I firmly clutch the grip of the gun, the kickback tearing at my shoulder as bullet after bullet leaves the barrel and finds its mark on the target. Sweat pours down my face, but I barely notice. Shooting has become so routine that every move is automatic, my mind occupied with more pressing matters. Devon's words chime on auto repeat in my head, their meaning still so terrifying that shudders race down my spine.

We found some stuff about the Coyote on the computer but nothing about the US target. You have to keep digging, Stacy. The lives of many Americans depend on this. After you told me what you overheard, we finally made the connection between the recent rumblings and this upcoming attack. This type of unrest in the terrorist community hasn't happened since 2001, so whatever the Coyote is planning, it's big.

Oddly, his words were calming. My life regained a purpose, providing a respite from the all-consuming thoughts of losing my baby. I'm determined to stop this unknown terrorist. Maybe this will be my way of redeeming myself so that my next pregnancy won't end in disaster. It was apparent that God was punishing me for my poor choices and didn't want a child to grow up with a mother who isn't able to protect it.

The next time I pull the trigger, a low click indicates that the magazine is empty again. I slide the release button and my free hand catches the heated metal container without any effort. Dropping the gun on the table next to me, I reach for the towel to wipe the burning sweat out of my eyes. My gaze settles on Miguel and Tomás; they are huddled by the boxing ring, watching me with a conspiring frown. Any fool can figure out that they are talking about me.

As I reload the gun, Miguel walks over. The magazine snaps back into place. I'm about to raise the weapon when he places his hand on my arm.

"Don't you want to take a break? You've been shooting for hours."

It's the only thing that holds me together. "No, I'm fine." Any other activity is accompanied by so much mental anguish that I avoid it at all costs.

"You're not fine." He takes the gun out of my hand before I can slide the first bullet into the chamber. "Stacy, we need to talk about this."

Witha drawn-out sigh, I scrape the tip of my shoe over the bottom of the table legto avoid looking at him. "What do you want to talk about?" It's a rhetorical question. We have been tiptoeing around the issue for days.

"The doctor said it happens sometimes. Something could've been wrong with the baby, so nature took care of it. It doesn't mean it'll happen again."

I swallow down the lump in my throat. He has no clue why I've been blaming myself, totally oblivious to the stress I've been under. It's what likely caused me to miscarry. With no immediate relief in sight, the next pregnancy is prone to fail again.

"I want to start using protection," I blurt out. Tears pool in my eyes.

"Why? Don't you want a child?"

"Not at the moment." I tear the elastic band out of my hair and pull the strands back to give my hands something to do. "Don't you get it, Miguel? My stress level is through the roof, and if I get pregnant, it will just happen again."

"And why are you so stressed?"

I glare at him. "For starters, I hate all this secrecy between us. I have no clue what you do, think, or feel, and I'm afraid to ask you since you might get angry and beat me. Should I go on?"

He visibly shrinks under my words. "I guess."

"I'm sick and tired of being locked up in the house most of the time without anything to do. Naiara might be perfectly happy tanning by the pool and getting her nails done, but I'm bored out of my mind. I'm gonna go insane if you don't give me some space."

"But it's—"

My raised hand stops him before he can remind me of what a dangerous place Malaguay truly is.

"I know you're worried about my safety, which I can understand, but that's what soldier escorts are for. The bottom line is that I feel you don't trust me, and you try to keep tabs on me all the time. That's not a good basis for a marriage, Miguel. I don't want a child with a man who feels I will betray him."

The adrenaline from shooting the gun that gave me courage leaves with the same breath as those last words.

Crap, what have I done?

Miguel's jaw is clenched and his hands are curled to fists. He's mad but not enough to make a scene in public, and despite his anger, my words hit home. This incredible sadness radiates from his eyes that I've only caught a glimpse of once before when he talked about his mother.

"I'm sorry you feel this way." The silence that follows makes it apparent he has not finished his sentence, yet he shows no inclination to speak again.

"But?" I want to shake some sense into him, though I'm afraid if I touch him, he'll get physical.

