Falling with Grace - Page 177

I stopped at Mamá’s door and cracked it.

Alba, Mariana, and Valeria formed a protective huddle around her bed, resembling human shields with trembling forms illuminated by the faint glow from the hallway.

“It’s over.” I pressed my finger to my lips. “Stay here.”

All three nodded in unison as I closed the door. I leaned against it, pressing my knuckles into my eyes. Pain bit back along my pectorals and back, her cries echoing my name.

She tried to warn me.

How was I going to find her now?

Shoving off the door, I dipped into the office where my men gathered and braced my hands against my hips.

“War has met us at our doorstep.” I raised my bloodied fist. “We won’t remain silent. Our footsteps will echo around the world until Andrés is dead by my hands.”

They nodded in unison, a congregation of the injured and those in good spirits, their collective agreement etched on each determined face.

“Knock on every door, turn over every stone. Anyone associated with Andrés or his men are to be questioned and made an example out of.” I moved around my desk. “I want the darkness to whisper my name. I want him to know I’m coming.” I slammed my fist on the table. “I am Elias-fucking-Hernández, and no one messes with my family.”

The men rose to their feet, cheering as though I had called for a standing ovation.

I turned to Javier. “To hell with Sofia Torres and anything else I’ve asked of you.” I pressed my finger into his chest. “This is priority number one. Round up the sicarios and start dragging people out of their homes. I want Grace found, and I need it done yesterday.”

His brows scrunched together. “Don’t you mean Andrés?”

I brushed past him and left the office. “You heard me.”

She’s mine.

And no one takes what belongs to me.

40

Grace

Throbbing pulsated throughout my body, and sharp and jagged pain ripped across my brain. My swollen face thrummed, each pulse force-feeding my nerves with the relentless ache.

Stinging between my legs overwhelmed my battered body, a stark reminder of the hell I once again lived.

I drew in a breath of stale air, the room enveloped in darkness save for a slender beam of light piercing through the crack at the bottom of the steel door—much like angels reaching toward me.

God has forsaken me.

I rolled my abused body to the side, my arm flopping out beside me.

The door swung open, the fresh breeze snaking across my naked breasts.

Black boots stepped in, the toe crunching my shaking fingers.

“Ahh.” I tugged, his weight holding me in place.

“You haven’t been gone very long, Grace.” Andrés bent over, his breath tainted with tequila and chili-coated candy. “Get up.”

I bit my tongue, holding back the scream lodged in my throat as I twisted my hips and knelt before him, my fingers stuck between his boot and the floor, my head bowed.

The bruising across my back stretched, and my split cheek wept with infection.

“That’s better.” He lifted his foot, and my hand jerked back as though it were a rubber band stretched to its limit and tucked it under my body.