65. Lily

65

Lily

One hour earlier

I had a plan, of course. All neatly worked out and scientific. But when I saw Antonio walking towards the glass door of the bus, it fluttered right out of my brain. Suddenly, I was back in New York, watching him help to kill Annette.

I heard the phone hit the floor and realized it had slipped out of my numb fingers. Antonio was almost at the door, now, but I still couldn’t move.

“ Lily?”

Bull’s voice saved me. I came back to life and slammed my hand against the close button just as Antonio hit the open button outside. The pneumatics hissed angrily as the door fought itself...but it stayed closed. I thumbed the switch to lock it.

Antonio glared at me through the glass.

I ran for the driver’s seat. Plan A—get the whole bus the hell out of there. I went to fire up the engine—

And stopped. Antonio had parked his sedan right in front of the bus. By accident or design, he’d blocked me in. There was a tree behind me, so I couldn’t back up. Shit!

Plan B—escaping in my Toyota—was out, too. Even if I could make it out through an emergency exit, there was no way I could get to my car before Antonio caught me.

That left plan C: fight.

I heard the glass door crunch and then start to shatter. Antonio was using a tire iron on it. All he had to do was make a big enough hole to get his hand through and flip the lock….

I sprinted to my bed, stuck my hand under it, and pulled my gun from its holster.

I heard the door opening and then the crunch of breaking plastic. Antonio must have stepped on my phone.

I checked my gun was loaded.

Time seemed to slow down as I heard him climb the steps up from the door to the aisle. He took his time. Why the hell wouldn’t he? He thought he knew me. He thought I was the same scared kid he’d known in New York, the one he’d ferried to swimming practice and to her high school prom.

I’d been dreading this day for two years, praying it would never happen. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t prepared for it. And I was scared. But I wasn’t going to let Annette have died for nothing.

Antonio’s voice was world-weary, like an adult telling off a child. “Now,” he said as he stepped into the aisle. “We can do this the easy way or—”

I raised the gun, pointing it straight at him.

He stopped and we both stared at each other. His face had been so deeply burned into my memories, surfacing again and again in my nightmares, that it was a jolt to see it in reality.

“You’re going to shoot me? Really?” he asked.

I couldn’t speak. I nodded instead.

He took a tentative step towards me.

I raised my gun a little more, my hands shaking. “Don’t,” I warned.

“Don’t what? Don’t come any closer?” He took another step, more confident, now. “I gotta. Your uncle sent me all the way out here to bring you home.” Another step. And this time he wasn’t scared at all.

“I’ll shoot you,” I panted. I tried to stop the gun shaking but I couldn’t. “I’ll fucking shoot you.” I centered the sights on the middle of his chest. My finger tightened on the trigger but it felt as if it was made out of lead, welded in place, and secured by girders.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take his life as easily as he’d helped to take Annette’s. And that failure screamed in my ears in her voice.

Antonio took a final step towards me and then knocked the gun aside. And then he drew his arm back and cracked his hand across my face as hard as he could.

My head whipped to the side and I stumbled, cracking my head on a cupboard and bouncing back the other way. Pain hit me from both sides at once, my cheek and lip exploding into white fire, my head throbbing so hard I wanted to throw up just to release the pressure. I slumped down to my knees.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” said Antonio with great satisfaction.

I started to get to my feet, the whole room spinning .

Antonio put his expensive leather loafer on my shoulder and pushed, tumbling me backwards. I fell awkwardly against the bed and cried out in pain. Tears were in my eyes now, the pain in my head getting worse. The fight went out of me.

He reached down and grabbed my wrist in an iron grip. “C’mon,” he said tiredly. “Let’s get you in the car.”

And he turned towards the front of the bus and started walking. My arm took up the slack and then I was being dragged on my knees and ass down the aisle. I grabbed with my other hand, trying to find something to hang onto, but only found the handle of my purse on the bed. It came along with me, bouncing along the floor as he dragged me.

The tears were flooding my eyes now. Worse than the pain in my head and lip was the knowledge that I’d failed. All those years building a business, building a life— and he’d taken it away from me in a handful of seconds.

I was utterly broken. I’m going back to New York. I’m never going to see Bull again.

Antonio was ignoring me, now, looking around at the bus. “What the fuck have you been doing here, anyway? Selling yourself to cowboys? Is this where you entertain them?”

That got to me, cutting deep even through all the other pain. He and my uncle—they still didn’t even conceive of the notion that I could be strong, that I could do anything for myself.

“I tell you,” said Antonio, “once we get this trial over with, your uncle’s going to marry you off to the first eligible fuck he can find. Some guy who knows how to keep you in line.” He shook his head. “The first time you say one wrong word to that guy, Tessa, one wrong fucking word, he’ll beat the shit out of you. And I really hope I’m around when that day comes.”

I saw my new life stretching out ahead of me, a twisted, mirror-world version of my idyllic fantasy. A life in the city, with air conditioning and limos, far away from nature, with a husband I hated.

And the fight that had abandoned me came back.

I hauled my purse up my body and shoved my hand inside. I found what I needed, but it was no good to me while he was holding my wrist.

We were moving through the kitchen area, now. Another few seconds and it would be too late.

I searched the bag, going by feel because I was blinded by tears. Lipstick. Tissues. Pen.

Pen.

I pulled as hard as I could on the hand that was holding me, opening my legs at the same time, and wedging my feet against each side of the aisle. We came to an abrupt stop.

Antonio turned to me and glared. “Cut that out! You’re fucking heavy enough already!”

I lunged up and stabbed the pen as hard as I could into his wrist. It didn’t break the skin but it was painful enough to make him cry out and then kick at me. But he didn’t let go of my arm. I need him to let go of my arm!

I stabbed again and this time I got lucky and the pen actually drew blood. He kicked again, catching me in the shoulder, but I didn’t stop. I stabbed at him a third time—

He let go of my arm and drew back his leg to kick me. His lips drew back into a smile—he had an excuse, now. He could tell my uncle he beat the hell out of me because I’d tried to escape.

I shoved my hand into my purse again. My fingers closed around smooth plastic and I pulled it out.

I hadn’t been trying to escape; I’d just needed him to let go of my arm.

Both barbs of the Taser hit him square in the chest and the air crackled as 50,000 volts coursed along every nerve, like squirting a fire hose into a drinking straw. His back arched and he spasmed and danced. His suit pants darkened as his bladder let go. When the charge ran out, his legs turned to jelly and he started to fall.

“That’s for Annette,” I panted. “Motherfucker.”

I stepped cautiously over his groaning body. When I was nearly past him, he grabbed my ankle.

“He’ll find you,” he croaked. He spat blood, leaving little splatters of it on the refrigerator—he must have bitten his lip while he was thrashing around. “I called him. Others are coming.”

I drew back my leg and kicked him in the balls. He released my ankle and I ran down the aisle.

Outside, a rumble of thunder made me look up. It was dark—too dark. Clouds had pretty much blocked out the moon.

I looked at Antonio’s car. I could go back, get the keys out of his pocket, and move it so the bus was free to move, but then what? By the time I was back in the bus, Antonio would probably be on his feet.

Plan B, then. I ran to my Toyota, checked my Go Bag was in the back seat, and started the engine.

It caught for a second and then died.

Oh no. Oh, God, please not now. I tried it again. It gave an asthmatic cough and died. A third time, and this time it didn’t even turn over. Shit! Probably full of dust from all those trips up to the stables to see Bull.

I grabbed my bag and dived out of the car. From the bus, I heard Antonio moving about.

There was nothing else for it. I shouldered my bag and ran off into the night.