"Trust is something that builds over time. Unfortunately, there's no switch I can turn on. Besides"— his gaze flicks to Tomás—"I think you're keeping things from me."

I glare at Tomás; he has been watching our exchange without missing a beat. "You believe that or Tomás?"

That summons a small smile on his lips. "We both do."

I cock a brow.

"Okay, Tomás does. But he's really good at reading people. I love you, so I'm probably not objective and have to trust his judgment."

"So you trust him but not your wife?"

My tone is challenging and he folds his arms. The scowl he gives me is a clear indication that he doesn't wish to discuss this any further.

"Like I said, it'll take time. You have to accept this." He spins around without a goodbye. "I'll be home late," he says over his shoulder as he marches off. "Have dinner without me."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, turning back to the table with the gun. "And then you wonder why I'm stressed." With a steady hand, I raise the weapon and pull the trigger, picturing Miguel's face on the target. When the bullet finds its mark in the center, exhilaration blasts through me. I showed him.

Eyes burn into my temple and I turn my head. Tomás's signature smirk is on his lips. My focus returns to the target. When I fire the next bullet, Miguel's image is replaced by Tomás. I miss. That jerk must have the best guardian angel ever.

~~~~

Neither the trust nor baby issues are mentioned over the next few days. Miguel usually arrives home late and continues to work in his office after tucking me into bed. The small talk between us is excruciating.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" It's his routine question before he switches off the lights.

"Going to the orphanage with Naiara."

He blinks a few times and I'm afraid he will prohibit it, but then he bends forward for a quick kiss. "Okay. Sleep tight."

I'm not tired and feel like a five-year-old whose parents enforce an early bedtime, though I'm too afraid to complain. Confronting him in the training center with a gun in my hand is one thing, but here at the mansion, I'm at his mercy. Walking on eggshells has become just as routine as the nightly question-and-answer session.

I'm awake for most of the night; when Naiara knocks on my door the next morning, the tiredness sits like lead in my bones.

"Stacy, are you awake? I want to leave in ten minutes."

With a groan, I heave myself out of bed and hop under the shower. A gush of cold water manages to wake me up and puts me on high alert. I meet up with Naiara in the Hummer and the driver takes off toward the orphanage.

"How're you feeling?" Naiara asks.

"Fine." I avoid her gaze by staring out the window.

The weather is a reflection of my miserable mood; heavy clouds hang deep into the valley. As we cross through the forest, I can hardly distinguish the trees from one another in the morning fog. Most of the week, it has been raining on and off, a harsh wind making it impossible to spend any time outdoors. Even Naiara, who is usually cheerful, has been on edge, probably worrying that her perfect tan will fade.

I continue with chapter eight of Harry Potter and as has become routine after my reading, the kids line up and thank me before I slip out the back to meet Devon in the shed. When I arrive, he's pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself. His edginess seems to increase every time I see him.

"And?" he asks, not even bothering with a greeting.

"Nothing." I slump into the camping chair, letting out a huff. The frustration is all too visible on his face and I'm sick and tired of him putting all this pressure on me. After all, he's the super-agent, probably earning a hell of a lot of money to hassle me.

He runs his fingers through his hair. "We analyzed more of Miguel's data and I possibly have something for you. How is his relationship with Varela these days?"

"Not so good." I grimace. The time he and Santino whacked Miguel with the stick is still fresh in my mind. "I think Miguel might be planning something behind his father's back. A few weeks ago, they had a fight and his father beat him."

"That would be consistent with the information we found." Devon pulls out a photograph. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

The picture depicts a guy in his mid-thirties with a dazzling smile. His good looks could rival those of Tomás. "No. I would remember him. Who is he?"

"His name is Nordin Capella. One of his specialties is mercenary outsourcing. He has a small army that follows him around."

I frown. "Why would Miguel have dealings with him?"

"Good question." Devon stares into emptiness. "Coupled with the weapons he's purchasing from the Coyote, it appears he might be planning an overthrow." His focus switches back to me. "We can't be sure, but that might give you something to work with."

