Chapter 14

After giving one last comb through Efren’s hair, a touch that he dreaded might have to last a lifetime—possibly a very short lifetime—Marcelo crawled to the noxious cup. With his hand wavering, he upended it.

The spilled brew sizzled and popped alarmingly as it reacted with the grass or the ground. Marcelo stiffened and lurched to his feet as the men turned, and one snorted and nudged the other

Because of the lighter color of their masks making them stand out in the moonlight, he could see the spread of their lower faces, which might typically indicate smiles, but in this case, no doubt hid sneers. They didn’t draw weapons, which was insulting, despite Marcelo’s wobbling body, but walked toward him as if he posed no threat at all. Like he was a joke.