Dirty Souls (Sins Duet #2) - Karina Halle

DIRTY SOULS Sins Duet #2

KARINA HALLE Metal Blonde Books

CONTENTS ABOUT THIS BOOK Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Epilogue Playlist About the Author Also by Karina Halle

First edition published by Metal Blonde Books March 2017 No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Copyright © 2017 by Karina Halle Mackenzie Kindle edition All rights reserved Cover design: Hang Le Designs Edited by: Kara Malinczak Proofed by Laura Helseth Created with Vellum

For the Anti-Heroes…for obvious reasons

I got a master plan to be your man. Seize the throne, seize the mantle, seize the crown ‘cause I am what I am. — “LOVERMAN” - NICK CAVE & THE BAD SEEDS

There are violets in your eyes, there are guns that blaze around you. It’s no wonder every man in town has neither fought nor found you. — “HONEYMOON” - LANA DEL REY

ABOUT THIS BOOK

FROM NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author Karina Halle comes DIRTY SOULS, the muchanticipated, nail-biting conclusion to Black Hearts…

VIOLET MCQUEEN HAS ALWAYS BEEN a sensitive soul. Troubled and misunderstood, she never realized her place in the world, nor her true potential…until she met Vicente Bernal.

FROM BIRTH, Vicente Bernal has always known his place in the world – he’s been groomed to be a ruthless king. Yet for a man whose soul has become morally bankrupt, it’s only through Violet that he’s realizing the worth of someone’s heart.

BUT AT WHAT COST?

WITH A DEADLY GAME set in motion taking them from the stark deserts of California to the steamy jungles of Mexico, Violet and Vicente’s forbidden relationship will be put to the test. Boundaries will be pushed, lines will be crossed, and souls will get very, very dirty.

BECAUSE HOW DO you choose between blood and love when both might get you killed?

NOTE: Dirty Souls is the conclusion to Black Hearts. You will need to read Black Hearts first before you read Dirty Souls.

PREFACE

ONCE UPON A TIME, a sensitive young soul fell in love with a man she shouldn’t have. Where she was soft edges and feathers and dappled light through green leaves, he was hard lines and knives and dirty smoke rising from the ground. And yet, they both had what the other needed. They both fused and grew and became… One. But all of that will be broken. Because love always comes at a price. And the time to pay is now.

WARNING: Dirty Souls is the continuation of Black Hearts. This is not a standalone novel. If you haven’t read Black Hearts, DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT $200. YOU GET MY MONOPOLY REFERENCES, RIGHT? DO NOT READ THIS BOOK IF YOU HAVEN’T READ BLACK HEARTS.

PICK UP BLACK HEARTS, read it, love it, and then come back to this one. I promise it’s waiting for you.

ARE YOU READY?

CHAPTER ONE Violet Palm Valley, California DRUG LORD. I have to stop myself from saying it out loud. I wonder what it would sound like coming from my lips. If it would hold as much resonance as it does in my head. Vicente Bernal, my forbidden fruit, the man I’m falling head over heels in love with, is a drug lord. Or, to be more specific, the son of one. El Jefe. El patron. A very bad, very infamous man by the name of Javier Bernal. I wasn’t all that surprised when, a week ago, Vicente told me who he was. I had chided myself for stereotyping him, for thinking that he got his wealth because he had some ties to a drug cartel. I reminded myself that it was totally possible that he really did come from a successful avocado importer/exporter company. But when the truth came out, I was relieved. It meant my intuition about him was right. And for whatever reason, it didn’t scare me. It didn’t make me think any less of him. Maybe it’s because of what’s going on in my family, the lies and the secrets, the fact that no one is perfect, maybe because I know Vicente and I know who he is. I think. Yet, as I lie on the bed of our hotel room, Vicente in the bathroom shaving, I can’t help but take out my phone and do some Google searching. I could just ask him about the cartel and his father, and I’m sure he would be fairly honest with me, but I want to know what other people are saying first. And by people, I mean the whole world. I’m just glad I’m able to get on the internet without having to deal with anything to do with my parents. About an hour after Vicente and I left San Francisco, I’d been getting text after text, phone call after phone call from them. They must have discovered I had disappeared from my room and been upset. That was very clear from the glimpses of the texts as they appeared on my phone, one after the other, all in caps. I didn’t actually read any of them and I didn’t answer the calls, but I know that’s what they’re about. At some point my parents

knocked on my door and discovered I was gone. But hey, I left a note. It said Going away with Vicente for the weekend, be back Sunday. Eventually I put my phone on do not disturb and that’s the way it’s going to be all weekend. Okay, maybe until the afternoon. I probably should answer and let them know I’m okay and haven’t been kidnapped or anything like that. They’ll yell at me and give me an earful about how “bad” Vicente is for me and blah blah blah and how dare I just sneak out of the house like that when things are so unsettled, but whatever. You do crazy things for love, don’t you? I’m definitely falling in love with this man. And this—running off late at night with a drug lord’s son to the deserts of California—is definitely proof of the crazy. Still, the guilt is starting to sink in. The things I said to my mother. Goes to show it does no good to keep things bottled inside over the years. I may be sensitive to internal pain but it doesn’t mean I treat others the same way. Hypersensitivity doesn’t at all mean you’re a “good” and “sweet” person—it just means you feel things one hundred times more than the rest of the population. And the more intense the feelings, the more destructive the result. With a heavy sigh I glance over at the closed bathroom door, listening to the muffled sound of the sink running, and continue my Google searching. I ignore the Wikipedia article on Javier Bernal (I had already read that after I found out about Vicente), and start pulling up the news articles. There isn’t much recent stuff. Most of the articles deal with the ongoing war on drugs and the resurgence of heroin and poppy fields in the Sinaloa region after decades of being dormant. They mention that Javier Bernal’s Sinaloa cartel controls the area and that they battle with the Zetas who have control of most of the drugs in the country, though it used to be reversed. Now Bernal’s cartel pays a tax to the Zetas in order to pass drugs through certain areas, even though both cartels are still at war with each other. And a nasty war, at that. What I know from history is that the Zetas have always been the crazy ones— they’re the ones who used to behead people long before foreign terrorists made that a thing. The Sinaloa cartel went through many fractures, growing in size until they lost their hold when the Zetas reportedly made a deal with the DEA. It’s all speculative—the writer of the article obviously doesn’t want to be hit with slander from a government agency—but it still makes me wonder what the truth is. “Are you coming in, mirlo?” The door to the bathroom opens and Vicente pokes his head out. I can hear the shower running behind him, steam wafting out and into the room. His face is freshly shaven with a hint of white shaving cream on one cheekbone. Honestly, a shower is the last thing on my mind, even if it’s one with this naked bronzed god just beyond the door. My sleep was fitful since we were driving all night, and the moment we got early check-in all I wanted to do was pass out on the

bed for a few hours. But I know that it all comes at a playful cost. Since we checked into this place so early, I made a deal with Vicente that he could do whatever dirty thing he wants to me as long as he got us a room for early check-in. The man is persuasive, so naturally he made it happen. Now it’s time to pay. I stare at him for a moment, just reeling in the absolute thrill of being with him, of this whole situation. Even if it’s just for the weekend, even if I left things with my parents at a bad spot (and I’m beating myself up with guilt over it), even if it was completely spontaneous, I finally have Vicente all to myself. All I want to do these next few days is just writhe around naked with him. Talk to him. Go out for coffee with him. Fuck him. Laugh with him. Revel in every waking moment, that he’s here with me and he’s mine and this is the way it should always be. Then there’s the truth about why we’re in my parents’ hometown of Palm Valley to begin with. I want to know more about my grandfather, George McQueen, and why my parents said he had died when my father was young, not like a few weeks ago. I want to know about Sophia Madano. I want to know if the lies my parents told were lies worth telling. “Violet.” Vicente’s deep, patient voice rings out across the room. “Get out of your head. Then get out of your clothes. Now.” I give him a sheepish grin as another thrill jolts through me, fizzing right down to my toes. I get off the bed. His amber eyes never leave me as I remove my leggings, underwear, then my sweater dress and bra. I’m standing naked before him, one hundred percent on display. As someone who’s never been skinny, never been self-assured by her body, the fact that Vicente has me baring all says a lot. And I’m baring more than just my skin to him. The heat from his eyes is palpable. I can feel it burning all over, smoldering flames that coat me from head to toe as they rake over me. “Come here,” he murmurs, slowly opening the door so I see him in all his naked glory. Too bad he’s backlit from behind. I can barely make out the hard lines of his erection. Maybe that’s a good thing. Even now, the sight of him makes me swallow hard, my chest squeezing as much as my legs squeeze together. He’s intimidating, all rough and muscled dark bronze skin compared to my soft, pale curves. I take a shaky step toward him. “Bring your phone,” he says. I pause, raising a brow. “My phone? Why?” “Because…” he says. “You owe me a favor.” Oh god. What does he have planned? I pick up my phone from the bed and walk slowly across the carpet to the bathroom. He steps back into the room, holding the door open for me. The hotel we’re staying at isn’t much fancier than a Best Western—there really weren’t many options in Palm Valley. But we probably got the nicest room, with a

bathroom that has a large waterfall shower and Jacuzzi. Vicente takes the phone from my hand as I brush past him, a wave of goosebumps coasting over me as my skin meets with his. It’s steamy hot in the bathroom as I stop beside the shower, curious as to what he’s going to do next. He glances at the phone and gives me an amused grin. “You’re checking up on me?” “I might have had a few questions about your dad. About what you do.” “Mirlo,” he says, the smile becoming softer. “You can ask me anything, you know that. And I have to say, I’m surprised you haven’t been.” “Maybe because we’re always naked together and your cock is extremely distracting.” He glances down, practically beaming. “I have to agree.” He then looks back to me, all business. Jerks his head to the shower. “Get in. Soap yourself up.” Then he raises the phone at me. Oh my god. “Are you recording this?” I ask him. He gives a half shrug. “No different than when I first took your pictures.” “Um, it’s kind of different,” I tell him, stepping into the shower. The temperature is perfectly hot, and I immediately relax when it hits my shoulders. Well, as much as I can relax knowing he’s filming me. “Don’t worry so much,” he says, his voice rich and soothing. God, he could get me to do anything. “Soap up.” Oh yeah. I grab the bottle of hotel shower gel, squirt it into my hand and start rubbing it all over myself. I feel a bit silly, not sure how to act while he’s filming me. Do I ham it up? Take it seriously? “Quiet your mind,” he tells me, stepping into the shower. “What are you doing?” I say, backing up until I feel the tiles against my shoulders. “Don’t get the phone wet!” “Don’t worry,” he tells me, holding the phone out and away from the stream of water until he’s right up against me, his cock jutting into my skin. His eyes travel from mine, to my lips, to my neck, to the soapy suds at my breasts where his free hand gently cups one. I suck in a breath, not daring to look away. Watching him watching me is one of the most erotic sights possible. His eyes linger over my skin, like he’s studying a map, committing it to memory, like my body is his way home. I feel that. I feel so much, but more than anything, I feel that I’m something to him, more than he ever expected. It isn’t just that I feel the same way about him. It’s like I’m his answer to something, a question he never knew existed. It’s why I’m here with him. Why I trust him, even though I probably shouldn’t. How can you trust the son of one the world’s biggest drug lords? “Violet,” he whispers, eyes focused lazily on mine as the soap works its way over my body, over every crevice, his hand gentle with just enough pressure, sliding over my breasts, my stomach, my hips, my thighs. “You’re going to come first.”

My eyes flutter closed as his hand slips between my legs. I won’t argue with him. There’s no point. I’m barely even aware of the camera phone pointed right at me, perhaps getting every single nuance of my expression as I give in to his touch, his fingers slipping along my clit, already slick with want. “Look at yourself,” he says, voice throaty. I manage to open my eyes and see he’s flipped to the phone’s front camera. My face stares back at me, and yet I hardly recognize myself. My hair is dark as night and sticking to my shoulders, the water running over my opening mouth. My eyes gleam with a lust I’ve never seen in myself. I resemble some sort of lewd Nephilim, caught on this side of the beast. “Do you see what I see?” he murmurs, sliding his fingers inside me until I gasp. “Do you see how beautiful you are? Especially when you let those thoughts slide away, when you succumb?” I can only groan, lost to his touch. I have to put my hand out to the shower wall to steady myself as his fingers plunge deeper, hitting all the right, sensitive spots. “It’s the most beautiful sight,” he says so softly I can barely hear him, his mouth going for my neck. “There’s nothing I want more than this. Always. Just this you, so open and bare and real.” His teeth nibble at my skin, moving from the soft skin of my jawline and down to my shoulder. The water continues to pour over both of us. I can’t look at myself anymore. The more I stare at the image of me on the phone, the more I’m aware that I’m no longer the girl I used to be. The moment I left the house and decided to run off with Vicente, I ceased to be the Violet McQueen I knew and understood. “You have no idea how good you feel, mirlo,” he says. His voice grows hoarse as he works me, so intent on my pleasure. I widen my stance to let him in deeper, hoping I don’t slide and fall. Though I know he’d catch me. That I know. I’m close. I cry out, a half-moan that says his name. My fingers curl against the tiles, my toes curl against the wet floor. The tension inside me tightens into a knot then shatters into a million colorful pieces. My face contorts, my cries echoing, and I’m both here with Vicente in this hotel shower and somewhere far away. Flying. So fast, so light, beyond everything I know. “I’ve got you,” he says to me, his hand around my waist now, holding me up. I swear I must have blacked out. In a heady daze I look up to see the camera still filming. Holy crap, that orgasm took me to somewhere else entirely. I blink a few times, the water running into my eyes, trying to get my head on straight. “We must watch it later,” he says with a devious smile. “But it’s time for the favor. Get on your knees.” My mouth quirks up into a half-smile. “Right now?” He nods, his expression growing both lustful and stern. Something about the amount of fire in his eyes has me doing what he says immediately.

I get down on my knees, ignoring the hardness of the tiles, and focus on the hardness of his cock as it bobs in front of me, water rolling off the broad tip. I wrap my fingers around the thick base of his shaft, tentative at first. I’ve gone down on Vicente before, but only once. He’s been overly generous with me and it’s about time I returned the favor. But this time it’s different. It’s different because the dynamic has changed. It’s not just that there is a camera filming me—I glance up to the side and see my reflection, the erotically hot image of his cock in my hand—it’s because I finally feel like I’m taking a walk on the wild side. I don’t feel like a girl anymore. I’m his woman. I take in a deep breath, trying not to choke on the water, and slowly, carefully slide his tip past my lips. I let my eyes fall closed at the sound of his moan as it reverberates through the shower. The taste of him, mild in the water but still one hundred percent man, hits my tongue and spurs something deep inside of me, making me crave him even more. “Fuck,” he murmurs, voice breaking into a groan. I look up to see him place one hand against the wall to keep himself upright, those abs of his straining, the other hand still filming us though now it’s a bit sideways and out of focus. He’s being careful not to get the phone wet and I can only hope he keeps that up. At the same time, I want every part of him to unravel. “I’m going to come so hard down the back of your throat,” he says thickly, his hand now moving to my hair where he makes a wet fist. Hell. I slide my lips to the end of his cock then stroke along the underside of his shaft with my tongue, feeling how hot his skin is, even more so in the steamy water, smoothing over every vein and rock-hard ridge. “Look at me,” he whispers. “Look at the camera.” Boldly, I look up and our eyes meet in fireworks until I put him in my mouth again, adding more suction to my lips. It’s too much for him. He pinches his eyes shut, forehead wrinkled, mouth dropping open as he sucks in air and lets out a string of Spanish that sounds too jumbled and breathless for anyone to understand. I want to take my time, watching him slowly succumb to me. He’s brought me to my knees so many times. I also want to watch myself on my phone, to live out any secret dreams I’ve ever had of being a porn star. Not that I’ve had many, but to see myself on camera, sucking Vicente’s cock, is beyond erotic. In fact, it’s empowering as fuck. There’s so much power in my hands and nothing more intoxicating than knowing you’re bringing a man to the edge, especially this man. With all his dark and deadly secrets, his passion and cunning. The moans that come out of his mouth now as I work him steadily with my hands, lips, and tongue, are becoming lower, like they’re rising from a deeper,

more animalistic side of him. The place where the tiger lives. The place where he keeps his inner beast in a cage, taunting him mercilessly. I want to let that beast out. His legs stiffen and his body becomes strained, the tension building inside him. I glance up and our eyes meet briefly, and his glazed expression tells me that he’s awestruck, that at least for now he’s mine and at my mercy. I should be gentle with him. But I’m not. Gentle Violet is gone. She rattles the cage. She throws herself at it. Come and get me. My fist moves faster, slick and wet over his hot length, and my free hand moves up his legs until they find his perfect balls. I tug lightly, testing him. “Fuck!” he cries out hoarsely, followed by what I’m sure are more Spanish expletives. “I’m coming.” My eyes dart slyly to the camera as his cock becomes hotter, his skin stretched under my lips, and I keep going as I feel him change in my grasp. Every muscle in his body stills, frozen, as the orgasm hits him, then suddenly he’s panting, his breath rough and ragged, and his cum is shooting into my mouth, almost to the back of my throat. Just as he warned. I swallow almost immediately, even though being in a shower is the perfect excuse to spit. But fuck it, he has no problem ingesting me, and when I’m all in, I’m all in. I want all of him. “Oh fuck, fuck,” he rasps, leaning against the shower wall, the water still spraying on us. He slowly turns to look at me, his eyes sated, his hair wet and flattened over his head, looking so goddamn beautiful. “You,” he whispers, sounding amazed. “You set me free.” And then he drops the phone. It happens as if in slow motion. As he grins lazily at me, his other hand comes down instinctively to touch me. His hand opens. The phone falls. Splash. Right onto the hard tiles, into the water, sliding to the drain. I let out a cry, quickly scooping it up. The case I have does nothing to protect it from damage, especially water damage. I’ve ruined a phone in the past when I used it in light drizzle just for a second. This thing has been submerged for a few seconds, not to mention the fall onto tiles. “Oh shit,” Vicente says, crouching down beside me. This, of course, makes the water hitting the back of his head spray everywhere, including the phone in my hand. I cry out and scamper out of the shower. I grab a towel from the rack and start rubbing it down before removing the case.

“I am so sorry,” Vicente says, coming behind me. “Is it okay?” I shake my head. “I doubt it.” Once it’s dry, I try and turn it on but nothing happens. Is it wrong that I’m mostly disappointed because I actually did want to watch me giving him head later? “Violet,” he says as I press futilely at the home button. With his fingers he pushes my chin over until I’m looking at him. “I am so sorry. I will get you another one. A better one. Today. Now, even, if there are stores open.” I sigh, shaking my head. Luckily I had backed up my phone a few weeks ago but I’m not sure if I did after meeting Vicente. I’d taken so many pictures of him, candid ones. Ones that made my heart skip. Thank god I still have my actual camera. There are some beautiful ones of him on there. “It’s fine,” I tell him. “Maybe it’s a sign that I should just go without until I get back home.” He smiles at that. “There’s a positive attitude. Even so, I’m replacing it for you. It should come out of my pocket, not yours. It was my idea, my fault.” I’m not going to argue with that, even though I tell him slyly, “Well, technically it was my blow job that made you lose all sense of motor control.” He leans over and kisses me on the forehead, taking the phone from my hand. “You can’t pretend it wasn’t worth it.” He takes it into the room and I quickly dry myself off before following him. He turns on a lamp, examining it. “Maybe if I can get it to the front desk, they’ll have a bag of rice or something.” I give him a look as I rifle through the duffle bag and pull out a long red tank top and grey stretch jeans. “You think they have that?” “It’s a hotel. They have to be prepared for anything,” he says. He quickly gets dressed in dark jeans and a crisp white dress shirt. “I’ll be right back.” I’m struck by his determination to save the thing. You’d think I was making a bigger fuss than I am. But honestly, it was an accident and there’s no point getting worked up about it, especially if he said he would help me out and get me a new one. “Okay,” I tell him. My heart flutters warmly in my chest as I watch him leave the room, the door closing behind him. Then I go back into the bathroom and grab a towel, flipping my head upside down and wrapping my wet hair in it. When I look back at my reflection, I hardly recognize the girl staring back at me. She’s not a girl at all. She’s a woman. A wild one.

CHAPTER TWO Ellie ELLIE IS eleven years old again. She’s dreaming, of course. The kind of fucked up, half lucid dreams that come when you’ve been knocked unconscious. It’s like the violence seeps into your brain, fighting to be heard, a defense mechanism that’s trying to wake you up. So Ellie is surprised to see she can control her actions. She’s also surprised to see where she is. The night where her whole life changed. She hasn’t dreamed this for a very, very long time. She’s lying in the backseat of her parents’ old station wagon, a rusted pile of junk that was the perfect getaway car. No one ever suspected much when they saw it, thinking it was just another family down on their luck. Ellie takes a moment and wonders if she can change history. Maybe this isn’t a dream at all. Maybe she’s been sent back in time and now she can prevent herself from ever becoming so damaged and dirty. Maybe she can stop all the horrible things that this night set into action. If she can’t, at least she can get a glimpse at the person she used to be. She was only eleven. But unscarred, unscathed, other than growing up as a pawn to her parents. She takes in a deep breath and looks down at her leg. Bare. Normal. Sticking out below her shorts without a care in the world. That’s the only thing she can control, just being able to look at how she used to be. Being able to take it all in, before she was flawed. Because what she really wants is to stay in the car, or perhaps get out of it and run far away, right past the swamps outside of Travis Raines’ Mississippi mansion and into the darkness. But she doesn’t. She can’t. The dream has the reins and it’s determined to let history repeat itself. She gets out of the car and heads around the back of the house, sneaking silently through the dark. She doesn’t know the house at all but she knows her parents are inside, dressed

to the nines. They said they wouldn’t grift anymore, that they would stop the cons and live life as a happy, normal family. Ellie knew at the time that her parents were full of shit. That this was another lie, stacked on another lie. But she was their child, eager to please, desperate for a normal life and she did as she was told. She walks around the house to the back door and enters. She hopes the nervous sweat coming out of the back of her hand doesn’t smudge the big numbers her mother wrote on there with a Sharpie. The combination to the safe. Take the money and run. Ellie knows at this point that she’s picked the wrong door. She knows but she still opens it, steps in, and stumbles. In the dream she falls forever, through the black. Down to Hell, it seems. Finally she lands, but unlike reality, it doesn’t hurt in the dream. She bounces, sinking into the hard basement floor like she’s jumping on a pillow. The room is illuminated, casting long endless shadows. Three figures come down the stairs, their details dark and grainy, like looking at an underexposed photograph. The first is Travis Raines. The second is her mother. The third is her father. They are babbling on, trying to explain in vain that their child was supposed to wait in the car, that they couldn’t find a babysitter. She shouldn’t be in the house. It goes fine until Travis grabs little Ellie and hauls her to her feet. Sees the combination written on the back of her hand. Ellie stares up into the eyes of Travis Raines and sees them glow red. Then the Devil himself pours a jar of acid on her leg, scalding her skin. In the dream, the flesh falls off her bones. In reality, it left a network of scars and nerve damage that would last a lifetime. In both cases, the pain is unbearable. Ellie can feel it pushing through. Real pain. Coming from her head. The dream gets fuzzy. “My angel,” Travis says, and before her eyes he morphs into Javier. Cool, reptilian eyes and a crooked smile. He puts his hand to her cheek. “I told you I’d come looking for you on every street.” The pain grows. Ellie wants to scream. Javier won’t let go. He leans in close. She can still smell him. “Ellie, Ellie, Ellie! Baby!” Camden’s muffled cries fill her head. Javier starts to shake her. Then he fades away into the grey.

There’s a loud rip and Ellie’s arms are on fire, a sharp endless sting. She cries out, breathless and gasping, her eyes flying open. Her husband peers at her in horror, his pupils tiny black specks in his familiar ice blue eyes. “Ellie?” he whispers roughly. “Oh my fucking god.” He looks her over and then leans down to rip the duct tape off her legs. Duct tape. Ellie’s head is throbbing so much that it’s hard to think, but then it all suddenly comes back to her with one terrifying wallop. Why she’s sitting in the chair in the dining room, partially duct taped to it. Why her head feels stuffed with nails and knives. Why everything is spinning. Why panic is clawing up her throat like a wild animal. “Violet!” she screams. “Where is she?” Camden takes a moment to understand what’s happened and then he’s running up the stairs two at a time. Ellie, meanwhile, tries to get out of the chair but falls to the ground, her legs partially asleep, her skin stinging from the tape, her body weak with horror. Violet, Violet, Violet. He has her. She struggles to her feet, leaning on the chair, looking around her. It’s dark out through the windows. The clock on the microwave reads ten at night, or maybe eleven. Her vision is wavering, her head still full of rocks. “She’s not there,” Camden yells, clattering back down the stairs, the whole house shaking from the weight of his frame. He holds a piece of paper in front of Ellie. “She left with Vicente,” he says. “Says she’ll be back Sunday. Did he do this to you?” Ellie nods, trying to find her voice. “Yes. Yes. He’s him. He’s him.” Camden frowns and takes Ellie by the arm, trying to get her to sit down on the couch but she tears out of his grasp. Her head explodes from the movement and she immediately bends over, hands pressed at her head, trying to contain the pain, to stop the world from spinning. To understand. “We have to take you to the hospital,” Camden says. “No,” she whispers. “No, we have to get Violet. Vicente. He’s Javier’s son. He told me so.” She manages to look up at her husband. “He did this to me. He’s here because of Violet. He’s going to take her to him. I don’t think she has any idea.” Rage slowly assaults Camden’s face, his skin turning red, his eyes becoming hardened, the muscles in his neck becoming corded. “He’s Javier’s son,” he manages to say, each word having weight. “He was sent here.” Ellie would nod if she could. “We have to get Violet back. We have to call the police.” “No.” She looks at him in shock. “No?”

He shakes his head. “No. We’ll call your dad. And we’ll call Ben. We’ll keep this between us. We don’t know what will happen if the police get involved. Violet left by her own will, Ellie. This is her handwriting. There’s no law against that.” “He could have been forcing her to write that at gunpoint!” “We know that’s probably not true. You saw the way she was acting earlier, what she said, what she knows. She’s defiant. She’s angry at us. She wants him. He didn’t have to force her.” “She has no fucking idea who he really is!” she screams. “You think she’s actually going to come back on Sunday like nothing happened? Do you think he would let that happen? No. He can’t come back. And he won’t let her come back without him.” Camden grabs her shoulders and she can see that he’s trying to stay calm, to keep his cool. That’s always been his job. The level-headed one. “We’re going to be okay. She’s going to be okay.” “She’s our daughter! She’s with his son. How the fuck is any of this going to be okay?” Tears are rising up to her eyes, the horror, the guilt, the sorrow is uncontainable. She feels like an orchestra of strings is lodged in her chest, the notes rising higher and higher and higher until they might just burst out of her. Camden pulls her to him, wrapping his big, inked arms around her shaking body. He holds her as tight as he possibly can, resting his chin on the top of her head. “We’re going to get through this,” he whispers hoarsely. “You know this. You know what we’re both capable of. You know we’ve buried it but it’s still there. We’ve got a lot of fight left in us. This is only the beginning.” He pulls back, cupping his wife’s face in his hands, her tears streaming black trails onto his skin. “I love you, Ellie. And I will do anything for our daughter. Anything and everything.” He takes in a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. “We’ll take this one step at a time. You try her phone. She might answer. Text her. I’ll call Ben and Gus.” “Why Ben?” Ellie whispers. “Because we’ve kept him in the dark for so long. He needs to know what happened. You know he’d do anything for Violet. And you know he’s one of our best shots at finding her. That boy is a genius. And he’ll prove it.” Camden immediately gets his phone out of his pocket while Ellie takes a moment to let it all sink in before she scampers to the kitchen to get hers. The last place she had it before Vicente Bernal slithered into her house like the motherfucking snake he is. She can barely hold the phone, barely push the speed dial for Violet’s number. It rings and rings and rings and then goes to voicemail. “Hi, you have reached Violet McQueen. I don’t use voicemail so if you want to get a hold of me, please text me. Ciao.” Ellie nearly weeps at the sound of her voice and when she starts to speak, her voice is choked. “Violet, it’s Mom. Please, please listen. You’re in danger. Vicente is

not who he says he is. He’s the son of a drug lord. I know you might know this but he means you harm. Don’t believe him. Get yourself somewhere safe, or to the police. Or call me back. He attacked me before you left with him, taped me to a chair. Violet, he’s dangerous, he’s dangerous, he means to bring you to his father as revenge. Against me. See, he—” The voicemail beeps. She’s run out of room. She calls back. This time it goes straight to voicemail. She leaves another message. And another. Telling her about Javier Bernal. What he means. Who he is. All the secrets she kept. Then she texts. She texts and texts while Camden calls Ben. “Ben, something’s happened. We need you to come here tonight. Violet’s boyfriend is not who we thought he is. He has her, she’s in danger, and she just doesn’t know it. I promise we’ll explain everything, everything, when you get here. But we need your help finding her.” When he hangs up, he calls Ellie’s father, Gus. A man who, despite being in his late seventies, still has a lot of connections thanks to a long career working as a (sometimes crooked) cop for the LAPD. Even though his identity as Ellie’s actual birth father was kept under wraps for most of her life, he’s the type of man who would do anything for her. In fact, he has done more than enough already. When Camden went after Ellie in Mexico, Gus was with him every step of the way. With Gus coming down from Gualala and Ben coming up from Santa Cruz, there’s nothing left for Camden and Ellie to do but wait. And let the guilt eat them alive.

CHAPTER THREE Vicente I CAN’T SAY I feel good about it. The fact that I dropped her smartphone in the shower on purpose with the intent to ruin it. It worked. Her flimsy vanity case with the artful skulls on the back couldn’t protect it against even a drop of water, let alone a few seconds immersed in it. I will buy her another one. A better one. Maybe not right now, but soon. I peer down at it in my hand and close the hotel door behind me, making sure it’s locked, then make my way down the quiet corridor toward the lobby, my feet silent on the plush patterned carpet. It’s still early and everyone seems to be asleep, though with the ease that we were able to secure the room for check-in and the small amount of cars in the parking lot, I’d say that the hotel is pretty quiet at all times. It’s just for show, taking her phone to reception. I know they can’t bring the phone back from the dead and I wouldn’t want them to even if they could. What are you doing? I shut my eyes to keep out the voice. The one not coming from my head but somewhere deeper than that. Somewhere inside me where it’s black and hollow. I can’t think about that right now. Can’t think about what will happen next. Like Violet, I need to stay in the moment and stop looking ahead. Stop looking back. What happened with her mother last night was an accident. Kind of. I didn’t think it would end that way, with me knocking Ellie out and duct taping her to a chair. I should have known how she’d react, that it wouldn’t end well. My ambition got the best of me, as did my temper, and I’m going to pay for it. Fuck, am I ever going to pay for it. How long can I keep Violet from contacting her parents? I already see the guilt eating her alive, the way she left things with them. If she were to find out what I did…this would all be over in a second. And yet she will find out. I can keep her away from them but she will find out.

And then what? Will she take my lies over the truth from her mother? I doubt it. Once she sees the snake that I am, I doubt anything that Violet feels for me will withstand the storm. Violet feels things very deeply, which is wonderful when it comes to love and terrifying when it comes to hate. I’m running out of time, that’s all there is to it. I’m going to have to hold on to every second until it blows up in my face. I’m an idiot. Out of everything I’ve done recently, this is the first time I’ve really fucked up. I push those thoughts aside, as true as they are. I can’t let them take over right now. I have to move forward. The same dark-haired receptionist from when we checked in is at the front desk. Pretty and thin, but with tired eyes, either from just starting her shift at an ungodly early hour or ending her shift at an ungodly late hour. “Can I help you?” she asks. I can tell she’s racking her brain trying to remember my name. I know in her head I’m just another Mexican and all of our names sound the same. “Yes, actually, though it’s a long shot,” I tell her, taking on my father’s smooth delivery. He was always so good at dealing with people, especially women. I place the phone on the desk. “My girlfriend dropped this in the sink. I was wondering if you could save it?” She grimaces and then gives me her most helpful smile. “I’ll see what I can do. You’re not the first. This happens all the time. I can run this over to the cooks in the kitchen. They’re on breakfast right now but they might have rice. It usually does a good job of pulling water out from the phone.” “I would really appreciate that,” I tell her, not expecting her to go above and beyond. I watch as she scuttles behind closed doors. A few minutes pass. Too many minutes. Too much time to think. I stare at the non-descript décor in the lobby and wonder what to do with Violet next. I know she picked this small desert town because it’s where her parents grew up. To be honest, it’s strange to be here. I don’t even know their history or really how it entangles with my father’s, but there’s a strange sense of respect. Like time is heavier, like this whole town is rife with the weight of the past. By the time the receptionist returns—without the phone—someone has already entered through the sliding doors of the lobby and is waiting behind me. I don’t turn around to look. “I gave it to the cook,” she says to me as she steps behind the desk, chipper and professional like she solved a problem. “He says he’ll do what he can.” “Thank you,” I tell her as her focus and smile slowly drifts away from me and to the person behind me. I turn around, glancing quickly at the newcomer. Though I keep moving, though I keep my face still, the person I am looking at is a hard kick to my core.

Everything about this, about him, is wrong. The man is dark haired, tanned, average height, wearing a cheap grey suit and tan huarache loafers. He doesn’t look at me at all, just waits for the receptionist. That alone is a tell. Normally an average person would take interest, even in a distant way, and especially if the other person is turning around to face them and they’ve only seen their back so far. An average person is curious. People seek out faces. This guy doesn’t look at all. Doesn’t meet my eyes. He looks straight ahead with fake impatience, hands folded in front of him, showing off a Rolex that might be real, and if so, contrasts with the cheap suit. This isn’t good. And he’s not worth drawing attention to. I head back into the corridors of the hotel, heading for the stairs to the third floor. That guy in the lobby is here for me or Violet. That much I know is true. While I climb the stairs two at a time, I think about my beloved car in the parking lot. Whoever the hell is following us—at this point I can’t tell if it’s my father’s men or someone else, the men that have maybe been stalking Violet— that’s the first place they’ll hit up. I’ll never be able to drive her again. Once I get to the third level I start hurrying along the hall, replaying the man’s face in my head. There wasn’t anything that stood out. He was middle-aged and of Mediterranean descent, maybe. He doesn’t look out of place here. He wouldn’t look out of place next to the Mustang, putting a bomb inside it. I may have been sloppy so far, but I know the signs when I see them. My head is already churning over the possibilities. To be honest, I never thought much of Violet’s stalker. I completely believe her on both accounts, from the stalking on Haight to the attack just off it. I just figured it had nothing to do with anyone I had to worry about. It sounds silly now that I think I may have glanced the enemy in the face, but I’d assumed it had nothing to do with my family. And who could be worse than them? But now? Now everything is different. The man I looked at wasn’t an albino, but that doesn’t mean anything. Everything about him made the alarms sound in my gut. There’s a bullet in my pocket burning a hole. You’re so far from your weapon and the place you were born. I am far from my weapon. In my plan and the way things have unfurled this early morning, it’s on me that I never thought to bring a gun with me to the lobby. It’s in this moment that I realize how terribly unschooled I am. All this training in so many countries across the globe and yet I’m undone close to home. It just took one girl. One fucking girl.

That I will do everything to protect. I’m walking fast now, trying to remain composed. My father always taught me to remain cool in the most difficult situations but now that my heart is racing and wringing with worry, I’m not sure it’s as easy as I imagined. And then I stop dead in my tracks. The door to our hotel room is ajar, the deadbolt preventing the door from fully closing. I know when I left I closed that door fully. I heard it click shut. Fuck. Why the hell didn’t I bring a gun with me? “Violet,” I call out softly, slowly pushing the door open. The room is dark except for the bathroom light. It’s empty. Fuck! “Violet!” I cry out, running to the bathroom and kicking the door open. It’s also empty. The shower drips once, the sound empty and hollow. I whirl around and go for the pile of my clothes on the floor, finding my gun underneath it. I grab it and then check under the bed, then the closets. Nothing. Shit. Panic is starting to undo me but I push it aside. I walk back to the pants on the ground and search the pockets for my keys. I can’t find them. Fuck no. What if she goes to the car? What if she starts the car? What if someone’s already taken her? With my gun at my side, I burst out of the room and start running down the hall toward the stairwell. “Vicente?” I come to a crashing halt. Go back a few steps. Peer down a short alcove. Violet is standing in front of a vending machine, a bottle of Sprite and a bag of chips in her hands. Fucking hell. The relief I feel is incomparable. “What, uh, are you doing?” she asks, staring at the gun. I shake my head. “I thought you were gone. The door was open. My car keys…” She frowns. “I left the door open because I couldn’t find the key card. I grabbed your car keys because I couldn’t find any change and remembered seeing some in the car. I was hungry.” She nods at the machine. “But it takes credit cards anyway.”

I exhale slowly and start heading back to the room before a guest sees me out here with a gun. “Why do you have your gun out?” she whispers, following right behind me. “Always be prepared,” I tell her as we step inside. I close the door behind me, locking the deadbolt and the top lock. “Boy Scout motto, isn’t it?” “Yes, but when they go camping, they bring extra matches. Not firearms.” “Call it a habit,” I tell her as she sits down on the edge of the bed, the bottle of Sprite between her legs, her nails tearing into the chips. I don’t want to worry her, but the longer we stay in this room, the more dangerous it is. “Violet,” I tell her. “It’s too nice outside to spend it in here.” I walk over to her and snatch the Sprite and chips away from her, placing them on the desk. “Hey,” she says in a huff, looking at the junk food with longing. “Why don’t we go out for breakfast? You wanted to explore Palm Valley, didn’t you? Maybe we can walk around, perhaps find out some more about George McQueen.” It’s hard to keep the urgency out of my voice. She considers that then shrugs and gets up. “Okay. Pancakes do seem like a better option.” “That’s my girl,” I tell her. I walk over to my suitcase and take out my gun and ankle holster. “What are you doing?” she asks me as I kneel down, putting it on. “Do you think you’re going to have a shoot-out at Denny’s?” “Depends if they have real maple syrup or not.” “Vicente, I’m serious.” “I don’t feel comfortable leaving them in the room,” I tell her, and that’s the truth. “A maid might come in here. It might look suspicious. I can’t risk it.” “Even with the Do Not Disturb sign on?” “Happens more than you’d think. Let’s go.” It’s not long before we’re going down the stairwell and out into the bright morning sunshine. The mountains in the distance are covered with a thin layer of haze, the wide sky above an impossible blue. It reminds me of a vacation we went on when I was a child, to a beach house of ours outside San José del Cabo, where my mother grew up. The ocean there is wild, but the desert lies beyond it, deep rocky crags that stretch forever under a cloudless sky. My father wasn’t with us on that vacation, of course. He had to stay behind at the finca. He had work to do. But Diego was there, and he took care of my mother and my sister and me. Even without my father in the picture, it was still a happy memory, a happier time, back when I was innocent. Thankfully, because it’s so nice out and the hotel is close to town, Violet doesn’t question why we’re walking and not driving. For the first time in my life, I wonder if I’m being absolutely paranoid. The man in the lobby…just because he didn’t look at me doesn’t mean he’s out to get us. It doesn’t mean he planted a bomb in the car. It doesn’t mean anything.

And yet, I have to remain cautious. I’ve been overconfident so far, and if I keep that up, it’s going to get us both killed. During the walk to the nearest breakfast place (an IHOP, not a Denny’s, but close enough), I keep my eyes open, looking over my shoulder, on high alert. So far it seems we’re not being followed. Once inside the restaurant I do a quick sweep of the place. It’s not full. There are a few tables with senior citizens and one with hungover high school students. No one suspicious. We sit down at a booth and Violet quickly peruses the plastic menu, hunger in her eyes. I can’t help but smile at the joy she’s getting out of picking out pancakes. For all the cards she’s been dealt recently, there’s something still so pure about her. Even when she’s sucking my cock in the shower she manages to maintain her innocence. I can only hope, as she grows stronger and bolder, that she keeps that softness in her heart. A lioness can be both a fierce predator and a purring cat. A waitress named Carla comes by and takes our order—just bacon and eggs and black coffee for me, while Violet settles on walnut and banana pancakes with a side of French toast and herbal tea—and our conversation immediately shifts to that of the McQueens. “If I had my phone, I could look them up and at least see if George’s wife Raquel is still here,” she says. I try not to feel bad about that reminder and I pull out my phone, sliding it to her. “Use mine.” It doesn’t take long before she finds a listing for a Raquel McQueen, who lives in the Canyon Shores Estates here in town. “Do you want to pay her a visit?” I ask her over my coffee. It tastes like garbage, like most American coffee does, even the shit imported from my own country. She nods though she looks scared as hell. “Yes. I do.” “Call first?” “No. I think it’s best if we drop by. This isn’t the sort of thing I want to do on the phone. I want to see her. I want to see her face when I ask her questions. If we even get that far.” She’s being brave. I can appreciate that. When we’re done with our food and I’ve paid, we search out the address on the GPS and set out. Violet grows quiet as we walk past shops that aren’t even open yet, the sun beating down on us. After being in that fog for so long, the sun feels like home. I have to say, I miss it. “Are you nervous?” I ask her. “A little,” she says in a small voice. She then sighs, long and loud. “I just…I can’t stop beating myself up over how I acted with my parents. I can just see the hurt in their eyes. They were surprised I could be so vicious. I was surprised I could be so vicious.” “I find it hard to believe that in all your years you’ve never said things you didn’t mean.”