"In what way?"

"Stacy, don't be ignorant. You can use it to blackmail Miguel."

I suck in a sharp breath. "He'll probably kill me if I do."

His snort is confirmation that he doesn't care. "Then I guess you better be prepared."

His words stay with me for the rest of the day. Different scenarios flash through my mind, all of them ending in some type of dire situation for me. By the time nightfall comes around, I'm a nervous wreck, although the truth that I'm screwed no matter what I do is slowly filtering through my thick skull. Fight or flight, my life is hanging by a thread.

As fate would have it, Santino takes Naiara out for dinner, eliminating my last excuse to avoid the inevitable. Miguel arrives home half an hour later, already in an impossible mood. He yells at the maids, who retreat like spooked rabbits. Not that it would've mattered if they were around; their English-language skills are as poor as my Spanish.

As I watch him pour a drink, my mind tosses all caution aside. To hell with it. The crippling fear that has kept me quiet for far too long will no longer hold me back. It's stifling.

I go straight for the jugular. "Are you planning an overthrow against your father?"

His body freezes and he slowly turns to look at me. "What makes you say that?"

A prickling sensation spreads across my scalp and down my neck; I instinctively know I crossed an invisible line. There's no turning back, but I still don't care. I've had enough and won't back down. Maybe that's what people mean by breaking point. "I browsed through your computer the other day when I was in your office and found something."

"You went through my computer?" The words boom through the room and he closes the gap between us.

As he picks me off the floor by my neck, I kick my feet and scream, but my efforts to alert someone are cut short the second my back collides with the wall. All oxygen is pressed from my lungs. Nausea, pain, and incredible fear follow.

"What did you find?" he yells.

Spit flies everywhere; I have never seen him angrier. No sound leaves my lips. Since I'm not exactly sure what Devon found, I don't want to be caught in a lie.

"Answer me!" He shakes me like a rag doll. "What the fuck did you find?"

My mind jumps into survival mode. "What difference does it make?" I struggle to break his grip. "It's true, isn't it?"

His response is a slap across my face that takes me off my feet. The back of my head collides with the floor and stars explode. For a breath, I'm paralyzed. Managing to get on my hands and knees, I grit my teeth and try to crawl away. His foot kicks me square in the side. Like a soccer ball, I skid across the floor. The next kick mixes with my cry and sends me across the hallway. The banister breaks my fall. When the sharp edge of the wood cuts into my forehead, an agonizing pain shoots through my head.

Tears cloud my vision as I slowly pull myself up. Every muscle in my body screams in agony from the effort and I battle the nausea that sits deep in the bottom of my throat. Finally, I manage to stand halfway straight. Something warm runs down my temple. I don't need to check to know it's blood.

With a groan, I force my body around. Miguel is towering in the door frame to the living room, a cloud of anger still clinging to him. The next attack is imminent.

"Are you happy now?" I shout. "You should be so proud of yourself. All you ever do is beat up on people half your size instead of standing up for yourself." The words vibrate painfully in my head, the soreness in my ribcage interfering with my breathing. I don't care. With him frozen in place, this is my one chance to tell him how I feel.

"But you know what, Miguel?" The smile twisting my lips sends a sharp pain along my pounding cheekbone. "You're weak. Weak and nothing but a coward."

"I swear I'm gonna kill you." A deadly calmness colors the words.

I shrink into myself.

He takes a step forward.

My mind screams to run, but these stupid legs are useless. Every part of my body refuses to cooperate; I can't even flinch. Helpless, I watch as he slowly approaches with a cruel smile on his lips.

Just before he reaches me, the thirst for survival kicks back in. "I made arrangements if you kill me." To my amazement, my voice doesn't shake. "All the files were sent to a friend in America, who will forward them to Homeland Security if something happens to me."

"Oh yeah. And how would they even know you're dead?"

I refuse to give up. "I've been sending emails from the computer at the orphanage. If I don't get back in touch with them within the week, they'll send the information regardless."

His jaw drops. A whirlwind of emotions displays on his face, starting with incredible rage that makes it impossible to distinguish his pupils from his irises. Then his face relaxes. He actually starts to laugh. It's by no means cheerful or comforting but more like the growl of a vicious dog.

