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my trump card to the fullest.  I had no idea the ramifications of my words, how much more danger my connection to Faustino created.
    Enrique sneered at me, at Lia, and looked at my visa.  He flipped the card over, and flipped it again to study my four year old photograph.  He nodded to himself in confirmation and calmly handed it back to me.  No sooner had I took my visa from his hand than he turned on Lia snarling in rage.
    “You ignorant bitch!  You brought a telepathic prostitute who works for EL Tiburon into my home!”  His lips moved on that one.  He virtually screamed at her.
    The fact he knew Faustino’s nickname on the street spoke volumes.  I began to realize I might have made a mistake.  Then he did it again.
    I never even saw him move.  He smacked Lia across the room.  I jumped and squeaked this time, very girly.  He was so damn powerful.  I’ve never seen a grown person tossed around like a rag doll.
    It came to me then, just how dangerous Enrique was.  I’ve seen quite a few fights in my time.  Colombians brawl over anything.  But I’ve never seen what I watched Enrique do twice in the past five minutes.  He graduated to the scariest person I’d ever met, more intimidating than Arana or Faustino.
    Although I couldn’t read anything from Enrique, Lia’s mind supplied me with plenty of information.  Enough to know I was dead meat.  As she picked herself back up off the floor again, I read it all.  Enrique had occasional dealings with Faustino, which made me a liability.  I might compromise his business with the cartel.  Add to that the fact they thought I knew their secret, that they were vampires.  Either of those reasons was sufficient cause to have me killed.  Both reasons combined to create a synergistic blend virtually guaranteeing my death and dismemberment.  Lia thought they should feed my corpse to pigs to dispose of the physical evidence.
    I turned and ran for the door, terror driving me.  I ran like an animal being hunted.  I ran for my life.
     
    * * * *
     
     

 
     
    Chapter 4
     
    Terror is an emotion in a class all its own.  Few people ever know true terror in their lives.  I mean the run or die, run till your heart bursts kind of terror.  I’d certainly never experienced it before.  It robbed me of all sense, all reasoning capacity.  All I could do was run.
    I made it about twenty feet.  I had begun to think I might just make it out of there.  I wrenched to a painfully abrupt halt by a set of immensely strong iron-sinewy arms.  Felt like being hooked by a waist high steel bar.
    Enrique snatched me up in his powerful arms and lifted me off the floor like my hundred and fifteen pounds was nothing.  When the intense instinct of flight is denied, all that’s left is fight.
    I fought with all my strength and spitfire and heart.  I kicked and clawed.  I screamed obscenities in multiple languages.  I flailed, pummeled, elbowed, bit and scratched.  Nothing seemed to do any real damage until my flailing right knee caught him square in the groin.  That changed things.
    He grunted in pain and promptly let go – then smacked me into next week.  A real whopper.  Felt like he hit me with a cast iron skillet.  I went flying, sprawled out flat on my back on the beautiful gleaming hardwood floors.
    I saw stars, and the landing knocked the wind out of me good.  I lay there spread eagle, dazed, mostly naked.  My robe had come loose and fallen to the floor in our struggle.  I like to think that’s what saved my life, my nudity and vulnerability.  That and a little begging.  When terrified of being murdered and fed to pigs, begging is not out of the question.  In fact, I highly recommend it.
    He scooped me back up off the floor.  “Please let me go.  I won’t say anything to anyone.  I’m not even legal.  You saw my visa, it’s expired.  I won’t go to the cops!”
    He didn’t say a word, and Lia’s mind remained firmly set on my death, so I