“No, I have. I tend to keep it inside though. Perhaps I shouldn’t. Maybe I should be more vocal with my feelings, I just get the impression that no one takes them seriously anyway. Whether I fly off the handle or I keep it inside and drown in it, it’s always ‘Violet’s having a breakdown, Violet’s having a moment.’ Like what I feel isn’t valid.” She kicks at a rock and it skitters off the sidewalk and into the dusty sand. “I’m disappointed in myself. That’s what it comes down to.” It chips away at my heart to hear her talk like this. I stop walking and pull her to me, peering down at her gorgeous face so sweet with worry. “Good people do bad things,” I tell her. “All the time. It’s called being human. Just because you’re overly sensitive to life, that your feelings overwhelm you, doesn’t mean you’re a saint, Violet. You’re not. I’m definitely not. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Don’t judge yourself because you’re not perfect and pure. There are enough hypocrites out there that will do that for you.” She nods but I know she doesn’t believe me. I cup her face in my hands. “Out of all the things my father taught me, the one that I take to heart is that this world is out to misunderstand you. All because people never take a good look at themselves. They’re afraid. They always like to say what they would do in a certain situation, they like to say ‘I don’t understand, I would never do that,’ but until that situation comes up, they just don’t know. We’ve seen this in the world, over and over again, with horrible results.” I pause, taking in a breath, my hand going down and resting on her chest. Her skin is sun-warmed already. “Sometimes I think there’s a big black hole in the middle of everyone’s hearts. It’s something we’re born with. We go through our lives trying to find ways to fill it. But we never take a moment to stick our fingers in, to really examine the mess at our core. If we did, if we were brave enough, we would find out who we really are. What we’re really capable of. We would learn there are angels and devils inside each one of us, battling every fucking day. No one is exempt, though they like to pretend they are.” Her eyes search mine, as if she’s trying to sort through the mess inside me. “Do you know what you’re capable of?” I lick my lips. The desert air seems impossibly dry. “I don’t,” I admit in a low voice. “But I have a feeling I’ll find out. That we both will. Together.” I take her hand in mine. “Starting now.” We keep walking. The Canyon Shores Estates are on the outskirts of town. For some reason I was expecting an upper class country club, or at least the usual terracotta-roofed subdivisions where Canadian snowbirds spend their winters playing golf and lounging by the pool. Instead it’s a trailer park. Not a trashy one, but not high-end either. Surrounded by a big stucco wall lined with barbed wire, there are narrow paved roads flanked by mobile homes, RVs, and old palms. Some homes are brightly colored with small portable gardens out front and white lattice fencing, while others are fading and

dilapidated. There is no shade. Even in the morning sun, it’s stifling. “Huh,” Violet says as we stop outside of the guard booth, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “I was expecting something different.” I head over to the guard booth, hoping that it won’t raise red flags that we obviously don’t have an appointment. The guard just looks at us from inside his booth and without anyone saying anything, the gate starts to rattle open slowly. That was easy. I’m guessing this is one of those places where there isn’t much to steal. I grab Violet’s hand, giving it a squeeze, and we walk in as the automatic gate slowly trundles past. Violet had said the address was 15 Desert Court and we pause by the faded map that shows us where all the little streets are. Of course, Desert Court is at the opposite end of the community, which means a few minutes of walking past homes. There are a few people outside, sitting in front of their RVs in plastic lawn chairs, tanning their leathery legs. Inside the windows, faces appear, watching our every move as we go past. They’re a curious bunch, I’m sure only because nothing exciting happens much in a place like this. In fact, judging by the age of the people watching us, I’m pretty sure this is a waiting room to the afterlife. Finally we come to 15 Desert Court, tucked away in the corner, a small bright blue mobile home backing up to the fence. A large date palm towers over it, casting rare shade over a pair of flamingos stuck into the tiny front lawn. It’s by far one of the nicer places in the complex, and with a Buick SUV in the driveway, it’s a sign that Raquel must be home. “Well?” I say to Violet. She’s staring at the front door, at a pink and yellow wooden sign hanging off of it that says Please Knock in flowery font. A bead of sweat rolls down her forehead. “Violet?” I ask softly. She licks her lips, gives me a wary glance. “I’m scared.” “Nothing to be scared of,” I tell her. “I’m here with you. All you’re doing is just asking a few questions, questions you have the right to ask.” She nods but doesn’t move. I have to make the move for her. I walk up to the door, open the screen, and quickly knock. “Vicente,” Violet says, anguished, and then hurries so she’s right behind me. If I left it up to her we would be standing here all day. Decisions aren’t always her strong suit. I can hear the creak of the floor from inside the home, and I get the impression that someone is peering at us through the peephole. I wait, not wanting to knock again until I have to. The door is unlocked in three different places before it slowly opens a crack, a pale face peering at us. “Yes?” a woman says, frowning at me, the shadows from her house making her wrinkles deepen. “Who are you?”

I raise my brows. Not exactly the welcome I thought we’d get. Seems Raquel is on the cantankerous side of old age. “Are you Raquel McQueen?” Her frown deepens. “Yes. And who are you?” I give her a placating smile, about to tell her when Violet steps up beside me. “Mrs. McQueen,” Violet says. “I’m your granddaughter.”

CHAPTER FOUR Violet THE WOMAN’S face stares at me in awe, barely visible between the crack in the door. I can’t quite call her Raquel because it sounds so impersonal, and grandmother is a bit of a stretch, no matter that it’s the truth. “Granddaughter?” she repeats, looking to Vicente and back to me. “Oh my goodness. Goodness, goodness.” She disappears. The door slams shut. I purse my lips, looking to Vicente nervously. What do we do? He nods, reading my mind, and raises his hand to knock. Before he can, the door opens again, wider this time, the woman still peeking out the side of it. “Come in. Come in.” I gulp, grateful for Vicente’s warm hand as it grasps mine, giving it a squeeze. Thank god he’s here. He’s a fucking anchor, holding me in place. We step into her home. It’s dark compared to the stark sunshine of outside, all her curtains and blinds are closed. Yet it’s a bright place otherwise, with soft yellow walls and cream furniture. It pretty much looks like every grandparents’ place, with almost the same china hutch in the corner that my grandma Mimi has. I’m immediately drawn to the line of photographs she has displayed on a low, doily-covered table but I restrain myself from walking over there and looking for my father. She’s his stepmother, and depending on how the relationship went— I’m guessing not well—she might not have any photographs of him anyway. “Lovely place you have here,” Vicente says, hands now clasped behind his back and looking around. In his white dress shirt and dark jeans and black boots, marred only by the desert dust, he looks positively elegant. “Thank you,” she says absently and shuts the door. She walks slowly over to the living room and turns on one of the lamps in the corner, peering at me. I’m aware that I’m peering right back at her. In the warm light, she’s a bit younger than I thought. I’m pretty bad at guessing ages but I estimate she’s maybe in her late seventies. She’s very thin to the point of looking frail, her face drawn and pale, her shoulder-length blonde hair with six inches of white roots. She must have been pretty when she was younger.

I’m not sure how long the silence passes between the three of us but I’m waiting with bated breath for her to make up her mind about me. There are so many fucking questions that I don’t even know where to start, but I don’t want to just unleash on her either. Finally she straightens up, holding her loose knit cardigan close to her with shaking hands. I don’t know how she’s not roasting—the ceiling fan barely kicks up any air. “I see it. I see him.” My mouth flaps open in surprise, this shock that I was actually right. “My father?” “Camden, yes,” she says slowly. “How did you find me?” “It’s a long story.” She gestures to the couch. “I live alone. I play bridge at five. I literally have all day.” I exchange a glance with Vicente who just nods. We sit down on the couch while she takes the armchair. “I suppose I should be a good host and offer you some coffee or tea.” “We won’t take up much of your time,” Vicente says. “Violet just has a few questions about her grandfather.” “Violet,” she repeats, seeming to chew on my name. “How is Ben?” And just like that, it’s too much. Too fucking much. I feel panic rising in my chest, burning like acid. I’m on the cusp of all truth and I’m not sure how much of this I’m going to be able to handle. Vicente puts his hand on my knee and says to her, “Ben’s great. Smart man. May I express our condolences on your late husband. I’m sure he will be missed.” Smooth, Vicente. Very smooth. But Raquel laughs dryly, though there is no humor in her eyes. “I know that can’t be true. George was a terrible father to Camden. I wasn’t much better as a stepmother.” She looks at me. “I’m really sorry that we all ended up this way. I can only imagine what you’ve heard.” I clear my throat. “Actually, I haven’t heard a single thing. Ever. My father told me his father and mother died when he was a teenager. So I grew up believing I didn’t have grandparents on that side.” “Oh dear,” Raquel says, easing herself to her feet. “Oh dear, indeed.” She flaps her hands at her sides nervously. “You know what, screw the coffee. I need something stronger. Either of you drink brandy?” “Let me,” Vicente says, getting up and crossing over to her. He puts his hands on her shoulders and gives her a warm smile. “You sit down and get acquainted with Violet and I’ll get the brandy. I’ll put on a pot of coffee too if you wish.” “Oh that would be lovely…?” “Vicente.” “Vicente,” she repeats, nodding a few times before sitting back down. “Coffee is in the cupboard by the sink. The brandy is underneath the sink where George

always used to keep it.” He goes off to the kitchen. Despite my nerves being all over the place, watching how gentle and polite Vicente is with Raquel makes me feel flush all over, like easing into a warm bath, if that warm bath was a straight shot to the heart. I think I’m completely in love with him. So much so that it takes all I have to tear my eyes away from him and focus on Raquel, my step-grandmother that I never had, the much bigger picture. “Yes, I can see your father more now,” she says wistfully. “Same forehead. Expressions.” She pauses. “I suppose I should explain things from my end. I can’t say I’m surprised that Camden never talked about us. Things didn’t end well…they didn’t start well either, for that matter.” “Were you ever in touch?” She gives me an apologetic wince. “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t even understand what happened.” She gives me a shaky smile. “It was so long ago.” I sigh. “I know it’s weird for me to drop by like this but…did you even know I existed?” She shakes her head. “We knew Ben and that was it. After Camden and Ben disappeared, after Sophia was found dead, and her brothers…George didn’t want to follow up. He wanted to pretend that Camden didn’t exist. They never saw eye to eye. Camden was spiteful. George was…intolerable. It was a hard thing to watch. Looking back, I should have done more for him. But I would always side with George. Always. And now I’m paying the price.” She pauses, sneaking a glance at Vicente while he rattles in her kitchen. “Not that I think you need this advice with him, but always trust your instincts, Violet. I can tell you’re a smart girl.” “I’m still so confused over what happened. Why would my father lie? Why would he say you guys didn’t exist?” “You haven’t asked him?” “He doesn’t know I’m here.” “I see,” she says, leaning back into the chair. “And how did you find me again? If he’d told you I wasn’t alive.” “The newspaper clipping,” I tell her, watching her closely. She seems confused. “I thought maybe you sent it.” “No,” she says slowly. “It was from the newspaper here. The article about George McQueen, how he died. Someone mailed it to our house. No letter, no return address. I found it before my parents did.” She sucks in a breath, and for a moment I think maybe she’s having a heart attack. “You don’t know who sent it? Do your parents?” I shake my head, feeling a wash of shame. “No. We never really discussed it.” She clasps her hands in her lap and starts wringing them. “Oh dear.” “What?” She takes in a long, deep breath and her eyes turn sharp as she looks at me.

“There’s something you should know.” She looks over at Vicente again, and though he’s measuring out coffee grounds, I know he’s listening. He has this uncanny ability to look like he’s not but he always is. “What?” “How much about your father do you know? Do you know of his shop here? Well, it’s gone now, but he had a tattoo parlor.” “I know he had a tattoo parlor. He has one still, but it’s in San Francisco. Sins & Needles. Same name I think?” “And is it a legitimate business?” I frown. “What does your mother do?” “She’s a photographer.” But even the truth sounds weak. Vicente comes over with the bottle of brandy and three small glasses which he elegantly places on the glass coffee table between us. “I can vouch for Violet’s parents. Both businesses are legitimate.” “Why would you even ask that?” “The fact that you had to ask that tells me everything I need to know,” Raquel says. I’m starting to feel stupider by the minute. “It was only recently that I learned he was married before my mom and that Ben is my half-brother. Ben didn’t even know that.” Raquel nods as Vicente pours her a glass. She knocks it back, coughs. “I needed this.” She thrusts out the glass for Vicente to refill and he does it without hesitation. She takes just a sip this time and lets out a long breath, visibly relaxing. She stares off at the window. “Age is a curse, you know. Sometimes I don’t think I’m old at all. And then something like this happens and I realize how far on the other side I am.” While she stares off at nothing, I look over at Vicente. He gives me a small, encouraging smile and hands me the brandy, which I gratefully take. When she starts speaking again, her voice is flat. “Your father married Sophie and things were well. We were all very happy, especially when they had Ben. But the marriage was on the rocks. Eventually they split and Camden came back here to open his tattoo shop. We didn’t agree—George is, was, very conservative. It wasn’t until later that we realized what was going on. He was using the shop to launder money.” I almost laugh. In fact, I choke on the brandy. “Excuse me?” I manage to say between coughs. “My dad was a money launderer?” She gives me a wry smile. “And your mother was a con artist. At least I hope they’ve both left those pasts behind.” WHAT? “A…what?” “A con artist,” Vicente muses. He doesn’t seem surprised in the least.

But here I am. Reeling. Floored. I can barely sit up straight. None of this makes any sense. And yet I feel deep in my heart that all those puzzle pieces that have been floating around in there all my life, they’re finally sliding into place. “She comes from a family of grifters,” Raquel says. “That is to say, you come from a family of grifters. The Watt family was known in this town. As a teenager, Ellie was raised by her uncle Jim, until he died tragically nearby in the town of Hemet. Shot in a motel room by who knows who.” Vicente stiffens beside me. I’m still unable to comprehend any of this. The answers I’ve always wanted but was too afraid to seek out. And with good fucking reason. I know who I am now. The blood of frauds and criminals runs through me. Raquel goes on. “I know this must come as a surprise. Camden and Ellie were good friends in high school, and then she moved away to do who knows what. Lie, cheat, steal. Whatever her game was. She came back later, got embroiled with Camden again. I’m still not clear what happened, but they disappeared one day. Then the Madanos got involved. George had a hell of a scandal on his hands. It was their money that Camden was laundering. He had stolen it. We couldn’t believe it. Your father was always so mild-mannered. Polite. Caring. Highly sensitive. Never thought he could do such a thing. But that’s what happened.” “Then how did Sophie and them die? Did Camden kill them?” Vicente asks, as if that’s not a huge leap to make. “Not quite,” she says, taking another sip of her brandy. “There was an incident in the Mojave Desert, near here. At the old airplane graveyard. A shoot-out with the Madanos and a Mexican cartel.” “What cartel?” I ask quickly. I glance at Vicente but his face remains entirely impassive. She shrugs. “Aren’t they all the same?” Then she looks at Vicente and gives a flustered wave with her hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to insult you.” “It would only be an insult if I was part of a Mexican drug cartel,” he says with a broad smile. “I’m thinking it was most likely the Zetas, judging from how long ago this must have been.” “Yes, the Zetas. The crazy ones.” She shivers. “Something went wrong. They ended up dead, all the Madanos. But Camden and Ben were already long gone. At that point George figured he disappeared for a reason. It took a few years before I found the courage to look him up, to make sure he was alive. I found Camden in the phone book but I never could call. I just knew he was alive and that was enough.” I finish the rest of the drink and sit back into the couch. “I’ll go get the coffee,” Vicente says, patting my knee. “Raquel, what do you take?” “Just black is fine,” she says. She looks at me, her face seeming to crumple. “Violet, I’m going to ask you something and please don’t be worried by it but…have

you noticed anything unusual lately?” I blink at her in shock. “Unusual? My whole fucking life has been turned upside down this last month. So yes. Unusual!” “Yes, of course,” she says quietly. Her gaze grows hardened. Afraid. “This is hard for me to admit but I must tell you the truth.” There’s more truth? Even Vicente’s brows raise as he brings over a tray of mugs filled with coffee. I’m too shocked to even find the sight charming. “After they died, about eight years later, a man came to see us at the house. I only moved into this place when George went into the hospice. We lived in a big beautiful house before. You can still go see it—I’ll give you the address if you want. Anyway, a man came to see George. He saw him a few times.” “What did the man look like?” Vicente asks. She gives him a curious look. How could that be relevant? “He was pretty average looking. Handsome, I guess. Italian, though born here. No accent. His name was Leo Madano. He was Sophia’s cousin. And unbeknownst to me, he was threatening George, threatening all of us for years, before I found out.” “Threatening what?” I ask. “He said he knew what Camden had done. He had blamed him for their deaths. And more than that, he wanted the money back that Camden stole. Plus interest.” “That’s extortion,” Vicente says quietly. “Whatever you call it,” she says, and now her voice is starting to waver, “it’s what happened. For the last twelve years, George was paying Leo ten thousand dollars every three months. The checks went out like clockwork.” “Why?” I exclaim. “He was the sheriff! Arrest the fucking guy.” “Leo had information that he said he’d leak, to make it look not only like Camden was a wanted murderer but that George covered it up. George would lose his job. And he threatened to hurt our children, Colleen and Kelli. That it would happen the moment we stopped paying or if we slipped up. He said he had people watching them all the time. We believed them.” “Holy fuck,” I say, shaking my head. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get out of this state of permanent shock. “And so we paid and paid and then George got sick and it was harder to make the payments. And now George has died.” I look at Vicente. “I believe Leo is the one who sent Camden the article,” she says. “A reminder.” “Does my dad know about this? There’s no way he would be paying it back.” “I don’t see how he could. Unless Leo has been extorting him for years at the same time. But only you would be able to tell me if it’s true.” God. I honestly have no idea now. Every single thing my parents have ever done seems incredibly suspect. “But what about you?” Vicente asks her gently. “How are you handling this?

Aren’t you in danger?” She takes a long sip of her coffee, her hands shaking. “Honestly, I’m not afraid anymore. I’ve been afraid for a long time. I’m tired.” “But you can’t pay it back,” he points out. “Unless you are somehow.” She laughs. “You see where I live, right? No. I don’t have money. George didn’t leave us with a lot. He made a lot of mistakes, costly ones. I have enough to get by, but not enough to pay Leo. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m off the hook.” I frown. “Just like that?” “He came by about six weeks ago. Showed up one morning, just like you both did. Told me that I didn’t owe him anything anymore.” “And you believed him?” Vicente asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. She nods. “Could you describe him to me?” “I told you. There’s not much to say. Average height. Italian descent.” “Not an albino?” Ah, I see. “No, not even close. Nice tan. Had a pricey watch, no doubt bought with our money.” Doesn’t sound like my stalker or attacker. I didn’t notice the man’s watch. Then again, I didn’t notice much while I was fighting for my life. “Why the questions?” she asks. “Have you seen him?” “No,” Vicente says quickly. “We haven’t.” I watch him for a moment, wondering if I should tell her what happened to me. But for some reason, whatever vibe is rolling off Vicente is telling me to keep my mouth shut. “Well, that’s good,” she says. “The man has gotten more than what Camden owed, interest and all that. Perhaps he is just as tired as I am. Perhaps he realized an old woman deserves to be left alone.” “That would require a change of heart,” Vicente says quietly. “We all change,” she says. But from the set to Vicente’s jaw, I can tell he doesn’t believe that at all. “Well, thank you for your time,” he says, and I’m surprised that he’s getting up to go so soon. “We’re sorry to barge in like this.” “Vicente,” I say to him. “We could at least finish our coffees.” Even though the caffeine is already doing a number on my heart. I usually drink decaf for a good reason. “It’s quite all right,” Raquel says, getting to her feet. “To be honest, I need a nap after all this.” She gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, but I’m glad I finally had the chance to meet you. I really do hope you’ll stay in touch.” She seems to hesitate, then comes around the coffee table and pulls me into a soft hug. She smells like roses. “Don’t blame Camden. He’s a good man. He didn’t have an easy upbringing. That was on George. And me. And Camden’s own inner demons. Your parents kept all of this a secret because they were trying to protect you.”

It’s hard to swallow. I feel tears welling up. She pulls back, puts a cold hand to my cheek. “Take it easy on them. They’re just people, and I have no doubt they love you. People make parenting out to be easy. It’s not. Just because you’re a parent doesn’t mean your flaws, your past, goes away. No, it stays with you. I know it’s hard to accept when you’re their child, but believe me, they’re trying their best. And that’s all a parent can do. Try their best. Remember, no one is perfect, even those that pretend they are. Just look at the life I lived. Eventually life gives everyone a good hard slap in the face.” “Thank you, Raquel,” I say softly. “You’re welcome, Violet.” She goes over to the kitchen counter and scribbles something down on a notepad stuck to the fridge before tearing it off and placing it in my palm, folding my fingers over it. “Here’s my phone number. I know people rarely call anymore but if you need me, here I am.” Breathe, I remind myself. Don’t start crying here. “Thank you,” I say again. Vicente places a hand on my shoulder, steering me toward the door while he nods at Raquel. “Thank you so much for having us. It was lovely to meet you.” “Same to you. Take care of my granddaughter,” she says. Then Vicente and I are out the door, standing outside her house, blinking at the sunshine and the wave of heat rolling off the pavement. “That went better than I thought,” Vicente says, taking my hand and pulling me along until we’re walking down the road toward the gate. I chew on my lip, still trying to make sense of everything. My brain is on information overload, and my heart is waterlogged, overwhelmed. “I should call my dad when I get back to the hotel,” I eventually say. “Why?” I look at him in disbelief. “Why? Did you just hear all that? I have to tell him I met Raquel, I have to tell him about Leo Madano if he doesn’t already know.” “I’m sure he knows.” “How do you know that?” He shrugs. “A hunch.” “And if you’re wrong? What if it was Leo who attacked me?” “Oh, I doubt it.” “Why?” “Seems too sloppy,” he says, taking a cigarette out of his pack and placing it in his mouth. “But, Vicente. Someone did attack me. Don’t forget that.” He lights up the smoke with a single strike from his matchbook and takes in a long drag before he exhales, his lips pushing the smoke up and away from me. “Don’t worry. I haven’t.” Ugh. He’s being so blasé about all of this. I’ve always blamed it on the fact that he’s part of a cartel and so I guess attempted kidnappings are just daily occurrences, but it’s not that way for me. Or, really, the rest of the population.

He gives me a sideways glance. “Seriously, Violet. You have nothing to worry about.” “Because I have you?” His mouth quirks up into a crooked grin. “Precisely.” He takes in another drag, the smoke coming out as he talks. “Be honest. Have you felt unsafe with me?” “No.” I don’t even have to think about it. “Then that’s that. Look, I get that you want to talk to your parents, but this isn’t the sort of thing you can talk about on the phone.” “I just want to warn them.” “Why?” “What if my dad has no idea what’s going on? What if you’re wrong? What if he really did send the article, as Raquel thinks? What if Leo is heading up there to extort him, like he did to George and Raquel? What if he does worse?” “As I said, I wouldn’t worry about it.” We stop outside the front gate, waiting for the guard to open it. “Do you know something that I don’t?” “Violet,” he says. “You’re overthinking things. You’re worrying. You know this is what you do. You know that your brain likes to dwell on something and turn it into a puzzle when it shouldn’t. Your hypersensitivity has its flaws.” One minute he’s telling me it’s a blessing, the next he’s telling me it’s a flaw. He grabs my hand again as the gate rumbles open, leading me past it and onto the main road. “I can guarantee you that your dad knows about Leo. Your mom, too. And maybe if you think back you’ll find some instances that support this.” At this point it feels like my whole life supports this. He goes on. “Whatever it is, they have it under control. Just as I’m sure they always have. I wouldn’t worry about them. You just feel so bad after the way you left things with them that your mind is making all this stuff up. You need to let it go.” A shadow passes over me and I look up to see a buzzard circling high in the air. A few yards down the road, the bloody carcass of an animal is off to the side, cars zooming past. I quickly look away, knowing that if it’s a dog or cat it will eat me up inside. “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “If you agree to stop worrying about your parents, I’ll teach you how to protect yourself.” “Protect myself?” I think I’ve already proven I can do a good job of that. He squints at me, nods. “Yes, we both know you’re a fighter, mirlo. But I’m talking about what we talked about weeks ago. Guns. You need to learn how to shoot. And I’m going to teach you. Today.” My heart starts to flutter nervously. I hate that I love this idea. “Do I get to carry a gun after?” “If you’d like.” He flicks the cigarette onto the dusty sidewalk. “But only if you’ll agree to stop worrying about your parents.” He pauses, sighs. “Okay, you want the truth, Violet? There’s another reason why I don’t want you contacting

them today.” I stop in my tracks, staring at him. Scared. “What?” “First of all, I honestly believe that they’re fine, especially now that I know their past. I made a joke about guns being in your house, but I can guarantee your parents do have them and they know very well how they work. Even if something goes wrong, they can protect themselves. But second of all…I’m selfish.” He shrugs. “I’m enjoying, loving, having you here with me. Alone. I’m afraid if you call them, they’ll guilt you into coming back home. I’m afraid they’ll try and knock the strength and independence out of you.” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, his eyes searching mine. Again, I feel that electric thrill from my heart to my toes. “I don’t want to lose you. Even for a day. I know it’s selfish of me to want you all to myself but it’s true. I’m a terribly possessive man over you.” Be still my heart. But it can’t be. It’s all over the place, fighting and swelling and growing hotter in my chest. And the thing is, he’s right. About me. That if I talk to them, they’ll barely have to say anything before I’m asking Vicente to take me home. It’s not that I’m powerless against them, but I’m powerless against my guilt over what happened. And now, especially after learning about their pasts, it’s something I’m still trying to sort through. “I’ll tell you what, my mirlo,” he says, pulling me close to him and wrapping his arms around me, pressing my damp shirt into my sweaty body. I can feel the gun underneath his shirt dig into my stomach. “How about I call them for you?” I laugh into his chest. “That is not a good idea.” “I know. But I could just tell them that you’re fine.” “They’re going to want to talk to me and when you don’t let me on the line, they’ll definitely think I’m your hostage.” “Well, I do have those ropes in my car,” he says in a teasing voice. Heat runs through me, hotter than the air. “Let’s just leave it for now,” I tell him. He’s probably right that I’m worrying too much over this. Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s worth worrying over when I tend to dwell and fret over absolutely everything. He cups my face in his hand and kisses me, tasting like sweet tobacco, a taste I’ve grown to love. “Let’s go teach you how to shoot.”

CHAPTER FIVE Ellie ELLIE HASN’T SLEPT. Camden managed to doze off for a few winks, but that was because he downed half a bottle of NyQuil. Though he’s been trying hard to be the steady one in the broken house, inside Ellie knows he’s torn to pieces. They both are. How can they not be? How can they ever be whole, be right, again? How could they have not realized that they were whole before all this happened? They had it all, a life they never thought possible. A family. Stability. If only I had been honest from the start, Ellie thinks to herself, staring at her hands clasped in her lap, at her wedding ring. If only, if only, if only. But hindsight has never done anyone any favors. And now Ben and Gus are sitting across from her in the living room, and Camden is walking over to pour her another cup of coffee. They know the news now in full. Gus caught up in seconds. To his credit, he didn’t lecture his daughter about her mistakes. Because it had to be her mistake. To not see Vicente is Javier’s son. You knew it was him, she reminds herself. You knew it was him and you pushed your gut instinct out of the way. You buried the truth because you were afraid it would cost you your daughter. And it did. Then there’s Ben. He’s been sitting silently in the corner of the room for so long now it’s like he’s become part of the furniture. Things weren’t addressed as they should have been. If it had been the Friday they had planned on, they would have sat Ben down and explained about Sophia. Explained that Ellie isn’t his birth mother but still his mother all the same. The only mother who was there for him. Fuck, Ellie remembers how Sophia didn’t even care about Ben in the end, that she was willing to trade him to them in exchange for her own freedom. Ellie knew at that moment that Ben was hers, that he deserved to be with her and she would do everything to protect him. But as it is, that explanation came last, and now Ben is mulling it over. The first

thing they had to throw his way was what Vicente did to Ellie. What he said. And that Violet was gone. Then came the truth about Javier. To Ben’s credit, he took all of that in stride. He’s taking everything in stride, considering. “I know how to track them,” Ben says suddenly. His voice sounds so loud in the quiet room. “I know where they’re going.” Ellie looks at him in surprise. He sounds so self-assured. “How?” Gus asks, his voice dry and gruff. He’s tired from the late night drive down and only slept a few hours on the couch. But despite his paunch and his white hair and mustache and the deep bags under his eyes, Ellie knows her father is as spritely as ever. “A hunch,” Ben says, taking out his phone. While he taps and scrolls away, he talks. “If I were thinking like Violet, if I was leaving here based on pure emotion, I would want to go somewhere somewhat familiar, even in an absent way. Let’s say that she didn’t decide to go anywhere until last night, after the fight. I mean, she was looking forward to me coming up this weekend, to talking to you about, well, everything. This trip with Vicente was not planned. She acted out of anger and resolve.” He looks up at Ellie and Camden to make sure they’re following. “Violet doesn’t gravitate to the new and exciting when her life is already upside down. She wants to get away but she can’t handle too much change. I doubt she’s left California. I doubt she’s gone to LA or any city either. I bet she’s thinking of the one place where her family has connections.” “Palm Valley,” Camden says. Ben nods. “Yeah. She’s thinking it’s like a secondary home, even if she’s never been there before. Maybe she’s drawn there because of George McQueen, too. I don’t know, but I bet that’s where she is.” He looks down at his phone and types something in, then runs his hand through his dark hair while he waits. “Here. I knew it!” “What?” Ellie exclaims. “I figured out her email password,” he says excitedly. “I mean, I could have always figured it out, I just chose not to. There’s a confirmation email from a hotel website. Three nights booking at the Haciente Lodge in Palm Valley.” “Jesus,” Camden says, looking wildly at Ellie. “She went home.” “Call the hotel,” Ellie says, jumping to her feet, spilling coffee onto the carpet. “Get connected.” “I’m on it,” Gus says, placing the call. Camden gets up and starts running up the stairs. “Where are you going?” Ellie yells. “Packing. We’re going. Now!” Camden yells back. “Who has time to pack?” Ellie says, her eyes meeting with Ben’s, her son. She can see the hurt in them, the forgiveness held back at the threshold that won’t come easily. She knows that Ben will do what he can to help Violet and that the

animosity will be put aside for now, but it will come back. It will raise its ugly head and Ellie has to be ready to deal with it. “No answer,” Gus says, turning off his phone. “But they’re there. Receptionist confirmed their names.” Ellie nearly faints with relief. “Thank god. What is it, seven hours of driving?” Camden comes back down the stairs, carrying a duffle bag, guns visible inside. “Oh, I fucking knew it,” Ben says, making fists in his hair. “Total bullshit on the whole I don’t believe in guns. Fuck, Dad.” “There will be plenty of time to talk about that,” Camden says quickly. “Ben, thank you for coming up but I think you should stay here in case she comes back.” “No way,” Ben says, shaking his head, face growing pink. “No fucking way. I’m coming with you. I’m helping you.” “Ben,” Ellie says. “Shut up. You’re not my mom,” he says sharply, fire blazing in his eyes. Cheap shot number one. Ellie feels like she’s dying inside. He turns back to his father, raging. “And if you don’t let me come with you, I’ll follow behind in my car. Ain’t a fucking thing you can do to stop me. Besides, when’s the last fucking time you shot a gun, Dad?” Gus raises his hand. “I shot mine just yesterday. Tried to get a crab on the beach.” Ben scrunches his face at that. “Really? That’s how you spend your retirement?” Gus shrugs as if to say ‘what the fuck else am I going to do?’ Ben looks back to Camden. “Don’t even try and argue, Dad. Just because they made a booking, just because they’re still considered to be checked in, doesn’t mean they’re there. Vicente is a smart guy, and after what you told me, he’s probably even smarter. Violet may have made the booking but he’s calling the shots now. You want to find them? You think they might even go to fucking Mexico? You need me. And believe me, I can take care of myself. Better than any of you old farts can.” Ellie is too distraught to be insulted. She glances at Camden. It’s his call. He’s a better judge of character than she is. As a mother, she tends to overlook the hardness in her children. She underestimates them in oh so many ways. Camden gives her a subtle nod. Looks back to Ben. “Okay. But you need to be more respectful to your mother. No matter what has happened, what will happen, she’s still the only mother you know. The one who has raised you and loved you as her own. We fucked up, okay? We fucked up. But you have to understand it didn’t come from a bad place. Okay, Benjamin?” Ben seems to stew on that for a few minutes before looking over at Ellie. His features soften just a bit. “Okay.” “Good,” Camden says. “Now let me get the keys to the garage.” “The garage?” Ben asks. Camden manages a grin. “We need to get there as good and fast as we can. It’s

time to bring out the big guns. El Segundo.” The 1963 Dodge Challenger sitting beneath them in the tiny garage. Full name: Jose el Segundo. Jose the second.

CHAPTER SIX Vicente “I’M NOT sure about this,” Violet says, staring at the bike. “Really?” I ask, putting my hands on the handlebars and swinging my leg over it. “I would have thought you were the type to fall for a biker and ride off into the sunset with him.” She gives me a dry look. “In what timeline does that happen? I’ve never been on a motorbike before. Ben had one briefly when he was eighteen. Then he crashed it.” I gesture with my head for her to get over here. “Get on. You always wanted to fly, si? This is your chance.” With Violet’s heart set on target practice and learning how to shoot, I knew that we’d have to go off into the desert to get away from prying eyes. I also knew that with my paranoia tripled because of what Raquel had said about Leo Madano, there was no fucking way we’d be getting in the car. The solution? To go to Palm Valley’s bike rental place and get us a Harley. Maybe not the sexiest bike I’ve ever seen, but they didn’t ask any questions and gave us an extra helmet for Violet for free. Now that helmet is in Violet’s hands and she’s turning it over, still not sure whether she should get on or not. “Come on. This is much more fun than taking the car,” I tell her, trying to hide my impatience. “I spent a lot of time growing up riding one of these, so don’t worry. Trust me.” Not quite the truth but not a lie either. I’ve ridden a motorbike a few times, back when I was a teenager, just around our old property and up and down the canyons, supervised, of course, by men you couldn’t see, men with sniper rifles. With a sigh she finally relents. She grabs me tight as she gets on, her arms wrapping around my waist. “You ready?” I ask her. “Yes,” she squeaks and rests her head against the back of my shoulders. The gesture melts me. Reaches down into that black hole in my chest and adds substance. All her trust in me, her body holding on. I’m realizing how fragile she really is,

that I have to do everything I can to protect her. Everything. I start the bike with a roar and we ride down the street before taking off along the highway, heading into the desert. Even though it’s a national park, Violet has her heart set on visiting Joshua Tree, so we burn down the highway for another thirty minutes or so until we’re in the lineup to pay the small fee to get into the park, and then we’re free again. I can see why she wanted to come here. It’s vast, all open sky with mounds of rounded boulders and Joshua trees as far as the eye can see. When it finally feels like we’ve gone far enough along the blacktop that the crowds thin out and we don’t see many cars, I turn the bike onto the next dirt road I see. We follow it for a while, bounding over potholes and dodging rocks, kicking up sand that rises up past the occasional bare tree, stretching into the sky like brittle bones. We eventually come to a stop behind a large mound of boulders, and I park the bike. “So?” I ask her as we get off the bike. She takes the helmet off, the breeze choosing that moment to throw her hair over her shoulder like a flock of blackbirds. The smile on her face takes my breath away. “Oh my god,” she exclaims, the joy just rising out of her. “That was so much fun.” “No fear?” “No fear.” “Good. How about we get started on this lesson?” As much as I want to revel in her beauty, we have work to do. Crucial work. From where we stand, there’s only one place where we can really have target practice. The big boulders close to us shield us from the road, but there’s no way she’s going to fire a gun in that direction. The chances of hitting someone passing by are too great. So while she stays where she is, I head out a few yards over to a bunch of low boulders that come up to chest level. I pick up a few stones and stack them on top, a few inches apart. I even find a rusted beer can at the base of a nearby sagebrush and place it there. It’s rudimentary, but if she hits it, it will be obvious. And let’s be honest. I’m not expecting her to hit anything. I just want to give her confidence, something she needs in spades now after leaving her parents. The moment that Raquel told us about Leo, I knew that he was the man I saw in the lobby. The mention of the watch didn’t matter, because really, many men have a nice Rolex. But I knew in my gut it was him all the same. He had driven here, tailing us all the way. He was probably waiting outside of Violet’s house when we left and stayed a few cars behind. Something I didn’t think to check up on when we were driving away in the late hours. But we’ll pay for it. I know we will. When we get back to the hotel, I expect our room to be ransacked. I expect Leo to be there, maybe with a crony of his. The

albino man, perhaps. I expect that things might just get ugly before they get better. I walk back to Violet, taking a moment to sear this image of her into my brain. With the desert a stark backdrop, in her jeans and tank top, the dry air brushing her dark hair away from her, hands on her curving hips, she looks like the epitome of one very bad girl. One I want to slam against the boulders and do very bad things to. Focus, Vicente. “Okay.” I reach into my waistband and pull out my .45. Her eyes widen at the sight. This is going to be amusing. “This will be easier to shoot with.” I place it in her hand. She holds it with reverence and as if it weighs a ton. “That’s good,” I tell her, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Treat it with respect and it will treat you with respect.” “So I just point and aim and shoot, right?” I can’t help but chuckle. “That’s the gist of it. Don’t make it harder than it has to be. The most important thing is the relationship between you and the gun. As I said, respect. It has the power to turn on you and will do so without a second thought, so always be aware of that. And always shoot as if it’s just an extension of your arm. It’s a part of you and moves with you.” She examines it from all angles. “Sounds very poetic.” “Everything is poetry if you make it so.” She gives me a wry glance before gripping it properly. She aims it at the targets, closes one eye, and dips the barrel. “Bang,” she whispers. “When you actually do pull the trigger, you have to prepare for the kickback. You have to absorb the power from the bullet firing out, back through the gun, through your arm, down into your heels. That’s where half the battle is, taking the gun’s energy and using it instead of the other way around.” She nods, looks at the gun again. Though she seems out of her element, there’s a determined slant to her brow. “Do I need to cock it? Like in the movies?” “No,” I tell her. “It’s already good to go. That’s more for dramatic effect. Like when you have a gun on someone and they don’t know it. It’s much more effective than clearing your throat or saying ‘hey you.’ It’s a simple sound but it gets the point across really quickly. Try it anyway.” With a nervous smile she cocks back the hammer. Giggles at the iconic sound. “You’re making it really hard to teach you, being so fucking adorable like that.” “Okay, okay,” she says, straightening her shoulders. “I’m over it. Let’s get started.” “So what you’re going to do is aim and shoot.” I take a step back. “And that’s it.” I pause, then stick my fingers in my ears since I have a choice. “What are you doing?” she asks, giving me the side-eye. “It’s loud.” “What about my ears?” “Do you have earplugs?” “Yes,” she says, gesturing to her purse near the bike, thankfully not with the gun. “You know I can rarely sleep without them,” she adds.

Do I ever. Apparently the sound of my fucking breathing keeps her up at night if she falls asleep in my arms. She can only sleep soundly if the air conditioner is on or she’s got a bunch of these shoved down her ear canal. I search through her black leather messenger bag and manage to find a few. I walk back over to her and gently push them into her ears so she doesn’t have to lose her grip on the gun. “Feel okay?” I ask. She nods, the determination coming back again. I step back, deciding not to look like a pussy this time and I keep my hands at my side, waiting. Violet takes in a deep breath. Aims. Fires. POW! The gun explodes and she’s nearly knocked backward. Who the fuck knows where the bullet went. “Holy shit,” she says, mouth open. She looks at me with wide eyes. “That was fucking nuts!” I grin. “Yes, well, that’s what it’s like for everyone when they first start. Practice is key. Ready to try again, now that you know what to expect?” “Yes,” she says, and I can almost hear her heart racing in her chest. Her eyes are shiny with adrenaline, her limbs poised and tense in fight or flight mode. What a fucking relief to know that it didn’t scare her. After that first fire, the person generally knows if they’re made for guns or vice versa. Violet looks more than intrigued. I can see her falling in love with it. Just as I’ve fallen in love with her. I once thought she was my weapon, now I realize she’s everything to me. The feeling cuts deep, burns bright, like the searing sun is in my chest. I am so close to losing all of this. “Vicente?” she asks. “What is it?” I must be staring at her in an odd way. “Did I do something wrong?” she goes on to say, worry marring that pure excitement on her face. “Not even a bit,” I tell her, composing myself. I feel the mask slip on, the one that covers up my fears. “I think I’m ready to try again.” “Here, let me show you a few tricks then,” I say, coming closer. I step behind her, wrapping my hands over hers so I’m holding her in place. I can’t resist pressing my hips against her ass, my cock against her curves. “Hold on,” she says in a whisper, an amused lilt to her words. “Are you telling me you have an erection right now?” “Telling you, showing you. When don’t I?” “This turns you on, doesn’t it?”

