18
I watched as four men from each SUV stepped out. They were of Hispanic origin and dressed in light-weight clothing—which did nothing to conceal the heavy weaponry they were carrying. A frightened Dagor dug his nails into my arms.
Seeing twenty men leering like they had the upper hand and knew it made me stiffen. Numbness to the situation unfolding was clouding my senses. I couldn’t face death again. My hands fisted in a knot, waiting for the men to make their move.
Dagor’s face drained to ghost white. He stammered and stepped back a couple of steps, dragging me with him. Pierre and Catarina stood close by. Both had shifty eyes as if they were searching for the nearest exit.
My eyes drifted to the middle SUV. There was someone still in there, but the windows were tinted to block the
