I really love Rachel Vincents titles and I cant wait to share this one with you! We hope that you are enjoying today and our Spring Break giveaway! Check out this weeks First Page Tuesday below!
Maddie is beyond done with her cousin Genesis’s entitled and shallow entourage. Genesis is so over Miami’s predictable social scene with its velvet ropes, petty power plays, and backstabbing boyfriends.
While Maddie craves family time for spring break, Genesis seeks novelty—like a last-minute getaway to an untouched beach in Colombia. And when Genesis wants something, it happens.
But paradise has its price. Dragged from their tents under the cover of dark, Genesis, Maddie, and their friends are kidnapped and held for ransom deep inside the jungle—with no diva left behind. It all feels so random to everyone except Genesis. She knows they were targeted for a reason. And that reason is her.
Now, as the hours count down, only one thing’s for certain: If the Miami hostages can’t thwart their captors’ plan, no one will make it out alive.
Tapping into our darkest fears while exploring issues of injustice, loss, and the courage to fight for what matters most, this thrilling read is perfect for fans of Nova Ren Suma, Becca Fitzpatrick, and Jennifer L. Armentrout.
Rachel Vincent is the New York Times bestselling author of several pulse-pounding series for teens and adults. A former English teacher and a champion of the serial comma, Rachel has written more than twenty novels and remains convinced that writing about the things that scare her is the cheapest form of therapy. Rachel shares her home in Oklahoma with two cats, two teenagers, and her husband, who’s been her number one fan from the start. You can find her online at www.rachelvincent.com and on Twitter @rachelkvincent.
"All opinions are 100% honest and my own."
93 HOURS EARLIER
I wake up at dawn and find Abuelita alone in the kitchen, pouring Masarepa cornmeal into a glass mixing bowl. A canister of salt and a small bowl of melted butter sit on the counter. The scents of black coffee and fresh mango trigger memories of childhood visits. Though Uncle Hernán flies her to Miami for most holidays, I haven’t been in my grandmother’s house since I was a small child.
“¡Buenos días, Madalena!” She pulls me into a hug as soon as I step into the room, the brightly colored tiles cold against my bare feet. “You’re up early for a Saturday.”
“¿Arepas con huevo? ” I guess.
Abuelita smiles. “Sí. Are they still your brother’s favorite?”
“¡Por supuesto!” Anything edible qualifies as Ryan’s favorite, but Abuelita’s egg-stuffed corn cakes hold a special place in his heart. And in his stomach.
“¡Qué triste que tu madre never mastered the art!” She says it with a smile, but she means every word. My mom is second-generation Cuban American, and in Abuelita’s eyes, Cuban food cannot compare.
“¿Van otra vez a la playa con tus amigos? ” my grandmother asks as she forms small cakes from the cornmeal mixture.
“They aren’t my friends, Abuelita. Genesis and the Dior divas have appointments at some spa this morning, but they’ll probably want to party tonight. I doubt I’ll go.” Not after the fool I made of myself in the bar last night.
“Your cheeks are pink, flaquita.” My grandmother’s eyes brighten as she smiles. “Did you meet a boy?”
“Their tongues certainly met.” My brother pads into the kitchen on bare feet and slides onto the bar stool next to mine.
Yes, I kissed Sebastián on the dance floor. But Genesis went into a dark hallway with Abuelita’s handyman, right in front of her asshole boyfriend, and no one seems to think that’s worthy of public broadcast.
The double standard in my family never seems to work in my favor.
“You’re such a pretty girl.” My grandmother smiles at me over a growing collection of arepas. “A little too thin, maybe. You deserve some fun. You’ve been through so much . . .”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” The man gives my shoulder an awkward pat, and his words play on in my head as the sentiment echoes down the receiving line. I stare at his dress shirt. There’s a stain on the underside of his belly. He shuffles to my left to shake Ryan’s hand.
My brother smells like whiskey, and our mother hasn’t even noticed.
“Maddie, please let us know if there’s anything we can do.” The woman next in line takes my hand, but I hardly feel her grip. I’ve hardly felt anything in days. I stare at her shoes until she moves on.
The coffin is closed, and if I can’t see my father’s face, I don’t want to see anyone else’s either.
“Are you taking care of yourselves?” Abuelita slides the first corn patty into the hot oil with a gentle expertise perfected by fifty years’ experience. The cornmeal sizzles, but the oil does not pop.
“¡Desde luego! Which is why I can’t have many of those.” I nod at the carb-heavy fried corn cakes, which would wreak havoc on my blood sugar.
“Uncle Hernán gave her an insulin pump.” Ryan glances at my stomach, where a slight bump at my waist betrays my most obvious concession to my illness. “So she doesn’t have to mess with needles anymore.”
Abuelita nods. “Hernán has always taken care of us.”
I bite my tongue to keep my thoughts from spilling out. The truth is that every time my father came to Colombia with the nonprofit organization he worked for, he spent as much time with his mother as he could.
My uncle hasn’t set foot in Colombia since he left as a teenager. He just sends money.
When he found out our insurance wouldn’t cover my insulin pump, he threw money at the problem. Not that I’m not grateful. But I was just another issue he could resolve by writing a check. Like he did for Ryan’s rehab.
“Buenos días, Nana.” Genesis strides into the room in running shorts and a sports bra, tightening the ponytail cinched high on her head. There’s a sheen of sweat on her face and her hair is damp.
“¡Buenos días!” Abuelita steps back from the stove to accept a kiss on the cheek from the oldest and least culturally aware of her granddaughters.
“My phone,” I demand.
Genesis plucks it from a hidden pocket at her waist and tosses it to me. There’s a text from my mother.
Hope you’re having fun! How are the Bahamas? Take a snorkeling class for me!
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