I nuzzle my chin into her neck, breathe in her perfume. “Mirlo. You don’t have to do anything but exist and you’re poetry.” I pause, nibbling her skin. “But yes, this is turning me on. You with a gun. Like you were meant to be.” I can feel her stiffen a bit. She’s still unsure. Not how it feels, about being okay with how it makes her feel. “Relax,” I tell her, adjusting her stance so that her arms are a bit higher, her grip on the gun tighter. “Let’s do this again. You just need to keep the target in your mind and the bullet will follow. Don’t be so stiff. You need to be loose to absorb. Like a sponge. You ready?” “Yeah,” she says soft as air. “Okay. See that old beer can? Picture it up close. Picture yourself pulling the trigger, the bullet in the air, striking the can. On the count of three. Uno, dos, tres…” POW! I’ve never taught someone how to shoot before. I’ve never taught anyone anything. But in this moment, I feel the power passing from the gun to her to me. It’s otherworldly. It joins us. It’s almost greater than sex. Almost. She doesn’t hit the can. But she does hit the boulder it’s on, and that’s pretty fucking good considering. “Holy shit,” she swears, her muscles tight and shaking. She eyes me over her shoulder, proud of herself. “You’re doing good, getting closer. Do it again.” And so she does. She shoots again and again until the mag is empty, and then she goes through another round. Blam. Blam. Blam. Violet’s shots ring throughout the desert. Such a beautiful sound. And then it happens. She hits it. We rejoice. Then she hits the rocks on top of the boulder. Then we really celebrate. “Yes!” she cries out, breaking away from me, arms and gun in the air, the biggest grin on her face. “It wasn’t a fluke!” “No, it wasn’t,” I tell her, saying what I can to keep up her confidence. “Want to keep going?’ She gives me an enthusiastic, “Hell yes!” I stride over to the boulder and put up the targets again, finding the beer can with the bullet hole and placing it on top, then I head back over to her. “All set,” I tell her, folding my arms across my chest, watching her.

Even her stance has changed, completely strong and powerful. She takes in a deep breath, squints, and shoots. She misses, but it doesn’t seem to phase her. “So,” she says, wiping her hands on her jeans, “how old were you when you first learned to shoot?” I had a feeling it would come to this. But I don’t mind answering. “I was young.” “How young?” “A child.” “Jesus.” “Nothing wrong with being prepared.” She frowns. “Why would a child have to defend himself with a gun?” “Put it this way, had I not been trained at an early age I wouldn’t be as skilled as I am right now. It’s just the way it is.” “And who taught you, your father?” I laugh. “No. Are you kidding me? He never had the time. Diego, our family friend, taught me how to shoot and taught me well.” She gives me a look like she’s feeling sorry for me. I raise my hand to wave her off. “Don’t worry. That’s not a bad thing. He was a busy man. Still is. I’m grateful for the stuff he did manage to teach me though.” “Like what?” “I’m not sure you want to know,” I say carefully. “Well, now I really want to know.” “How about I tell you if you hit a few more targets.” “This is bribery.” “Do you expect anything less?” She grumbles but turns her attention back to shooting. On the third shot, she hits the can again. This time, I feel like celebrating in a different way. I grab her, pulling her to me, one hand making a gentle fist in her hair, the other going around her waist. She’s even more flushed and glowing than before. If I don’t have her now, I’m not sure how I’ll survive the motorbike ride back to the hotel. And who knows what will await us there? I push that thought out of my head and kiss her. Hard, deep, and wet. A kiss that sears me to her, making sure she feels me in the blood moving through her veins. I want to be running hot within her. I take her over to the boulders. I know we’re in the open desert, where it’s rough and wild, the opposite of soft and comfortable, but I don’t want that right now. I need her so fucking badly that it’s ripping me apart, making everything inside me burn. I kiss her deeper than before, my tongue sinking into her, making her moan while my fingers fumble at her back, undoing her bra, pulling the top over her until

her breasts bounce free. “Fuck me,” I mutter, reaching down and taking my dick out, giving it a long hard stroke as I stare down at her. She stares up at me with wide, nervous eyes, her lips parted, her dark hair across her face. Her nipples are hard, tiny pink peaks against the fullness of her breasts. Her torso leads smoothly to her hips and the peek of her thighs that just beg for me to dig my teeth into them as she slowly pulls down her jeans. More real than real under the beauty of the desert sun. Suddenly the urge, the pure need to be inside her, is debilitating, and I’m nearly trembling at the hunger pulsing through me. It’s this animalistic, primal drive that surprises me, like I’m being reduced to nothing but basic instinct around her. She’s not just my soft Violet, she’s my mirlo, this gorgeous creature I need to claim, to take rough and hard and fast until I can’t remember my name. Without realizing it, I’ve slipped my hand down along the softness of her stomach, finding purchase between her legs. I push a finger inside her, rubbing eagerly against her G-spot, feeling her swell around me. “Vicente,” she gasps as she breathes heavily, her body pressing back into me, wanting more, as I push her back against the boulder. “I need you.” Her words are so desperate it flicks on a switch inside me. I snap. I have to get inside her now. No exceptions. I quickly withdraw my fingers, rubbing them along my lips briefly, savoring her taste, as I hold my shaft, rigid and heavy in my hand and angle it into her. I try to go slow, rubbing my head around her soft opening, getting my tip wet before pushing in just a few inches. But a few inches are enough to make my jaw clench, and I’m trying so hard to keep myself in control. She’s hot and slippery, even here, and tight as a fucking fist. I want to slam myself inside of her, bury myself balls deep. It takes all of me to try and keep on breathing, my fingers digging into her sides, wanting to be as gentle with her as I possibly can, considering the rough rock behind her, the slope of it supporting her ass and barely keeping her upright. Against a tree was one thing, but here, in this wild place, with death chasing us under the unforgiving sun, this is something else. I hope I have what it takes to bide my time and enjoy every second, but since I’m already struggling to keep it together, I doubt I’ll last long. As long as she comes first. I want her writhing and panting and screaming my name. Nothing sounds better. “You feel amazing,” I tell her, my voice guttural as I push in deeper, watching as my dick disappears into her, her resistance deliciously tight. “You’re drenching me.” I pull out in a slow slide and she shudders beneath me before I push back into her, staying cautious, my palm leaning flat against the rock.

“Fuck me,” she moans, her eyes fluttering as she stares up at me. “What do you think I’m doing?” “Harder!” I look down to where the thickest part of my cock is still showing. “Are you sure?” I ask her, grinding the words out as I clench my jaw. My body is burning, my muscles tightly coiled as I try to stay still. “I don’t want to hurt you at this angle, against this rock. You’re tighter than a fist and my magic cock can barely fit as it is.” “Please.” I’m not even sure she realizes she’s said the word. Her brow is furrowed with wild impatience, her mouth wet and gaping, gasping. “Por favor,” I murmur. She wraps a leg around me and I slip myself deeper inside her, almost to the hilt. She stretches around me with a loud gasp, her pussy so snug and wet as I roll my hips against her. I’m lightheaded, breathless, and the fire inside me builds, licking me until I’m lost in this provocative haze. The world has whittled down to nothing but pleasure and sunshine. “Harder. Fucking harder.” A growl escapes my lips and I slam myself into her until she’s hugging every throbbing inch. She’s yelling my name and I hear nothing but my blood rushing through my head as I bury myself deep inside her. My hips thrust, hammering in this driving rhythm. I know I’m fucking up her back, that the rock can’t be too nice to the delicate skin on her spine, but her nails are digging into my shoulders and her cries are getting more and more desperate. I reach down and stroke her clit, so swollen and slick, but I’m pumping so hard into her that it’s nearly impossible. Still, that’s all it takes. I lean forward, sweat dripping off my brow and onto her chest. “Come with me,” I whisper hoarsely. And she is. She’s moaning, then screaming my name and swearing, and I don’t hold back. With a guttural groan, I come, the pleasure ripping through me, turning me inside out. I swear and cry out, my cum blasting into her as I go into some mindless, hypersensitive state. In this moment, I’m without thought or selfawareness—I’m just an animal, fucking in the wild. There’s just the two of us connected under a primal sky, the way it’s been since the dawn of time. I come back down to earth slowly, trying not to collapse onto her lush body. I push myself off the rock and then hold her, gently placing her on the ground. She looks up at me through the dark strands of damp hair, her face red and beaded with sweat, her eyes heavy-lidded and completely sated. “Did I hurt your back?” I ask her, turning her around after she fastens her jeans. I wince. Red marks and bright dots of blood make up the path down her spine. “Ouch,” I say. “I’m sorry.” “Worth it,” she says. “Even if it scars. I don’t ever want to forget this.” The sun seems brighter now, stronger, even though we’re a few hours out from sundown. Maybe it’s just that Violet makes my world come alive in ways I never

thought possible. Maybe her sensitivity, the way she sees and experiences the world, is getting through to me. I can only hope that’s not true. You don’t last long in this line of work if you feel more than others. Only the strong and the armored survive. You need an extra layer of skin, of Teflon, of Kevlar. Which begs the question, once again, what the fuck am I doing? But the question comes and goes with the wind. I watch her get dressed, pulling her tank top down. She’s going without the bra, stuffing it in the pocket of her jeans she’s just pulled up. I have to say, with her tits, it’s almost a crime to cover them up. I need to figure out how to keep this forever. Her, me, the open desert. I don’t fucking need anything else. I may be young but I know enough that sometimes you don’t need the world. You just need that one person to rule the world with. She comes over to me, weak-kneed and wobbly, like I fucked her so hard it’s not easy to walk. Smiling. My heart. I zip up my jeans. I’m about to tell her we should head back to Palm Valley before it gets dark when a motorized buzzing sound steals my attention. I look up to the left and see a small drone flying above us. Slowly. Like it’s watching us. Fuckers. In the midst of sex, I probably wouldn’t have noticed if it was watching us for a long time. Violet’s eyes are trained on it in awe. I take the gun out from my ankle holster and take a shot. Like shooting a bird out of the sky. The drone explodes in the air, falls to the ground in pieces. “Vicente,” she says, though I can tell she’s impressed I managed to hit it on the fly like that. “That was someone’s drone.” “I know.” “You can’t just shoot other people’s stuff.” “Oh yeah?” I walk over to the wreckage, putting my gun in my pocket for now. “Who knows what it could have recorded? Like I’d share any of what we just fucking did with anyone else.” I kick at the pieces until I can see the memory card and then snatch it up, turning it over in my palm. “What is it?” Violet asks, coming over. I show it to her. “Just the memory card.” Then I take out my phone and insert the card into the reader on the side of it. “You’re viewing their footage? You know it probably went to a live feed, right?” I nod as I open the file. I have to make sure. It goes straight to video, and I watch as I rewind it. It’s not what I expected. The footage flashes by in reverse.

There’s a bit of us fucking, then the drone takes off. Then there’s miles of desert footage. Footage of the drone heading above the highway we had ridden in on. All the way back to Palm Valley. All the way back to the hotel. Our hotel. Someone followed us with that drone. Someone who had to have been within a certain distance to signal the drone’s operations. We have a lot of drones around the compound at home. They do our surveillance. Juan, one of our security tech guys, operates a lot of them. He sits at the security console on our property and he can control a few at a time, all operating as far as several miles from the compound. They transmit to him like cellular data and come back to roost like trained falcons. Which means whoever sent the drone to follow us might not be close by. But they will be. We may still have time. “We have to go,” I tell Violet, shoving my phone into my pocket and grabbing her by the arm. I grab the gun from beside the boulder and place it in her hands. “Hold on to this.” “What’s going on? What are we doing?” I don’t answer. We reach the bike and I tell her to get on. “Vicente, please,” she cries out, looking terrified, grasping the gun like she no longer understands it. “What was on the video? Whose drone is that?” “Someone was following us and they’re going to be here pretty soon,” I tell her, starting the bike. “And they aren’t going to be happy I shot their drone.” “Vicente.” “Please. Get. On.” She stares at me for a moment until she reads the urgency in my eyes. Whatever she sees, it scares her. She clamps her mouth shut and swings her legs onto the bike like an old pro. We kick up dust on the dirt road until we get to the main one and then turn to the right. “Why are we heading the opposite way?” Violet yells in my ear. “The way out of the park is behind us!” “Because whoever is following that drone is coming the other way,” I yell over my shoulder. “What?” She can’t hear me well. “Because!” I answer and gun it, overtaking a truck and a travel trailer. The sun is lower now, and in an hour it will be gone. Light moves fast in the desert. I don’t want to be stuck out here when that happens. I have a feeling that the person with the drone is most likely Leo Madano, and Leo Madano might know this area better than I do.

I’m not sure how long the main road through Joshua Tree goes on for. When I feel like we’ve gone a safe distance, we should probably pull over somewhere hidden, look it up through the GPS, and make a plan of where to go. But I don’t have a plan. And Violet needs one. The last thing I want is for her to not feel safe with me after all that. There does seem to be a lot of traffic heading toward us, which makes me think there’s probably an exit to the park. I look down at my stomach where Violet has wrapped her arms around me, the gun still in her hand and pressed flush against my shirt. I can only hope I'm going fast enough that any passing motorist won't notice it. I can also only hope that it's not going to go off by accident. I can also only hope that there won't be a time when Violet will have to use it. We continue to burn it down the blacktop. The stark rocky hills spotted with the iconic Joshua trees are turning a shade of cream and orange as the light in the desert begins to change. Shadows are getting longer, creating crevices and gullies where there were none before. Everything I see out of the corner of my eye is ambiguous, spelling out danger. Then the traffic begins to fade as the elevation lowers and lowers, the road gradually taking us from the high desert down to the valley below. Through glimpses here and there between the mountains and the stacks of boulders that stretch on as far as the eyes can see, there's a peek at the snaking lines of Interstate 10. Freedom. "Vicente!" Violet screeches in my ear and I look up to see a black SUV gunning it right for us on the wrong side of the road, cars honking as it barrels down on us, closer and closer. This isn't an accident. "Fuck," I swear. With the SUV and normal traffic taking up both sides of the highway, there's no choice but to take the bike off into the sand. "Hold on!" I yell back at her. We go flying over the lip of the highway and land on the rocks, dirt, and sand with a thump, dust kicking up everywhere as the wheels spin for traction. Violet's grip gets tighter and I'm even more afraid of the gun going off, but then the bike finds its groove and we speed through a patch of sage brush, heading who the hell knows where. I look over my shoulder to see Violet's fearful eyes and then beyond her to the SUV swerving off the highway to follow us. What the fuck? With the rocks and craggy terrain, I'm having a hard enough time managing the Harley here. I don't know how the SUV is going to handle it. But it doesn't matter, because when it comes to trying to kill someone, persistence is key. And this SUV isn't here for a friendly chat. They want us dead.

A group of boulders pops up and I shift the bike around them sharply, heading in what I hope is the direction parallel to the highway and towards the way back. But when I swing the bike around, gunning it forward, bouncing endlessly over the terrain, the SUV cuts in from the other side and for a moment both of us are almost beside each other. The windows are tinted black so I can’t see who is driving but I know we don't have much time. Without slowing down, I grab the gun from Violet's grip, raise it up, and take aim. The driver's window of the SUV shatters, the car slowing down and veering off to the side. "Did I hit him?" I yell at Violet, having to concentrate now on getting us to the highway again, only one hand on the handlebars, which makes steering more difficult when it was already pretty impossible. But Violet is catatonic. No help there. I look back over my shoulder to see her wide-eyed. The SUV has regained control and is coming at us faster now. The passenger window rolls down and someone leans out, aiming a gun at us. It takes me a second to realize what's wrong with this picture, and it's not just that the driver is still okay enough to follow us, and it's not that there's a gun pointed at us, it's that the man holding the gun is as white as a sheet. Almost like an albino. There's barely any time to act after that. I yank the bike to the left, hoping that Violet has enough strength to hold on and lean in the right direction, then we’re spinning around in a whirlwind of dust that rises up to the sky. The albino man fires but we're too fast and the bullet just misses us. Violet screams. Whether it's from the near miss, the biking maneuver, or just everything, I don't know. I have to focus. Zero in. The SUV is braking hard and swinging to the left to follow us and I yank the bike around again, this time to the right. Through the mess of dust and blowing sand, I take aim and shoot. I hit the albino guy right right in the arm, the gun dropping out of his hand, left behind in the SUV's wake. That hit felt good but he deserves so much more. There's no time to dwell on it though, since we're not out of the woods. I gun the bike toward the highway, seeing snippets of the traffic through gaps in the upcoming boulders. The SUV follows right behind. They really don't give a shit what this looks like. Neither do I. We roar through the boulders, the sound of the Harley’s engine bouncing off the

sides and building to a deafening scream. There's some relief when we hit the highway and start heading back toward Palm Valley. The relief builds when it takes a while for the SUV to pull onto the road behind us. It continues when we speed away, getting one, two, three, four cars ahead of the SUV. People may notice I’ve got a gun in my hand, but if they do, I’m gone before they can get a good look. Violet doesn't relax her grip, as she shouldn't. This car will follow us all the way back to the hotel. Things will have to be dealt with. Ugly, messy things. And then it happens. The ugly messy things come sooner rather than later. Ahead of us, a few cars down the line of traffic, is another black SUV. It’s in the proper lane and could just be a family heading out of the park, but my instincts tell me otherwise. “Hold on!” I yell at Violet. “Going right!” I yank the bike off the road, this time roaring right between a crop of Joshua trees. I have to act fast to guide the bike through them with accuracy, especially now that we’re back on rough terrain. I have to say, I’m impressed the bike is handling all of this as it is. It’s definitely not a dirt bike. Once we’re past the trees, it seems the only way to go is up past a small rocky hill. I don’t think that’s an option, unless we take this to a foot race. I hold the gun at my side and look over my shoulder. Both SUVS are pulling off the highway now and heading our way. My instincts were right. Time to finish these fuckers off. I increase my speed, guiding the bike alongside the hill and up toward another patch of boulders and trees. Once we’re hidden behind the boulder, I stop the bike. “Get off! Hurry!” I yell at Violet. It takes her an achingly slow moment to realize what I’m asking of her. She wants to hold on forever. Trembling, she finally she gets up, and I barely have enough time to get off myself and grab her arm before she falls to the ground. She can’t even speak. I undo her helmet and toss it to the ground, give her back the gun, and then grab the one at my ankle. “Violet,” I say, looking into her eyes, trying to reach her. She’s so fucking scared. “I have you. You’re going to be okay but you have to do exactly as I say or this will never end? Got it?” She gives a small nod, a sob escaping her lips. “Okay. Run right behind me. Now!”

I take off, staying behind the cover of the boulders and trees, and head down into the small dip of a gully, enough to shield us from view of the SUVs. I start climbing up the back of the hill, scrambling over rock until we’re halfway up. I look at Violet and then nod for her to follow me. I slowly inch along the side of the hill until we’re poking our heads out around the slope and looking down at the bike and the boulders. The SUVs have pulled up to a stop near it. The driver, who looks like he could be Leo Madano from this distance, has his gun drawn and is approaching the bike with caution. The albino, his right arm limp at his side, clothing stained red, moves around the boulders from the other side. I peer over at the other SUV, the new one. It’s running, the exhaust rising up into the deepening sunset, but whoever is in the car isn’t coming out. It doesn’t matter. I lie down with my elbows buried in the rocky sand and prop up my gun, taking aim. Once I take a shot, we’ll immediately be found out. I have to shoot the driver first since the albino is already compromised and probably won’t be able to fire back as well with his weaker hand. I take in a deep breath, concentrating on the driver’s head. I have a few moments before he realizes we aren’t there by the bike or hidden behind the boulder. A few moments where he’s moving slow, an easier target. I pull the trigger. The gun roars to life and the driver falls to the ground, blood spraying from his head and splattering all over the rock walls. Violet lets out a cry beside me but it doesn’t matter. Everything happens fast. I already have the gun aimed at the albino who is lining up a shot back at us. I fire at the same time he does, but his aim is off because of his arm. I get him in the chest, then as he stumbles backward, I manage to get a shot to his head. You have to be cautious. He goes down, motionless. In the dying sunlight the blood pooling out of his head looks like spilled ink. Violet lets out another cry and I think she’s just struck by the horror of it all. But when I turn around to face her, her expression is frozen, gaping at the top of the hill. Where a man has appeared, a rifle in his hands. A man in a cheap grey suit. This is Leo Madano. And the rifle is aimed at Violet’s head.

CHAPTER SEVEN Violet “VIOLET MCQUEEN,” the man says, holding the rifle aimed right at my head. I can only blink at him, completely overtaken by absolutely everything that’s just happened. This almost doesn’t seem real. It seems like a dream. Every cell inside me is overwhelmed and breaking down. Vicente stiffens beside me and the man notices. “I wouldn’t move if I were you. You’re a good shot, but so am I. And I’ve got this trained right at her head. So if you want to keep her brains intact I would do exactly as I say.” “And what is that?” Vicente asks. His voice is cold and so in control. That should give me confidence, but it doesn’t. I still can’t get over the fact that he just shot two men in the head in front of me. “Hand her over,” the man says, “so I can take her back to San Francisco and return her to her parents where she belongs.” I frown, things slowly sinking in at a glacial speed. Is this Leo Madano? He certainly looks like he could be of Italian descent, even with the deepening shadows. With the sun slipping away behind the western mountains, the air is growing colder by the moment. “She belongs with me,” Vicente says calmly. How the fuck can he be so calm? Is he in this overwhelmed catatonic state too? “We both know that the moment I give her to you, you’ll use her to extort her parents for money. That was always your plan, wasn’t it, Leo Madano? Go for Violet now that George McQueen is a dead end.” I can barely make out a smirk on the man’s face. “Raquel is a dead end too, I’m afraid. You really shouldn’t have gone to see her. Made her a lot more trusting to open that door.” My eyes widen, my heart skittering to a stop in my chest. Is he saying he killed Raquel? My would-be grandmother? “You know you’re not walking out of here alive,” Vicente tells him, taking it all in stride. Leo laughs. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have far too much confidence for a man of your age? Especially when there’s a gun pointed at your girlfriend’s head.” “Did anyone ever tell you it’s highly unfair to make a girl pay for her father’s

mistakes?” “Payment for the sins of the fathers is the oldest transaction in the book. That includes the good book. This is nothing new and never will be. I’m sure one day you’ll pay for the sins of yours too, Vicente Bernal, if you aren’t already.” He pauses. “Don’t look so shocked. You don’t think I’ve been able to look you up? It’s one reason why I haven’t killed you yet. Maybe there’s another trade I can make.” “And the car bomb?” Vicente asks. Car bomb?! Leo manages a shrug. “Just a failsafe. I figured after you saw me in the lobby you wouldn’t dare take it anywhere. It did make this little car chase a little more exciting though. I couldn’t have predicted you’d get a motorcycle. But, it’s getting late.” He glances up at the sky. “Come on, Violet.” “Don’t go,” Vicente says, and when I look in his eyes I know he means it. But what the hell else am I supposed to do? I’ve never been so fucking afraid in my life and I still feel like I’m slogging through a bad dream. “Violet,” Leo says, his voice clipped. I know if I go, he’s just going to kill Vicente anyway. It’s going to come down to his gun versus Vicente’s. Though I don’t think Leo knows I tucked my own gun into the back of my jeans when I was climbing up the hill. And since he’s never seen my back, he won’t know it’s there. I get up from my crouch and slowly start walking toward him. “Nothing funny,” Leo tells Vicente. “Or it’s all over.” I stare right ahead at Leo and feel the fear leave my body as I walk up the rocky slope. I wonder if I can reach back and grab the gun fast enough. Probably not. I wonder if I could get a good shot. Probably not. But it’s our only chance. I glance at Vicente over my shoulder and his eyes are trained to my gun, following it as I walk, then up to meet my gaze. His face is so impassive it barely gives me anything, but what I do read is caution. He knows what I mean to do. He knows how likely I am to fuck it up. All I know is that if I get an opportunity, I’m going to have to take the shot. I’m going to have to mean to kill this man in front of me. A bad man, a horrible man, but it’s still a human life. I’m going to have to play God and take it. Can I do that? Yes, something says from deep inside of me, rattling that cage again. Yes you can. I swallow hard and keep my legs moving, nearly sliding a few times over loose stones and rock. The gun feels like lead against the small of my back, growing heavier by the minute with the mounting pressure. The wind blows back my hair and I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so alive and

electric before. Maybe this is how life is the moment before you die, everything exploding around you to make saying goodbye that much more bittersweet. The sunset behind all this mayhem looks like a magic painting. I’m just a few feet away from Leo now. I can see the lines in the corners of his eyes, and I wonder why life made him so cruel. This can’t be about vengeance anymore. Some people are just born to create destruction. It all happens so fast. He grabs my hand in a vice-like grip and pulls me in front of him to prevent Vicente’s shot. The rifle appears over my shoulder, aimed at Vicente. He pulls the trigger. My ears explode from the noise, my head shattering into a cloud where all sound is lost. I don’t even look over my shoulder at Vicente. I can’t entertain the idea of him being shot, I can’t think about anything except death. Leo’s death. With my head full of cotton and stars, I reach back with my other hand, grasp the gun, and pull it out in one smooth motion. I press the barrel of the gun into Leo’s stomach, feeling his soft skin sink in with the pressure. Everything slows down. He looks down at me in surprise. I stare up at him with pure determination. I don’t hesitate. I pull the trigger. I don’t even feel the kickback. Instead, I feel as if I’m the bullet myself, shooting point blank into Leo’s stomach, going through vital organs and exiting out the other side. The rifle drops and Leo falls backward, clutching at his stomach. Then my adrenaline kicks in. I turn around to go to Vicente, praying he’s okay, only to see him staggering toward me. He’s grasping his ear where blood is trickling down his face and staining his shirt, but he’s otherwise okay. Just grazed. “Grab the rifle!” he yells at me, his words sounding so muffled and faint from my hearing damage, and I spin around just in time to see Leo crawling on the ground for it. I kick it away to Vicente who picks it up, aiming it right at Leo. I step away, the gun burning in my hand, barely realizing what I just did. All thoughts, all worries, all morals are pushed down, deep inside. Vicente kicks Leo in the side and Leo spits up blood onto the dusty ground, then he pushes him over with his foot so he’s lying on his back. He stares up at us with shock, his hands over his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding that oozes through his shaking fingers.

I did this. I did this. The thoughts are starting to creep back in. Vicente steps onto Leo’s chest with his boot, making him wheeze and cry out in pain. “Vicente!” I can’t help but yell, trying to pull him off. I want Leo to die, but I don’t want to see him suffer. Vicente shrugs me off and takes the rifle, aiming it so the barrel is shoved right between Leo’s lips. “You deserve so much worse than this,” Vicente says coldly to him. “For what you did to Violet. For the years of worry and pain you brought the McQueen family. Violet’s part of my family now. And I promise to ruin each and every man who dares to touch a hair on her head.” He glances at me quickly over his shoulder. “Look away, mirlo.” I do. I hear the shotgun go off. Even through my muffled hearing, the sound is something I’ll never forget. It’s not just a gun blast, but the sound of bone, tissue, skin, and cartilage slopping together. It’s the sound of someone’s brain exploding. I look down. Blood and grey matter are sprinkled on my jeans. I’m going to be sick. I stumble off and collapse to my knees, the rocks cutting into my skin as I crawl on all fours and start to vomit like a sick animal. Vicente lets me be. I think he knows I need all the time and space in the world to process this. I’m surprised I’m not in hysterics. I just vomit over and over again until there’s nothing left inside. I don’t feel any better. The world is orange and purple and gold and it won’t stop spinning. Finally, I see Vicente’s boots beside me and he grabs my arm, hauling me up. “You’re safe now,” he says, and in the darkening twilight, his eyes are glowing gold, telling me nothing and everything. “Okay? They’re all gone. No one will hurt you now. I promise.” He pauses. “And I always keep my promises.” I rub my lips together, trying to feel safe and assured, but there’s nothing to hold on to right now except for Vicente. “Let’s go back,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I need water.” He watches me for a moment, probably realizing all the psychological damage that’s about to take effect, and then holds my hand. We run down the hill before it gets dark. THE MOTORBIKE RIDE back to the hotel is a dream. A fuzzy cape that flies past us, the desert dusk settling into night. I hang onto Vicente, pressing my cheek against his back but it’s like he’s not even there. As much as my grip tightens, he doesn’t feel like anything more than a ghost.

What just happened? One moment we were shooting and fucking amongst Joshua trees and cacti and I was feeling so alive that it was like I was on the most indescribable drugs. The feel of the gun in my hands, that power, then then feel of his cock inside me, the sun glinting off the sweat of his dark skin. I felt unstoppable. And then it shattered. And it all happened so fast. From Vicente shooting the drone, to getting on the bike, to nearly being hit by an SUV, then going off road—there was so much noise and chaos and dust. Bullets and brakes. I thought I was going to fall off. I thought I was going to die. It was like being in a movie, but one that’s terribly real, the kind that gets under your skin. We escaped and then the madness followed us. I had all my trust in Vicente. All of it. He didn’t let me down. He kept me alive. I barely had time to take in how easy it was for him to shoot those men, whether on the bike or off. Yet, I saw all the guarded rage and venom that flows through Vicente come out free and unchecked. I fear that if I wasn’t there, he would have done something much worse to Leo Madano, just to make him suffer. Anything as payback for what was done to me. And what was done? What happened to me in San Francisco could have been a lot worse than stalking or a kidnapping attempt. I was hit, but I hit back more. I had gotten away. Leo’s end was far worse than the crime. Wasn’t it? Maybe that’s my bleeding heart talking. Maybe if I looked at what could have been, I wouldn’t be so unsure. Maybe if I looked at myself deeper, I would find out the truth. Why this is staying with me. Vicente had said yesterday that there’s a black hole inside each and every one of us and if we were to inspect it deeper, really put our hands in, we would see what we are made of. But we are usually too afraid. I already know what I’ll see. I’m starting to realize that inside me there is a dark version of myself, one brought to life by Vicente’s confidence and wickedness. That version of Violet, the one that lives deep inside the black hole, thinks Leo actually got what he deserved. She thinks the moment she pulled that trigger and shot him, right in the stomach, close enough to feel the bullet break his skin, she began to take control. She scares me. I try to keep the thoughts at bay until we get back to the hotel. I’m so tired and drained and yet adrenaline keeps spiking through me. We get off the bike, Vicente helping me, and I nearly collapse once my feet hit the ground.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers and then scoops me up, until he’s carrying me in his arms. I’m too weak to protest, too overwhelmed to ask whether he’s returning the bike, too fried to worry if danger lurks in our hotel room. Vicente is calm. Cautious. Collected. He takes me up the side stairwell of the hotel and to our floor with ease, then without letting me down, opens our hotel door. He kicks it open, hits the lights. The room is completely ransacked, the side table toppled over, my clothes from my duffel bag empty and scattered across the room, the content of his suitcase rifled through. “I thought this would happen,” he said, placing me on my back on the bed. “I’m guessing the guns I have in the Mustang are long gone too.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice as he surveys the room. I’m remembering they had said something about a car bomb? “When were you going to tell me?” I ask him, my throat parched, making swallowing uncomfortable. He eyes my discomfort, goes into the bathroom and fills up a cup of water, bringing it over to me. “Tell you what?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed as I take the cup and drink. Water never tasted so sweet. “About seeing Leo earlier. About the car,” I manage to say once I’ve had the whole glass. I feel a bit of verve returning into my veins. “I didn’t know for sure,” he says, running his hand over my thigh. “I didn’t want to worry you.” He pauses, giving me a squeeze. “Believe me, you would have worried.” “But then we went to Raquel’s and you never said a thing to her about him. Or me.” “Because I had to be sure.” “And now Raquel is dead. She’s dead, isn’t she? That’s what he meant when he said paid her a visit?” He stares at my jeans and then nods. “Let’s get you washed off.” He takes me over to the bathroom where he undresses me, slowly peeling off the dirty and blood-splattered tank top and jeans that remind me again of the horrors that took place. His eyes and hands travel up my body softly, without asking for anything. He turns on the shower and strips, getting in with me. I nearly melt at the feeling of the hot water cascading over my body. It feels miles different than it did just this morning. My world has changed too much, I have changed too much. I wonder if this is something I’ll ever be able to wash from my skin. And yet, the horror rinses slowly. The water runs clean and clear. “Turn around,” Vicente murmurs.

I do so and hear the snap of a cap, the squirt of liquid. Then his strong hands in my hair, rubbing in the fragrant shampoo. I close my eyes as his fingers massage my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. He works the shampoo in like a pro and I can barely stand up straight by the time he brings me into the water stream to rinse it off, careful not to get it in my eyes. After he works in the conditioner, wrapping it around each strand, from root to tip, he starts soaping me up with the body wash in long, gentle strokes of his hands, from behind my ears all the way to my toes. For once, his attention doesn’t feel sexual—it’s more determined than anything. Like I’m a scruffy mutt picked up from the pound and he can see the potential underneath, once the grime and dirt have been washed away. It’s then that it all comes crashing down. What happened. I looked death in the face. And in the end I became death. The tears come first, spilling from my eyes, mixing with the water. Then the sobs that rip me in half, clawing out of my throat. I collapse, slide straight down to the tiles. Vicente is beside me, his strong dark arms wrapped around mine. He sits, naked, legs wide, and pulls me to him so my back is pressed against his chest. He buries his chin in my neck and doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t move except hold me tight. It’s as if he can contain all the pain I’m in. It helps. Though the pain is powerful—sorrow over my parents, the shock of death, the lost years of my grandmother—and it pours out of me like running water, just having Vicente be there with me like this, just like this, makes it all bearable. I feel the strength of him, his intuition, his protection. He’s an anchor to me, the only thing right now that makes any sense at all in this new world. In so many ways I don’t understand him and the way he is, but deep in my heart and soul I’m connected to him in a way that goes beyond everything. I’m not sure how long we sit in the shower like that, the water pouring over us, cleansing us of our sins. So many sins. But eventually the tears stop flowing and my chest is dry and aching from exertion. We get up and out of the shower carefully, our skin soft and wrinkled from the water. With as much attention and gentleness as before, he dries me off, patting the towel over every section of skin. He takes extra care on my shins, which took a beating during the scramble up the hill, and my spine which stings where the rock rubbed my skin raw. When he’s done, he gathers my wet hair behind me into a loose braid and stares at me in the bathroom mirror, our images partly obscured by the fog. “You did what you had to do to survive,” he tells me. There’s almost a hint of sadness in his low voice. “That’s all you’ve been doing so far. No good, no bad. Just surviving.” I swallow the brick in my throat, trying to agree but I can’t. I can only stare at us,

our reflection growing less foggy by the minute. “I killed him.” “No,” he says emphatically. “You pulled the trigger. You shot him. I killed him. Violet, you were only protecting yourself. You were protecting me.” He pauses and takes in a shaking breath. “I’ve never been so proud of anyone before. You are so incredibly brave, so strong, it does something to my heart. It gives it an extra reason to beat.” I can hear the truth in his voice. I can feel his soul in it, giving it extra gravity. I open my mouth to speak. No words come out. “You did what you had to do,” he repeats. “And you did it well. Just like I knew you would. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He takes me by the hand and leads me into the room, my feet wading through my clothes that are scattered on the floor. He acts with strength and selfpossession, sounds so utterly calm. If only I could siphon an ounce of that. Naked, I get into bed, pulling the sheets up to my chest, feeling strangely modest even after the shower, like I need an extra layer of protection. The room feels so wrong and foreign after being ransacked, knowing the men were in here, touching my stuff. Vicente frowns at me, switching on the dim light of the bedside lamp. “They’re not coming back, Violet. Leo’s dead. His men are dead.” “What if there are more?” He shakes his head. “There isn’t. This wasn’t a global racket. This was one man’s obsession and his hired goons. They won’t bother you anymore. They won’t bother your family. They’re gone. Thanks to you.” I’m still not sure how I feel about that, my hand in his demise. I can still see the shock in his eyes as he realized I had a gun sticking in his side, seconds before I pulled the trigger. There was such crazy intimacy between us in that long moment before I tried to take his life away. Even if Vicente is the one who finished him off, I shot him with the intent to kill him. That will always be our connection. Forever tied to a dead man whose brains are scattered somewhere in Joshua Tree National Park. Vicente gets up and switches off the light in the bathroom, then goes out to slide the chain across the door and the deadbolt. Even in just the seconds that we’re apart—I’m in bed, he’s across the room—I feel this terror roll through me, like he might walk out the door and be lost to me forever, like a hand might come up from under the bed and drag me somewhere dark. He stops at the foot of the bed, takes one look at me and crawls over the mattress toward me until he’s lifting up the sheet and getting under it with me. “I would tell you to get out of your head, my mirlo, but I know that can’t be helped right now.” He pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. “You do what you need to do to make sense of all of this.” But the thing is, I don’t want to make sense. The more questions I have—are we wanted criminals now that we left dead bodies in the desert? How can I go back home tomorrow as if none of this happened?—the more frightening my world

becomes. “No,” I say to him, my voice sounding hoarse. “I don’t want to be in my head, Vicente. Please take me out of it. Please. Make me forget.” He seems to hesitate. It would be a first for him. But then he positions himself so he’s lying on top of me, warm chest pressed against mine, his elbows planted on either side of my head. He peers down at me in such a way that it unnerves me, hits me to the marrow of my bones. His eyes are kind, curious, and filled with a deep longing I can feel pull at me. But there’s something new to them I’ve never seen before. A flash of fear. In a way, it’s like he’s afraid of me. Or himself. “What is it?” I whisper while he runs his finger down the side of my face, over my cheekbone, down to my lips. He blinks slowly, a small shake of his head, a piece of dark hair flopping over his forehead. He stares at me like he doesn’t understand, like I’m made up of a language he can no longer read. Then a faint smile crosses his lips and though the fear in his eyes doesn’t waver, it softens it. “Violet.” His voice is rough, low, coarse. It brings out a flurry of goosebumps all over my bare skin. “It was never supposed to be this way,” he says. My heart slows. What does he mean? His eyes go to where his fingers go, coasting over the rest of my face, taking in every detail. Now I’m as fearful as he is. He licks his lips, his jaw wiggling as if he’s trying to find the words. “You were just…the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. All I wanted from that moment was to occupy a place in that busy head of yours. Find a way into your big red heart.” His hand trails down to my chest, pushing in gently. “I can feel it beating now. But I can feel it beating always. No matter where you are. Violet, you’re under my skin. You’re in my bones. You’re in the sun, the moon, the light in my dark. Your heart beats in the air I breathe and I don’t know how I survived this long in the world without it.” He exhales, his breath shaking as he stares back into my eyes, searching, searching. “It was never supposed to be this way because I never thought it could be this way. Never thought that you could do to me what you’ve done.” “What have I done?” I whisper after a beat. “You?” he asks. “You’ve given me my heart, this same heart I give back to you. I never thought I could love, never believed it would happen for a man like me. Sometimes I wondered if it even existed. But then you stepped into my world and became my world and now it’s all that I know.” He takes in a deep breath, his expression softening. “I love you, my mirlo. I love you to the point of danger.

