Chapter 26

On his left, One-Mile heard the click of the lock. He swiveled his head, opened the one eye he could, and lay deceptively still, waiting to see who came through the door. That would tell him how much effort he’d need to exert to trip the thug du jour and stomp his larynx until the gunman suffocated.

But it wasn’t some armed-to-the-teeth asshole who entered the room but a delicate Hispanic beauty who looked twenty, max. Her entire body trembled as, tray in hand, she cleared the door. Immediately, it shut—and locked—behind her. She jolted at the sound.

“Who are you?” The raspy slur of his voice barely sounded human.

She didn’t look at him. Fuck, he probably should have saved his breath. Besides Montilla, only a handful of people in this shithole spoke English, and his Spanish sucked.

As she set the tray on the nearby table, she shook so hard the dishes rattled. She finally met his stare. Her brown eyes were wide and full of terror. “My name is Laila, Señor Walk