"What do you want, Stacy?"

"An equal place by your side. I want to be a part of your business and run the country with you once your dad is out of the picture. It's my right as your wife, Miguel. That's how it's supposed to work."

"And if I refuse?" The words are hissed and barely audible.

"Then you better kill me now and deal with the Americans, because otherwise, I'll go to General Varela and tell him all about your little rebellion." Sucking in a sharp breath, I try to calm my internal uproar. "I'm done playing. I will not tolerate you hitting me again, and I will not be a trophy wife you display in public when you're in the mood but lock up the rest of the time. We're either in this together or our marriage ends right here and now with all the consequences that go along with it."

The atmosphere is explosive; a spark could set the whole mansion on fire. Hestarts to pace back and forth in the hallway, totally ignoring me, while I'mliterally about to pee my pants. I put it all on the line, but the decision if I will live or die is ultimately in his hands.

All of a sudden, he spins around and faces me. His expression has softened, his eyes the color of liquid gold. "God, I've never loved anyone as much in my life."

I exhale slowly, some of the tension seeping out of me. His reaction puzzles me but sure beats the alternatives. The nagging worry that he might not be sincere is drowned out by sudden relief. "I love you too, Miguel. I'm sorry I threatened you, but I didn't know how else I could get the message across."

He pulls me into his arms. "And I needed to hear it. I never realized how much being part of my life means to you." His hot breath burns the cut on my forehead, reminding me that I caught a lucky break. "It was stupid not to trust you. I should've known that those marriage vows mean something to you—you were raised that way and won't go back on your commitment."

"They really do mean a lot, Miguel." I lock his gaze. "I want a real partnership—husband and wife, just as we'll be parents one day."

He smiles down on me. "I always dreamed of having a woman who I could share these things with. Even with Juana, there were limitations, since ultimately, she was loyal to my father. You didn't grow up here, so all this doesn't matter to you. I'm the only reason you're even here."

When he scoops me into his arms and carries me up the steps, I'm determined not to destroy his illusion. Pretending to be the supportive and understanding wife cannot be more difficult than tiptoeing around him all the time. He pampers me for the rest of the night, attending to my injuries and placing ice packs on my aching body parts.

"Tomorrow, I'll start to teach you the ropes," he promises as he pumps me full of painkillers.

"Sounds good."

Exhaustion overpowers me and I rub my sore eyes. Dozing off, I'm startled when his hand strokes my shoulder, forcing me lift my head. His computer is on his lap and just booting up. "Let's write to your friend right now to make sure she won't worry."

"Sure."

I sit up in the bed, my mind scrambling to figure out who to send the email to. Deciding that Emily will be my best bet, I pull the laptop over to me and sign into my email account without saving the password. When he cranes his neck, I quickly open a new email, maximizing the window so he won't notice that I haven't opened my emails for months. With a smile, I begin to type, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the screen from time to time.

"There." I push the laptop over to him so he can read my two-liner in which I proclaim to be fine with nothing to worry about. Emily will probably wonder what the heck is going on.

"Maybe add that we made up and that you might not contact her again for a while."

"Good idea." I type as instructed and wait for his approving nod before pressing send. Two more clicks log me back out of my email account. I yawn to signal that I'm really tired.

He smiles. "I'm glad we got that out of the way. You should also call your parents tomorrow and invite them to visit as soon as possible."

The tiredness is washed away. "Why can't we just visit them?"

"America is not a safe place to be in the next few weeks, especially the area around Indianapolis." His lips brush against my cheek. "I'll tell you more tomorrow. You should rest."

"No, tell me now. If something is going to happen in Indiana, my family is in imminent danger."

"Okay. So there's this guy . . ."

Only a few pieces of the Coyote's plan are revealed that night, but it's enough to make me frantic. Now, I finally understand why Devon is scared—and warning him and my parents will have to become my number-one priority.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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