Danger because where you go, I will go. Because I will do everything and anything to keep you with me. This isn’t the end of us. There will never be an end of us. Ever.” I want to cry again. The emotion is building in my chest, squeezing tight. Heat prickles in my head, tempting the tears. My heart is a balloon, swelling, swelling. Flying away. I see it, as he says, big and red and I don’t know if it will ever come down, will ever pop. Vicente just said he loves me. I’ve never felt so free and joyous, both uncontained and grounded. His words, his words, his words. They tumble inside me over and over again until I’m smiling, tasting my tears, and every worry I had is gone. The day doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just this moment. The two of us, living, right now. There is no past. There is no future. There is just love. His love, his incredible, dangerous, romantic love for me. And my insatiable, consuming love for him. He kisses me, which is just as well because even though I want to say everything I’m thinking, I’m afraid I can’t. My words will fail me. They’ll sound dull and lifeless and they’ll betray the colors I’m feeling inside. But where words fail, our bodies speak the truth. One of his hands disappears into my hair, the other hand trails up the inside of my leg, soft and teasing, inch-by-inch over my sensitive skin. Even though my body is still sore and drowsy from the day, I’m already shivering at his touch, craving him all over again. I love you, my mirlo. I love you to the point of danger. He can’t know what those words are doing to me. He can’t know just how I feel about him. How do you let someone know that you’ve lost your mind and soul to them? That they’ve become the blood in your veins, that they’ve filled that achingly empty black hole inside you? He keeps his eyes on mine, burning with new lust that seems to be struck from a match, flames in the darkness, and I’m so turned on already, that I’m wet to my thighs. The adrenaline, the fear, the love, my body is processing it all the only way it knows how. “Violet,” Vicente groans as his hand slips down, his fingers finding my clit. I let out a small, anxious gasp as he teases it, his eyes never breaking from mine. “How can you be so perfect for me? How can any of this be real?” “Maybe we’re living one long dream. Maybe we both died earlier today.” I don’t mean to sound so glib about something that has changed my life and terrorized me to the core. The reminder of what happened, the reality, is dangerous to the moment. Vicente responds gruffly as he grabs my hips and parts my legs.

“All the more reason to celebrate being alive,” he says in a low voice. “All the more reason for you to fly.” He reaches for his cock and runs the crown of it up and down my clit, pausing to dip it briefly inside before bringing it back up. The sound is so loud in this room, so wet. My eyes close, surrendering myself to this torturous tease. He’s not pushing in, it’s just a slow slide, back and forth, but I feel myself opening for him anyway, my body at first hungry, then becoming wildly desperate for more. I’m both languid and tense, surrendering and spurring him on as he rubs against me, over and over again. I need him inside me. It’s not just about getting off now, it’s about feeling achingly empty and incomplete without him. It’s another way to keep the fear at bay. I swallow hard, making a noise that’s nothing short of begging. My heart is starting to sound in my head, my skin is hot and tight, my nipples are hardened pebbles in the air-conditioned air as the sheet brushes against them. “I should get a condom,” he says. “No,” I croak. “I want you bare inside me. I need it. Now. Please.” With a slow exhale, not breaking eye contact, he leans on his elbows and pushes himself in. Slowly. Very slowly. Inch by inch. It feels good, then it feels too much, then I don’t even know what I feel because all I feel is him. And he is all I ever want to feel. This man. This man I love. This man who loves me. I stretch around him, decadently full. This is nothing like earlier today in the desert where it was hot and wild and rushed. This is a slow dance between us, taking the time to enjoy and worship each other’s bodies, to see how we fit, how good we can make each other feel. I’m soaking in the joy of having his heart. “Am I hurting you?” he asks, groaning through the words. “No,” I say, licking my lips. I look at him, caught in the heated vibrancy of his stare. “This is good. It’s too good.” He nods and watches me intently as he pushes in further. His lips part as he sucks in his breath and his forehead creases in lust and awe, like he can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe how good it feels. That makes two of us. It’s like we’re fucking for the very first time. No, this isn’t fucking. This is on that other level. That other place.

He makes love to me. “Mirlo,” he moans, his hands sliding to my breasts where he pinches my hardened nipples. “Fuck…you’re…everything. And you’re mind. You’re all mine.” I am. All of me. He’s watching me, watching himself, watching us, where his cock sinks into me, his shaft wet with my desire. He’s entranced by the sight, the slow push in, the slow pull out. So good. God, this is so, so good. Each rock of my hips, each thrust of his, pushes him in deeper, makes us connect like puzzle pieces. The way his abs clench as he pushes inside, the tiny beads of sweat that gather in the creases, the dampness of his brow. I reach around and tug his firm ass toward me, wanting more, and he drives in so deep that the air leaves my lungs. “Vicente,” I groan, feeling the emotions swirl inside me, a whirlpool that I know will overtake me again before this is over. My head goes back again, my eyes pinching closed in shock before I surrender. He’s in me, in so deep, and I don’t ever want him to leave. This feels beyond right. This is us. This is the edge of danger. This is a love that has changed everything for everyone. It has changed me. With him inside me I am born anew. It sets something off from in deep, a whirlpool in my core that’s slowly increasing, spreading, heating up. It’s going to take over me, it’s going to pull me under, and I’ve never wanted to come so badly in my life. “Deeper,” I whisper, my voice choked with my sudden need for him. He responds instantly. With a throaty growl he starts thrusting deeper, one hand in my hair, making a fist. He leans down, pressing his damp chest against mine and kisses me, quick and hot, tasting like sweat. My mouth is ravenous against his, the need inside me building and building. Our teeth clash like warring predators. And then we find our rhythm, our bodies coming together in synchronicity. He’s pounding and pounding and pounding me, working up into a frenzy because it is work to fuck like this. To make love like this. I can’t keep my eyes off of him, the muscles in his neck are strained as the sweat rolls off of him, his eyes are lost in a fiery haze. The sounds that come out of his mouth with each thrust are so deep, real and raw, they nearly make me lose my mind. The bed slams back against the wall, the sheets are pulled loose, my breasts are jostling. The whirlpool inside me is now at a roar and I have seconds to hold on. I want to live in this moment forever. This cusp of having everything I need and still wanting more.

The buildup. And the release. But I can’t hold back any longer. “I’m coming,” I cry out, my voice raw and raspy and drowning with desire, trying to hold his gaze. He holds mine back, his eyes burning in victory. In big, dark love. Then I’m twisted as the orgasm washes over me. My body jolts and shudders and I’m high above this world, fading into the stars, into the black. Only warmth and joy remain as I’m washed up on shore. I never want anything else but this. Ever. “Shit,” Vicente grunts, bringing me out of the haze as he delves into a string of Spanish expletives. His growling, animalistic noises, the slap of his sweat-soaked skin against mine, the creak of the bed, all fill the air, becoming a primal symphony. Then he lets out a long, raw moan, shoulders shaking as he comes. The pumping slows. His grip in my hair loosens. He collapses against me his hair damp and dark and sticking to his brow. His eyes take me in, his breath heavy and hard. “I love you,” he manages to say, voice breaking. He’s still inside me and I’m still pulsing around him, the torrent inside me slowing as does the torrent in him. We are connected, we are one. And then it comes. The words when I thought I had no words. My hand goes to his face, shaking from the adrenaline running through me, touching his damp skin. “I love you.” God, and I feel it as I say it. “I love you so much. More than I could ever tell you. I just need you to know. Do you know?” He gives me a shy smile, kisses my forehead. “Yes, my mirlo. I know.” I didn’t think my heart could get any bigger. But it did. It has. And it will for every moment I’m with him. For this beautiful slice in time, Vicente and I are the only things to exist. Two broken and brave people sitting on the throne of the world.

CHAPTER EIGHT Vicente I AM DREAMING. Again it’s a dream with legs, with life, the dream that you know is a dream and yet there’s that big, all-encompassing fear that maybe this is it. Maybe this dream is all you’ll ever know. In the dream I am in a desert. It looks a lot like the one around us here in Palm Valley, but I know it's not California at all. It's Mexico, maybe the Chihuahuan Desert, maybe some place that doesn't really exist. I'm walking and then I'm running, my feet moving urgently over the ground, dust rising in my wake. Rattlesnakes and scorpions and hairy insects hiding under crevices hiss at me as I pass but I don't pay them any attention. I have to keep going. Time is running out but I'm not sure why I'm running or where I'm running to. It seems to stretch on forever. The run. The wild animals. The desert. And then I see it on the horizon, this low hill that sticks up like a volcano among the flat surroundings. This is where I must go to, this is where she is. Finally, I have to stop. The volcano that I'm staring at isn't a volcano at all. The desert has stopped abruptly, going from stark and rugged terrain to a lake, blue and calm and seeming to meld with the sky. The volcano is an island in the middle of it all. But the island itself isn't static. It's a moving, breathing thing. It's like the island has skin and scales, pulsing with a heartbeat, writhing with anxiety. I know I have to get to this island, that if I don't get there soon, everything I love will be gone. I know Violet is on that island. I take a step into the water, ready to swim, but the lake hisses like the spiders did and steam puffs up from where my boot touched the surface. I can already see it begin to eat away at the leather. The lake is acidic, corrosive. I won't be able to swim without all my skin eventually melting off. Beside me is a man in a small wooden boat made of peeling dark wood. His back

is to me, a big white hat on his head. I don't know how long he's been there or if he's only just appeared, but I know he's waiting for me. "Take you across for a peso," the man says in a voice that's hauntingly familiar, and yet I can't place it. I find myself agreeing and step into the boat. The man in the hat keeps turning his head as I get in and settle on top of a pile of rope. Even as he pushes off and begins to row, his face is shielded from me. That's when I notice the Rolex. That's when he starts to turn his head. I wish he'd kept it hidden. Leo Madano has no face anymore. He's just a mess of skin and bone and brain and other things I can't look too closely at. I look away, back to the island which doesn't seem to get any closer. "You've made some mistakes," Leo says as he rows. "You sound awfully smug for someone whose face was blown off," I volley back. He smiles. His teeth are still straight and white, the whole effect completely unnerving. "You can't protect her, you know this. You know they are coming for you. If you'd only listen to your instincts for once, use your brain instead of your cock, you would realize this. You'd have realized this the moment you started fucking that girl. Now it's too late." I ignore him. I don't want to listen. I can't afford to listen. "But you must listen," he says to me. "Because I speak the truth inside you. These aren't my words. They are yours." I twist around to get a better look at the island. It's still not closer. Yet when I turn to look at the shore we’ve come from, it's gone. "It will be a long journey going forward and your blackbird will stay out of reach. On the top branch of the tree that’s too high for you to climb. Until you realize what you have to do." "What do I have to do?" "Kill your father," Leo says. "It is the only way." I stare at his raw mess of a face, as if I could find some meaning in it, and close my eyes. I don't want this dream anymore. "But it's not a dream," Leo says. "This is what will happen. And there she is." He lifts up an oar and points over my shoulder. I turn and see the island. We're right there. Nearly bumping against it as it rises from the lake. And it's not an island at all. It's a wriggling pyramid of scorpions and snakes piled on top of each other, maybe fifty feet high. And at the very top, duct taped to a chair, is Violet. Behind her is a man in a jester's mask, a creepy plastic smile stretched across it. He plays a violin above Violet's head.

But I know who that man is, because his blood runs in me. It is my father. He’s playing Violet a sad song. "You won't be able to save her," Leo says as I prepare to scramble out of the boat. "Not until you're ready to do what you need to do." I can't focus on his words. I can only get to Violet. I have to. I scurry hands and feet up the mound, the snakes biting, the scorpions stinging. The pain is unbearable. A few times I cry out, slide back a few feet and have to start all over again. Finally I reach the top, but no matter what I do I can't seem to come forward. Like there's a thick pane of glass between us. Violet is staring at me and once again she's Santa Muerta, staring at me with frightened eyes, her hair in long braids frame her face. But her face isn't a skull, it's still real and warm and true, painted as if for Dia de los Muertos, Day of the Dead. My father laughs, a sound that haunts my bones like a ghost in a graveyard. He raises the violin and it's then that I notice he's not playing with a bow but with a machete. I can feel his grin underneath the mask. He makes a move with the machete as if to play the strings of the violin, a sound that would come out sharp and abrupt. But instead of hitting the strings, he brings it across Violet's neck. The cut is deep, quick. Blood flows from her neck as the lights go out of her eyes. I scream. But nothing comes out. I cry. And I'm empty. I reach for her but I can't move an inch. Her head slumps to the side as the blood flows over her and then down toward me like a raging river, bathing me in red warmth. Violet is dead. My father killed her. And now I'm tumbling backward down the slope, washed away in her blood, past the fangs and stingers, all the way to the water. I sink. I burn. I drown. I WAKE up cold and soaked to the bone. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, who I am. I remember the dream. I rub my arm, pinching it for pain, my skin slick with sweat.

My heart is going faster than I ever thought possible. I slowly sit up and look down beside me at Violet. The sheet is covering her, she's on her stomach. I'm too scared to pull it back. I'm afraid I'll find her throat slit, the sheets red with her fresh blood. My hand hovers above her and then with one swift movement I pull it back. She moans, frowning in her sleep, the earplugs shoved far down her ears. Her hair is spread out over the pillow. Her naked back glows beautifully pale, only marred by the scabbing skin where I rubbed her raw earlier. Holy shit. Everything comes back to me, which is strange because it never left me before. But that's what sleep does to you, especially when coupled with an intense dream. You forget reality, for better or for worse. It's like files recovered after a reboot. Now my files are slowly populating. I look over at the neon glow of the bedside alarm clock. It's only midnight. After we had sex earlier, both of us passed right out. Not that we could be blamed for that. I've seen some pretty wild things in my life, done things I'm ashamed of. But even as I knew that everything with Leo Madano would come to a head, I didn't think it would end that way. I thought—no, I assumed—that Violet would have been kept out of the mess and I could have disposed of him and the others myself. I thought I could have spared her. That she would be in no direct danger. That she wouldn’t see anything she shouldn’t. But I was wrong. I was very wrong. To think that we could just disappear into the desert on a motorbike and have no one find us. To think we took our sweet time shooting, fucking, as if Leo and his men didn't have other plans. I thought wrong. Assumed wrong. That all said, I am glad I taught her how to shoot. It was that fearlessness, that confidence with the gun that saved both of our lives. I still can't believe what happened. What she had to do. But I'm eternally grateful she was able to do it. Also grateful that Leo wasn't the great shot he says he was. Another inch and I would be dead. I reach up and gingerly touch the tip of my ear, feeling it throb where the bullet sliced that top layer of skin off. To think this was the extent of it all. We got lucky. We got really fucking lucky. And as much as I know that that's the end of Leo, that not he or anyone related

to him will come back into our lives, I also know that the next time we need luck to be on our side, we won't be so lucky. And there will be a next time. There will always be a next time with me. I sigh and lean back against the headboard. I want to rest my hand on Violet's shoulder, run my fingers through her hair, feel her in every way. My skin aches for hers, for that comfort of our contact. I don't dare wake her up though. The poor girl is going to need a lot of rest for a long time and she’s sleeping deeply. And what do we do next? I return her home. And then she never talks to me again. Fuck. I'm in love with her. I'm in love with her in a way that frightens me and should frighten her because my heart is calling the shots now and I'm not sure what it will do. What it's capable of. Until I met Violet, I wasn't even sure my heart existed. I thought it was just a physical thing, pumping away in my chest. I thought it was something that kept my body alive. But now it's keeping my soul alive. When it's all said and done though, I know I don't have many choices. I love her. Period. Full stop. I love her with my dark and dangerous heart. I love her with my wicked and dirty soul. I love her enough to raze the world around me to the very ground, just so we can be together. But I know that love, real love, lives on truth. I have to be honest with her. I have to tell her how I found her. I have to tell her who Javier Bernal is to her family. And I have to tell her what I did to her mother. She won't understand, I know this. Anyone would know this. But I don't have a choice in the matter. If I'm going to love her, be with her, it has to come honestly. It has to be the only fucking honest thing in my life. And still, there's this hopeful, naive, painfully pure part of me, like a little fucking child, that believes that maybe our love can survive all this. Maybe she'll understand. Her parents never will. Mine never will. In the end, they don’t matter. But maybe she can see through the muck and dirt around my heart and feel the truth.

I think she's been seeing it all along. That's the only thing that keeps me going. That tiny hope that even if I come clean it doesn't mean the end. You’re a fucking fool, Vicente, I tell myself. I hate how right I am. Careful not to disturb Violet, I slowly get off the bed, needing to take a piss. I’m about to push the bathroom door open when something makes me pause. The skin at the back of my neck prickles. The light in the bathroom is on. I could have sworn I turned it off before we went to bed. In fact, I know I would have since Violet can’t sleep without any sort of light source (in fact I often have to unplug my hotel alarm clock because it’s too bright, though tonight was a different story). And yet the light in the bathroom is on, the door half open. Even if she used to the bathroom while I was sleeping, she still would have turned the light off. My gun. It’s in the bathroom, with the rest of my clothes. So is her gun. If I was a smarter man I would have made sure I had both guns by the bed before we fell asleep. But instead my emotions got the best of me. All I could think about was Violet. I let my guard down in order to have her. Still…I might be overreacting. That’s the best I can hope for. Old-fashioned paranoia. You can’t blame. I take in a deep breath and steady myself. Then push open the door. The light above the sink buzzes but the bathroom is empty. And our clothes are in a pile in the sink. Not on the floor where we last left them. A lightning bolt of fear strikes my heart just a half second before I hear a fateful sound. The sound of a gun being cocked. The dramatic way of letting someone know you have a gun to their head. And in this case, I know the gun is aimed at me. “Easy now,” the voice comes in Spanish. “This doesn’t have to be difficult, Vicente. We prefer to do this as easily as possible.” It takes half a second to realize whose voice it is. A man who works for my father by the name of Juan Parada. They’ve finally come for me. How insanely arrogant I was to not expect it. “Turn around, Vicente,” he goes on, his voice low. “Don’t try anything funny.” “I’m naked,” I tell him. “Don’t you think that’s funny enough?”

“Raise your hands. Turn slowly.” “How did you even get in here.” I at least know I locked the door. “You were gone all day. It was easy. We hid under the bed.” Fuck. All this fucking time and they were under the bed? The shower. Violet crying. The sounds of our love making. Me telling her that I loved her. They heard it all. It was never a moment between just us. “It was very touching,” Parada goes on. “I almost shed a tear. Now put your fucking hands up Vicente and turn around.” My mind is racing, thinking of alternatives. They’re here for me. They’re not here for Violet. She can’t possibly interest them. Do they even know who she is? I’ll have to agree to whatever they say as long as they don’t harm her and let her go. I’ll lose her. But I’ll find her again. It’s the only way. It’s me my father wants back home. My vacation has come to an end. I raise my hands and slowly turn around. Parada is standing between me and the bed, gun in my face. I breathe a sigh of relief to see Violet still sleeping. That breath is taken from me, though, when I see the tall, hulking figure of a man standing above her, a gun aimed at her head. The man doesn’t look familiar, but that doesn’t mean much because his face means business. It’s stone cold. A goon for hire, someone my father was able to get on this side of the border. Parada, of course, is the same as always. A short, slight man with a thick mustache and head of hair that’s gone prematurely grey. He’s a smart man and I know his size often fools people, luring them to underestimate him when they shouldn’t. But I know a few thigs about him, things I may have to use to my advantage if it comes to that. God, it shouldn’t come to that. “What do you want?” I ask him, keeping my voice low, then glare at the other man. “And who the fuck is that? Tell him to put his gun away. She’s done nothing.” Parada smiles at me. I don’t think he’s ever liked me. He’s enjoying this too

much, having a gun aimed in my direction. “Your father’s orders, Vicente. I just follow them. You should too.” I know Violet is sleeping deeply, no doubt by everything that happened that day, plus the ear plugs, but if this can all somehow happen without her waking up to see a gun in her face, I will do whatever I can. “Okay,” I say slowly, quietly. “I will go back with you to Mexico. I won’t struggle. I’ll make it as easy as possible. Let’s just leave here quietly. I don’t want her to see this.” Parada stares at me in disbelief, cocking his head. “I’m afraid you are mistaken.” My throat feels like it’s starting to close up. “What?” I manage to say. Parada jerks his head over to Violet. “We’re following orders, Vicente. And the orders are to bring the both of you. In fact, I believe your father would rather have her than you if it comes down to it.” Now I’m stunned with horror. “Why? Why does he want her? She’s nothing to him.” Parada raises his brows. “I’m not your father’s psychologist. I don’t know and it’s not my job to question or care. You can ask him yourself when I bring you home. But she’s coming with you. Make no mistake about that. He specifically asked for the daughter of Ellie Watt.” My eyes widen. I don’t have words. I only know fear. Fear that I’ve never known before. It twists around me, choking me, a vine around a tree. My father knows who Violet is. He knows she’s Ellie’s daughter. And I know, I know, that what he has planned for her will break the both of us. The terror is tangible. The guilt, the fucking guilt, is almost worse. “You really think I don’t know everything about the two of you?” he goes on, coming closer, the gun still trained on me, a slow smile stretching across his lips. “You think I haven’t been following you both for weeks? Spying on you. I know everything, Vicente, just as your father does. The things you’ve said. In your hotel room, in your car. Fucking like animals all the time. Full of bravado and confidence that you never earned. Not a care in the world. No, Vicente, you acted like you owned the world. Now your father wants you home to show you that you don’t own anything. Not even her.” Parada takes a moment to look at the man behind him, giving him a smirk. I don’t think. There’s no time. Violet might weigh her pros and her cons in my position. But I can only act.

Parada broke his wrist late last year. I know he favors it, it’s not fully healed. I position my body so Parada is a shield between me and the other guy, and strike out against his wrist. He yelps, hand flying open, and I take the gun from him, aiming it at the other man. “Drop the gun,” I tell him, eyeing Parada briefly out of the corner of my eye. He’s shaking his wrist, biting back the pain, his eyes blazing at me in humiliation and anger. At this moment he can hear the conversation between him and my father play out, the disappointment in my father’s voice that he let his son get the best of him. Or perhaps it would be pride, because I proved to be more of a handful than he originally thought. I can’t focus on that right now. I wave the gun at the man. “Drop it, now.” And of course this is the moment that Violet begins to stir, moaning as she rolls over. “I said drop the fucking weapon!” I scream at the man, the words just pouring out of me, “or I’ll blow your fucking head off!” The man drops the gun. Violet opens her eyes. She sees what’s going on. Screams. “Violet,” I tell her, my voice harsher than I mean to, hoping my eyes can communicate everything. “It’s okay.” She’s breathing hard, the whites of her eyes shining. “Listen to me Violet,” I go on. “What’s going on?” she cries out. “Who are these people?” “No one to worry about,” I tell her. “Now I need you to get out of bed and slip on the house robe from the closet, grab the bike keys from the counter beside me and go to the door.” She’s shaking from fear. She’s been through so much. Now I’m asking her to walk naked in front of these two men, men she knows are here to harm us. “Parada, don’t you fucking look at her.” My eyes are cold steel as I stare at the hulking man. “Don’t you fucking look either. Go Violet, now!” She gets out of bed. I have to watch her out of my peripheral because I don’t dare take my eyes off this big fucker. I know he’s got other guns on him. In fact, I know Parada does too, and he’ll make a move for it when he can. I’ve played it too easy until now. This is why we have to go. Violet slips on the housecoat and heads over to me, a shaking, scurrying kind of run. She’s brought me a robe too but doesn’t dare give it to me now, knows I can’t look away, can’t be distracted. “Get the keys, go to the bike,” I tell her. “Go.” “Vicente,” she says, grabbing the keys and hovering by the door. “I’ll call the

police.” “Go to the bike,” I say again. “I’ll be there in a minute.” “I’m not leaving you,” she says, and though her voice is wavering, she means it. She doesn’t leave. She hovers by the door. “Violet, for fuck’s sake, leave!” “I’m not leaving you!” she yells back. By now I’m sure the whole hotel is awake. “I thought she’d be smarter,” Parada says in English. “I figured the daughter of a con artist would know when to get the fuck out of a bad situation.” “What?” Violet says in a hush. “Who are you? What do you know about me?” And now instead of leaving, she’s walking further into the room, over to Parada. With the gun still trained on the man, I have to back up quickly into Violet, pushing her to the door. If she gets too close to Parada, he’ll grab her and then I’m really shit out of luck. “Open the door,” I tell her. We have only one shot now. We need to take it. We need to run. I guess this time she can recognize the urgency in my voice. I hear her undo the locks, the light from the hallway floods inside the room as the door opens. But she doesn’t step outside. I know she won’t without me. I jerk the gun toward the bathroom. “Both of you, into the bathroom. Close the door. Come after me again and you’re going to get hurt. I don’t give a fuck who you work for. Now. Let’s go.” With sighs of impatience rather than fear, the big man and Parada walk over to the bathroom. I’m not looking away for a second, knowing how easily they can reach for another gun. But if they had been lucky enough to see me shooting earlier, they’d know that’s a skill they don’t want to test from me. If they think I won’t kill them, they’re in for a rude awakening. These men are my father’s men, not mine. They don’t answer to me and probably never will. But they will answer to my gun. Tio and Nacho can attest to that. Once they’re inside the bathroom and I hear and see the latch close, I grab Violet by the arm, spinning us both out of the room and immediately start running down the hall. I slip on my robe as I go, just in time for sleepy travelers to open their doors and peer out at the commotion. They barely register. We burst into the stairwell, our bare feet slapping against the cement stairs, echoing along with our breaths as we go to the bottom and then out the side doors into the parking lot. Gravel cuts into my soles as we run toward the middle of the lot, the gun in one hand, Violet’s forearm in my other. Only the bike isn’t here. “Shit!” I swear, looking around wildly. In the distance police sirens grow closer and I can see people starting to gather in the lobby, no doubt because of us. “Where the fuck is it?”

“Vicente,” she says, pulling at my sleeve. I follow her gaze to see the big man and Parada running out from the doors we just came from, guns at their sides, scanning the lot for us. I immediately pull Violet down beside me so we’re hidden by the wheels of the mini-van, crouched near the ground. “I’ll run to the lobby,” she says. “I’ll scream. People will come help.” “There are two men out there who will prevent anyone from helping,” I tell her, tightening my grip on the gun. “They’ll shoot you in the leg before you get two steps from here.” “Who are they? Why do they know me?” I can hear the faint footfalls of my father’s men as the run along the cars. They’ll see us sooner or later. I close my eyes briefly and inhale, trying to keep my head on straight, to get ahead of the game. All I can think of right now is to protect her. I have to do that at all costs. And I have to tell her the truth. “They’re with my father,” I tell her. The truth is horrible. “What?” Her face flinches as if I slapped her. I might as well have. “Your father?” “They won’t lay a hand on you,” I implore her. “Trust me.” “Why are your father’s men after you? Why do they have guns?” She shudders. “My god, what the fuck is going on? They’re from a cartel…your cartel…” The fear, the reality, is starting to sink in. She’s done her research. She knows what they can do. “Mirlo,” I say, one hand going to her cheek, fingers pressing into her skin, trying to get her to see my heart. “They won’t touch you. I won’t let them. Anyone who does will die by my hand.” “Even your father’s men?” “Even my father himself. I will kill him before he has a chance.” I can’t pretend that those words aren’t true. “Vicente,” she says, starting to quiver. “I don’t understand, why is this happening, why…” She trails off. She can read my face in the shadows. The fact that something is terribly wrong. Everything is too silent. I don’t hear their footsteps anymore. I duck my head down and see the shadows of two pairs of legs on the other side of the next car over, up by the front wheels, lit by the parking lot lights over there. I know there’s really just one chance that I have. Watch the shadows, wait to see if they step into the open. Take the shot underneath the cars, though I’ll only be able to get one of them before the other bolts and comes for me. And a shot to the leg, even both legs, won’t necessarily keep men like that down.

But then there is a second option. “Violet,” I whisper harshly. “I need you to go behind me, stay low, and run to the Mustang. If we’re lucky, there still might be extra guns in the backseat. Break the windows if you have to. Don’t start the car. Get the guns and then get behind the car. I’ll cover you.” “Then what?” “I’ll join you. But you have to hurry.” “But the lobby, we’ll be safe…” “They’ll pick you off. You won’t reach it. Stay low, sneak around the cars. I’m watching them, if they move, I move. The Mustang is behind us and to the left, you’ll be covered by the cars. Go!” “Vicente.” Impulsively I grab her face, kissing her so deep, so urgently, that for one second the world disappears and all that’s left is light. The moment our lips part, we’re plunged back into the terrible darkness. “Fly, my mirlo,” I whisper. She nods bravely, her lower lip trembling and then keeps low as she can, running at a crouch down along the minivan and then hooking behind the station wagon behind us. If she keeps this up, she might just make it. Parada and the big guy aren’t moving. Then we’ll think of what’s next. I don’t know how much time ticks on past after Violet has left. I should have told her I’d come to her in sixty seconds. Maybe more, maybe less. I had expected the goons to have gone after her or, if they hadn’t seen her scurry off, get back on their search for us. But they still aren’t going anywhere. They aren’t dead on their feet – they sway back and forth, move ever so slightly, one foot to the other. They stand like they’re waiting. Waiting for us to come out, I guess. Like the cat waiting for the mice. Still, something about this strikes me as wrong. Their stance is too casual. They aren’t hunting anymore. A second after that thought, Violet’s muffled scream rings out across the parking lot. I snap to my feet, looking over the hoods of the cars, straight over to the Mustang, not caring that Parada can see me now. A tall, broad-shouldered but otherwise lanky man has his arms around Violet. One large hand at her mouth, the other with a gun to her side. La Mueca. Otherwise known as Oscar Barrera. My father’s right-hand man. His sicario. The worst person I could think possible to be in possession of Violet.

But here he is, staring at me with little glee, just a cool, cold warning I can feel across the pavement. My father must have really been worried about me to bring him all the way over here. La Mueca rarely leaves the country. He’s wanted by too many here. All over the world, really. I should be flattered that he was dispatched. But I don’t feel anything. It’s like the blood is draining out of me. My veins are replaced with pure desperation. That’s all that will fuel me now. “Come on over here, Vicente,” La Mueca says calmly in Spanish. “It’s all over now. No shame in that.” Violet can’t understand. Her eyes are wide with fear, roaming in their sockets. I wish I could tell her everything will be all right. All I’ll be able to do is beg. “Move along,” Parada says from behind me. He and the big guy have their guns at the side. The sirens are getting closer. They need me to hurry but they know I won’t run off. They know that in the end, they’ll leave me here to the police if they have to, and take Violet, the real prize. I would drown in self-pity if I gave myself half an inch. I’m a dead man walking as I go toward La Mueca. To the naked eye, the man seems relaxed and casual, like he’s about to dig into a bag of chips while holding Violet hostage at his side. His suit is tan linen, white shirt partially open. Guns visibly tucked into both sides of his waistband. His face looks the same as ever. Perpetually frowning, eyes squinting, lips pursed above his goatee. His nickname “La Mueca” is because he’s always making this face, more of a grimace than a humorous one. Especially now. His eyes are hard as they stare into me and I can almost see all the lives he’s taken over the years. There’s no mercy inside him. “Let her go,” I tell him, hoping he can see the same inside me, my fingers itching to pull the trigger. “Mmmm,” he pretends to consider. “No. No, I don’t think I’ll do that.” He presses his gun harder into her side, enough to make Violet squirm. “She’s a fighter. I’ll give her that. Or perhaps you’re the one who taught her.” He pauses, looking her over in a way that makes my blood boil before glancing back at me. “You know I like you a lot, Vicente. I’m not old enough to be your father, so I guess in some ways you’re like a brother to me. But even brothers can kill each other if it comes to the matter of survival. You understand this is survival now, yes?” “La Mueca. Please. I know what my father has asked of you,” I tell him, feeling Parada and the big guy closing in at my back. I couldn’t run even if I wanted to and I would never leave Violet. Their presence at this point is unnecessary. “And I will do absolutely anything you want if you just let her go.” “What could you give me that I don’t already have?” he asks, his words so slow and deliberate, his accent light when he’s speaking English. He fakes

enlightenment. “Ah, I do know what you have and I don’t.” He takes his gun and slips it down the center of her robe, slowly teasing it open, until the barrel disappears under the fabric and I know he’s sliding it over her breast. Violet shudders, her eyes pinching shut as if to turn off the world. Rage roars through me, a kick to the gut. I fly at La Mueca, ready to rip his head off without thought to reason or consequence. Parada and the big guy grab me from behind before I can get far. It’s just as well. “I will blow her fucking tit off,” La Mueca barks at me. I back off. Coming to a stop. Relinquish into Parada’s hold. My eyes are glued to Violet’s and I’m trying to tell her how sorry I am that I failed. I failed us both. I thought we were above it all. “Now we didn’t want to do this the hard way,” La Mueca says smoothly, back to being composed. “But you’ve made it so, Vicente, so anything and everything that happens to her going forth will be on your head. You understand? Yes? Good. Good, then let’s just do this quickly and easily.” “Do what?” La Mueca nods at Parada who brushes past me and comes at Violet with a syringe in his hand. Her attempts to wriggle loose from La Mueca’s grasp fades the moment Parada plunges the needle into the side of her neck. “No!” I scream, the sound ripping from my throat. But it too fades once I feel the sharp pinch into my neck too. The big guy has done the same to me. The world wavers on its legs for a moment. I try to keep my eyes on Violet, try in vain to keep her in my vision. The fear that once I lose sight of her I’ll lose her forever is greater than life. And probably true. Then the world fades to grey. I fall to the ground. And drift into the black.

CHAPTER NINE Ellie IF THEY COULD HAVE FLOWN with carry-on baggage full of guns and been there in an hour, they would have. But for Ellie, Camden, Ben and Gus, the drive down to Palm Valley took seven hours. It should have taken a half hour longer, but El Segundo can really rip it on the open highway and Camden wasn’t the least bit shy with the gas pedal. Ellie knew that during any other time, he would have relished the feel of the car beneath him, the burn of the disappearing pavement. However, he drove with absolute necessity. She would have gone insane without Ben and her father there. With her husband concentrating on the road, his conversation was limited. It was Ben and Gus that did what she needed them to do and that was to continuously come up with a plan. To keep talking. To keep working out ways to get Violet back. It kept the spirit in the car positive and hopeful and empowering for those seven long hours. It kept Ellie from drowning in guilt. Most of the time. She had to keep reminding herself that Vicente didn’t mean Violet harm, though that was often hard to believe. At the very core of her, she didn’t want to see his human side, believe that he really cared. Because to do that would mean she would compare him to his father. And have to admit that once upon a time, Javier really cared too. But Ellie never let herself dwell on those days. Javier proved time and time again that he was only after one thing, and that was power. He may have thought he loved her, but that kind of love would always be second best to what he craved the most. In contrast, Camden loved only her. Wanted only her. Would fight for only her. It was through her husband that she understood what love truly was. And in some ways, that made her part of the select few. Ellie fought tooth and nail her whole life to be loved and accepted, finding nothing but lies and mockery at every corner. She was used and abused, over and over again. Until she and Camden found each other once more. That’s when Ellie knew she was given something so fucking precious she had to hang onto it with every ounce

she had. Camden’s love didn’t change the world, but it changed her world. It changed her heart, her soul. It created Violet. It nurtured Ben. It was more than enough. For twenty years, Ellie had lived a life fuller than she could have ever imagined, bigger and with more love than most will ever experience. It some ways, she had to expect that one day it would all come crashing down. She just didn’t think it would be like this. Never like this. Never at the expense of her daughter. When they finally pull into Palm Valley, it’s late, past midnight. Even at night, Ellie can make out the rows of date palms stretching out into the desert, one of the farms used to belong to her Uncle Jim, the place she spent her high school years. It’s weird to be back. As El Segundo slows down Palm Valley’s main street, Camden and Ellie exchange an uneasy glance. Why did she have to come back here of all places? There are too many memories tucked away in every nook and cranny, carried to dust. The past is still alive here. Even Ben comments on it, grappling with faded memories, the feeling that he’d been here once. And then the car is silent as they cruise to the end of the road. Where the hotel is located. Where the lights are flashing. Red and blue. Panic seizes all of them like a net. The hotel parking lot is filled with police cruisers, ambulances, and a fire truck. Camden doesn’t even have the car at the curb before Ellie is opening the door and running straight for the crowd. She looks around, pushing through, taking it all in. There doesn’t seem to be anyone in custody, doesn’t seem to be anyone hurt. Clumps of people are standing around, talking excitedly to the cops and TV reporters. Ellie finds a person that looks to be a busy body—a middle-aged woman in yoga pants watching everything with insatiable eyes like she’s devouring a tabloid—and sidles up to her. “Just pulled into town, what happened?” Ellie asks as casually as she can, trying to keep the dire fear and urgency from her voice. She folds her arms against her chest to ward off the chill of the desert night. The woman barely even glances at her, her eyes trained to the media circus. “Apparently it was a kidnapping. Not an attempted kidnapping, an actual kidnapping.” Ellie can’t even respond. The woman goes on excitedly, spilling the beans. “Guests reported a struggle in one of the rooms, a woman screaming. They thought it was a domestic violence case. Then they saw a young man and woman running down the hall in their bathrobes. Totally naked underneath. With a gun! They were

followed right after by two other men with guns. Then something happened in the parking lot, right here where we are standing. They were taken away into a white van and they drove off just a few moments before the cops arrived.” “Did they say anything about who the perps were?” Ben asks. Ellie looks up, grateful to see her son at her side and taking control of the situation because words are already failing her. “I hear they were all Mexican,” the woman says in a hush. “Or at least Latino. All except the girl. She was white. Dark hair. With tattoos.” She looks at Ellie and frowns. “Kind of like you,” she says with a wave but she doesn’t dwell on it. “It’s been a hell of a night. Did you hear what happened earlier?” “What?” Ben asks. “So sad. So scary. The late Sheriff’s wife was found dead in her mobile home. Suffocated with a plastic bag over her head.” “Sheriff…Mc…McQueen?” Ben asks. “That’s the one. His wife, Raquel. She was quiet but nice. Lived alone in a mobile home park outside of town, you know her husband just passed from cancer. Such a shame. Cops now don’t know if the two crimes are connected or not. In a way, I hope they were. This town can’t handle two random killings in one night.” She looks at them. “You both from around here?” But Ellie is already walking toward the car, back to Camden who is waiting beside it. Gus is in the distance, talking to a cop. “They have her,” Ellie says to him before collapsing in his arms. “They have her.” Camden holds onto her tight. “What happened?” She stares up at him, her fingers grasping his hoodie. “I don’t know. They were taken.” “Both of them? Or just Violet?” Ellie shakes her head. “I don’t know. But she’s gone. She’s gone.” Camden tries to calm her, to prevent her hysterics. She knows she has to hold it together and be strong, she knows this is just as hard on him and now he has to be the one to hold them both up. But when your daughter is gone, so is everything. “Okay,” Gus says gruffly, coming up to them with Ben behind him. “I have the lowdown. Seems that there was an incident in Vicente and Violet’s room. Guests reported a scream, some yelling. Witnesses saw both Vicente and Violet running down the halls, barefoot and in their robes. Vicente had a gun but wasn’t using it aggressively. Both seemed to be on the run from something. They disappeared down the stairwell over there, and minutes later two other men came running out of their room, weapons drawn. One was short, Hispanic. The other was big, Caucasian. At that point a few guests had gathered in the lobby to complain about the noise and a call was placed to the cops. They reported seeing Violet and Vicente in the parking lot, hiding behind a car. Then Violet snuck away, trying to escape. She was picked up by a very tall Hispanic man. There seemed to be a struggle. Then

Violet and Vicente were unconscious, hauled away to a van.” “Both of them were unconscious?” Ben asks. “Even Vicente?” “That’s what the witnesses told the police,” Gus says. “They were all watching from the windows.” “Well who the fuck were these people?” Ellie screams. “Why didn’t they do anything to help my daughter!” “Calm, Ellie, easy, easy,” Gus says, placing his hand on her shoulder. “This was a hostile and violent situation. No one knew what was going on. They called the cops. That was the most they could do without getting in harm’s way.” But none of that matters to her right now. All that she can think of is getting her daughter back, all she can feel is rage at those who did nothing, and rage at herself for ignoring all the signs. Her breath becomes shorter. The flashing lights become dots. “Mom!” Ben calls out before she collapses into Camden’s arms. About an hour passes before Ellie wakes up. She’s in the back seat of the Challenger, her head resting against her father’s shoulder. “Where are we?” she whispers. She can’t be bothered to feel embarrassed about fainting earlier. “Close to the border, by Calexico,” Gus says softly. “We’ll cross there.” She slowly sits up and looks around her. The car is dark except for the lights on the dash. No cars pass on the two-lane highway they’re traveling down. The headlights illuminate blacktop, the yellow lines rushing toward them. On the sides of the road, the sand is so featureless in the night it looks like a blanket of snow. Camden and Ben sit in the front seats. In the shadows Ellie is strangely struck by how similar they look, as if seeing them for the first time. The exact same height and strong, muscular build. They even sit the same way, straight up, shoulders back. Relaxed but not slouching. “How do we get across the border?” she asks quietly. She doesn’t to disturb the silent hum of the car, the only sound being the roar of the engine. “You all have your passports,” Gus says. “It won’t be a problem.” “The guns?” “It won’t be a problem,” Gus repeats. “Trust me Ellie. Don’t you remember by now? We’re going into Mexico. Not out of.” She doesn’t want to remember that time. It seems like a dream. But she knows Gus is right. “And then what?” “Your son has a handle on it,” her father says. And, oh, there’s the twitch in Ben’s posture. The stiffening of his muscles at the mention of the word “son.” There’s so much going on, Ellie has to remind herself of everything Ben—and Violet—had been grappling with between themselves, before it ever came to light.

Ben doesn’t say anything though. He doesn’t need to. Ellie trusts them all. They know how to find Violet That may end up being the least of their problems.

