Breaking Point Read Online Free

words, speaking them along with him in her mind.
    Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.
    The door of the bus exploded inward in a spray of glass.
    Too afraid even to scream, Natalie watched as three armed men in dark green military fatigues stomped up the stairs, pistols in hand, automatic weapons slung on straps over their shoulders. One stopped long enough to point a pistol at the bus driver, whose pleading cries were cut short with a pop that splattered blood across the windshield.
    Screams. Black boots. Another pop .
    Sr. Marquez prayed faster, his voice shaking. “ Danos hoy el pan de este día y perdona nuestras deudas como nosotros perdonamos nuestros duedores. ”
    Then Natalie heard the mechanical click and buzz of Joaquin’s camera. Somehow she’d let go of his hand, her face now buried in her palms. She looked up, saw him lying out in the aisle, his camera pointed toward their attackers, a look of focused concentration on his face as he did his job—documenting the news.
    She whispered to him. “Joaquin, no! They’ll kill—”
    The boots drew nearer.
    Joaquin kept shooting. Click. Click. Click.
    “ ¡No! Por favor, no— ” No, please don’t—
    Pop!
    Screams.
    And Natalie understood.
    They were killing the Mexican citizens on the bus but leaving the Americans alive.
    Pop! Pop!
    She looked over at Joaquin, at his dark hair, his brown eyes, his brown skin, and was blindsided by fear for him. They would think Joaquin was Mexican. And they would kill him.
    Pop! Pop! Pop!
    Blood ran along the floor, pooled beneath the seats, the air stung by the smell of it.
    Pop! Pop!
    “Y no nos dejes caer en la tentación sino que líbranos del malo. Amen.” Sr. Marquez opened his eyes, his gaze meeting Natalie’s, rosary still in his hands. “I am sorry, Miss Benoit.”
    And then the men in the boots were there.
    Sweat trickling down his temples, Sr. Marquez looked up into his killer’s face, pressing his lips to the cross.
    Natalie cried out. “No, don’t—!”
    Pop!
    Then he lay dead, his sightless eyes open, blood trickling from a bullet hole in his forehead.
    Without thinking, Natalie threw herself into the aisle, shielding Joaquin with her body, struggling for the right words. “ Él no es mexicano! Él es americano! He’s a citizen of the United States! He’s American!”
    Cold brown eyes—a killer’s eyes—watched her with apparent amusement, a pitiless smile spreading across a face too young to be so cruel. Then the teenage assailant’s gaze shifted to his fellow killers, and he said something in Spanish that made them laugh.
    Joaquin wrapped his arms around her and pulled hard, obviously trying to thrust her behind him, but constrained by the small space. “Natalie, stop! Don’t do this!”
    The young assailant raised his gun.
    “He’s American!” Natalie shouted the words. “ Es americano! He’s—”
    Then she realized the gun was pointed at her.
    Her breath caught in her throat.
    He’s going to shoot you, girl.
    She wondered for a moment how much it would hurt—then gasped as the butt of the gun came down on her temple. Her head seemed to explode. Blinded by pain and limp as a rag doll, she fell forward and felt cruel hands wrench her away from Joaquin, who fought to hold on to her, shouting something in Spanish that she couldn’t understand.
    “He’s American,” she managed to say, her own voice sounding faraway, the world spinning as she was dragged down the bloody aisle and passed from one attacker to another. She struggled to raise her head and caught just a glimpse of the man who’d struck her aiming his pistol at Joaquin. “Joaquin!”
    Pop!
    And she knew he was dead.

CHAPTER 2
    HER HEAD THROBBING, Natalie struggled to breathe in the strangling darkness, her heart beating so hard it hurt, the sweltering air suffocating her, breath catching in her throat before it reached her lungs. She had to get out of here. She had to get out !
    God, please help