the more I asked, the more tightlipped the men became.
The last hour of the trip had me on pins and needles and in distress about what awaited me once the vehicle stopped. One horrific image after another, flashed through my mind of me living the rest of my life in a dungeon.
Angel Ramirez, the head of one of the most notorious Mexican Cartels, known as the FA, was as notoriously whispered about as the Vallins. The FA were known for beheading people and setting off fear in anyone they deemed a threat.
How had I ended up becoming the fiancée of Angel Ramirez? I couldn’t compute how I would be on his radar unless it had something to do with the Vallins. Did they have beef with the FA? Was this the type of trouble being married to a Vallin would bring?
My eyes fell closed, and I attempted to shake away a chill that froze my skin and stiffened my back. This had to have been all a big mix up. The prayers I was chanting in my head grew louder and more intense when we left the interstate.
We met scenery that was no more than wide open dusty land as far as the dark windows would allow my eyes to see.
When the vehicle slowed, I stretched my neck, eager to see where we were. We drove along a long stretch of paved road that led to the entrance of a residence set apart from the town.
Even in the dark view, I picked up the shadowed, but serious postures of the armed guards with machine guns. The closer we drove, the more the light surrounding the property provided a better view. I didn’t miss the motion detectors and cameras all over the place. There were at least three buildings surrounding a multimillion-dollar gated and guarded mansion.
The house was well-appointed, tall and stately, brick with large windows, but with squared angles like a prison. The lights surrounding it shone up from the ground and cast it in a sparkling glow that highlighted its enormous size and luxurious features. Angel had money, lots of it, which meant he held a substantial amount of power as well.
My internal prayers started to turn into desperate whispers. Danger. I sensed it digging in deep and folding me in its suffocating grip. It seemed the only doorway I was destined to pass through would send me into a future bathed in danger.
An endless array of horror flirted with my mind as I was being escorted from the vehicle. Thick dark clouds loomed low and blocked the waking sun, but they moved fast in the sky like they were being chased by something horrific.
The guards gawked when I made my way towards the front door and stepped through. A few members of the house staff stopped and stared at the lowly lamb being led to the slaughter. The key to my unknown fate had been placed in the hands of another dangerous man.
After I was marched into the house, my upper arm in my escort’s tight grip, we entered the formal dining area. I was allowed a brief glance before a stiff finger pointed to the large, beautifully-crafted thick wooden table.
“Sientate aqui,” the man ordered me to sit. Thanks to Mecca, I knew some Spanish, so I took the seat as directed. Why was he speaking Spanish now when he had spoken perfectly fine English during the drive?
The sensation of overwhelming hopelessness had taken over and slayed my heart. When a man that I assumed was Angel Ramirez walked in, my attempt to stop the flow of my tears was useless. I had reached a state of emotional overload. The smile that spread over his face as he scanned me was an appreciative one.
“Hola,” he greeted. I nodded once, and stared, too filled with grief to render a verbal reply. “Parate,” he ordered with the wave of his hand, and I stood, quickly. Not pissing him off was likely all that would keep me from meeting his other side.
Men with names that incited fear always had a side you never wanted to meet. I prayed he didn’t break off into rapid Spanish that he expected me to understand because my vocabulary was limited.
“You’re even more beautiful than your pictures,” he complimented. “But, your pretty little face and body is not the reason I went through so much trouble to get you. I know where your true value lies,” he snickered, tapping his index finger to his temple. His accent was thick with his Mexican heritage, but his words were expressed with an edge of properness to them.