CHAPTER TEN Javier Sinaloa, Mexico THERE’S a knock at Javier’s office door. He barely hears it above the music that’s blaring through his office. Fucking Personal Jesus. Depeche Mode. 1990, man. Javier slowly sashays his way to the door, tequila bottle in his hand. Opens it. Luisa is standing on the other side, frowning at him like only she can do. “What are you doing?” she asks. “Why are you dancing?” “Oh come on, Luisa, do any of us ever need a reason to dance?” he asks, going up to her with his shoulders swaggering to the beat, left, right, left, right. He grabs her hand and pulls her into the room, spinning her around in a pirouette. Despite the spontaneity, she executes it perfectly. “Javier,” she says, but as bewildered as she looks at him, she’s smiling. Smiling. Fuck, Javier thinks, how damn beautiful is she? How rare that she smiles and means it. That rare snake of remorse that he often ignores? It comes back again, sliding into his heart with the song. He feels terrible for a hot second that she’s been neglected lately. He knows he has to do better for her. And he is. One step at the time. This is the first step, even if she doesn’t know it yet. He pulls her close to him, gives her a long, languid kiss. He knows he tastes like tequila and the celebratory cigar he smoked earlier with Oscar Barrera, but he doesn’t care. “What has gotten into you?” she asks, pulling back. She’s trying to sound annoyed, like she’s the type of wife who has to constantly fight off her husband’s advances. It’s not that Javier doesn’t still have a healthy sexual appetite, it’s just that she never fights him off. But it’s been a long time since the two of them were remotely intimate. Javier’s had too much on his mind and Luisa has been too withdrawn and tired, frail even. Javier has had the best doctors come in and do tests on her, fearing it might be

cancer, but Luisa’s had the clear bill of health. The only thing it can be is stress. Stress of being second, Javier supposes. At least that’s why he’s been stressed the last ten years or so. Ever since the Sinaloa Cartel lost the wide share to the Zetas. The fact that he’s been having to pay a fucking tax to the Zetas for Juarez and a shit ton of other ports and passages eats him alive at night. And he’s sure it’s been eating up Luisa too. It’s not that their situation has changed. They’re still rich beyond their wildest dreams and their power is unstoppable, at least in this area. At least until another cartel moves in and fractures either him or the Zetas. Then who fucking knows what will happen to them. But he tries not to think about it. Which is why it’s so important that Vicente grow up to be the ruthless man he needs to be. Why this lesson is so fucking important. Break the boy, create the man. Javier has repeated that inside his head so many times it’s become his mantra. It helps that way. It distances himself from what he has to do. Being methodical is so much better. Smarter. If only he could teach Luisa to do the same. “I’m happy, my queen,” he says. “Haven’t you seen me happy before?” Her smile fades. A slight shake of her head. “No. Not in a long time.” He inhales sharply and tries to smile. “Well this is what it looks like.” He spins her around again, dips her. She laughs, her dark hair spilling behind her like oil. Javier knows, in this instant, just how lucky he is. How he must fight to keep things like this. It won’t be easy, and for a while Luisa will hate him, but things will then get better. They’ll be king and queen again, thanks to their darkened prince. “Is this about Vicente?” she asks, breathless. It’s as if she can read Javier’s eyes. Something that makes him want to shy away. She can’t look too deep, know too much. He grins at her. “Yes. In fact, it is. They have him.” She stares at him in disbelief, hand going to her chest. “Are you sure? Is he okay?” Javier shrugs. “Okay? They had to drug him of course, just in case, but yes he’s okay. They brought him through the tunnel already. He’s on our side. Should be here in the morning.” “And the girl,” she says, her excitement turning to worry. “What about the girl?” “They have her too,” he says simply, taking the tequila and parking himself back at the desk. “Who is she again?” Luisa asks, leaning against the desk, showing off her cleavage. Still firm, still taught. Javier stares for a moment before looking at her eyes. “I told you. She’s the

daughter of someone who wronged me.” She cocks her head, hair falling over her shoulders. “No. You told me she was the daughter of someone important, someone we had to negotiate with.” “It’s the same thing.” “Javier,” she says. “Tell me who it fucking is.” He sighs long and hard, and with the tip of his long finger drags a highball glass over to him from the glassware set at the end of the desk. “Sit and have a drink with me.” “Not until you tell me.” “I’ll tell you if you have a drink with me,” he says, staring at her. He knows he’ll win this game. She knows this too. She has two options. She can leave or she can drink and stay. Her husband holds all the cards. With a sigh, she plops down in the chair across from him and pushes her glass over to him. With a satisfied smirk, Javier pours her a glass then raises his to hers. “First we must cheers, to celebrate Vicente’s safe return.” She hesitantly raises her glass and he knocks his against hers. He takes a slow mouthful, watching her every move. She amuses him endlessly. So full of fire and yet still unsure. He knows she’s going to be a handful going forward, that she’ll have to be restrained at times over what’s going to happen. She’ll feel for Vicente, as a mother should. And in that same line of reasoning, she’ll probably feel for Violet. She’ll object to what will be done. Javier knows this. But it has to be done. His wife may not understand it right now but in time, when she sees the kind of man Vicente has become, she will. She’ll appreciate it. The good it will do, the good it will bring them all. Javier is doing this for the good of everyone in this family. “So, tell me,” she says. “Drink first.” She sighs and has a sip. His eyes never leave hers. “Okay,” she says, pushing the glass away. “I stayed. I had a drink. Tell me who the fucking girl is or I swear to god…” Javier is intrigued. “Or you’ll what?” “You’ll find out. And you won’t like it.” He chuckles. “You’re a national treasure, you know that?” “Javier…” He finishes the rest of the glass and leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Do you remember Ellie Watt?” Luisa eyes him sharply. “You mean your ex-girlfriend? The American puta who fucked you over?” “Yes, that’s the one. Well, the girl, Violet, is Ellie’s daughter.” Luisa couldn’t look more shocked. She doesn’t even react. She’s just big brown eyes staring at him in disbelief.

Fucking adorable, Javier thinks. Finally, she talks. Practically spits it out. “What? You kidnapped her daughter?!” “No, no, no,” Javier says quickly. “Vicente did.” “What?!” “Not on purpose. But he did his job.” “Javi, what the fuck is going on?” Her fingers are pressed into the desk, turning her skin white from strain. This was one of the reasons why he didn’t want to tell her. She doesn’t need the stress. “Easy, Luisa,” he warns her. “Everything is fine.” “It’s not fine! Why does Vicente have her? Did you tell him to take her?” “Not at all. I merely planted the idea in his head.” “What the fuck?” “You are so sexy when you use your filthy mouth, you know that?” “Fuck you!” she snarls. “You better fucking explain right now just what the hell is going on. What idea did you plant in Vicente’s head? How is this even possible?” “Actually it’s kind of your fault.” “What?!” Javier is enjoying this far too much. “I knew if I planted information about Ellie, the right information, that Vicente might be curious enough to seek her out. He did. You told him to look up the Tijuana cartel and that’s where he found the files on her. The files I’d planted there. That’s why he went to America. No reason other than to find her. Well, actually, maybe he wanted to spread his wings and get the fuck away from us, I can’t blame him. But that was the catalyst anyway. And he found her. Easily. I thought perhaps he would take Ellie but the daughter is so much better in the long run.” Luisa is shaking her head, unable to understand any of it. “Why? Why do this? Do they operate a shipping lane, do they run drugs, are they leaders of a gang? Why?” Javier shrugs. And lies. “No real reason, it’s about evening the score.” “Score! You’re still keeping score after, what, twenty-one years or something?” “I have my pride.” “Oh my god,” she says, her voice bitter. “Fuck your pride, Javi.” “Be that as it may, it’s happening.” “You won’t harm a hair on that girl’s head,” she threatens. “I’ll stop you.” Javier gives her a tired look. “Yes, yes. I thought you would be happy that Vicente is back.” “Happy? Yes, but now that I know why he left to begin with…” He gives her a pointed look, pleading for her to understand. “Vicente needs to grow up. He needs to learn what life is about. We’ve sheltered him.” “Sheltered?” Luisa practically shrieks. “You had him killing men when he was just a boy.”

“We had him killing men when he was just a boy,” he reminds her sharply. “Don’t play your moral high ground here, we both know just how dirty you can be. And that’s fine. It’s what we are now and what we’ve always been. There’s no point changing anymore, if anything we have to get tougher and so does our son.” Javier leans across the desk so his eyes are burning just inches from his wife’s. “This is about our survival. This is about our son’s survival. Do you want him to die because his heart is too soft, because he can’t make the decisions he needs to? I love him Luisa, just as much as you do. This needs to happen to make him a man, to make him strong.” He holds her gaze for a few seconds, the intensity burning between them. Then he sits back in his chair and looks away. “Otherwise he’s as good as dead. Only the strong survive here. Only the ruthless. Only the ones who will do what they have to in order to get to the top and stay at the top. This is trial by fire. He’ll come out better than before. You know yourself, the burns create scar tissue. You stop feeling. And that’s what makes you stronger. That’s all we can ask.” He doesn’t look at her for a few moments. Though the music is still playing, moving onto “Halo” and the rest of the Violator album, he doesn’t hear it. He just feels her anger rolling through her, mixed with despair. She wants so badly to protect her son from everything bad, but she has to realize that it’s impossible. Unless Vicente goes far away and never comes back, it won’t happen. And if he does that, there’s a chance that Luisa and Javier will both sink to the very bottom. They won’t survive it. Finally, Luisa gets up. She pauses and then grabs the bottle, drinking straight from it for a few gulps. Javier looks to her in wide-eyed surprise. “Thanks for finally letting me in,” she whispers, barely glancing at him. “You might want to do it more often.” And then she leaves the office, closing the door behind her. Javier lets that remorse fill him again, acknowledges the hit of guilt. But as he pours more alcohol into his glass, the remorse fades away, leaving the room with Luisa. He goes back to smiling. Perhaps he’ll start dancing again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN Violet DARKNESS. The world is dark but a false darkness. Like when I put on a sleep mask to trick my eyes into thinking the room is dark. I know deep down it’s not. I can tell it’s a lie. This darkness is a lie. But it sinks into me. Suffocates me. Even the air I breathe is dark. Black. It’s thick and hot, too. I feel like I’m going to choke. I try and take a breath, feeling adrenaline trying to fight its way out of my heart and into my veins but everything is too slow. I keep being lulled away into a dreamless sleep. I prefer it, so I don’t fight it. There the dark is real and calming, like swimming in a lake at midnight. Then I’m jostled out of the lake, to where it’s hot and sticky and smells stale. The false darkness again. Hands grab me roughly. I’m naked. Why am I naked? I need to care about this. I should care about this. I try and fight through the stickiness in my veins, fight to just fight. Fight for a way out of the dark. I move my limbs. The hands grab me tighter. “Be a good girl, senorita,” a voice says, floating toward me and then away. I can see the words formed like smoke, disappearing like the Cheshire cat. Be a good girl. Senorita. I know this voice.

It’s not Vicente’s. But close. And then. Vicente! I’m hit with a fragment of memory. Vicente and I in our hotel room. He told me he loved me. I told him I loved him. We made love. It was like nothing I’d known before. Then I woke up to see him pointing a gun at two men. Oh my god, what happened to me? What happened to him? “Be a good girl, senorita,” the voice murmurs. “And he won’t hurt you. Do what he says, and he won’t hurt you. You’ve been so good with me but now I must leave you.” Now I must leave you. Who is this voice? His voice is calm, fluid. A liquid murmur that gives me something to drink in. Something to hold onto. I don’t know who this is. But I’m afraid of what happens when he goes. Fighting through, swimming through, wading through, comes the fear. It knocks at my door. It says, Violet! Wake up! Wake up! Run! Fight! Fly away. Fly away. Away from here. “Where am I?” I try and say but the words come out garbled from my lips and echo back to me. I can barely breathe. My eyes open. To darkness. False darkness. There’s something over my head. I try and move my hands but at that moment they are wrenched behind me, tied together. “Be a good girl,” the whisper comes again. “Your Vicente is counting on you, yes?” I think I fall asleep again. Any pain and fuzziness is gone. Just for a moment I’m back in the black lake. But I know I can’t stay for long. I know something is waiting on the other side.

Vicente. My love. Suddenly, I’m startled. Freezing cold water hits my skin. It shocks me awake with a gasp that pulls fabric to my mouth, nearly choking me. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. The clarity pushes through. The memories pile down. The parking lot. Captured by a tall man in a suit, a brooding face of facial hair that was only handsome for a second before he grabbed me. I never saw it coming. He made it look like an art. Ballet. Choreographed kidnapping. Before I could get out more than one scream, his hand was at my mouth, tasting of cigars, his gun was in my side. And Vicente came running. Just like the man knew he would. They were Vicente’s men. His father’s. Why did he plunge a syringe into my neck? Drugging me. Why did they take me? I try and move my hands, to feel if I’m still naked but I’m bound everywhere. Hands at my back. Ankles at my front. I’m sitting, probably on a chair. And I’m shivering. My body quaking still from the cold water, the goosepimples all over. I know I’m naked. That robe was lost a long time ago. I can only pray I wasn’t raped. I can only pray that won’t happen now. Who will even answer my prayers? Where is Vicente? “The drugs take time to wear off,” a voice says. It is not the same as the one earlier, the man who called me senorita. The man who took me in the parking lot. I realize he is now one and the same. No, this voice is different. It’s calm, as his was, and polished. He speaks in English and his accent is light. But there’s a buoyancy there. Amusement. Yet it

does nothing to quell my fears, the fears that are fighting through the drugs. In this voice lies a wicked curiosity, the kind that pushes cats off of balconies, just to see if they have nine lives, feeling no worse for wear if they don’t. “You can only ride it out,” he says. “And we do this slowly.” There is a shuffle in front of me. The sound of a chair being scraped along hard floor. The sound of a door closing with soft whoosh. It sounds crazy, all of this is beyond crazy, beyond fear even, but I swear I feel his eyes on my body, crawling over my naked flesh like a fire ant. “You have a lot of tattoos,” he says and my instincts were right. He’s inspecting me. “Too many. I’m sure many tell you that. I’m sure your father did them all.” I tense up at the mention of my father. Oh god, I want nothing more than to be at home with them right now. To take everything I ever said about them back. I don’t care that they lied, I don’t care that they were criminals and they did bad things. Vicente was right. We all do bad things, each and every one of us. I helped kill a man yesterday. And today—if it’s even a today—I’m here. Somewhere. Naked and covered in ice cold water, strapped to a chair. With a man I don’t know. “I need to see your face,” the man says. “I bet it’s a beautiful one in person.” In person? I barely have time to process the thought. The bag lifts off my head and I’m met with stale, damp air. I manage to open my eyes, I swear they are glued shut, blinking into the dark, adjusting to dim light. I almost gasp. I’m staring right into Vicente’s sharp eyes. Only it’s not Vicente at all. It’s a man that looks a lot like him, save for a few lines and greying hairs. It’s his father. Javier Bernal. And he smiles at me with all the warmth of a snake. “Yes,” he says, appraising me, like I’m food on a plate. “You are prettier in person. Even prettier than Ellie. You’re less hardened by the world. Your cheeks are rounder, lips fuller. Very, very pretty Violet. I can see why Vicente has been so taken with you. He’s been quite ridiculous, you know.” I can only stare at him. I know this isn’t just how family introductions go. I know there’s no mistake or wrong idea, that this isn’t some strange initiation into the cartel. I know that Javier has me right where he wants me. I just don’t know why. Wait.

Wait. My brain tries to replay what he just said, tries to push past the last strains of the sedative and realize the reality. What did he just say? About how my father did my tattoos. About how I look like Ellie. “My mother?” I try to say but my voice hurts, my throat so dry that it comes out in a frog-like croak. “Would you like some water, my dear?” he asks. He gets up and I watch as he goes over to a table at the side of the room. I start to take in everything. I’m in large space, maybe fifteen by ten feet. There’s a metal chair across from me where Javier was sitting. An empty bucket next to it, where he must have splashed the water on me from. On the other side of the bucket, a glass jar, sealed. There’s a high table by the wall but the only thing on it is a plastic cup and one litre of water. My mouth automatically starts salivating at the sight. The rest of the room is bare except for a hose. It feels cold and it’s not just from the water. There are no windows. It feels subterranean. I can’t imagine what goes on in here. Actually, I can. I can very well. But my imagination is held back by the drugs. As is my fear. Just a bit. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. To act like this is all some crazy dream, a drug trip, when it’s real and it’s fucking dangerous. Beyond dangerous. Javier comes back and I notice the cup is only filled a quarter of the way. And he doesn’t give it to me. He sits back in the chair, arms folded over the back of it like he’s having a casual conversation, shooting the shit, letting the cup dangle from one hand. But as casual as he tries to come across, I know he’s anything but. His eyes are too hardened, too calculating. And far too excited. It’s hard for him to hide it. “Why do you know my mother?” I ask, my voice is still parched. Javier grins. It’s unnerving. A smile that stretches across his face, contrasting with his eyes. I can see Vicente in them and yet he’s nothing like this. When I look into Vicente’s eyes I see warmth. I see a man struggling to do the right thing, to be the right person, whatever that person will be. Good or bad, Vicente embraces it all but he always wants to better himself.

With Javier I just get nothing. It’s closed off. Guarded. Hidden. Everything about him suggests it, from his blue grey dress shirt to his navy slacks. Shoes, light loafers, no socks. A watch at his wrist. Hair longer in the back so it’s curling up slightly, swooped to the side in a deep part. This is a man who takes great care in getting dressed. It’s not enough that he’s doing it for himself. He wants others to care as well. Anyone who doesn’t insults him deeply. But then again, I can’t make rash judgements. Not right now. To peg this man one way and have him be the other might just be the death of me. You think you’re going to get out of here alive? I ask myself. Vicente will help me. I know this. And yet, the thought makes everything inside me shatter like glass. “Your mother?” Javier asks. “What do you want more? Answers? Or water?” “Water,” I whisper. He grins. Wicked. He gets off the chair and comes over to me. Holds the cup out to my lips. Stops half way. Tips the cup slowly, so the water pours out straight down between my parted legs. I nearly die inside. And I can’t hide it from my face. I gasp in wild, raw desperation. That water would have fixed everything. “You know,” he says, reaching forward with one hand. I flinch, rigid in the chair. He doesn’t seem to notice. Tucks my hair behind my ear, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your mother was your age when I met her,” he muses. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a girl so young.” I try and swallow. Nearly choke. I don’t understand anything. “That’s right, Violet McQueen,” Javier says, straightening up and heading over to the water bottle, filling another glass, this time to the brim. “I know your mother. Does that surprise you?” Yes. No. I don’t know anymore. I don’t even know if I can care anymore. My brain is stumbling, trying to keep up, to understand what it all means. He sits back down in the chair and takes a sip from the glass, wetting his lips and smiling to himself before he speaks again. “Vicente never told you why he

found you, did he?” Oh god. Oh god, please. What is he talking about? “You see Violet, your mother, even your fucking father, and I, have a complicated past. One that I’m sure they’ve erased over the last twenty years. But don’t you worry. Don’t you worry, my angel, I am sure they’ve had me on their mind the whole time. They hadn’t forgotten.” He pauses, placing the cup of water on the ground. I automatically follow it with my gaze. “Are you even listening to me?” he asks. His voice is so sharp, so insulted, that I have to look up. “I need water.” I swear he rolls his eyes. He grabs the water, half of it sloshing out of the cup, and he comes back over to me. “Drink up, then,” he says, raising it to my lips. “But don’t say I never treated you unfairly. You can never say that about me.” To his credit, he tips the glass slowly and in control, and I gulp it down, wishing half the contents weren’t splashing below on my stomach. I can’t get enough. I want water until I die from it. But the glass empties quickly. Javier pulls it back but he doesn’t leave. He stays right up in my face, peering at me curiously. “Your resolve surprises me,” he says, eyes skirting over my face. “Your strength. But you’re not hard. No, not yet. You’re soft. Especially inside.” He places the palm of his hand on my chest, on my heart, making me jump. “Yes, I can feel your fear fighting to come through. And then maybe you’ll be different. Or maybe not. You intrigue me more than I thought you would. I didn’t think something so good could come from someone so bad.” I blink at him, anger coursing through me. “Oh, there it is,” he says wryly. “There’s the tenacity. I could only hope you had a little of that in those veins of yours.” He sits back down in the chair. The moment he does, his words from earlier bounce in my head relentlessly. “Vicente,” I whisper. “What did you mean why he found me? He didn’t find me…” But from the crooked smile on his father’s face, I know the truth. Just like that. Our meeting was no accident. “Your mother and I were lovers a long time ago,” he says. “I say that loosely, because I’m not sure how much love was between us. But there was something anyway, even if it was all just based on lies. Terrible lies. I was her mark, you know. She wanted to get to my boss and she did so through me. Pretended to love me. She was so good at pretending. And I fell for it. Because I was a fucking fool. In the end, she stole my money and ran.”

He sighs. “Do you know why I have this?” He lifts up a hand, pulls back his sleeve and the watch band. The word WISH is a faded tattoo on his wrist. “Because of your mother. Do you know why she has the tattoo of the music notes on her arm, Dire Straits On Every Street? Because of me. Because after she left me, I came looking for her on every street. For eight fucking years, chasing a lie. Do you know why you have the name you have?” I can only shake my head. The shock is unreal. I’m more stupefied than before. “Because of my sister, Violetta. Ellie liked her and visa versa. Violetta died in a car bomb meant for me.” And it’s not a lie at all. Vicente had told me that very same thing the day I met him, the day he asked about the classes, the day we went to the bar. The day I saw him scoping me out at the coffee shop. It all clicks into place. It was never about chance. My romantic little mind just wanted to see it that way. “Oh yes, we go way, way, back,” he goes on, adjusting the watch so it covers the tattoo again. “The reason she went after my boss, pretended to love me, is because he’s the man who scarred her leg as a child and she wanted vengeance.” He pauses. “It doesn’t end there. Your mother’s Uncle Jim? I killed him. I kidnapped Sophia and your half-brother Ben. But in the end I killed the rest of the Madanos, so it evened out. And do you want to know how your mother repaid me at the very end, after all that, after eight fucking years of looking for her?” He’s nearly yelling these last words, straining in his seat. “She handcuffed me to a fucking fence, like a fucking carcass waiting for the vultures to pick it off. Before that, she tried to shoot me. Gun to my face. Lucky there was no bullet in the chamber. How about that for love?” My mother and Javier. Javier and my mother. All these years he was this horrible snake at the foot of her bed. She pretended for the sake of everyone that he didn’t exist. How can you pretend you were never involved with one of the world’s biggest drug lords? Javier has had as much news coverage as El Chapo over the years. “I know you didn’t know all of this,” he says. All cool now. Composed. Examining his nails with a sigh, as if he’s about to behead his manicurist next weekend. “So I can’t blame you for being stunned. But now you must realize why I sent Vicente to get you.” Sent Vicente to get me? I stare at him, blinking, wishing my heart wasn’t closing up in a fist. He sent Vicente to get me? “I needed you Violet. And Vicente was more than willing to please me. He’s learned from the best over the years. Knows the right words to say, the right ways to fuck. He duped you, the same way your mother once duped me. And yet I wish I could say we are even. But we’re far from even Violet. We’re just getting started.” I am shaking my head. “No. No, Vicente…he loves me.”

Javier stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. Then he bursts out laughing. A loud, sour sound that bounces around the room. It’s so devastating in its honesty. And because of that it embeds itself deep. I don’t think I’ll ever not hear that laugh. “Oh, my dear,” Javier says when he calms down, wiping the tears away from his eyes. “You don’t even know what love is. And Vicente will never even come close. Maybe a few hookers thrown his way over the years. If he’s lucky we’ll find him a virgin to knock up, someone from a neighboring cartel. But no one he loves. That’s not in the cards for him. That’s not what this life is about.” He shakes his head at me, exhaling as he gets up. “You are so young. So terribly young. I see that now. I didn’t know it when I sent Vicente for you, but I see it now. You have been sheltered your whole life.” He stops in front of me, sticks his fingers under my chin and tilts my face up to look at his. His eyes probe mine. Amazed. Pitiful. “I’m sure your mother knew what was best for you,” he says. “Your father too. They wanted to protect you from all the bad in the world, even when they were the bad in the world. But you can see how that did them no good. No one can escape their pasts. It lives as shackles at your feet.” His hands drift lower to my chest. I instinctively freeze as his hand goes off my chin, down my throat, between my breasts. He closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils, then withdraws his hand. Takes a step back, eyes me. “Vicente never loved you,” he tells me. And to be honest, that hurts most of all. “He never loved you because that was his job. To make you believe it. To lure you to Palm Valley. And he was believable. I’m proud of him, the way he handled Ellie Watt’s daughter. So don’t worry, he’s in my good books again. But the truth is, Violet, you’ve been fed nothing but lies and cock for weeks and look where it’s got you. Right where we all wanted you.” “You’re insane,” I manage to say. I couldn’t stop the words even if I wanted to. He raises his brows. “Insane? That would imply there is no real thought into any of this and I guarantee that’s not the case. Maybe my appetites are ruthless and my methods are extreme but that doesn’t equal insanity.” “No,” I tell him. “You’re insane because you kidnapped me because of what my mother did to you over twenty fucking years ago.” Another brow raise but this time I can tell it’s a slap to his ego. It stings him. “I didn’t take you,” he says. “It was Vicente. It was always Vicente’s idea. Ask him yourself, if you ever see him again, ask him and you’ll know.” He peers at me closer. “Think back to everything. Each moment, each word. Think back to the moment your mother first saw him. Tell me you believe in coincidences.” And I am back there. I’m back in that moment, my mother’s face, even my

father’s. They knew. Oh they fucking knew!! That’s why they were so against him! That’s why they had a problem with him, acting like he was more than just a stranger. Because he was Javier’s son and they knew it the moment they laid eyes on him. But they couldn’t tell me, not then, not without unravelling every single thread of the web they’d tried to weave. Holy shit. Javier is telling the truth. And my heart is dropping out of me. I can’t even look at him anymore, can’t keep my head up. My whole body deflates knowing that Vicente had done nothing but lie to me from the start. So why is there a small part in my soul that still doesn’t believe it? Because you know him. You know his heart. You know his lies. And you know his truth. I look up at Javier and though I say nothing, I am defiant. He sees this. Reads it. Adjusts. “You really are a stubborn little thing aren’t you?” he says, his voice taking on a silken quality. “Do you know what I do with stubborn little things such as yourself?” “Try it,” I tell him through grinding teeth. “I fucking dare you.” The lines in his forehead deepen. “You’ve got a mouth on you.” The way he tenses up I expect him to hit me. But he doesn’t. He just straightens up. “I’ll have someone in here to deal with you soon,” he says. “Do you have any last requests? Because this room is a place you’re going to spend an awful lot of time in.” “I want to see Vicente.” “Still? After all that?” “I want to hear the truth from his mouth. Not yours.” He rubs his fingers over his jaw, nodding. “Tricky. Tricky little thing you are. You’re more like your mother than I thought. I can’t tell yet if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” “Does your wife know you’re still in love with her?” He glares at me sharply and I know I’ve hit a soft spot. I also know I’m playing with fire. But I can’t help it. “You know nothing about me and my wife,” he says quietly.

“Does your wife know I’m here? Does she find it weird that you’ve kidnapped the daughter of your ex-lover for some punishment you should have let die twenty years ago? Because if she doesn’t find what you’re doing disgusting, she doesn’t sound like a very good wife.” He moves out of his chair. A flash of glass. Quick. A snake striking. I don’t see it coming. I just feel the sting. The pain. The agony that eats me to the bone. I scream. I scream over and over again until it’s all I hear, echoing back. I don’t know where I start and the screams stop. And then, when I’ve caught my breath just an inch, I realize what’s happened. He’s holding the jar in his hands, the sealed one that was beside the bucket. My leg is burning pink on fire. Whatever liquid he just threw on my leg, it’s eating my flesh, my muscle, my bone, alive. He’s staring at me in disbelief, like he himself can’t believe he did that. But I can. From all the things I’ve heard about him, I can. He drops the jar. The glass shatters on the cement. He leaves the room, the door closing in a whoosh behind him. I can only feel knives upon knives, slicing and digging and burning their way deep into my skin, from my knee down to my ankle. I feel it until there’s nothing else to feel. Then I pass out. Back to the black lake. A place I hope I never wake up from.

CHAPTER TWELVE Javier “WHAT DID you do to her!?” Luisa shrieks, bursting through the door into his office. He flinches at the sight of her, his grip on the glass of tequila tightening. It’s only 10 am but this is needed. Oh, it’s needed. “Please lower your voice,” Javier says quietly, trying to look calm. In control. As always. But Luisa knows him too well. She saw him flinch. She knows he’s drinking too early. She knows he fucked up. And he did fuck up, he knows he did too. Did a thing he didn’t think he would do, at least not at this point in the game. But he did it right out of the gate. After he first met Ellie, when he later learned that her scarred leg was because of his ex-boss, Travis Raines, a monster that poured acid on her leg as a child, he wanted nothing more than brutal revenge for what he did to her. Brutal revenge, coupled with the total takeover of his cartel. In the end he got both. Even Ellie got her revenge on him, though it came at the cost of her own mother. Travis was a sick man with a lot of power, one of the worst combinations possible. A rich gringo with no soul who thought he could waltz into Mexico and take from the Mexicans. And he did. His cartel flourished until Javier took it over. Never in a million years did Javier think he could ever relate to him. And yet here he is, numbing it with alcohol, wishing he could be anywhere but here, listening to his wife. She’s adept at making him feel bad. “I didn’t do anything to get yourself worked up about.” “I heard her scream, Javier. All the way from the basement. That scream…” she presses her palms at her ears, pinches her eyes shut. “I can still hear it.” Javier takes a slow sip of his drink before he says, “She’ll recover.” “She’s twenty years old,” Luisa says. “She’s far from home, taken by a fucking madman, the father of her lover.”

Javier eyes her sharply. “You know I am not a madman. I am doing what I’ve always done.” “Sometimes you have to change, Javi,” she says, leaning against the desk, pleading with her eyes. “Sometimes you have to adapt. What works for some people…she’s a child. I know you want to toughen up Vicente but you have to change your tactics. She’s not a rival. She’s not a snitch. She’s done nothing to you.” Javier’s jaw grows tense. Luisa is right. She’s also right about him being a madman. It’s something he’s prided himself on, pretending to take no pleasure in the suffering of others. At some point that was true. Over the years, when the bitterness took over his heart, that stopped being valid. But he’s rarely tortured out of anger. If his ways are mad, they are done with reverence. What he did to Violet was sloppy. It was an impulse he didn’t mean to let loose. She pushed all the wrong buttons. She wasn’t afraid enough. But she is afraid now, he tells himself. And that’s what counts. So in the end, you did the right thing. Besides, the acid he used was nowhere near as strong as what was done to her mother. It will hurt for a long time. It will leave some scarring. But nothing modern technology can’t fix. There will be no nerve damage. She got off easy. You could have done so much worse. You’ve done so much worse. “You’re not…” Luisa trails off and looks away, afraid to see the truth in her husband’s eyes. Afraid to go down that path. She’d rather not know. Javier watches her, knows what she’s thinking. And he’s shocked. “I’m not raping her, if that’s what you mean,” he says coldly. “Sorry for me to think that.” She doesn’t sound sorry. “I know what you did to me when you first took me hostage.” “I treated you with nothing but respect.” He sits up straighter, seriously confused as to how she could look back on that, what happened to her, and think otherwise. “Javi, you carved your fucking name in my back with a knife,” she reminds him. “Because you wanted me to be yours.” “That wasn’t romantic?” Luisa says nothing. “My queen, you know I did those things to you because I wanted you. I’d fallen in love with you. I don’t want Violet. She’s a child. Barely older than Marisol.” She gives him the side eye. “Not even if she reminds you of her mother?” He fights the impulse to roll his eyes. “That was long ago. You know this isn’t about that.”

“Remind me what it’s about again then? Is it breaking your son so he can be a hardened man with no soul and no heart? Or is it settling the score for something Ellie had done to you before I even came along? Was it that she chose another man other than you? Or that she put you in jail? Which one of these things is it? Or is this whole thing one big scapegoat because you can’t handle being second best anymore and you know you can’t get back to the top without your son?” It’s Javier’s turn now to say nothing. His silence singes the air. Luisa presses on, quietly. “I hate to say this to my own husband, but I don’t trust you.” He looks at her with raised brows, like he’s been struck. “What?” She shrugs and straightens up, crossing her arms across the front of her sun dress and walking over to the window that overlooks the compound. White cattle egret fly from the trees, looking like angels in the morning sun. “You have that same look in your eyes as you did, back when you were sleeping with hookers before chopping their legs off or choking them with barbed wire.” She says this calmly. Javier hopes she’s made peace with it by now. “Those women meant nothing to you either. That’s what you said. So how am I supposed to believe you when you tell me that Violet is just a girl? And you would never do such a thing?” He’s surprised how much emotion she’s wringing out of him. “Because,” he says thickly. “You have my word. I would never do that to you. Luisa, I am your husband. Your family. I would never betray you like that. Don’t you know who I am?” She nods, still not looking at him. “I know who you were. And I know you’ve changed. We all have. Most days I’m not sure I like what I’ve become.” He should get up and go over to her. Put his hand on her shoulders, pull her into a kiss. Tell her how much he loves her and that he’d never betray her trust. But he drinks instead. Finishes the glass. Let’s the pain melt away. “I want to see Vicente,” Luisa decides. “I don’t know if he’s awake yet.” “It doesn’t matter. I want to see him. I want him awake.” Javier and Luisa had both seen their son when he was brought in during the early hours of the morning, after the small plane had arrived from Mexicali. He’d been unconscious, lying on his bed, but otherwise looked fine. Maybe a bit of a bruise at the corner of his forehead, something Barrera did not apologize for. That man never apologized for much. Javier sighs and gets up. So much for drinking in peace.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Vicente “VICENTE.” The voice echoes in my mind. Then it grows legs and tries to crawl out of my dream. “Vicente.” It is the voice of La Mueca. I recognize it anywhere. Rage follows closely behind the recognition. I sit up straight, my eyes flying open, ready to strike. My head explodes in sharp bursts of pain, so debilitating I crumble back down. “You know better than that,” La Mueca says. “You know how the drugs work. You’ve been out a long time. Had to give you extra. Had to rough you up too. You started to wake up in the middle of the tunnel. Wanted to fight me as you do now. I hope you don’t make that same mistake again.” I don’t remember any of that. I can’t even think. There are flashes of the parking lot. Violet. Violet. The rage is back. My fists clench and unclench, and with a roar I get up off the bed I’m on, fly across the room at La Mueca, attempting to take him to the ground. He flips me on my back with too much ease, my head slamming against the shiny wood floor. “You need to rest,” he says, staring down at me. I close my eyes, trying to get the waves of pain and nausea to dissipate. “On the floor, wherever, but you need to rest,” he continues. He walks away to the corner of the room. We’re in my bedroom. It seems completely foreign now. Like it used to belong to someone else. I suppose it did. The Vicente who used to live here was someone completely different. Unlearned. “I want to see her,” I manage to say. “I am sure you will in time,” La Mueca says calmly. “I want to see her now.” “You can’t.”

I turn my head, look over at him while he sits in the wicker chair, casually crossing his long legs, the permanent frown on his face never changing. He stares off out the window, at the palms that sway in the breeze, creating moving shadows across his face. I’ve never understood this man. I suppose that’s why he’s the sicario. You’re not supposed to understand him. He’s just supposed to do as he’s told. And while I never cared to understand him before, now I realize he might be the only ally I have. I just don’t know if he has enough of a soul left in him. Probably not. Sensing my stare, he glances at me, his eyes narrow, slinky. Oozing ambiguity. “Vicente,” he says. “Everything has changed. You better learn to roll with the punches. Adapt. Or someone will get very hurt. And it probably won’t be you.” “What is he doing to her?” “Your father?” he asks mildly. “Oh, I don’t know. What he feels is right. What he can’t do, I will.” I had a feeling. I stare at him, my vision still foggy, pleading with my eyes. “I meant what I said before. That I would give anything for you to leave her alone.” “And you know I don’t work for you, Vicente. As much as you wish it were true. I follow orders. You must follow orders too. That’s all the advice I can give you. The more you behave, the less I’ll have to do to her.” “But why?” I cry out, getting to my knees. “Why any of this?” “Questions for your father.” “I’ll kill him if I see him.” “Which is why I’m here,” he says. “And why you’re a prisoner in your own room now. You’re lucky you have an ensuite. Violet is not so lucky.” I try to get to my feet but stumble, going sideways until I’m against the wall. I let my cheek rest against it, trying to breathe, trying to get the world to stop turning. Somewhere here is my love, my mirlo. Probably alone or with my father. Hurt and frightened. And ultimately betrayed. All because of me. My ineptness. My stupidity. My brashness. I led her straight here. She’s going to suffer, possibly even worse than I can imagine, all because of me. “Don’t let the guilt eat you alive,” La Mueca says, clearing his throat as he adjusts his position in the chair, crossing the other leg now. “It clouds your judgement.” I take in a deep breath, wishing I could push the remnants of the drugs away, wishing I could think clearly. That I could act. The door is closed. All doors in the house lock from both the inside and the outside. I have a key but I’m pretty sure it’s no longer in my possession. If I could

even reach the door before La Mueca does. “Your judgement is cloudy right now,” La Mueca says again, voice mild. “Which is why you need to rest. And you need to accept. You are no longer in America. You are no longer in control. I would argue that you never were.” He pauses, looking me over. Points to my bed. “Sit. Sit and think.” I do what he says, only because I’m starting to sway on my feet. I sit down on the bed, put my head in my hands. “You know none of this was an accident, don’t you?” he asks. “That you were set up.” Set up? “Your father deserves more credit than we often give him. He made it so you would discover Ellie Watt and set out to find her. He believed you would bring her back to him. Well, I suppose the daughter is almost as good. Even better because now he has two motives. Revenge. And teaching.” “Teaching?” My brain is reeling from this information. Reeling. I was just a pawn all along? “Your father wants what is best for you and the cartel. You have lessons to learn, he says. I have no doubt you’ve already learned some of them. But you will learn more. You will.” He finishes that last sentence with a melancholic sigh. There is a knock at the door. “Barrera!” My father’s voice barks from the other side. I am not ready for this. I am not ready for any of this. “Just a moment, patron,” La Mueca says, getting to his feet and sauntering over to the door. He pauses before he opens it, eying me over. Takes out his gun, holds it at his side. His eyes bore into me, cold, viper-like slits. Don’t try anything, is what they say. I need to heed that warning. But I also know I’m having trouble controlling myself. La Mueca reaches into his pocket with his other hand and brings out the key to unlock the door. When he opens it, my father is staring up at him in disgust. “Why the fuck are you locking it from the inside?” La Mueca just shrugs and steps out of the way. Both my father and my mother step into the bedroom. My mother wastes no time in rushing over. “Vicente!” she cries out, practically collapsing onto the bed, pulling me into a hug. She’s crying but I feel nothing for her. All I can think about was how she told me to look up the Tijuana cartel. She told me to find those files knowing I’d find out about Ellie. She was just as guilty as my father. “Oh I hope they didn’t hurt you,” she says, running her hand down my cheek, her tear-filled eyes roaming all over my face. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I say to her, more sneer than anything, and give her a violent shrug.

