Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

51

Heather

Amirah’s stalkers had discovered that I was someone else, and Ernesto was not taking it well.

“Fuck! FUCK!” he screamed, punching the walls and knocking cookware off their wall hooks. “You’re a liar. You’re a whore. You’re an impostor!”

I closed my eyes and prayed that he wouldn’t lash out with the knife still gripped in his hand.

“You must be wrong,” Oscar said from the driver’s seat. “That has to be Amirah! We saw her on TV, signing autographs!”

“That internet streamer touched her,” Ernesto growled. “He touched our Amirah. But this?” He aimed the knife. “This is someone different.”

He yanked the rag out of my mouth. Every instinct I possessed was insisting I scream at the top of my lungs, but I knew they would kill me if I did that.

“Who are you!” Ernesto demanded. His yellow eyes were more crazed than normal, which was saying something.

I didn’t know what to say, so I said the truth. “I’m Heather Hart. I’m an aspiring actor.”

From the front, Oscar shouted, “Why are you posing as Amirah?”

“I’m… I’m not.” I chose my words carefully. It felt like walking through a minefield, where any misstep might mean death. “This dress is similar to hers, I guess. I was on set because I know the director…”

“LIAR!” Ernesto roared, slashing the knife through the air above my head. “You’re wearing the exact same dress! And her hat! And her glasses!”

“Why would they do this?” Oscar said up front. He sounded panicked. “Do they know? Is this a trap? We fell for it, didn’t we?”

“We have to get rid of her,” Ernesto said.

“Yes!” I said, seizing on the idea. “Get rid of me! Just drop me off on the side of the interstate and I’ll find my way home. I promise I’ll never tell anyone what I saw.”

“We need to kill her,” Oscar suddenly said. “Do it now.”

So much for Oscar being the lesser of two evils.

Ernesto turned toward me with the knife, and I totally came apart.

“Please don’t!” I begged. “Don’t kill me! You can ransom me instead! I’m worth a lot of money! I can make you rich!”

My net worth was probably less than the cost of the dress, shoes, and hat I was borrowing from Amirah, but they didn’t know that. In the end, it didn’t matter.

Ernesto leaned close enough for me to smell his breath. It was surprisingly minty, like he had just brushed his teeth. “We don’t want money, you stupid bitch. We want her. The woman we’re meant to be with. You? You’re nobody.”

He held the knife to my neck. The blade was cold. I remember that distinctly. I’ll probably never forget it so long as I live.

Before the knife could drag across my throat, Oscar cursed. “Oh no. Someone just jumped across the road. I think it’s a cop. Help me!”

“I’m staying with her!” Ernesto said.

“Then give me the gun!”

Ernesto flourished a pistol and tossed it to Oscar. Then Oscar floored the truck. There was a squeal of tires and then a lurch as we hit something. The horrible sound of metal scraping metal filled the air, shaking the entire truck as we drove between two other cars. Horns honked in all directions.

“Shit,” Oscar said, aiming the gun across his body and out the window. I couldn’t see any more than that, but ear-piercing gunshots cracked in the air.

There was a muffled sound, and then a voice I recognized: “…pull over and let her go!”

I took the deepest breath of my life and then shouted at the top of my lungs, “BRADY! I’M IN HERE!”

Ernesto swung his hand, bringing the butt of the knife against my temple. Everything flashed white and bright motes flew across my vision. The truck lurched in a way that made me queasy. I thought I was going to throw up.

I was dizzy and disoriented, which made my brain fire with random thoughts. I wondered how the children were doing at home with Maurice watching them. I hoped I would get to see them again. Even if it was just to say goodbye. I didn’t know why Ernesto wasn’t killing me. Probably because I was a hostage now. As long as I lived, he could use me as leverage.

More gunshots from the front of the truck pulled me out of my daze. There was a shout, and then the brightness in the front of the truck intensified. The driver door had been opened.

“What’s happening!” Ernesto demanded.

There was some sort of struggle at the front of the truck. Then the passenger door opened and a second shape swung inside.

Asher!

My blond lover threw two deft punches at Oscar. The truck stopped accelerating and coasted for a moment, then slammed into a stationary car. Ernesto jerked, but regained his footing and held the knife to my throat.

Asher stepped down from the driver’s cab. He held a pistol at his side.

“Toss it down, or she dies!” Ernesto shrieked. “Do it!”

Asher gave me a look. He was doing the mental math on the situation. Could he raise the gun and shoot before Ernesto sliced my throat? Was it worth the risk?

The math must not have worked out, because Asher sighed and tossed down the gun.

“Come here,” Asher growled in a deadly voice, “so I can kill you with my bare hands.”

Ernesto sneered, then removed the knife from my throat.

And charged at Asher.

“No!” I screamed as the blade flashed through the air. Ernesto might have been a crazy person, but he was clearly good at hand-to-hand combat. Asher grunted in pain, and stumbled backward from the man’s flurry of blows.

Suddenly, the door to the back of the food truck opened. Rogan stepped through the sunlight toward me and quickly pulled my restraints over the chair. He lifted me into his arms, and then leaped from the back of the truck.

“You’re safe, Heather,” he said while running away. His voice was full of pain. “I’ll never let anything hurt you again.”