Chapter 12

Marcelo shifted to his knees as his heart leapt into his throat. Whose feet were those? Efren’s? Was Efren—?

No. Marcelo shook off that horrific thought. Maybe he was being na?ve, but he couldn’t face such a possibility.

But what could he do that might help Efren? A knot tightened in his gut, and he was never so sorry for his pampered upbringing. Because there was precious little he could do.

He swiveled his head as he searched fruitlessly through the darkness for something—anything—he could use. A cup? Worthless. The water pitcher? Those sad offerings were the most he had at his disposal.

Icy fingers tightened around Marcelo’s heart at the sight of Efren’s empty scabbard. His fears were confirmed, and there was nothing he could think to do to protect himself as the noises outside mounted, let alone something to help Efren.

A tear trickled down his cheek. He and his shortcomings had let down Efren before their promising life together had truly begun.