An audible gasp sounds from within the room. I’ve never spoken like that to my mother before. Ever. I’m certain my father will do something in retaliation but it’s my mother whose eyes flash with hurt and humiliation, her palm that strikes me hard across the face. Crack. “Don’t you ever fucking talk to me like that!” she cries out, getting to her feet. “I am your mother, Vicente. Have some damn respect.” I wiggle my jaw, ignoring the sting as I glare at her. I’ll show her no such thing right now. Not when she and my father have been conspiring against me. I’m not even a son to them. Just a pawn in their game. “Give me some time alone with him,” my father says. I raise my brows, exchange a glance with La Mueca. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he says cautiously. “Why the fuck not? He’s my fucking son isn’t he?” “I really think I should supervise,” La Mueca says, running his hand along the scruff on his jaw. “He’s not quite himself.” “Let me decide that then.” “We should at least restrain him,” La Mueca says. “Restrain him?” My father laughs but now he’s looking me over like I’m someone else, someone he should be fearful of. I hope he can see how much I despise him. “What do you think he’s going to do?” my mother says, going over to the door and standing beside my father. “Whatever Javier would do if he were in his shoes,” La Mueca says simply. “Enough with the commentary, Barrera,” my father says, not taking his eyes off mine. He dismisses both of them with a wave. “Go attend to Violet. Get her some clothes. She’s been naked for too long.” My eyes widen at the thought. My Violet. Naked in front of these animals. Red hot burning rage flows through me, freely, unstoppable. I’m up off the bed. Running across the room. My hands almost at my father’s throat. My mother screams. My father is afraid. I am pure vengeance. I will not stop. But… La Mueca interferes. Steps in front to protect his patron. He doesn’t use the gun on me, doesn’t have to. I collide with him and in a second he twists my arm behind my back, nearly breaking it, and with a yelp that rips out of my throat, slams me down on the

ground, all air knocked clear out of my lungs, for the second time today. “Oscar!” my mother yells at him. But my father is laughing. A nervous, high-pitched laugh. “Jesus, Barrera, you weren’t kidding. My god. Fucking god. I think you were going to kill me, Vicente.” I would have tried. “So you see,” La Mueca says. “He needs to be restrained. It’s for your own good. And his.” Before I can even get a proper mouthful of air into my lungs, La Mueca is hauling me up to my feet and shoving me down into the wicker chair. I struggle, but the man has skills and works fast. I’m tied up with rope before I know it. “I can’t take any of this,” my mother says, shaking her head violently. “This isn’t right. Vicente, your father is doing what’s best for you. And Javier, I think you’ve done enough to him.” He ignores her, looks at La Mueca. “Get Luisa out of here. Then go to Violet by yourself. Make sure she’s not too lonely.” My mother starts to protest but La Mueca grabs her by the arm and ushers her out of the room. I feel her eyes on me the whole time but I can only stare at my father, my head full of stars from when I was taken down. When the door clicks shut, my father lets out a long sigh, running his hands through his hair. “I didn’t think I would need to do this with my own son, not after being in the same situation as your girlfriend.” His hands drop away and he shrugs. “And yet, here we are. You know Vicente, I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this. That we could discuss things in a civilized manner.” “Civilized?” I let out a sour laugh. “What about kidnapping is civilized?” “You could have made it easier on yourself and you know it. But you had to be a show-off.” Fucking hell. “I know what it’s like,” he goes on, slowly walking across the room, hands behind his back in supreme lecture mode, “to be young and in love. And stupid. So painfully stupid. You made a lot of mistakes, Vicente, some of which surprised me. How fast you must have thrown away the master plan. Even I never made that mistake.” My face grows hot, everything inside me is burning, including my heart. I’m afraid it could consume me, consume everyone here, if I let. And god, I want to let it. He stops at the end of the room, slowly paces back. He doesn’t even glance at me. It makes me wonder if it’s all rehearsed. Dad. Always a showman. “I suppose I shouldn’t be so hard on you, though. You’re paying for your mistakes now. I can see that. And you’ll continue to pay.” It has to be said. “Why?” I ask, my voice breaking. “What’s the point of it all? Why do this to Violet? To me? Is it for revenge? Is that all this is?”

“You make it sound like revenge means nothing,” he says, stopping in front of me, his head cocked as he studies me. “Sometimes I wonder how you happen to be my son at all.” “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t consider you to be my father anymore.” He raises a brow. “Ouch.” He exhales, blowing a strand of hair of his face. “Oh, but it doesn’t matter, my boy. Blood is thicker than everything. More powerful than money. Greater than love itself. Blood is all we have in the end. Family is more valuable than gold.” “Fuck you.” He runs his hand over his jaw, squeezing his chin. Then he shrugs. “You can say what you want, it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t change the past. Only the future. You want to know why, Vicente? Because there are things bigger than the both of us. There are empires and legacies that must go on. And you, for all your bravado and swagger, you boy, have so much to learn. So much.” “Such as what? I can’t trust my own parents? That they’ll use me as a pawn in their own game?” “It’s your game, too. If you can’t see that, then I know I did the right thing.” “Violet is an innocent girl. She doesn’t know…she didn’t know…a single fucking thing about her parents. She was shielded from the truth, kept in the dark. She’s good. Pure. Right down to her very core. She makes me want…” My father narrows his eyes at me. “What?” I swallow painfully. He won’t understand. But that doesn’t keep the truth from coming out. “She makes me want to be a better man. For her.” He studies me, frowning and I swear I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Recognition, maybe. Something he doesn’t want to relate to. “She can’t make you a better man,” he says slowly, as if with pity. “Only I can do that. That’s the role of the father. Your mother teaches you all that is right. I teach you how to live with all the things that are wrong.” “This is so fucked up.” He nods, looking me over. “Yes. I suppose in normal families the son doesn’t have be restrained and tied to a chair. But we have never been a normal family. Our doors here can lock you in or lock others out. There’s a million metaphors in these walls. There is no playbook. All I know is I need to do what I can to make you stronger. That is my job. That’s always been the father’s job.” “You think hurting Violet will make me stronger?” “Yes,” he says simply. “I do. You can’t possibly understand sacrifice, what you need to do to run a cartel without knowing what loss feels like.” I stare at him in awe. A horrible, raging awe. My father is more fucked up than I ever thought, and that says a lot. “So what? What are you going to do? Leave me here tied up? Keep her locked away? And then what? What’s your grand plan? Or do you even have one?” If he does or doesn’t, his face gives nothing away. He almost looks bored. Fucking bored.

I want to scream. I need to barter. “Everything will work out the way I want it to,” he says. “How do you want it to work out, Vicente?” I take in a deep breath, the ropes digging into my wrists. I wonder if I can break them if I try hard enough, but I also know that La Mueca isn’t an idiot and probably has me done up in some psycho sicario knots. “I want to see her.” “You will.” “I want you to promise not to hurt her.” There. Something terrifying flashes across his eyes. Just for a second. Like witnessing a lightning strike. But it leaves a permanent imprint behind my eyes. Remorse. Fucking remorse. He already has hurt her. Everything inside me dies. “What did you do?” I whisper. “Something I hope I never have to do again,” he says gravely. “But I will, if you don’t play your cards right.” My heart is being wringed out in my chest, like a wet cloth, every last drop of feeling squeezed out of me. I can barely breathe. “Vicente,” he says, almost urgently. “In time you will understand all of this. In time you will thank me. I promise you that. I never knew what was in me, never knew what I was truly capable of, until I lost everything. It broke me. It hardened me. It made me better and stronger in every way possible. I need that from you. Don’t you see that? You’re my son. I can’t lose you just because you’ve lost your heart to someone. Love gets you killed.” He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It gets you killed. And I’ll be damned to lose you.” Then he straightens up and heads toward the door. “Once you start playing nice, with your head on straight, I’ll get Barrera to untie you. Only then can we negotiate. Only then can we talk. We can work something out. Man to man, father to son, not like this. Never like this.” He opens the door and walks out. It shuts behind him. Locks. Leaving me tied to the chair in my own bedroom.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Violet A KNOCKING SOUND brings me out of my head. I hate it. The darkness is so kind, so sweet. There’s no pain there. There’s nothing at all. It’s a place absent of everything. Absence is good. The void is a blessing. But the knocking continues and I don’t know why. It’s not like I can answer the door. I’ve been tied to the chair for who knows how long. Naked. Shivering sometimes because I think I’m in shock and the basement is damp and my leg burns. Sometimes I’m sweating, overheating, especially when I think about where I am, what has happened, and what will happen next. I’ve pissed myself twice. Other than that, I’ve had no urge to go. Because there is no water left in me. I’ve never been so thirsty in my damn life. More knocking. Finally, I open my eyes to the room. The door is opening and I hold my breath, the fear that it might be Javier, the hope that it might be Vicente. It’s not either of them. It’s the man Vicente called La Mueca. Either way, he’s tall, sharply dressed, something I’m noticing since I’m naked before him. All shame, though, all modesty, is gone. There’s something peculiar about him and his mannerisms. Like everything he does or says is done with great thought. A quietness.

I know he can’t be trusted. I know he threatened to “blow my fucking tit off” in the parking lot. I know he’s not your average man. He’s something more. And quietly so. Which makes him worse. Those are the guys you never see coming. But here he is, staring at me with an expression I can’t read. Mr. Brooding. That’s what I think I’ll call him. Fuck, if I don’t have my humor I don’t know what I have. I don’t think I’d even have the will to take my next breath. Mr. Brooding comes closer, walking toward me. He stops, looks me over. “You need a drink, senorita.” He goes to the water bottle on the table, the one that has sat there taunting me this whole time. Time… How long have I even been here? He picks up the whole bottle and brings it over to me, pausing as he notices the broken glass jar on the floor, and then my leg. My leg. It alternates between exquisite fucking pain and this terrible numbness. I’m not sure what’s worse. The pain tells me I have nerves and feeling. The numbness tells me otherwise. It’s a mess. Like my mother’s. Before my father made it pretty with his art. He’ll have to do that for me, too. Then I catch myself and my heart sinks. The chances of me seeing him again are slim to none. He’s still staring at it. Glances up at me. “Things didn’t go so well for you, did they? I thought I told you to be a good girl.” I’m not a good girl, I think to myself. He holds out the bottle of water and comes closer. So close that he’s right against me. I’m extremely conscious of the fact that his groin is pressed up close to my chest. “Tilt your head back,” he says. “I’ll give it all to you, but you have to drink slowly or you’ll get sick. You understand the rules?” I nod, putting my head back. He slowly tips the bottle, the rim hitting my lip, the water trickling out. I gulp it, desperate, like the water is air and I’m drowning. I get a few gulps down and then I’m coughing. I do everything I can not to spit it up.

“Easy now, senorita,” he says. “There is no rush. The water will always be here.” As will I. I try again, going slower, willing my throat to cooperate. Finally, nearly all the bottle is gone. “Good girl,” he says, wiping my lips with his thumb. It tastes like a cigar. I can only stare up at him. He stares down at me. His eyes are sharp beneath the furrowed brow and I can’t make out their color, he’s squinting too much. Then he nods. “I forgot something very important.” He steps back and takes off his suit jacket. Carefully places it on the back of his chair. Starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. Oh my god. Everything inside me freezes from a fear so acute it nearly splits me in two. Is he going to rape me? That’s why he was pretending to be decent. To lull me with a false sense of security. To catch me off guard. His fingers work methodically as he unbuttons it, not breaking eye contact. He’s right. There is no rush. He has all day. I start to tremble. Shake. My limbs squeezed against the ropes. He takes his shirt off and looks at me. “I’ll have to untie you for this to work. You promise not to fight me. Be a good girl?” I shake my head. I’ll fight. I’ll fight with every ounce that I have. I will do all the terrible and ugly things I’ve been afraid to. He ignores me. Brings a knife out of his pocket, opens the switchblade so it glints in the lights. He holds it out in front of him, inspecting it. Then steps toward me. I freeze. “Please,” I tell him. “Please don’t.” He only pauses for a second and when I look into his eyes, framed by dark circles, I realize I’m looking into dead eyes. There’s nothing inside him. “Don’t what?” he asks, leaning over so his face is just inches from mine. I suck in my breath. “Don’t hurt me.” “I have not been ordered to do so.” He reaches down with the knife and my thighs stiffen. Oh, please. No. With a quick motion he slices through the rope tying my legs together and then his face comes back to stare into mine again. “I follow orders. You understand?” I nod.

He walks behind me and I hear the slice of the knife and then my wrists are free. “As I said, be a good girl. I follow orders but I also make up my own. It’s best you understand that too.” He shoves his dress shirt into my lap. “Here. Put this on.” Now I understand. He wants to cover me up. He turns his back to me and I see a back of scars. Some look like whip marks, some like cuts. Some could be bullet holes. I’m not sure if this is a warning, to make me realize I’m dealing with a man who has been through a lot and won’t hesitate to do so unto others. Or a gesture of trust and respect. I’m not sure why he doesn’t just watch me since I’ve been naked this whole time, but maybe the act of getting dressed can be just as raw as getting undressed. But I can’t get the shirt on. My arms are too weak from being tied, my body too shocked from the pain of earlier. “Can you please…” He turns around and with a nod, comes over, lifting up my arms and slipping the shirt on. It’s large on me and long, and for the coverage I’m grateful. It smells of faded cigars, and the tobacco makes my heart want to cry. It reminds me too much of Vicente. Oh god, I need to see him. I stare at Mr. Brooding as he buttons up my shirt with long, agile fingers. I try to guess his age – maybe late thirties? I wonder if I could headbutt him. I wonder if my head would withstand it. If he would even notice. He glances up at me briefly, brows drawn together. “You have questions,” he says softly. “I want to see Vicente.” “I am sure you will, senorita.” “Is he okay?” He nods, grunts. “He’s been better.” “Did you hurt him?” “Anything that’s done to you, hurts him. You understand?” “Yes.” “Good.” “So he knows what his father did?” “I’m sure it will come out in some way,” he says, straightening up. “Do you have any other requests?” “Are you leaving?” He nods. “I have things to do.” “Other hostages to attend to.” A tiny hint of a smile. The hair above his lip lifts. “No. You’re the only one. Do you feel special?” I shake my head. “I want to see him. Please.” “I’ll see what I can do.” “Can you…is there…how long am I going to be here? What does Javier plan to do

with me?” It’s impossible to keep the fear out of my voice. I’m surprised I’m not crying hysterically at this point. “You seem like a girl that can handle the truth.” He pauses, eyes drawn to my leg where the skin is raw and bright pink. “As well as handle pain. To be honest, I don’t know his plans and it’s not my place to ask. It’s also not my place to say no. You understand? If he orders me to hurt you, I will have to hurt you. Don’t take it personally.” Don’t take it personally? “I’ll come back with some antibiotics for you. Cream. A blanket, pillow maybe. And I’ll see what the patron says about Vicente.” “You might also come back with orders to kill me…” He purses his lips, nods. “Yes. I might. Let’s hope not.” He strides over to the door and shoots me a sharp look over his shoulder. “Don’t try anything risky, senorita. You won’t like the results.” Then he leaves, throwing his suit jacket over his bare shoulder, sauntering out the door. I sit back in my chair, looking around. I’m covered by his dress shirt. I’m free from the ropes. But other than that, I’m a total prisoner. In a damp windowless room with stale air. With a scarred leg that burns with pain, all the way to the bone. At least I have a bucket so I don’t have to shit on the floor. At least he left me a little bit of water. Slowly, very slowly, I get up to my feet. It doesn’t hurt to walk, it’s the skin stretching across my muscles that causes me to stumble to the ground. Luckily I have the sense to land on my good leg. Grinding my teeth through the pain, I get back to my feet and go to the furthest corner of the room. It’s where I’ll feel safest. As if that’s a feeling anymore. Safe. I lie down. It’s strange how grateful I am to stretch out my body. To not be tied to the chair. That I can feel something worth holding onto, no matter how ordinary or small. And then there’s hope. I feel it when maybe I should feel none. That no matter what Javier said about his son, that Vicente still loves me. That he will save me. I never thought I’d be a woman who needed saving. But right now, he’s the only one who can get me out of this. I can’t trust La Mueca. Mr. Brooding. Barrera. Whatever his name is.

He is a strange man and loyal to no one. Not even to Javier, that’s the feeling I get. But definitely no one to count on. So it’s just me. And Vicente. Though we’re apart, we’re still together. If not… I’m as good as dead.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Vicente I SPEND most of the day tied to the chair. It’s my mother who eventually comes in and frees me. She’s afraid to look at me at first, and when she undoes the ropes with a knife, she steps back. Her knife isn’t at the ready though. If she’s afraid I’ll attack her, she won’t fight back. That’s the difference between her and my father. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice low as she places the knife on my desk. “I didn’t mean to hit you.” I can’t conjure up the effort to apologize to her. She knows this. “You have every right to hate us,” she says. “To hate me. I just want you to know, that I didn’t know what your father was asking me to do. About Ellie. I didn’t know. I really didn’t.” I know she’s telling the truth. Still… “If you had known, would you still have asked me? Would you have done as he asked?” She shakes her head. “Vicente, please. You’re my son.” She comes forward but I shoot her my most hostile look. She backs off. I’m not ready to make nice. Not now. Not while I don’t have Violet. Anyway, I’m not sure I believe her. And what’s done is done. “Do you ever stand up to him?” I ask her, shaking out my wrists. “Do you ever fight?” She stares at me like she doesn’t understand. “You think I bend over backwards for him just because he asks?” I shrug, and even that hurts my atrophied muscles. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t know how you’re married to him, to be honest.” She watches me for a moment, her big eyes welling up. Then she looks away,

hugging herself. “You’ve changed.” “I have.” “We should have never let you go.” “Letting me go was part of your plan.” “Vicente,” she says. “Mom. What do you expect to say to me? What do you want me to say to you?” She presses her palms together as if in prayer, faces me. “I want you to do what you can to appease your father.” “What?” “I know it’s a hard pill to swallow, I know it. But please, you have to do as he asks.” “He’s not even asking me anything!” She closes her eyes, presses her fingers into her forehead. There is so much vulnerability in her right now, seeping through the cracks, it nearly breaks me too. “Please, Vicente. He means well. He just sees the world differently, we know this. We know what he’s like. No matter what happens, just be broken. Don’t fight it. The worse it is for you, the worse it gets for her.” “Why is he doing this? He says this will save me in the end. What the fuck is he even smoking?” She draws her lips between her teeth, her eyes flitting to mine and then back. “In a way he has a point.” “What?” How could my mother possibly agree with this? “I want you to have a happy life, Vicente. But that’s not up to me. That’s up to you. If it were up to me, you would be sheltered forever. But the fact is, you’re groomed to take over the cartel and you’ve been rising up to this over the last few years. If you didn’t want it, we would know. And you wouldn’t be the first. Occasionally there are heirs that don’t want the responsibility. They get to walk. No one should ever be in charge who doesn’t want to be in charge. It benefits no one. You, Vicente, if you hadn’t wanted the role, it would have gone to someone else. Me, for example. Marisol even if she had interest. Oscar, maybe. Cousins. There are ways. But you, Vicente, you always wanted it.” “But I wanted it my own way. Not his.” “It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see this now? There is only one way, and if you want it, you have to walk it. You have to shed that old skin and become someone worthy of running the cartel.” I shake my head slowly. “I would have thought you of all people would have fought against this. Violet is innocent. She’s been taken far from her home. Her only flaw was to fall in love with me. Don’t punish her for that. Don’t punish her for what she’s been born to. She knows nothing of her mother’s past and believe me, her parents have suffered enough.” “I know,” she says. “But what can I do?” I jump to my feet and grab my mother by the shoulders, shaking her. “Stop him! You have the most power out of everyone. He loves you. He will do anything for

you, just as I’ll do anything for Violet. You are the only one who can stop him from taking this any further and you know it.” She stares up at me. She’s torn. Torn in so many ways, between doing what’s right and doing what’s easy. But mainly between father and son. She’ll have to choose one of us in the end. “Please just…be a mother, take care of her. She’s barely older than Marisol. Can you imagine how Marisol would feel to be taken by someone else, treated this way. Dad has already hurt her…” She closes her eyes, nods. “I know.” “How can you live with yourself?” She looks at me, eyes now dead. Haunted. “I can’t. I’ve tried. For years now your father has been on the decline. He’s only grown more dangerous with age and the more he loses, the more dangerous he gets. Don’t you see how you’re this family’s only hope?” “But why make me suffer? Why make her suffer?” “The suffering is temporary,” she says and suddenly her tone changes. She stands up straighter, chin up. She’s gone from mother to queen in a matter of seconds. “It won’t last. You’ve had a good life, Vicente. You couldn’t have asked for a better one. Everything you’ve ever needed we provided. My life was hard. Your father’s was hard. The majority of the people in this country lead a hard, punishing life. That’s the way it is. But they come out stronger for it. They learn to find the love and beauty in the poverty and abuse and strife. You and Marisol never had to learn to find anything because it was all handed to you. On a silver platter. We spoiled you rotten. That was our biggest mistake. My biggest mistake as a mother.” I can’t believe she’s saying this. She sounds absolutely brainwashed, so much like my father. I’ve heard her talk like this before, I’ve seen her act power-hungry and money-crazy. I’ve seen her get swept away in the violence and the business side of things. But still I never expected to hear these words now. I swallow hard, and when I speak the words are grinded out through my teeth. “I would have rather lived a life of poverty, on the streets, with no family, nothing, and still have Violet, than to live the life I did and lose her in the end.” Something in her expression wavers for a moment but she holds it together. “If I thought you were in any danger I would end it this second,” she says stiffly. “But you are not.” “You don’t consider breaking me to be a danger?” “Only because I know you’ll survive it. You’re my son after all. We can survive anything. More than that, we take what tries to destroy us and we use it to become better.” “You’re full of shit,” I sneer at her. “You’re full of his shit. You’re just like him, justifying the most horrendous acts in order to suit the life you have. That way you don’t have to choose between us. Because you’re fooling yourself into thinking that what you’re doing is for the best of me. Not caring to see how wrong you are.”

She sucks at her teeth and looks away. “I’m going to go now. I’m sorry I have to keep you in here. Your father doesn’t trust you. I don’t blame him.” “You know that this is going to backfire, horribly,” I call after her as she walks to the door. “You know this.” She pauses before she puts her hand on the knob. “You know that love doesn’t make you weak, no matter what he says. You know that love only makes you stronger in the end.” I take in a deep breath, feeling the raw anger and desperation course through me, hoping these words reach her. “You won’t break me. You won’t break her. But you will break this family in half. And that’s something that will never recover.” She seems to listen but I’m not sure if she’ll let herself feel it. The choices that will have to be made. My resolve is only going to deepen. “I’ll go tend to her,” she says quietly. “I’ll make sure she’s okay.” I slump to the ground the moment she leaves, locking me in. It’s a slow start but it’s something. More than that… She left the knife behind.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Ellie EL SEGUNDO CAN’T GO FAST enough. Ellie spends the hours in the backseat of the Challenger, trying to keep the worry at bay but it’s impossible. She’s already bitten down most of her fingernails, torn off the rest. She can’t shake any of the feelings she has. But the one that hits her the sharpest, like it’s found a home deep inside her, is that Javier has already hurt her daughter in a horrific way. It’s all she can feel, all she can think about. Like whatever is being done to her is transmitting across from some mystical mother/daughter powerline. She can’t explain any of it but she knows it to be true. She also knows she will do anything at all to get her back. To save her. To be the mother she never considered herself good enough to be. Just outside of the tiny town of El Carizzo, they stop to get gas. While Camden fills it up at the dirty Pemex station, Ellie wanders to the side of the highway, shielding her eyes from the stark sun with her hands, staring across at the flat plains and the soaring dust kicked up by the passing cars. “You know where we are now, don’t you?” Gus asks, coming up behind her. “Hell.” “Close. Just back there we passed the dotted line from Sonora to Sinaloa. We’re in his territory now, Ellie. We have to be careful.” She doesn’t glance at her father. “You really think he’s expecting us?” “Don’t you think that has been his plan all along? Violet is bait. For you.” Ellie shakes her head, trying not to think about it. She hates the word bait. Hates it being applied to her daughter. God, if she could just rewind time. That’s all she asks for, all she’s thought about during the journey. To go back to the other night and hang on tight. To stand her ground more. Call the police on Vicente, even if he’s got a fake ID and nothing could be proven. She could have prevented this whole thing. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

Instead she’s living her worst nightmare. And Violet, no doubt, is living hers. “I need to know what you’re going to do,” her father says. “The time will come and when it comes, I’ll be damned if I lose you.” The sweet pang of sorrow strikes her and she turns to face her dad. “You would do anything for me. And you have. I will do anything for Violet.” “I know. But I don’t want to lose you if I don’t have to.” “Do you really think Javier would kill me, hurt me?” “Why wouldn’t he?” Ellie chews on her lip. The sun is starting to feel unbearably hot. She thinks back to the way he was with her. The bits of tenderness she used to see. She’d told herself all these years later that it had been an illusion. That Javier was always a liar and because of that, nothing was ever as it seemed. “Don’t mistake obsession for love, Ellie,” Gus says, searching her eyes. “You know this. He’s obsessed because you’re the one that got away, not because he ever felt anything for you. He wants revenge because we all, but especially you, fucked up his life in a big way. And now he’s not at the top. And what do people who start to fall do? They lash out. They focus, so sharply, on the things that went wrong in their lives and the people who wronged them. They don’t look inward to see what they did wrong. They look outward.” He clears his throat, looks back at Camden who is finishing gassing up. “Time is an incubator. In some cases, it changes people. In others, it lets things grow and hatch. Too much time and it turns into a monster.” “I don’t think he’ll hurt me,” she says, though she feels the lie on her lips. “He has Violet. He’s already hurting you. Do you really think you’ll be able to waltz on in there and…then what?” “I can take care of myself. And I’ll have you guys to protect me.” Gus shakes his head. “I really wish you would reconsider.” “What? Let you and Camden go?” she asks incredulously. “Stay with Ben.” “If you go, I lose you. I’m the bargaining chip here.” “And we could lose everything otherwise.” “Guys!” Ben is in car, leaning out the passenger seat. “It’s hot as balls in here and I think I’ve got everything set up.” Ellie exchanges a look with Camden across the parking lot—it’s time to get moving. With a tank full of gas, the four of them peel out onto the highway, heading south along Highway 15. Camden drives cautiously at first—he too is aware of where they are now—while Ben goes over his plan. With his two phones, satellite connector, router, iPad and mini laptop, he’s got his own little hacking station up in the front seat. He calls it his emergency pack and Ellie is amazed at what he’s been able to do so far. She may not be his birth mother but even so, the apple doesn’t fall far from the

tree. Her son is a genuine hacker of the criminal variety. She’s proud. And terribly sorry that their relationship is strained and tainted now because of all their lies. She wonders when the time comes if he can ever forgive them. Until then though, there are bigger things in the works. Ben’s plan is risky. It’s ballsy. But it’s the best that they can do with what they have. There was a moment, back in San Francisco, that Ellie thought contacting the FBI and the DEA would have been the safest bet. But kidnapping is a long and arduous process, especially when dealing with Mexico, especially over the last twenty years. The lack of communication has played a significant role. They just don’t have the time. Not to mention that Ellie, Camden, nor Gus would do very well with a background check. They also can’t go to the cops here. They’re all on Javier’s payroll. In fact, Camden better ease up on the gas a bit. Especially with the sign up ahead indicating they’re coming into Culiacan. This was the Bernal’s home for a long time, where Javier really built up his empire. Ellie doesn’t know where his compound was, probably in the mountains outside of town, but the whole area was his to play with. He was their unofficial mayor, just as El Chapo once was. “Camden,” Ellie say, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Slow down. You don’t want to draw attention to ourselves here.” Ben actually snorts at that. Because a vintage American muscle car—a 1973 black Dodge Challenger with California collector plates—won’t attract attention on its own. “Actually, you should probably speed up,” Ben says, looking around at the rusted pick-up trucks and dusty Hondas they keep passing. “Get out of here as soon as you can. We’re sticking out like a sore thumb.” Unfortunately, just as they’re at the southern outskirts of the city, traffic on the highway comes to a snarl. And the roaring black car is getting everyone’s attention. Then from behind them, flashing lights. “Fuck,” Ellie swears, twisting around in the seat to try and see out the small back window. “Everyone stay calm,” Gus says. “They probably aren’t even after us.” But the cars are pulling over behind them and the police cruiser is getting closer. Aggressively closer. “Okay, maybe they are,” Gus says. “Hopefully they just want a bribe.” “And if they don’t?” Camden asks. “We’re fucked,” Ben says, immediately putting his electronics away into their hard cases and shoving them in the backpack at his feet. “You better pull over,” Ellie says quickly as the cruiser comes up alongside the

car, nearly colliding into their side. “If they try anything Camden, you drive like hell, got it?” Gus says. Camden nods, his grip tightening on the wheel. He pulls El Segundo to the side of the road, while the traffic continues to crawl past. The police car stops right behind them. Both cops get out of the car. Their guns are drawn and at their sides. Not a good fucking sign, Ellie thinks, her heart trying to beat out of her chest. One cop goes to Camden’s window. The other goes to Ben’s. The cop at Camden’s raps on the window with his knuckles. Camden slowly rolls it down. “What is your name?” the cop says in English. Curious first question to ask. “Connor Malloy,” Camden says automatically. An old lie, one that makes Ellie beam with nostalgia. “Connor Malloy?” The cop frowns, looks in the backseat at Ellie. “And yours, senora?” “Eden White,” Ellie says, another easy lie. She can’t read his eyes underneath his aviator sunglasses, but knows he’s not buying it. She also knows there’s a reason he asked for both their names. He’s been told to look for people just like them, Camden and Ellie McQueen. “I’m going to need to see your licence and passports.” “Sure, just a minute,” Camden says, reaching for the glove compartment. Ellie sees the look that passes between his eyes and Ben’s. Now or never. Camden pops the gears, slams on the gas. The car lurches forward in a cloud of dust. Ellie and Gus instinctively duck across each other in the back seat seconds before the window explodes, shot out by the cops as the car races away. The chase is on. Luckily El Segundo has a head start and El Segundo rarely loses a race. But they’re still going to need all the luck they can get considering the highway is still bumper to bumper traffic. So they’re taking the side of the road. Half-on the shoulder. The car handles it with ease, burning through the dirt and dust and crumbling pavement, creating a new lane. The cop car follows in pursuit, quite a way back but still there. On this open stretch of highway, it won’t be easy to lose him. But Camden has always been a master in these situations. He and Gus had quite the adventures with the first Jose. Now that car was a beauty. “They aren’t going to give up,” Ellie says, flinching when the car almost takes out a couple of goats at the road side.

“They might,” Camden says, eyes on the road. “Is what they’re getting paid really worth it to do this?” Hard to say. As the traffic starts to ease again, Camden brings the car back on the pavement and that’s where he really lets it open up. Zigging and zagging between the cars, even taking the open spots on the opposite lanes. The Challenger burns at top speed, over 120 miles an hour, like a knife through butter. It’s not long before they’ve left the cop car behind. They don’t let up either. It’s a two-hour drive from here to the compound Ben located, just outside of Mazatlan in a national park of all places, close to the Pacific Ocean. Camden is certain they can make it in one. They need to, now that the cops and who knows who else are looking for them. The grains are nearing the neck of the hourglass. “Just another three miles to go to the turn-off,” Ben says, eying his phone. A lot can happen in three miles. And a lot does.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Violet WHEN I WAS ten years old, Ben and I went for a walk to Gualala Point Regional Park. My Grandpa Gus Gus was supposed to take us, but he was feeling under the weather and Grandma Mimi was taking care of him. Mom was busy in the home studio—I don’t remember where Dad was—but she decided that we were fine to go by ourselves. Ben was fourteen and the last thing he wanted was to babysit his sister, but I really wanted to go and the way to get there is to walk along Highway 1, south past the town, which can get a lot of traffic, and the footpath, especially over the bridge spanning Gualala River, could get very narrow in places. We walked single file, Ben in front of me. I remember the cars whizzing past, being scared that I might fall, one way into the traffic, the other over the side of the bridge and into the water below. But I sucked up my fear and made it. Eventually we came to the park and headed down the windswept dunes to the beach. The surf was out of control and wild. The wind was powerful. So powerful it was hard to stand up. But I felt free. So damn free. It was beyond euphoric. It was practically cathartic. Spiritual. I remember so clearly the feeling of that wind sweeping off the Pacific, assaulting my face with brine and secrets from the deep. I closed my eyes, held my arms back like I was going to fly. The sun beat down on me, birds flew close to shore. I’d never felt so in tune and connected with the world before. And after that, the connection stayed. The days and years after, I felt that I was a worthy cog in this world machine. That my place was important, vital, even in the most insignificant ways. Like how a small grain of sand, the ones that my toes sank into that day, might seem like nothing much but it still makes up the beach. It’s needed.

I felt needed. All of that, though, is gone now. I feel connection to nothing. The longer I stay in this room, the more that I feel truly severed from the world. I am no longer a cog in the machine. I’m a discarded part. Tossed aside, waiting to rust. Waiting to die. Because that’s what’s going to happen to me, isn’t it? What else could possibly happen? Unless Vicente somehow springs me out of here, unless he can somehow convince his father to let me go, I’ll die here. Tortured for the sake of being tortured. A lesson to Vicente. Punishment against my mother. But even my connection to Vicente is gone. I may be in the same house as him… Or maybe not. Either way, when I search deep inside for what my gut is telling me, I come up empty. Even my instincts offer nothing. There’s no intuition. Nothing. Just me, alone in this room, lying in the corner, staring up at the bulb hanging from the the ceiling until my vision goes white. Pretending it’s heaven. How the fuck could my mom ever get roped up with someone like Javier? How could she fall for him when there was someone like my father? You know how. The words slice across my mind. You did it yourself. You fell in love with Vicente. But Vicente is nothing like his father. Maybe he’s supposed to be. But he’s not. And that’s probably why we’re in this mess. Vicente is ruthless. Manipulative. Conniving. He’s also a liar. But the love he has for me is true. It may have happened fast but that doesn’t make it false. It just means our love burns brighter, harder. It’s made us make some pretty stupid decisions. Romeo and Juliet never thought things through either. And so is that our fate? Young lovers, blinded by their passion and feelings from the dizzying madness of fresh love, doomed to die because of it? Or will it just be me? And Vicente will move on.

To be the hardened shell of a man he’s supposed to become. To run this cartel and take over the world. In another world, another life, perhaps I could have even been his queen. I think I would like that. You’re delusional, I tell myself, rolling over on the hard floor, careful with my leg. The pain is driving me a bit mad. I have to tell myself not to look at the carnage or it tends to hurt even more. Just then, the door starts to unlock. Shit. I eye the chairs in the middle of the room. If I had enough time, I could grab one, stand behind the door and hit the person over the head with it. Even though it’s probably La Mueca. Mr. Brooding. And he won’t take too kindly to that. But it’s not him who steps inside the room with a tote bag, like they’re going to a fucking beach. It’s a woman. Short, thin, with long dark brown hair. Beautiful. This has to be Vicente’s mother. I’m not sure how to feel. Part of me thinks that because she’s his mother, she must be like all mothers and feel for the suffering I’m in. She must be on my side, want to help me. She has a daughter herself. The other part of me knows she married Javier. That they’ve been married for twenty-odd years. That you can’t marry someone like that and not be corrupt yourself. If there was any good in her, she gave that up the day she said “I do.” I eye her with caution as she walks toward me with the bag in her hands, stopping a few feet away from me. But I don’t sit up. I don’t say anything. Instead I pinch my eyes shut and attempt to drown in my pain. There’s a way out of this, if I play my cards right. The woman, Luisa, says softly, “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help. Vicente’s orders.” Now the tears that are flowing out of my eyes are real. Vicente. The connection between us isn’t gone. It flickers, giving me power. To keep going. “I’m in so much pain,” I cry out. “Your husband, he did this to me. My leg. Just like my mother’s. He wanted me to suffer.” I open my eyes to look at her reaction. I can tell she didn’t know what he did. She looks absolutely horrified, her hand at her mouth, her eyes wide.

But she shuts it down pretty quickly. Her expression becomes like stone as she composes herself, barely glancing at me. She feels shame. She’s trying to hide it, but she does feel it. I can tell. So that’s something I have to exploit. “I have some things that may help,” she says, clearing her throat. She reaches into her bag as she crouches beside me. She pulls out antibacterial cream, a banana, a one-litre bottle of water, bandages, pajama pants, a t-shirt, a light sweater, a vial of pills, toilet paper, two more vials of pills. I watch the display of items. There’s nothing I can use as a weapon. I’ll have to use myself. “Please don’t let him hurt me again,” I cry out through a sob. It feels silly to even say this like it’s not the truth, because it is. Moments ago I felt like I was already dead. But having her here, hearing of Vicente, has awoken something in me. My resolve to get out of here. The chance that I can. I start to shake. “I think I might be going into shock. I can’t feel anything. My heart keeps slowing.” I turn away from her, my hair falling over my face. I know I must look like absolute filth in La Mueca’s dirty dress shirt and nothing else. “I’m dying.” “Hush now,” she says. “You’ll be fine.” But even her voice is wavering. She’s not sure. And the guilt that I might not make it through—that her husband did this—that guilt is starting to lower her defenses. I continue crying pitifully while gathering up strength from deep inside. She seems to be the type to fight dirty and I have no wish to do anything like that. Despite everything, I can’t even hate this woman, because she gave birth to Vicente. But I will also do anything to live and that includes hurting her. Vicente will understand. And even if he doesn’t, I won’t feel any guilt in trying to stay alive. I cry. I sob. I wait. Seeming vulnerable. Pressing my fingers into the cement. Coiling. I can feel her come closer. Lean over me. Lays a hand on my shoulder, gently. There. I take in a deep breath.

Push up off my hands. Whip my head around as my knee bends up to my elbow, leg goes out, foot catches Luisa right in the ribs. It slams into her. She cries out in surprise, then pain, as I follow through with the kick until she’s knocked over on her side, clutching her side, trying to breathe. I get to my feet, my hands going to the contents of the bag where she’d placed her keys after she emptied the contents. She tries to grab me with a shriek, her fingers tearing into my ankle where the acid burned me. The scream dies in my throat. Stars erupt behind my eyes. I push through the urge to vomit, to keep from falling over, fainting from the pain. I use that pain to ground myself and turn, twisting around until she has to let go, the side of my other foot colliding with her cheekbone, causing her to fall to the ground again with a spray of blood. I can’t feel bad. I can only hope it’s bought me enough time. I run for the door with the key, opening it with shaking hands. My leg throbs, my heart is bumping against my rib cage, carried by adrenaline. Luisa is behind me, coughing, spitting up blood. I look over my shoulder to see her holding her head, keeled over, just as the lock finally gives. The door opens. It’s heavy. I push it through and then I’m in dark corridor with one fluorescent light at the end, illuminating a staircase. I run down the hall with a staggering limp, past a few doors, all closed, I’m sure all holding rooms just like the one I was in. A house of horrors. I’m surprised this place isn’t guarded. But my thoughts come too soon. Javier steps down from the last stair. Freezes when he sees me. I freeze too, ready to turn around and run, maybe find another way. But he’s fast. He reaches out and grabs me by the hair, practically ripping it out from the roots as he spins me around and slams me against the wall. My cheek explodes as he shoves me in harder, his nails in my scalp while his other hand twists my arm behind my back. “Is this what you want?” he growls at me, pressing himself against me from behind until I’m sandwiched between him and the wall. “To keep testing me?” He yanks on my hair again, pain screaming from my scalp, then slams my head back against the wall until my vision starts to go soft and grey. A low, pathetic whimper escapes my lips. “Everything that happens to you is because of you,” he hisses in my ear, breath

smelling like alcohol. “You’re making this infinitely harder than it needs to be, but that’s what girls like you do, isn’t it? Always making a man’s life harder.” He twists his fist in my hair until I cry out. “You should be begging for your life, Violet McQueen.” I find a thread of strength running through me. Grab it. Javier is going to do what he can to keep the upper hand, using the pain of pulling my hair and the force of his body against mine to keep me in place. I’ve been in a situation like this before. In training. A lifetime ago. Against fighters I knew how to fight. In an open arena at the martial arts school. With people who play fair. Nothing here is normal, nothing here is fair. But the wall that keeps me here is the stability I need to use to fight back. “I will never beg to you,” I snap at him. Then… I jerk my body back, bring my legs up until my feet are pressed flat against the wall and then shove backward into him, getting just enough space to slide to the left along the wall and spin myself free. He comes at me right away, fire in his eyes, and I know I won’t get far if I run. I immediately drop down, what he least expects, and get into a low crouch, my good leg swinging out in an arc that catches him at the ankles, knocking him off balance. He falls backward and I’m off like a shot, ignoring the pain in my body, going up the stairs two at a time until I’ve reached the main level of the house. I look down the hallway and see a screen door beyond the tiles of what looks to be the kitchen. I can practically taste the freedom. Behind me I can hear Javier on the stairs, swearing, yelling my name. But I keep going toward that light, toward the palm trees and the fresh air and the hint of blue sky. I know that I’ll have to deal with a million other things, people, once I’m outside. I might even be shot on sight. But this escape means everything to me. I’m almost there. A couple of feet. My feet hitting the tiles. But from behind a wall, La Mueca appears. Standing right between me and the door. “No!” I scream, already turning to find another way out. I get two steps, slipping on the tiles in my bare feet. La Mueca has me. His arms wrapped tight around mine from behind, holding me up high enough

so that my feet can’t touch the ground. I’m kicking wildly, growling like a captured animal, throwing my head back, trying to headbutt him. But La Mueca is tall, strong. He keeps me in place with ease, squeezing more and more like I’m in the death throes of a boa constrictor. I kick nothing but air and occasionally my heel strikes his thigh but it’s not enough to do anything at all. I’m trapped. A steer tethered in place, awaiting its fate. Javier comes storming toward me as if in slow motion. He’s a one-man abattoir, bringing out a knife from his pocket. His eyes are so wild, I know he’s not even in control of himself. It was the same look he had when he threw the acid on me. Without control, this man has no boundaries. I’ve never been so afraid. He might just slit my throat right here. “You little bitch,” Javier sneers at me raising the knife. “Barrera, hold her head still.” La Mueca hesitates, then lowers me to the ground. I don’t stop struggling, even as his large hand spans over my head, fingers pressed against my forehead and holding me in place. Javier holds the knife in front of me and I’m not sure if he’s going to cut my face in half, from between the eyes, over the bridge of my nose, over my lips. If he’ll peel the skin away like an orange. I’ve heard of worse things. I expect worse things. I stare right into his eyes, fear taken over me, and I know that’s all he sees. I hope it’s what he wanted. “I don’t want you to ever forget who did this to you,” he says, the grip tightening over the knife handle. “It was all Vicente.” He brings his hand down and slashes the blade across my cheek at an angle, cutting me open. I scream like a banshee. He does it again. Another slash. Meeting at the bottom near my jaw. He just carved a V into my face. Tears spill from my eyes, mixing with the hot blood that drips down onto my chest, staining La Mueca’s shirt. Javier’s eyes follow. With another flick of the knife he slices through the front of the shirt, cutting it wide open, nearly getting my skin, my chest and breasts partially exposed. “You will look at yourself every day until you die and know who did this to you.” He raises the knife, poised to slash me again, this time across my chest. “Javier!” Luisa’s shrill voice fills the house.

My heart pulses in my cheek, rapid, out of control, spurting blood. The pain is unreal. The fear is everything. “Don’t you dare, Javier, don’t you dare!” Luisa yells. Suddenly she’s right behind him, hands on his arms, trying to pull him away. Her face is bruised, busted up, but otherwise looks okay. She definitely doesn’t look as bad as I do. “This doesn’t concern you, Luisa,” he says to her without looking, trying to shrug her off. “If she didn’t escape from you and your bleeding heart, she wouldn’t be in this mess.” “Javier, stop it.” I watch the anger roll through his face, aging him in seconds. He turns to face her and only then sees the damage I did during my escape. I brace myself. “Who did that to you?” he says, indignant. Luisa eyes me but doesn’t say anything. “It doesn’t matter. You need to stop. You’re acting insane, fucking mad. You need to step away, go to your office, just… get a fucking hold of yourself.” Javier shakes his head in disbelief and then looks back to me. “You did this to my wife?” he asks slowly, voice dripping with venom. I can only stare at him wide-eyed, mouth open, trying to breathe, each movement making my skin tear with fresh bursts of pain. “Javier!” Luisa says, grabbing him again, holding his hand back, her nails digging into his tanned skin. “If you do this, you’re not the man I love. Your son already hates you Javier. Don’t make me hate you too.” That seems to get through to him. A wash of trepidation comes over his brow as he weighs his options. He will always relinquish to his wife. So fucking strange that this man could love anything. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, nostrils flaring. “I would rather die than have that, my love,” he says to her quietly. Then he steps back, away from me. I should find relief in it. I don’t. Especially when he looks at La Mueca and says, “Deal with her. Now.” He turns away, taking Luisa by the elbow and leading her out the screen door, to the bright world outside. Now it’s just me and La Mueca. His grip around me hasn’t loosened. I wonder what dealing with me will consist of. “I told you to be a good girl, senorita,” he says slowly with great deliberation. His voice is low, husky. “This is what happens when you are bad. You need to stop this, do you understand?”

I make a gurgling sound, unable to talk. “Come on, I’ll take you back.” He carries me all the way down the hall, down the stairs, back to the room. I’m limp in his arms. There’s no point fighting him. Javier I could take because I had surprise on my side. That’s the only reason why. Otherwise, I would be doomed. Luisa was pretty easy, again aided by surprise. Neither expected me to know how to fight. But La Mueca probably expects it, seeing how I escaped, the damage to Luisa’s face, and even if he didn’t, there’s no way I would stand a chance against him. Besides, I’m growing tired. More so because I know that this isn’t over. Not by a longshot. The moment we go into that room, he will deal with me. The door closes behind us. He places me on the ground and I have to lean against the wall to stay upright. He watches me for a moment, just a foot away, staring down at me deep in thought. “Luisa left you some things to fix you up. I’m guessing she never got a chance to use them before you escaped.” I blink at him. Watch as he walks across the room to the tote bag. He slowly gathers everything up, placing it back inside the bag and then hangs the strap on the back of the chair. “Come here, sit,” he says, nodding at the chair. I don’t move. I’m not sure I can move. My face burns as badly as my leg did, the blood still flowing down my cheek. “I’m not asking,” he says. Points to the chair. “Sit.” I still don’t move. If I’m trying his patience though, he doesn’t show it. He walks over to me with purpose and it takes everything not to cower with fear. But he grabs my arm, fingers wrapped around my bicep, firm but not rough, and leads me over to the chair. He looks me over and then starts pulling the sleeves of his shirt out of my arms, until I’m totally naked again. “It was good while it lasted,” he says, scrunching the shirt up and bringing out the bottle of water. He pours some of the water onto the clean parts of the shirt, then starts to press it against my skin. I stand there, bare, frozen, as he wipes down my chest, my neck, even my arms. He works methodically, biting his lip, until all traces of the blood are wiped away. He glances briefly at my cheek and then to my eyes. He holds me in his gaze for a moment and it’s almost as if something startles him. Like he’s remembering something. Then it fades. “That should be better.” He turns and brings the white t shirt and grey pajama bottoms out of the bag. “Arms up.” I want to tell him I can dress myself but I don’t dare open my mouth. It finally feels like the blood has slowed. My teeth are pressed so hard together, afraid to

move an inch. So I put up my arms and he slowly lowers the shirt over them, stretching the neckline extra-wide to get it over my head without touching my face, pulling it down slowly over my breasts. Next come the pajamas. One foot in and then the other. I wouldn’t say the way his hands skirt over my thighs, my ass, my hips, are brotherly. There is something mildly sexual about it, and it’s not just that I’m hyper-aware. He’s taking his time running his hands over me, even his breathing slows, becomes more ragged. If anything, it makes me close my eyes. It makes me think of Vicente. The ache inside me is so acute, it almost breaks me. To have his warm palms touching my flesh, his gaze, his words, his smell giving me comfort. I would do anything. La Mueca is a handsome man with his height, his slinky bedroom eyes and perpetual pout. But I know I can’t be bought by his random tenderness. I know what he is, who he works for. I know that in the game of good-cop, bad-cop, I can’t be tricked. No one is good here. Not even me. “There,” he says, pulling himself away from me. “Now sit. Please.” I do so because he added the please. I expect I’ll be restrained. But I’m not. Instead he takes the tube of antibacterial cream and puts it on a piece of dressing. “This will hurt,” he says, holding it near my cheek. I brace myself. He pressed it against my cheek and I cry out sharply, my body rigid in the chair. I hold onto the edge for dear life, my hands turning white from pressure. I’m trying not to cry and my breathing is hard and shallow as I contort from the pain, flinching, trying desperately to escape. But he works fast. Tapes a bandage to the side of my face and when he’s done that, works on my leg, a whole other story. By the time he’s treated my wounds and wrapped me up, I’ve barely been able to get down the dose of antibiotics he gives me, plus the pain killers. “They are strong,” he says. “They’ll knock you out soon. Believe me, you’ll want it.” I nod, my eyes are already starting to shut. Not from the pills but from the pain. “You remind me of someone, you know.” He says this, crouching low at my side, staring off into the room. “My wife. She was a lot like you. Had a lot of fire, yet she was very sweet. Had a soft spot for animals. Always wanting to rescue every stray cat she saw. One year I think we had over ten of them living in our back yard.” He glances up at me, squinting. “I was a cop, you know. I didn’t graduate high school. I got messed up with the wrong crowd, but after my father died and my mother had no one to care for her, I decided to become a cop. It was all I could do.” He stands up straight, stares down at me. “I was honest for about a year. That’s when I met my wife. We were young, in love. Teenagers, really. Youngest cop on the force. Married when we were legal. Then the temptation to do something on the side was too great. So I started running drugs for one of the local cartels. It was

normal, you know. It’s what you did. There was no shame in it. Not really. But my wife hated the idea. Eventually it got caught up with us. Things went wrong. I killed a man in self defense. He deserved it but it didn’t matter. They came for me. They took her. They killed her. I was only nineteen when they did this. Younger than you. They killed her in front of me. They might have well killed me. After that, I was done. With life. With other people’s lives.” He runs his hand along his jaw, contemplating me. “People, at their core, are inherently bad. Do you know this? Do you know that if someone drops their wallet, and you return it to them, you are rare? Some would say, stupid. Some would say that person’s wallet was a gift from god to you and you should have taken it and the money in it. It’s yours now. It’s not anything to do with survival. It’s selfentitlement, lack of morality. People do this without remorse or guilt. Every single day. People kill, hurt, maim, rape, without remorse or guilt. Every day. You are a good girl Violet, caught in a bad man’s world.” He pauses, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I try not to flinch. “My wife was a good girl too. It’s why I was so taken with her. She was one of the last good things in this world. And then they sliced her up from head to toe. Now there is one less good thing left for the rest of us.” I feel for him. I do. Even in my hazy state, even after all that happened, I feel for him. His words don’t elicit pity, neither does his expression—it never changes. But I can see how he came to be. I understand. I have to wonder who I will be if I ever survive this. Will I still be good? I feel like Violet McQueen has died a thousand deaths already. “I don’t take pleasure in the pain I cause,” he says to me. “I don’t take pleasure in anything. It’s just that I have only one purpose now and I follow orders. I work for the ones at the top because I am at the top. The best deserve the best. And when someone else shifts into power, I will follow them. I will take their orders. You understand what I’m saying?” I nod slowly, trying to keep my eyes open. “I don’t think you do,” he muses. “But you will, senorita. Until then, I am very sorry.” Sorry? Before the apology and what it could mean even sinks in, he kicks at the chair and it gives way from under me and I’m falling to the side, my shoulder colliding with the cement floor. I don’t even have time to scramble, to get up. He kicks me so I’m on my stomach. Brings his foot down on my arm. Stomps. On my wrist. Shattering it. I heart the crunch of a million bones.

I feel the heat of a thousand suns radiate outward. I howl like a fucking dog about to die. “Don’t take it personally,” he says to me, his words throbbing with the torrential pain, just before I lose consciousness. “It’s just business.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Ellie A LOT CAN HAPPEN in a short amount of time. Javier’s compound is three miles away from El Segundo and its passengers, then another mile up into the mountains. According to Ben’s skills as he maps out their route. This is as far as they get, though, when it all goes down. As the Challenger roars past a truck stop, just before the entrance to the protected park, another cop car appears. This one means business. It’s an open-top SUV with a roll cage, two men in the front seat, armed, two men standing up in the back. Also armed. With very big guns. Guns that are now firing at them. “They’re shooting at us!” Ellie yells. “Thanks for the update,” Camden says, grinding his teeth. He pushes the Challenger forward, but that doesn’t stop the bullets. Ben grabs his gun from the glove compartment. Camden eyes him. “Don’t think they won’t blow your arm off if you try anything.” “I know what I’m doing,” Ben says. Ellie, meanwhile, is feeling completely helpless in the backseat, as her father probably is too. With no doors, no windows, they’re pretty much trapped and unable to do anything. As Camden concentrates on driving, Ben is their only chance of retaliation. He manages to get some shots in. Actually hits one of the guys standing up, who goes flying back into the road. Ellie nearly cheers, though she knows it’s too early in the game for that. Never cheer before you know who’s winning. But the machine guns don’t stop. Bullets spray everywhere, dinging the back of the Challenger. Camden continues to maneuver it, weaving in and out of passing cars, trying to lose them. But unlike the cop car from earlier, this SUV has a big engine and a driver with a

greater resolve. Ellie guesses that this is probably a car from Javier’s own crew, and if that’s the case, they won’t stop at anything. They won’t lose them. Ben has to take them out. Or Ellie will. She leans over the center console, wondering if she can get to Ben and take over. Gus won’t let her. He grabs the back of her shirt and pulls her back down and gives his daughter the look. The one that says, I’m your father and so don’t you fucking dare. Just then a shot zips through the back of the car, over their heads, over the center console that Ellie was just trying to climb over, and into the front windshield. It shatters, scattering glass everywhere. Another bullet blows the back left tire. The car starts to spin to the right. Camden’s hands work fast, knowing how to handle the spin, to correct it. But even so. The bullets are flying. The angle of the car to the SUV is almost perpendicular. Bullets smash into the window. Smash into Camden. It happens too fast. He grunts from the bullet wounds, lets go of the wheel and the car spins again. Ben nearly falls out his window. Ellie lunges forward to grab the wheel from Camden. Gus manages to grab Ben’s legs. Ben hangs there, alongside the door, twisting at the waist to keep firing at the SUV. Getting the driver in the head. The SUV goes off the road in one direction. El Segundo is about to go off the road in the other direction. Ellie yells as she tries to hold the wheel, her husband slumped over in his seat, but still alive, still breathing. That’s enough to give her the strength to try and hold on. But it’s not enough. The car careens off the side of the road, slamming through the brush and then down an embankment, branches slapping the vehicle until it slams to a stop, the hood bent around a tree. Silence fills the car along with the hiss of the engine. It takes Ellie a few moments to realize what has happened. She blinks, her head spinning, finding herself lying across the center console, half in the passenger seat where Ben was. Ben is gone. She gasps, easing herself up to look at Camden.

He’s unconscious, slumped over the steering wheel. For a terrifying second she’s afraid she’s lost him Her moon and her sun. The love of her life. With a shaking hand she checks for his pulse. Heart is still beating. Oh thank god. She looks behind her at her father. He’s fallen over to the side, bleeding from his head, but stirring, moaning softly in pain. Alive. Which leaves… Ben. She turns around, staring out the shattered back window. Sees the cleared path where the car flattened the foliage on the way down. Doesn’t see Ben. “Ben,” she cries out but the words die in her throat. “Ben.” She crawls over the console, into his seat. Opens the door. Climbs out. Falls to the ground, her legs shaking. She forces herself to get back up, to push the accident behind her. She has to find Ben. She runs up the hill, tripping over roots and broken branches. Oh Ben, Ben, please be okay. Please be okay. “Mom,” a voice cries out. He’s alive. And he just called her mom, after everything. He still calls her mom. “Ben,” she calls out just as he stumbles out from behind a tree. His shirt is torn, he has dirt all over him and a gash on his head, but he’s otherwise looking no worse for wear. She cries in relief and then runs over, throwing her arms around him. “Thank god,” she says, wishing she could hold him forever. “I saw you were gone, I thought the worse.” “Don’t worry about me, mom,” he says. “Dad was shot.” “I know, I know,” she says softly, turning around and hurrying back down the hill with him. Gus is now out of the car and at the open driver’s door, crouched beside Camden, who is sprawled back against the seat, head lolling to the side, eyes closed. An absolute wreck. “How is he?” Ellie’s at his side down, running her hand down Camden’s face. His forehead is split open from the steering wheel, blood in his eyes, his arm and shoulder bleeding from their own bullet wounds. “Oh god, come on baby,” she says to him, hoping he’ll open his eyes. “The cut looks worse than it is,” Gus says. “It’s already starting to dry up.” He glances up at Ben. “Where did your gun go?”

“I don’t know, I guess I dropped it when you let go of me.” Gus mumbles something under his breath. “Get another one from the trunk. If we didn’t get all those cops and if their own crash didn’t kill them, they’ll be looking for us at any moment.” While Ben does that, Gus looks to Ellie. “Camden will pull through. We’ve been in this exact same situation before.” “Yeah. In Mexico. And you took him to a vet.” “I’m afraid that won’t cut it this time,” Gus says. “He’ll have to go to the hospital in Mazatlan. One bullet wounds would have been pushing his luck. He has two.” “No. We have to go after Violet,” Ellie says, shaking her head. “We have to keep going.” “Ellie,” Gus says slowly. “Look. Your husband isn’t going anywhere except to the emergency room. I’ll flag a car on the highway, someone will take you there if we offer enough money.” “Me? Dad, I want to be with Camden but I have to go for our daughter.” “I’ll go for her.” “Like hell you will.” “Who is the ex-cop here, Ellie?” “Who will kill you on sight?” “And you think he won’t do the same to you?” “Dad, earlier you said that Violet was bait, that Javier wants me.” “That was when it was the four of us going in. We can’t leave Camden alone and he’s not going anywhere.” “I’ll go,” Ben says, shutting the trunk, sticking one gun into the waistband of his pants, while he holds another. “Grandpa you take Dad to the hospital. I’ll go with mom.” “Ben,” she says but stops herself from going on. Because as much as she hates the idea of him coming with her, she needs him and everyone knows it. There’s only two people who are crucial to this game plan, and that’s Ellie and her son. She can get into the compound without being killed. He can keep her alive after that. “Fuck that,” Camden says roughly. Ellie looks down in surprise and sees him staring up at her, awake now. Fury in his dazed blue eyes. “I’m fine,” he says, trying to get up and out of the car. Trying not to wince and whimper from the pain. Gus grabs Camden’s good arm, puts it around him, helping him to his feet. “Keep on kidding yourself, boy. We’re getting you help.” “Fuck,” he yells, face growing red with anger. “I’m not going without my daughter!” He looks at Ellie. “And you’re not going without me. Okay? We do this together. We do this as we always have, you and me. Ellie, please. Please. I’m okay. I can get fixed up and we’ll stick to the plan. I’m not letting this get in the way. I can’t let this get in the way.” “Dad,” Ben says, coming over to him and putting his hand on his good shoulder,

peering at him closely. “I know you want to get Violet back. I know you don’t want to let mom go. But I will protect her, okay? She can’t do this without me and you can’t help the way you are, so this is just the way it is. Gus will take care of you. I’ll take care of mom. And we’ll get Violet back. I promise.” Camden doesn’t back down. He won’t. There is no easy way out of this. Ben goes around to passenger seat and pulls out his backpack, putting it on. “Mom. We can walk there from here. It will take us until dark but we have to wait until dark anyway for this to work.” “Ben, no,” Camden says, wiping the blood from his eyes. “Ellie. Just… fuck.” “Your son is right,” Gus says. Ellie knows that her husband won’t accept it. And if anything were to happen to any of them, he would only blame himself. That’s the last thing she wants. But the longer they stand here in the jungle by the wreck of El Segundo, Camden shot and bleeding, the less chance they have to get Violet back. Secretly, Ellie is relieved that Ben is taking charge. It takes the pressure off of her and she doesn’t trust herself right now, her emotions are too high with all that’s happening. And if Camden has to stay behind, then Camden is safe. Javier has never met Ben, he doesn’t know what Ben is capable of. Javier and Camden, however, know each other very well, right down to their fighting styles. It’s the right thing to do. But they have to leave now. Ellie looks at Gus. She doesn’t have to make him promise to take care of her husband. He loves Camden like a son. He will. “Dad,” she says softly and he pulls her into a hug. “Take care of them,” he says to her, kissing her cheek. “But please promise to take care of yourself.” “I can’t do one without the other,” she says, putting her palm at his cheek as she pulls away, so grateful to have a father like him, even if she found him later in life. Then she looks at her husband and the world slows, as it sometimes does when she’s around him. The earth pauses on its axis to let their love shine. “I’ll be back,” she tells him, running her fingers through his hair, damp with blood. “I promise you I’ll be back and I’ll have her.” “Ellie, baby, please,” Camden whimpers. “Don’t do this. Don’t go.” She stares into his eyes, pleading with him. “You know I have to. You know I do.” He wants to keep fighting this but it’s a losing battle. He shakes his head. “I love you, Ellie.” “I love you too,” she says, kissing him soft, then hard, and long and wet, passionate enough to make both her father and son look away, clearing their throats in embarrassment. Then she pulls away and looks into his eyes and knows he’s going to be okay.

Ben hugs his father, gently. “I’ve got her dad. Don’t worry.” Camden tries to smile but fails. Ben hugs Gus. “Keep out of trouble you two. I’ve got a long walk ahead of me and I’m hoping mom will fill me in on all the stories I’ve missed out on growing up. Pretty sure it will only make me worry about you more, but, hey.” Gus gives Ellie a warning look. “Don’t tell him everything, Ellie. You gotta keep some mystery.” Ellie nods, feigns a smile, her heart heavier than it’s ever been. Then she and Ben turn and walk off into the jungle. Heading straight for the tiger’s den.

CHAPTER NINETEEN Vicente I COULD HEAR Violet’s screams. Even from the basement. The first time I heard them, I tried to kick down my door. The second time, I threw my TV at the window. The third time, I put my fist in the wall. Mercifully they stopped after that. There was nothing left for me to destroy. My father wants to break me. In his deluded, fucked-up way of thinking, he thinks this will make me a better leader. It will make me the kind of crazy ruthless man he needs to take over his business. My mother, despite her misgivings, thinks along the same lines. Afraid to go against him, or maybe she really does agree with him. But my father thinks I am just like him and so does she and that’s their flaw. You can’t make someone into someone else. My morals may be flawed. I may be able to kill some people without remorse. I may have no problems in running drugs into America and around the world, drugs that ruin hundreds of thousands of lives. I may dip in and out of the grey area with ease. But I am not my father. And never will be. Love never broke him. Whatever he felt for Ellie, whether it was love or not, that was never the issue and it still isn’t. What broke him wasn’t the loss of love but loss in general. Of reputation. Of self-respect. Of dignity. She did that to him twice, and both times he was able to take that loss and advance. Become harder, stronger, better. But as long as Violet is alive, I will not be broken. I will be ruthless. I will be relentless. Until she is free. They don’t see that about me. They don’t trust what I feel for her is real. They think it’s lust. And while it is, it’s something so much more, a power straight from

the core. I don’t even question it. It is what it is. And it fuels me. My mother had left me the knife behind. If it was on purpose or by accident, I don’t know. I don’t care. She could later remember and tell my father. She might have told him from the start. It might be a test. It doesn’t matter. I have the knife now, turning the blade over in my hands. Over the last day I’ve thought about using it. Then not using it. I come close to picturing what I have to do. Then I lose my nerve. Then I heard her screams. And that was it. It sealed the deal. I know how far I will go. To hell and back. Basically. I wait, sitting on my bed, my knife in my hand. I count the minutes and hours and I wait some more until I have enough will to do it. My horrible plan. It’s night now. Darkness begets darkness. I go to the door. Knock loudly on it. To whoever is standing outside. Maybe La Mueca. Probably Parada. “I need to speak to my father,” I say loudly. I knock again. “You hear me? I said I need to speak with my father.” No answer still. But they are there. I start pounding on the door with my fists, knowing if I’m loud enough I’ll wake up my mother. And that’s when the ball will really get rolling. “I said GET ME MY FUCKING FATHER NOW!” Finally, I hear a voice say, “Si, Vicente.” I step back away from the door. The knife hidden in my hand at my side. I wait. Ages seem to pass. Finally, the door unlocks and opens. I can see Parada behind my father, peering around him at me. My father stares at me with such blankness that I have to wonder if he’s sleepwalking, especially as he’s dressed in sweat pants and a plain t-shirt. How the fuck can he sleep at a time like this? “Do you want me to come in with you for protection?” Parada asks him, eying me with disdain.

I’m actually glad he said that. My father may have wanted the security but now it just makes it seem like he can’t take care of himself. Besides, he has a gun in his hand. Like I thought he would. “Just stay here and mind your own business,” my father says flatly, shutting the door on Parada. His grip tightens on the gun, but he doesn’t take a step toward me. I don’t move toward him. I have to remain passive for now. With just the bedside lamp on, the whole room has an eerie, shadowed effect. And here we are, facing each other like two fighters in a ring. “You know I need my beauty sleep, Vicente,” my father says, tapping his gun along his thigh impatiently. “What is it that you want? A bedtime story?” Fuck you, I think. But I don’t say it because he’ll just turn and leave and I need to get close to him. “I want to know what you were doing to Violet.” “Who said I was doing anything to her? Really, you’re so quick with the blame.” My fist curls around the knife until I’m sure it’s cutting into my palm. “I heard her screaming.” He shrugs. Yawns. “Well, things happen. You know how Barrera is.” “He follows your orders. What did you tell him to do?” “Why do you want to know every gritty detail? Don’t you know that ignorance is bliss?” “Isn’t that the whole point of all this? So I do know every gritty detail? So that it breaks me down?” “Yes, well, that may be,” he says, his eyes roaming the room. “Seems different in here now.” Change of subject. “The room is the same. I am different. Tell me what he did to Violet.” “I honestly don’t know and I don’t care either,” my father says. So blasé. It takes all of my strength to keep my anger in check and not explode, though frankly I think I’d welcome the explosion. “I guess you’d like to know what she did to your mother.” I cock my head, staring at him in confusion. “Violet?” “Your mother went to help her. Violet repaid that help by striking your mother. In the ribs, in the head.” I’m not sure how I feel about that. On one hand, I’m relieved to know that Violet has fight left in her. On the other hand, it’s my mother. And on yet another hand, I know that Violet would have been heavily punished for her actions. The screaming makes sense now. “Fuck,” I say, grinding my jaw together. I wasn’t expecting that. Wasn’t expecting my mother and Violet to be at odds with each other, though I know that Violet was doing whatever she could to escape. She would see my mother and only see my father in her place. I exhale, my heart heavier than ever. “How are the both of them?”

“Your mother is banged up but she’ll be fine. She’s tough,” he says carefully. “You never told me Violet was a fighter.” “I’m glad I didn’t.” “Yes, well, she managed to escape for a moment. Until Barrera caught her. That’s when I told him to deal with her. I didn’t say how. So as you can see, whatever your lover girl was screaming about, had nothing to do with me and all to do with Barrera.” I’ve had enough of my father trying to pass the blame to someone else. As if ordering someone else to rough someone up or torture them is any better than doing it yourself. At least one option means you have the balls to do it. “I want to negotiate,” I tell him. My father sighs, rubbing his forehead with his palm. “With what? Can’t this wait until morning? As far as I know, she’s not going to die overnight.” As far as you know… He acts like we have all the time in the world. Meanwhile, I’ve never felt time so acutely before. The pass of each hand around the clock. The tightening of a noose. In fact, it’s kind of strange how my father is dragging this whole thing out. You would think if he wanted to break me, he would do it off the bat. Torture her, rape her, kill her in front of me. Do all those things that would send me to hell, to a place I would never ever return from. Yet he’s not doing that. Why? What exactly is he waiting for? Each day this goes on for, the less broken I am. The angrier I am. Surely he sees that. Surely he sees that there’s more margin for error. For my mother to interfere. For Violet to escape. For anything that could throw a wrench in his plans. Why is he waiting? But the tick of the clock is loud, even with my questions. I don’t have time for answers. I have to act while I can. “I want to negotiate,” I repeat, my voice harder. “I want to see her.” “In due time,” he says tiredly. “No.” “No?” he repeats. “You’ve hurt her. Tortured her. Who knows what La Mueca has done. Let me see her. You want me to break, I can’t break without seeing what you’ve done. So let me see her.” He narrows his eyes, watching me carefully. “There will be a better time.” “There will never be a better time. Let me see her. Now.” “Maybe tomorrow,” he says. “Now.” “You don’t get to call the shots here, Vicente. If you haven’t forgotten, you’re

locked inside your room. It’s not the other way around. I’m going back to bed.” He sighs with impatience. He’s tired. Sloppy. He can’t be bothered with me anymore. So he makes a mistake. He turns his back to me as he goes to the door. Raises his hand to knock. But before he can even bring it down… I’m there. I take my knife and I stab it into his side, just below the ribs. The world seems to stop spinning as the blade goes in. As if it knows this is something that should never happen. A son stabbing his father. Wrestling the gun out of his hand. Holding the gun to his father’s head. Removing the knife from his side. I didn’t want it to be this way. But it’s the only way. My father screams but it’s more from shock, from the utter betrayal of it all, rather than pain. I don’t even know if my father registers pain anymore, just loss of ego. He tries to struggle but he’s hampered by his injury, his hand clamped over the knife wound at his side, trying to stop the bleeding, all while I press the nose of the gun into his temple. “I once told Violet that I would kill you if you ever laid a hand on her,” I sneer at him, my fingers digging into his arm. My heart is racing, alternating between anger and shame until I don’t know what I’m feeling. But it’s not stopping me. “I made her a promise, and like you I keep my promises. Now you are going to fucking take me to her. Right now.” “You…” he says, coughing, wincing. But he can’t finish his sentence. What is there to say? He knew this was coming, that’s why he brought a gun with him to talk to me. I just knew how to play his game and get him where he was weakest, that’s all there is to it. My father has little patience. Test that patience and you tire him out. Tire him out and you overtake him. “Knock on the door,” I say, turning him so he’s facing it. “Tell him to open it.” “You are not my son,” he hisses at me before letting out a moan of pain. “Right now, I’m more your son than I ever was before. Tell them to open it.” I jab the gun at his temple. “Now.” “I’m just doing what’s best for you, Vicente.” His voice is ragged but with venom. “And this is how you repay me? By trying to kill me?” I decide to bang on the door instead. I don’t bother telling my father I knew exactly where to stab him. No vital organs. The cut was clean and not as deep as it could have been. If he keeps the

pressure there for the next while, he’ll be fine. La Mueca could give him stitches and he’d be back to normal. Only a scar left behind. But none of that is relevant right now. I need to get to Violet. “Tell him to open the fucking door.” I lower the gun so that it’s now pressed against his bloody hand he keeps clutched at his side, creating more pressure on the wound. My father yelps from pain and manages to yell, “Parada! Open the door.” He’s coughing by the time Parada opens it. Parada, the little weasel, immediately goes for his own gun and aims it at me. “Put it away,” my father says, the pain and humiliation crawling through his voice. “He’s not kidding.” Parada hesitates, then looks down to where my father is clutching the stab wound. Sees the blood. Sees the stark determination in my face. His gun lowers. He can’t believe his eyes. How a son has his own father as a hostage. First time for everything I guess. We step out of the room and into the hall. “Tell me where she is,” I snarl at him, headlock tight. “The basement,” he chokes out. “Which room?” “Room A.” We go down the hallway to the staircase, start making our way down. “Who is stationed outside?” “Just La Mueca, maybe Frankie.” “Big guards for a little girl.” “That little girl is nothing but trouble,” he spits out, then moans from the pain of his side. I don’t feel anything, which is a relief. I thought it would have been a lot harder to do. But frankly, my father deserves this. He’s deserved this for a long time. And it’s something he’ll never get over. Neither will I. He’ll forever be humiliated by his only son, the ultimate betrayal, all for a girl. And I will never speak to my father again. For all that he’s done. It’s sad. It’s fucking sad. This family completely torn apart. Sworn to be enemies after this. But I can’t think about it right now. I have the rest of my life to come to terms with it. But my life doesn’t start without her.

I made a promise. A promise I’ll keep. Or die trying. “You’re going to open the door and let me in to see her,” I tell him. “Oh yeah? And then what?” I don’t know why I’m so surprised at his nerve. I also don’t answer him. Because I don’t know my next move. I just know I need to see her, be with her. My mirlo. It ends up being La Mueca who is sitting on a stool outside of Room A down the basement hall, his head resting back against the wall, long legs splayed in front of him. His head lolls to the side to look at us and in the dim light of the hallway I nearly delight in seeing the rare expression on his face. He’s shocked. No narrow, thoughtful eyes here. He’s got them open wide, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing and I’m not sure I can blame him. “Shit,” he swears, getting to his feet. “What happened here?” “I want to see her. Open the door.” La Mueca stares at me for ages, then looks at the gun, then looks at my father. “Is this what you wish?” he asks him. “Just open the fucking door, Barrera,” my father says. He’s not about to tell him how serious I am, lest that somehow gives me the upper hand—more of an upper hand than having a fucking gun to my father’s head. Instead he’s acting like this whole thing is a game and he’s bored. Bored. “Yes, patron,” La Mueca says after a long moment, taking out a key from his pocket and slowly unlocking the door. I steel myself against what I’m going to see. But even then it does me no good. Violet is in the middle of the room, lying next to an overturned chair. She’s motionless. Ruined. My mirlo with broken wings. It takes me a moment to feel what the sight does to me. It takes a few steps into the room. My hold on my father loosening. My gun lowering. If I was a better man I would have stayed vigilant, I would have turned my rage against my father and killed him right there. Instead I am so shocked by Violet—dirty, crumpled, bleeding from her face— that my guard drops. Everything drops. Before I know what’s going on, my father is spinning out of my grip and I am falling to my knees in front of Violet.

The gun is still in my hand. But my father is gone, leaving the room with La Mueca. The door slamming shut. The lock turning. I’m a prisoner with her now. But there’s nowhere else to be. I got what I wanted. “Violet,” I say but I choke on my words. I don’t even know where to begin. She’s lying on the floor, in a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, one arm stretched out in front of her. It takes me a moment to realize what it is about her arm that’s throwing me off. Her wrist is ten times the size it should be, swollen and purple and red. Broken. The side of her face is against the concrete, her eyes closed, mouth open, her hair around her, tangled in knots. Her cheek is covered in gauze, completely soaked in blood. Even without these atrocities, my heart would have halved over the sight of her. This isn’t the Violet I remember. The one full of life, of lust, of love. This Violet is tiny, pale, abused. Barely hanging on. “Violet,” I whisper again. I want to touch her, hold her, but I don’t know where to start. How can I bring her comfort? How did I think that me being here would make any of this okay? What did she have to endure while I was locked away in my room feeling sorry for my shitty family? Everything pales now. Everything. I move over to her, nearly afraid to get too close in case I hurt her. I carefully lay my hand on her shoulder. Her arm flinches automatically, which in turn puts pressure on her wrist. She moans loudly, eyes opening, not seeing me, then fluttering closed. “Violet,” I say again, pushing the hair off her face. “I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” I’m not sure that she can hear me. But it’s the only thing I can promise right now. They’ll have to kill me before I leave her side again.

CHAPTER TWENTY Violet I MUST BE DREAMING. Except that when I’m dreaming I feel no pain. And I’m feeling pain. A whole fucking lot of it. I’m feeling so much pain that I can barely concentrate on Vicente’s voice. Because that’s what I’m hearing, isn’t it? His voice coming through the grey and the darkness and the white sparks and red veins behind my eyes. “Violet,” he says. “Mirlo.” Mirlo. My heart wants to melt. Into a puddle. It wants to flood me from head to toe. Because if this really is Vicente, it means I’ve been saved. I try and open my eyes to see, praying I’m not looking into anyone else’s face except his. La Mueca, Javier, Luisa—I never know who I’m going to get. But the pain is so great that I have to keep them closed. It pounds me, stealing my thoughts and funnelling everything down to just one thing. My wrist. It throbs, aches, screams. You’d think after everything that’s happened to me I would be used to it, but the pain never gets any easier. It just finds different parts of you to occupy. Thankfully the pills La Mueca gave me are supposed to dull the pain. They aren’t morphine, so I don’t know if they’re making that much difference but if there’s a chance I could be feeling more pain than this, then I suppose I should be grateful. But I’m not. One moment La Mueca is telling me his life story and the next he’s kicking me off my chair and stomping on my wrist. I should have figured something like that would happen. Javier had told him to deal with me. And when a Mexican assassin starts telling you his life story, that’s usually a big hint that something terrible is about to go down. “Violet.” There it is again, Vicente’s voice.

Then a warm hand at my forehead. “Oh, what the fuck happened to you? What happened to you?” Now he’s whimpering. This can’t be real. I try again to open my eyes. I fight through the pain. I’m lying on my side on the damp ground, staring at his knees as he’s kneeling beside me. Oh my god. Is this really him? Vicente? I try and speak but I can’t. I don’t dare move. He lowers his head so I’m staring right into his face. Everything inside me breaks open. It’s him. It’s him. Also looking a little worse for wear, but it’s him. “Violet,” he says, his voice cracking. “My mirlo, what have they done?” His eyes go from my cheek to my wrist. He doesn’t even know what lies under my pajama leg. In a way I hope he doesn’t find out. He’s already looking like he wants to explode into a murderous rage and I don’t want him going anywhere. I just want him here with me. “Please,” I whisper to him but the word is barely audible. He leans in lower and his eyes hold me like a lifeline. I was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to look at him again without seeing his father, but it’s not the case at all. In Javier’s eyes I saw pettiness and vengeance when he looked at me. In Vicente’s I see his heart. It may be black at times, but it’s large and it’s beautiful and it’s mine. “I’m here,” he says softly, his eyes growing wet. “No one will hurt you anymore. No one.” I fall back asleep. WHEN I OPEN my eyes again, I don’t expect to see Vicente. I certainly don’t expect to be in a different position, slumped in the corner of the room, propped up against the wall. Beside me is a bottle of water. My aching, screaming wrist is wrapped up in bandages. The contents of the tote bag are beside me. As is Vicente. He’s holding out three pills in his hand. “Here,” he says gently. “I tried to give these to you while you were sleeping but it didn’t quite work.” I reach for them with my good hand and place it in my mouth before taking the bottle from him. It hurts to swallow but I get them down. The drugs are definitely wearing off since the pain is more acute from before, but at the same time I’m more

awake, alert. I can finally take in what happened. “How did you get in here?” I ask, having to mumble in case I split my cheek open. “You don’t want to know,” he says in a low voice, looking pained. I then notice he holds a silver gun in his hands, turning it over. “Yes, I do,” I say, even though I’m afraid to hear it. “I’m afraid that what I’ve done isn’t enough after what’s been done to you,” he says, staring at the gun with a hard glint in his eyes. “No, it’s not enough.” He’s in another place right now. Completely swept away by fury and rage. What I saw him do to Leo Madano was just the tip of the iceberg. I can’t say I blame him. I took my own beast and I let her out. I fought like I’d never fought before. It just didn’t get me anywhere but further in trouble. But I didn’t have a gun. I just had my body. If I had a gun, I’m not sure if I would have used it or not. If Luisa hadn’t let me pass, if I couldn’t fight her off, would I have shot her? If I couldn’t fight Javier, would I have shot him? If I had a gun around La Mueca, would I have killed him? I would have done anything to escape. I still would. I still will. But there’s a difference between injuring someone to get away and to take pleasure in taking their life. Even when it comes to La Mueca, the man who took care of me and patched me up, who said I reminded him of his dead wife, who then broke my wrist in a million places, the very wrist that screams in time with my heartbeat, would I have placed the gun against his head and fired? Would I have tried to enjoy snuffing him out, watching the light extinguish from his eyes? I honestly don’t think I would. Maybe there would be relief. Maybe it wouldn’t even be that. And that’s just me. I can’t imagine what Vicente is grappling with right now. He’s trying to take all his wild anger and revulsion and funnel it somewhere, somewhere he might regret if he doesn’t already. “Vicente,” I say softly. “Look at me.” He doesn’t though. Winces at the thought. Looking at me is painful for him. “Please,” I tell him. He finally does and I see the struggle there, trying to keep calm and in control as he usually is, and failing. “I’m going to kill him.” “Do what you have to do to get us out of here,” I tell him. “To run away with me and never look back.”

He presses his lips together into a thin white slash and nods. “Thank you for bandaging my wrist,” I tell him. “I had to do it while you were asleep,” he says. “I didn’t have much to work with but I hope it stabilizes it. I also put more cream on your face. Took off the bandage too. The bleeding stopped.” Red flames of rage pass over his eyes. “My father did that one, didn’t he? That’s his style. Branding people. I’m not sure if it makes it better or worse that he did it for me. It could have been a J.” “It’s all worse,” I tell him slowly. “There’s a V sliced into my damn face. You think I want to be scarred for life?” His brow furrows, eyes becoming soft. “No,” he says quietly. “Violet, I’m so sorry for all of this.” It’s not your fault. Those words are on the tip of my tongue. But I stop myself from saying them. Because it kind of is his fault. The pain from earlier, the one that made my heart sore, comes back. “Why did you lie to me?” I ask him, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice. “Your father told me everything.” “What, exactly?” “Just tell me the truth. Your truth. You didn’t find me by accident…” He shakes his head in shame. “No.” Ugh. After everything and this still hurts like a fucking kick to the gut. A hot ball of fire burns in my stomach, making me want to double over to quell the splintering pain. “Violet…” he starts. Chews on his lip for a moment, looks back down at the gun. “I found some papers in my father’s office, papers about your mother. It detailed their relationship. I was intrigued. He’s always been so…soulless.” “You don’t say...” I remark. “And these papers, your mother, what he felt for her? They proved he wasn’t. They proved that my father was once a man who felt deeply, who loved and cared and wasn’t spending every moment trying to rule the world. I wanted to meet your mother. I wanted to see her. And I wanted to learn.” “Learn?” “What could make him tick. What could get under his skin. If he was still obsessed with her, then maybe I could figure out his weakness and how to exploit it. That was one reason, anyway.” “What was the other reason?” “There were two. Maybe if luck was on my side, I could take her. Bring her to him. Maybe he would respect me more. Think of me more. Confide in me more.” This is unbelievable. And yet I know he’s telling the truth. “And the other?” He gives me a sour smile. “It was an excuse to leave and never come back.” “So let me get this straight,” I say, trying to position myself so my wrist is

propped up on my knee, “you came to San Francisco because you wanted to know your father’s weakness and how to exploit it, you also wanted to kidnap my mother so you could gain greater favor with your father, and you also just thought you’d run away and never come back here again.” He nods slowly. “Yeah.” I watch him for a moment. “You’re more complicated than I thought. So where did I fit in?” “You didn’t. You weren’t part of the plan.” It was never supposed to be this way. His words flash across my brain, what he said the other night before we made love. He was fighting a war within himself. He was fighting it this whole time. “I fell in love with you, Violet,” he says, “by accident. I thought if I got to know Ellie’s daughter that I could get closer to her.” I close my eyes. His words aren’t enough of a balm to these fresh wounds. He seduced me to get to my mother. “I didn’t expect to feel anything for you. I thought…I didn’t think it was something I was capable of. Especially not so fast, so hard, but, please, know it’s true Violet. Every word I’ve told you with regards to my heart is true.” “You were sleeping with me to get to my mother,” I say with deliberation. “You used me.” “I wanted you,” he says, desperation in his voice. “I wanted every inch of you. Your body. Your busy mind. Your big heart. I wanted in. I found something inside you I never thought I could find anywhere.” I take in a deep breath and lick my lips. “And what is that?” “Salvation.” I shake my head slightly. “Vicente…” “You don’t understand because you’re you and you’re good and pure and beautiful, but for someone like me, to find a way out of this, to…to see the hope, the fucking hope, that I might deserve someone like you is…” He stops. “Christ, I love you. So fucking much, Violet, please believe me.” I open my eyes and see the truth on his face, the pain. I know he means every word. It just doesn’t make this much easier. And I have to press on. “You met my parents and they knew. They knew right away who you were.” He nods. “Yes, they knew. And I knew from the way they were with you that they would never tell the truth. They wanted to protect you from the people they were.” “Well they did a fucking bang-up job,” I mutter. “In a way they did,” he says. “Your father obviously knew that the past might show up one day. Why else have you and Ben learning how to fight at a young age? They wanted to protect you the best that they could while still letting you protect yourselves. And I’m glad they did. I know you tried to escape.” “Sorry about your mother.” And I am. Kind of. “She was just trying to help me.”

“I know,” he says. “And I’m sorry about your mother.” My eyes widen. “What?” He winces shamefully. “I may have hit her on the head and duct taped her to a chair before we left for Palm Valley.” “What?!” “Sorry,” he says again. “Honestly, it wasn’t my intention. While you were waiting by the car, I went to your house. She realized who I was and I panicked. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I just wanted to get away with you.” “To bring me here?” “No!” he cries out emphatically. “No, I didn’t want to bring you here. I had no idea my father’s men were after me. After us. I should have but I was stupid and I didn’t. I just wanted to get the fuck away from everything with you at my side. When I said I was selfish, that was the truth.” “You bet it’s the fucking truth.” “Violet, I just wanted you to myself. I wanted to pretend just for a moment that our families weren’t at war with each other. I wanted to pretend you and I could have another life.” He pauses, takes in a shaking breath. “We can still have that.” “How?” I cry out, looking around this hellhole. “How could we still have that? We’re fucking prisoners in your father’s torture chamber. There’s a six-foot three assassin outside the door, ready to tell me nice things and then break my other fucking wrist.” “I told you, I’m getting you out of here.” “And what makes you think I want that life with you?” I say the words so bitterly and regret them the moment they leave my mouth. The impact is visible on Vicente’s face, the hurt is deep. His expression crumples like dust. “Because no matter the lies, it doesn’t change how I feel about you. About what I want.” “What about what I want?” I manage to say, emotion climbing up my throat, making it harder to swallow. He stares at me for a moment, breathing deeply. “What do you want, mirlo? Tell me what you want and whatever it is, I will give it to you.” What do I want? Aside from the obvious? I honestly don’t know anymore. I wanted nothing more than to fly free, but now that I have, now that I’ve ended up ensnared in a greater net, I want things simple. So simple. I want to be with my parents. I want to get to know them and their truth, who they really are. I don’t want them to be ashamed of their past. I want to learn from them. I want to understand them in the same way that I crave to be understood by them. I want to take pictures. I want to spend more time with Ben, with Gus Gus and Mimi. I want to just wake up each day and not be afraid.

To find the beauty in the world I know is ugly at heart. Do I want Vicente? I stare at him, at his beautiful face and despite everything, all of this, the answer is yes. I can’t stop loving him now that I’ve started. My heart doesn’t know any other way and it no longer belongs to me. It’s in his hands. Hands that maim and kill but hands I know will fight to keep me. “Violet,” he whispers, putting the gun down and crawling over to me until he’s on his knees at my side. He puts his hand to my good cheek and I close my eyes, feel a tear roll down it, over his fingers. “I love you.” His voice is urgent. “I love you and I will give you everything. When we get out of here, we will do whatever you want, go wherever you want. Just please don’t stop loving me. I’d sooner put that gun to my head.” “Don’t say that,” I say softly, reaching for his head, sinking my fingers into his hair. This feels good, too good, just to feel him like this. My hand makes a fist, afraid to let go of him. “I love you. I love you and I’m not going to stop. I couldn’t if I tried.” His eyes search mine, drowning in wildness. I feel his heart, his fears, pouring out of him. With a shaking hand he runs his fingers over my nose, my lips. “I promise you, I promise you I’ll give you the world.” “I just want you, Vicente,” I tell him as he leans in and kisses me gently. The simple act of his lips to mine seals something greater. It reaches into me like a fiery hand, stroking the dying embers inside, giving me greater resolve. To live. To fight. To love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Javier WHEN JAVIER WAS A LITTLE BOY, maybe seven or eight, before both his parents were killed, back when his childhood was happy, he used to work on the boats at the shore. They lived in La Cruz, a small, quaint town north of Puerto Vallarta that was popular with boaters who liked to anchor in the harbor. His dad wasn’t a good man—he was part of the Gulf Cartel—but he wasn’t a horrible father. Maybe he wasn’t always there, maybe he wasn’t always attentive, maybe having one son and four daughters was too much for him. But he did what he could. Javier helped him with his day job, which was being a boat mechanic. He would get his father water as he worked, maybe brought him parts. Sometimes he’d send Javier down the shore to scavenge for boat parts from washed up wrecks. Sometimes, when he was older, he’d get Javier to steal from gringo’s boats. Little Javier would sit on the shore with binoculars and watch the sailboats, watch the couples when they left their boats to visit a restaurant. Then he’d row out there and take and take and take. It wasn’t good or bad. It was just what he did. You might say that he was a child and he didn’t know any better, but he did. It just didn’t matter. One day his sister Beatriz wanted to come with him. She was often down by the shore, feeding the local dolphin pod leftover fish. The boat he had his eye on was close to shore and it was hot, as usual, and so both Javier and Beatriz decided to swim to the boat. About twenty minutes earlier the couple, gringos from Canada, had left the boat and took their dingy to beach. Sunset hour was very popular for the restaurants and the water was warm and Javier and Beatriz had more than enough time. The two of them swam to the boat, laughing, hoping the dolphins would join them. Then they climbed up the back of the sailboat, on the ladder that dunked into the ocean. They disappeared below deck. It was a big yacht, about fifty feet. Comfortable and breezy. They explored the main cabin first where the couple slept. Beatriz took a necklace that probably wasn’t worth much. Javier found some American cash.

Then they went to one of the back cabins beside the galley, underneath the cockpit, and started rummaging there. It was mainly extra bedding, towels, some trinkets, extra food. Javier found a chocolate bar and ate half of it, giving the other half to Beatriz. Then there was the sound of a motor. The couple had returned early. Javier and Beatriz froze, looking at each other with wide, shining eyes. They were going to get caught. Javier quickly closed the door to the cabin. There was nowhere to go in this tiny space except the closet, and even that would barely fit both of them. But they had no choice. They got in and latched the door. And spent most of the evening and night in there. It wasn’t until Javier was certain that the couple had to be asleep—he could hear someone snoring—that he nudged Beatriz and they carefully left the closet, then the cabin, then crawled out onto the deck. After being stuffed in that closet, the sea air and the view of La Cruz from the boat, fair lights twinkling in the middle of the night, was something else. For the first time in his life, Javier Bernal felt two things: One was fear. In that closet with his sister, he experienced pure terror for the first (and definitely not the last) time. For the hours they were trapped in there, he imagined the couple finding them both. Suddenly they were no longer wealthy Canadian snowbirds exploring the shores of Mexico. They were villains, ready to hurt and maim. Javier was afraid they’d cut him open, and even more than that, he was afraid they’d hurt his dear sister. The other thing he felt was that he liked the fear. Maybe not in the closet, imagining their slow and torturous demise (he already had quite the wicked imagination), but afterward, as he stood on that boat and realized he escaped. He’d never felt so alive. And from that moment onward, he knew he’d try and make fear his friend. That suited him well for most of his life. Except now. As he stands in his office, trying to ignore the needle that Barrera keeps piercing into his skin, makeshift stitches, fear doesn’t feel like a friend anymore. It’s not that Javier isn’t afraid. It’s that he’s afraid of something—someone—he never thought he’d be. His own fucking son. Try as he might, he can’t pretend this is business as usual. He can’t pretend that the fact that Vicente actually stabbed him with a knife wasn’t like being stabbed in the back. Javier could drown in his bitterness right now.

The terrible frustration. The fact that no matter what, Vicente doesn’t understand what he’s trying to do. Then again, if Javier had a few moments alone to think, he might realize he doesn’t really know what he’s trying to do. Not anymore. All he’s doing now is waiting. “Are you done yet?” Javier asks, leaning against the desk, eyes pinching shut at the thread tightening. “Almost,” Barrera says, sliding the needle through. “You’re lucky.” “Lucky,” Javier scoffs but that alone makes his side burn. “What the fuck is lucky about my own son trying to kill me?” “He wasn’t trying to kill you,” Barrera says patiently. “Well he wasn’t fucking hugging me.” Barrera looks up at him as he pulls the final stitch through. “It’s a clean cut. It will heal nicely. Vicente was only trying to hurt you, not kill you. If he wanted to kill you, you would be dead.” Javier knows that but it doesn’t make this any better. “What happened in there?” Barrera asks. Javier gives him a withering stare. “Now you’re asking questions? That’s not your style.” Barrera doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I warned you.” Javier ignores him. The humiliation burns deep. If only Parada hadn’t woken him up. If only he stayed in bed with his wife, drifting away with her arms around him. Tricking himself into thinking that everything was going to be all right. But when Parada came, he assumed it was because of someone else. Not his son. Still. He grabbed his gun. Because yes, Barrera did warn him. And Javier thought maybe Vicente would try something. But he didn’t expect this. I should probably be proud of him, Javier thinks. And fuck it, he is. His son was more ruthless than he could have imagined. But that’s only because of her. Javier had assumed that Vicente took up with Violet because he enjoyed fucking her, getting caught up with having his dick sucked every night. She wasn’t the same old putas he could hire here. She was something new and exquisite. Forbidden. Javier knew himself how easy it was to fall head over heels for someone when your hormones are at an all-time high, how interchangeable love and lust were. Because he fell for Ellie quickly. Days, really. And his son has done the same with Violet.

He sees it now. Knows it. With every breath he takes, he bleeds it. And he’ll pay for it. It will be the last time he underestimates his son. “What do you want me to do with them?” Barrera asks. Javier grabs his shirt off the desk, slides it on carefully over the stitches. “I don’t know. Keep them there for now.” “Vicente has his gun still.” Javier nods. Wonders what will happen now that Vicente will see what’s happened to Violet. He was lucky to escape when he did, while Vicente was stunned, before he saw the extent of the damage. Javier remembers what it was like to rescue Luisa from the brink of death. To see his love so ravaged and ruined. He’s never forgotten the way it broke him, then the anger that repaired him. His sworn vengeance against the men that wronged her. How good it felt to kill them. He doesn’t expect Vicente to feel any different. Perhaps he won’t be broken after all. At that thought, Javier lapses into silence. Outside, the crickets chirp. The bottle of tequila calls him. It’s either that or go back to bed to Luisa, but she’ll know what’s wrong, see he’s injured. He’ll have to tell her what happened. And that’s the last thing he wants right now, for Luisa to feel torn between husband and son. He knows he’s already put her in that position. Javier sighs and wonders where it all started to go wrong. Whose fault is all of this? He’s about to say something to Barrera, question, out loud, if any of this was worth it. But there’s a knock at the door. “What?” Javier barks, pained and irritable. Parada pokes his head in. “Patron? Something’s happened. A situation.” “Situation?” “There’s a woman at the front gate. A gringa.” And just like that, every doubt Javier had slips away, discarded like a snake shedding its skin. “Who is it?” he asks, trying to hide the excitement from his voice but failing. Even Barrera is eying him curiously, not expecting this at all. “I don’t know, I just saw her on the security monitor,” he says. “Pablo says she’s here to see you. Do you want her escorted in?” A grin slowly spreads across Javier’s face. “No, no. Keep the guns on her. And around her. She’s probably not alone. But let us go out and meet her.” Parada nods and leaves. Barrera looks Javier over. “What is this?” “You don’t have to know everything,” Javier says, almost gleefully. Fuck, it is glee.

He’s been waiting a long time for this. Twenty-odd years.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Ellie “I’M HERE to see Javier Bernal,” Ellie says outside the gate to the faceless men barking at her in Spanish. The spotlight fixes on her. She can only blink at it, trying not to blind herself. Her hands are up over her head. She doesn’t have a gun or any weapon on her. She knew there was no point. Getting to the compound wasn’t easy. After they left Camden, Gus, and El Segundo, they had to trek most of the day and evening through the jungle, Ben reading their location through the GPS. When they were a mile outside of the compound, Ben and her split up. That was the worst part. She could tell Ben didn’t want to let her go on her own, but it was as far as he could go and not be spotted by their sensors. And she didn’t want to leave Ben, just in case something happened to him. Or her, for that matter. Like with Camden and Gus, she was acutely aware that she might fail. That she might not make it back, let alone with Violet. It was best not to dwell on it. She told Ben she loved him. He told her he loved her. And that he forgave her for everything. That he understood. That she was his mother, the best mother anyone could have. It took everything not to cry. Ellie coated her heart with an inch of steel. It was the only way she could continue. She went on through the jungle alone, just following Ben’s directions. Eventually, she was spotted by a drone flying overhead, its light on her. It didn’t shoot though, just observed for a moment before flying off, perhaps to look for the rest of her party and she kept walking, now along a dirt road, the very

road Ben said would take her to the gates. And it did. She approached the gates slowly. Guns were drawn. Orders were barked. And now she’s waiting. There are two men behind her, AKs aimed at her head. On the other side of the fence there’s a spotlight, illuminating her. And two shadowy figures passing in front of it, providing short relief from the intense glare. The gate opens smoothly. A tall, lanky man with wide-shoulders appears, comes over to her. Ellie looks up at him. Thinks he’s interesting looking, the slinky way he moves, the quiet way he looks her over. He’s got a calming presence, which she knows isn’t a good thing. “Senora,” The man says and his voice is raspy, low. “What is your name, por favor?” “Ellie McQueen.” “Mmmm,” he muses, rubbing his goatee, like her answer is something to ponder. In the darkness, his eyes glint like a predator’s. Ellie wishes she felt empowered. She fakes it. Throws her shoulders back, raises her chin, keeps her eyes on him. “Were you expecting someone else?” She swears she can see a hint of smile across his face before it’s quickly swallowed up by the shadows. “I suppose not. Please keep your hands where I can see them. I must search you.” He comes forward, his height dwarfing her, but she doesn’t shrink. She holds her ground. Plays by the rules. Keeps her hands up. He runs his hands softly around her neck, lifting up her hair, then over her bare arms, down the sides of her dirty tank top, over her shorts, between her legs. Ellie tenses, expecting funny business but he works quickly, his palms hot. He does pause, though, over her scars on her leg. In fact, he does more than pause. He peers at the tattoo and the scarring in the stark spotlight and almost recoils. No, Ellie thinks. He’s not disgusted. He recognizes this. The look is very faint in those squinting eyes of his, but it’s there for a moment and then gone. He straightens up and yells over his shoulder toward the spotlight. “She’s all clear. She has nothing.” The other shadowed figure she saw earlier, the one to the side of the light, comes forward. Now she tenses. Now she freezes.

A doe in a literal headlight. All this time and she still recognizes that walk anywhere. An animal, all coiled power and predatory elegance. Only it’s changed. Slightly off-balance, though still smooth and confident. He’s injured, Ellie thinks to herself. She hopes Violet did it to him, but she knows that Violet would have to suffer the consequences if that were the case (if she hasn’t already). And there he stops. Close enough to Ellie that she can make out his features in the shadows, backlit from behind. The air may be hot and muggy. But her blood runs cold as she stares at his face. Very cold. His face may have wrinkles, perhaps more so because of the shadows, his hair a bit shorter, streaked with grey. He’s the same height, same build, managed to keep off the paunch that descends on men in their middle age. But the eyes are the same, she thinks. Or almost. There’s something different in them too. Something she can’t quite read. Still, the fact that Javier Bernal is standing in front of her, very much looking the way he did back then, is completely jarring. Disorienting. Him, combined with the spotlight and the night’s humidity, it almost feels like a wicked dream. A nightmare come to life. It doesn’t help that he’s dressed down like she rarely saw him, in grey sweatpants and a t-shirt. A big, fresh bloodstain at his side, making everything extra bizarre. “Ellie McQueen,” Javier says with reverence, extra emphasis on her new, to him, last name. “This is what you’re calling yourself now? Always having to change things.” He pauses. “I was wondering when you might show up.” He says this like she was supposed to come over for dinner earlier and was running a bit late. Ellie isn’t fooled. She stopped being fooled by him a long time ago. She says nothing, just stares at him, feeling pulled back into the past. This is a man she never thought she’d see again. Hoped she’d never see. And yet here she is, on his turf. Defenseless except for the determination to get her child back. That counts for more than one would think. “I have to say, I admire you greatly,” he says, stepping forward. One, two, three steps. Until he’s just a foot away. He smells like antiseptic, and she’s not sure if that’s from drinking or whatever wound he has in his to cause him to bleed like that. Again, she’s hoping Violet had some role in this.

“I often wondered what you would be like as a mother,” he says, tilting his head as he glances her over. “I figured you would be fierce and protective. A lioness with her cubs. I counted on it, in fact. I didn’t know you’d shelter her though. I thought you would have raised her to become more like you.” Finally, Ellie speaks. She can’t help it. “And what is that?” Her voice shakes slightly. He smiles softly, reaches out and catches the bottom of her chin with his fingers, lifting it. His fingertips are rough, calloused, and she thinks about the Javier she used to know, who rarely got his hands dirty. “I thought you would have raised her to have no shame. To take pride in what you are. What you always have been.” He pauses, his hand dropping away. “Which is no good.” His assumptions don’t bother her. Nothing he can say can bother her, though she knows he’ll try. He’ll try and get under her skin. Disturb her. Because that’s what he does. Anyway, she doesn’t have to explain anything. She presses her lips shut in defiance. He winks at her. Then turns to wave at his men. “You can turn the light off now. Barrera and I will escort her inside.” “Do you have my daughter?” Ellie asks before he tries to take her. “Violet? Do you have her? Is she alive?” He watches her for a moment and then nods. “Yes to all of those.” He glances at Barrera who comes over. “She deserves something nice. Let’s take her to the hut.” The hut? Ellie thinks. “Can I see her? Is that where you’re taking me?” Javier grabs her bicep, his grip stronger than it needs to be. “We’ll deal with the questions later. You’ve obviously had a long day. You need to rest, Ellie.” He smiles at her, a sight that contrasts with his pinching grip on her arm. “How funny it is to call you that again.” He leads her through the gate, Barrera on her other side. He doesn’t even have a gun pulled. Ellie supposes there is no point. There are a million aimed at her head from all directions. “So where are your friends?” Javier asks, pulling her along as they walk down a long, tiled driveway. “Your husband? Our darling Camden.” “Not here,” she says. “I have a hard time believing he would let you off on your own. Figured he loved you more than that, to just let you waltz off to visit your ex-boyfriend.” Ellie doesn’t say anything. “In fact, I have a hard time believing you don’t have a posse of middle-aged renegades somewhere out there in the jungle.” He looks her up and down as they cross over a grassy lawn, mowed impeccably short. “Then again, you’ve always been a one-woman show.”

While the main house is large and lavish, done up in typical Hacienda style, Javier and Barrera lead Ellie to one of the outlying building nestled under a canopy of palms, the motion sensor lights coming on as they walk. In any other circumstance, this could look like a resort, with the huts the upgraded accommodation for space and privacy. But Ellie knows that the huts are distant from the main house for a reason. The perfect place to put guests. You couldn’t smell them if they were left to rot and die. It isn’t lost on her either how Javier is treating her more like a guest than anything. She’s not sure if he’s being delusional or just playing his usual game. He’s the cat, she’s the mouse, and it’s his style to toy with her for a bit, have a little fun. She’s not sure if pain and torture await her in the hut, but she is sure that Javier isn’t done with her yet. Not by a long-shot. “Here we are, Ellie,” Javier says while Barrera opens the door with a key card. High tech. Maybe it really is supposed to be a hotel. The lights flick on. He wasn’t kidding, it is pretty nice in here. Terracotta tile floors connect a small dining area and kitchen with two bedrooms and a bathroom. Big windows are all around, plus what looks to be French doors leading out to a lanai. It’s only if you look closely that you realize there’s a difference to the room. All windows have bars on them, probably coupled with unbreakable glass. All furniture seems to be glued into the floor. Ellie automatically looks around for the nearest escape route and the closest weapon, but finds neither. She’s certain none of the cupboards hold any plates, utensils, anything at all. There are no lamps. There’s absolutely nothing you could use to hurt another, other than brute force and that’s something Ellie lacks. She’s tough and in shape but she’s not sure she could take on Javier, even if he was weaponless. Doesn’t mean she won’t try, though. And as they stop in the middle of the hut, Javier’s eyes follow hers. “You’ll be free to do what you wish in here. There’s water, coffee. I’m sure we can bring you food later. Luisa has a few trees here that give the best bananas and avocados you’ve ever tasted. I guarantee.” Right. The wife. She oughta be a work of art, Ellie thinks, hoping though that Luisa has a shred of conscience and won’t hurt Violet. Violet. She can’t let Javier forget why she’s here, even though she knows that’s what he’s trying to do. Javier watches her for a moment, thinking, then looks to Barrera. “I’ll take it from here. Perhaps go check on Vicente and Violet.” Ellie snaps to attention. “They’re together?” Javier nods. “Si. We couldn’t keep those two apart. We tried, believe me. I know

you tried too. But they’re something else. They put us to shame, don’t you think?” Ellie sucks in an impatient breath, trying to play her cards right, but she’s starting to fail. Her weakness is showing. If she pushes too much, she won’t be able to see Violet. It’s Javier’s game and she has to play it his way. She knew that would be his strategy. He’d pretend for as long as he could that she was here because she wanted to be. “Si, patron,” Barrera says. He glances at Ellie with an expression she can’t read and then leaves. When the door shuts behind him, sealing them in, that’s when Ellie really starts to panic. She’s alone with Javier. Instinctively she takes a step back. Javier cocks his head, frowns. “You have nowhere to run Ellie. It’s just me and you now.” He licks his lips. “I have waited a long time for this.” “For what?” “To see you again. Don’t tell me you haven’t felt the same way.” Her look hardens. “You know why I’m here, Javier, so cut out the bullshit.” “Ah, there she is. The angry girl I know. I was wondering when you would show up.” “I showed up because you have my daughter. I am here to get her back.” “Yet you walked right up to my gate and asked for me,” he says, stepping toward her. “You asked for me because you wanted to see me.” “I don’t want to see you,” Ellie grinds out, trying to keep her rage in check. “I know it’s the only way I’ll save Violet.” “Again, I admire you, how protective you are over her,” he says. “Mind you, she doesn’t really need it. She’s tougher than you’ll ever be. Yet soft. Such a strange combination.” “Did she do this to you?” she gestures to his wound and wonders what would happen if she drove her fist in there. Surely it would stun him. “No, that was Vicente,” he says. She looks at him in surprise. “Vicente?” A flash of something hot and sour comes across Javier’s eyes. It’s painful for him to talk about it, she can see this. “You know kids. They don’t listen to their parents.” Don’t even think about relating to him, she tells herself and goes back to focusing on his wound. Before she can say something else, Javier reaches out and grabs her by her hair, making a fist in it, holding it tightly. Ellie cries out as he pulls her right against him and leers down at her. “Don’t even think about it,” he whispers harshly, as if they aren’t alone. “I feel nothing right now except the satisfaction that you’re here. You try for the cheap shot and I have no problems in making things worse for you. I’d say the same for Violet, but I don’t think things can get worse for her. But we’ll see.”

Her vision fills with pain and white hot rage. He doesn’t let go of her. His eyes stay latched on hers, burning away. “There is so much I want to talk to you about. So much I want to do. I don’t even know where to start.” His fist tightens, releasing a cry from her lips. “You do know you’re the villain in all of this, don’t you?” Ellie can barely speak. He shakes her, bringing her face up so it’s inches from his. She wishes she could look away but she’s caught in his eyes as she so often used to be. Not from the lust that used to plague her, or even the love that seems like it never happened, but from the sheer curiosity of what he’s going to do next. “You’re the villain,” he says again, seeming to compose himself. His grip loosens in her hair, her scalp throbbing with sweet relief. “I was fine. I had a good job, I had plans and goals. And you came into my life with your perfect tits and your blonde hair and your limp, god it was fucking adorable. I immediately wanted to both fuck you and protect you and I did that. I did. I would have done anything for you and you knew it.” He’s staring at her lips now, his hand sliding down to the back of her neck. She remembers very well how he used to hold her there possessively, even in public. “To think how easy it would have been to just spend the rest of my life with you. Marry you. Father your children. Back then, that’s what I assumed would happen. But you never saw it that way because the whole time you were with me, you were lying. It was all a lie. And then you left me.” Ellie knows she shouldn’t try and defend herself but she can’t help it. They’ve been over it a million times and it still won’t fucking die. “I caught you sleeping with someone else.” “It was just business. You know that.” She shakes her head. That’s what she gets for trying to get a word in, that’s what she gets for caring at a time like this. “You know I loved you, I really did,” Javier says. “But we were fools back then.” “Is that why you’re still obsessed over me, you never stopped being a fool?” “Perhaps, Ellie,” he says, his grip on her neck tightening. “But you never did pay for your crimes against me. That was just the first one. Then there’s the time you left me handcuffed to a fence so the feds could haul me off to jail.” “Don’t forget when I pulled the trigger.” “Ah yes. How could I? You tried to kill me. Wasn’t very nice of you. So you see, all of this that’s happening now, is because of you.” She exhales, trying to keep her wits with her and not get sucked into this spiral of the past. If Javier wants to brandish her a villain, he can go right ahead. “I just want you to let Violet go.” “Let Violet go?” he asks. She doesn’t like how surprised he looks. “You have me now,” she says. “Let her go. You’ve got what you want.” “No, no, no,” he says, releasing her and strolling away, hands behind his back. “That’s not how this works at all. You really thought this was a trade?” He looks

over his shoulder at her. “My god, you still have quite the ego, don’t you?” She doesn’t understand. Stares at him, trying to figure out his reasoning, trying to quell the fiery coal of horror in her chest. He comes back to her, stops a foot away, crossing his arms across his chest. “If my own son begs for me to let her go and I don’t, why would I do it for you? No. You’re a nice bonus. A dream come true. Something I hoped would happen. But even if you never showed up, I still would have gotten my revenge.” “What revenge?” she whispers. “I lost because of you,” he says simply. “Now you must lose because of me.” Oh god. Oh fucking god. He means to kill her. He might mean to kill both of them. This isn’t at all what she thought would happen. He’s more savage than she ever could have ever predicted. And that was her fault. Cloudy memories. Lured by the past. Thinking he was bad, evil, wicked but still redeemable. Not an absolute monster. Her father was right. Time was an incubator for him. And here the monster was hatching. “Please, Javier,” she says, shaking her head. “Don’t do this. Don’t hurt her. Hurt me but let her go.” “I like it when you beg,” he says. “She never did.” Ellie tries to swallow. “Please.” He stares right into her eyes but his expression doesn’t change. She searches for an ounce of humanity but doesn’t find it. “You know, it’s not just about you either,” he says. “Vicente should have known better than to fall in love with her. I’m doing him a favor really. If she’s anything like you. It’s so much better, cleaner, that I break him before she does.” “You’re fucking crazy!” Ellie yells at him and without thinking slams her hands into his chest, pushing him backward. “You’ve lost your fucking mind, you sick fuck!” Javier stares at her in surprise before it switches over to anger, grabs her arm and throws her against the opposite wall. He pins her there, his body pressed against hers. “My mind has never been better,” he says roughly, practically hissing into her ear. “I’ve never been sharper. You just can’t see it because you happen to be on the losing end of this. For once. But what I’m doing will make everything better. For my family. For me. You would do the same if you had the fucking guts.” “I’m sorry it comes at your expense,” he goes on, tone softening as he pulls back slightly to gaze at her face. “Yeah. I actually am sorry for that.” He shrugs, as if surprised. “But I don’t feel bad for what I’m doing. I feel no guilt. This is how I’ve survived. You’ve made me into this man, the man I needed to be.” Ellie doesn’t know how to reason. How to bargain. How to beg.

But she does it anyway. “Please.” “Please what?” “Let her go. You’ve won. I’ve lost. Let her go.” “And then what? Keep you here forever as what? My slave? My wife probably wouldn’t be happy about that. Or maybe she would. It’s hard to say with her, sometimes she surprises me.” She looks him dead in the eye. “I will do anything.” He smirks. “I know you will, Ellie. All in good time.” He slips one hand over to her waist, slides it underneath her tank top. Closes his eyes briefly. “You know the last time I was this close to you, we were in a similar situation. Do you remember?” Ellie closes her eyes, her body stiffening. “So you do,” he says. “You know I wonder if you still feel the same, taste the same.” His hand slips lower to the front of her jean shorts. He slowly undoes the button. Ellie swallows hard, feels his erection growing, pressing against her thigh. She is not at all surprised that this is where this is all going. But that doesn’t make her any less disgusted, any less scared. Which, again, is Javier’s whole point. “The only difference is we’re both married now,” Ellie manages to say, closing her eyes, hoping to ride it out, just as he unzips them, the sound echoing in the room. “Yes,” Javier says. “That is a big difference.” His fingers slip between her underwear and her skin, going lower. Her whole body tenses. “I wouldn’t dream of being unfaithful to her,” he goes on. “Oh, I’ve made mistakes in the past. Mistakes that never meant much but they hurt her, still.” “And you cared enough to stop?” she asks as his finger brushes over her clit. Luckily, thankfully, she feels nothing but anger. And humiliation. There’s that too. “Of course,” he says, his lips going to her neck. “I’m not an animal.” If there was anything funny about this, Ellie would laugh. He licks her from the base of her neck, all the way up to her jaw. She pinches her eyes even more shut, ready to sucker punch him. But then again, she did say she would do anything he wanted. As long as she got Violet back. It takes everything she has to stop herself from shuddering with horror. “This pussy used to be mine,” Javier says, reaching down further, rubbing around her entrance. “Do you remember how I used to fuck you? You were a fucking dirty angel, weren’t you? Would let me do whatever I wanted. I could choke you, fuck your sweet ass, you’d take my cock all fucking day. Fuck you so hard you’d feel it in your fucking throat. Wanted it, begged for it. Couldn’t get enough of it. Now look at you. I can’t even make you wet. You can make me hard though, but it’s mainly because I know how bad I’m making you feel right now.” He removes his hand and pulls down his sweat pants until his erection springs

free, cock hot and throbbing as it’s pressed against her. Ellie tries to retreat to a better place inside her head. “And you’ll let Violet go if I let you do this?” she whispers. He pauses. “This?” “You’re going to fuck me, aren’t you?” He laughs. “Fuck you? Ellie. Have some respect. I just said I would never be unfaithful to my wife again. She means the whole fucking world to me. She’s the reason I do what I do. Why you’re even here. What’s the point in trying to rule the world if you have no one to rule it with?” Ellie’s eyes snap open. She’s relieved but unable to comprehend any of this. “What?” He reaches down and starts stroking his cock before slipping it back into his pants. “Sorry to get you all worked up.” “Fuck you,” she snarls at him, holding back the urge to grab his dick and twist it before jabbing her thumb into his eye. Javier, always playing the ultimate mindfuck. He grins at her, delighting in how easily disturbed she is. “Ah, maybe in another life. For now, though, I’m just going to keep you here. I might even send my wife in, just so you know the woman I married. God forbid you actually get along.” Then Javier turns and strolls away toward the door. Ellie is too humiliated, angry and stunned to do anything but watch him go. He flicks his own keycard from his pocket and it opens. He glances at her over his shoulder. “I’m not even close to being done with you, Ellie Watt. This is only the beginning.” Then he steps out. Leaving her his prisoner. But as disturbing as that all was, Ellie refuses to feel hopeless. Whether Javier plans to let Violet go or not, Ellie will get her out. She knows this. And then there’s Ben, waiting in the jungle somewhere. Waiting for just the right time when everything he needs to line up gets lined up. She just prays the right time happens before it’s too late.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Vicente I’VE NEVER HAD a lot of patience. I’ve tried to but it’s not something that comes naturally. In some ways I wonder if that will hamper me when it comes to running a cartel. In other ways, I realize my father has no patience either and if he can do it, so can I. I just know I won’t be running this cartel. Unless I kill him. And I hate to admit it, but that’s still a distinct possibility. It especially becomes one after I discovered what happened to Violet’s leg. She was trying so hard to hide that injury, even after what had happened to her wrist and her cheek. But every time she moved her leg, she’d wince in pain. The fabric of her pant leg brushing against the burns. She finally had to rip the pant leg off at the knee to let her skin breathe and be free. I nearly lost it. In fact, I did lose it. Seeing that pink and red skin bubbled up all over her calf and shin, knowing what had happened to her mother, made me lose all sense of control, all sense of right and wrong. I roared like a wild animal. I broke the chairs. Smashed the table. I ruined the room while Violet watched me with wide eyes. And then I fired the gun at the door. I had just enough control and skill to aim for the lock. The bullet blasted through it. That was supposed to happen. Eventually. When Violet had a bit of strength to make our escape. I pulled the literal trigger too early. But it doesn’t matter now.

Because the door is open and I’m fueled by vengeance. I turn around and grab Violet by her bicep, helping her to her feet. “This is our chance,” I tell her. “Can you run?” She nods, frightened. “Yes.” “Okay. Stay behind me.” I take off for the door, pausing for a moment before kicking it wide open. The door swings back and I leap into the hallway, my gun drawn. Parada is just outside, already poised to fire. I don’t hesitate. I shoot him right between the eyes. He drops to the floor and I grab the gun from his hands as the blood starts to pool from the hole in his head. I give Violet the gun and she stares at Parada’s dead body without much reaction. She’s changed so much already. All because of my father. I growl internally, vowing to find him, and start running down the hall, Violet right behind me. We run up the stairs to the main level, both of us with our guns at the ready, looking back and forth down the upstairs hall. Violet starts toward the kitchen door, visible from where we are. But I’m starting to move toward the front staircase at the other end of the hall. The one that leads straight up to my parent’s bedroom. “Where are you going?” Violet hisses at me. It’s dark in the house but the kitchen is casting enough light to show the fear in her eyes. “To find my father,” I tell her. “Vicente, no. We’re leaving now.” “I can’t let him get away with what he did to you,” I whisper harshly. “If you don’t, then we won’t get away at all,” she says. “We have to go, now. Please. Before someone stops us. La Mueca.” “I’ll kill him before he gets a chance.” “Is that so?” La Mueca muses, his voice clear in the house. I turn around to see him leaning outside the entrance to the living room, his gun trained on us. Jesus, was he there this whole time? “Lower your gun, senorita,” he says quietly. I look over my shoulder at Violet who is pointing it at his face, her arm shaking. “Be a good girl or I will have to shoot you,” La Mueca says. He is staring at her so intently, so strangely, like pulling the trigger is the last thing he wants, I have to wonder if he feels anything for her at all. I know he can and will shoot her before she even gets a chance to pull the trigger. I know he’ll do the same to me before I can get a shot off. If I’m lucky, I may be able to hit him somewhere but what does that matter if the both of us are dead. It’s time to try and bargain with him.

Plead. But before I can open my mouth, La Mueca is speaking again. “There is a new development,” he says slowly, eying me over the gun. “Which makes things a great deal more complicated.” “What development?” I ask. He glances quickly at Violet. “Her mother is here.” “What?!” Violet shrieks. La Mueca raises his finger to his lips, shushing her, then points subtly to the ceiling. “They don’t know you’ve escaped. Yet.” “Why is her mother here?” I whisper. “Ellie McQueen?” He nods. “Yes. She came to the gates with her hands in the air. A trade for you, senorita.” “Oh my god,” Violet cries out, her gun lowering, seeming beside herself. “Oh my god, she’s here. She actually came for me. Why would she…” She shakes her head, meets my eyes. “Did you know?” “No, of course not.” I look to La Mueca. “But you knew.” “I suspected,” he says. “But…” “It wasn’t your place to ask.” “Si.” “Fuck,” I swear, knowing this is killing Violet and throwing a wrench in our wheels. “He has her and he’s not about to let her go,” La Mueca says. “You understand? I don’t know if Javier will let you go either.” “Will you?” I ask him. La Mueca stares at me thoughtfully, his eyes shining dark in the dim light. “That depends.” “La Mueca,” I say. He cocks a brow. “Si?” “When you work for me, it will be your place to ask questions. I want you to ask questions. I want your counsel. Your advice. And for you to have a greater piece of the pie.” I can feel Violet’s eyes burning on me, wondering what the hell I’m doing. But I know exactly what I’m doing. And I’m not lying either. “What makes you think I want to work for you instead of your father?” La Mueca asks. “After all, he has all of this. And what do you have?” He glances at Violet. “Other than her, of course.” “You know what I have.” He’s been hinting at this from the start. Watching how I play the game, watching how I keep advancing, no matter the obstacle. Doing what I have to do. I knew it the moment he saw me downstairs, holding my father at gunpoint, after I’d already stabbed him. He knew right then that I would be the winning team.

And as he said the other day, he follows orders of the best because he is the best at what he does. I just hope he’s willing to slum it for a while first. “Vicente,” Violet says. I look at her. I know she’s not thrilled at what I’m trying to do, that I should be trying to murder the man who broke her wrist. But I already know the right deals have to be made at the right times, and that might include working with someone you’d rather not. But despite all La Mueca has done, I need him on my side. And I’m praying, fucking praying, he’s just ambiguous enough to side with me. He lowers his gun slightly but doesn’t put it away. He’s weighing his options. He holds all the cards now. Not my father. Not me. The sicario. “I want in as a partner,” he says to me. “Equal share. Between the three of us.” “What are you talking about?” Violet asks. It’s not like I’ve had the time to share my plans with her. At the moment she just wants to get out of here, to live. And now, rescue her mother. Talking about building a separate empire and ruling a cartel is saved for another day. I ignore her, nod at Le Mueca. “You get a seat at the table.” “And you know if you don’t make this happen, my friend…” “You’ll probably kill me? Yeah, I know. But it will happen.” “I don’t doubt it,” he says simply. “I never did.” He sighs and sticks his gun in his waistband. “Okay. So where do we start?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Javier JAVIER HAS NEVER BEEN SO FUCKING turned on in his entire life. And considering it’s Javier, that says a lot. It doesn’t matter that it’s the middle of the night. It doesn’t matter that he has a freshly-stitched stab wound in his side. Or the fact that it was his son that did the stabbing. And it’s not that Ellie is as wickedly attractive as she was back then (okay, it’s a little bit of that). It’s that he finally got what he wanted. As crazy as it all seems, he got that sense of accomplishment. The sense of winning. He was surprised at how fulfilling it actually was, to watch Ellie come onto his property with her hands in the air, ready to bend to his every whim. Especially when he got her alone in the hut, was able to smell the fear off of her, revel in her humiliation. It almost made up for what she did to him. He remembers the moment the cops found him handcuffed to that fence. When they realized they had captured Javier Bernal and on their home turf. How happy they were. How utterly low Javier felt to be taken in, all because of Ellie. It was even worse when he left prison and had to crawl back to Mexico with his tail between his legs and nearly start all over again. All because of Ellie. So to see her disgust as he tasted her neck, felt between her legs, touched her in places that only her husband is allowed to, that meant something to him. To see how desperate she was to have her daughter back, to see the threat of loss in her eyes, that meant something to him, too. It felt a lot like the world clicking into place. Some would say karma, but Javier never much believed in that. What he did believe in was that sooner or later, everyone will be at the same level, everything will even out. It was just luck if you were alive to see it happen. And this was his lucky fucking day. In fact, his plans for Violet and Vicente are hanging in the balance.

He might just call the whole thing off. Maybe. First, he has his wife to fuck. He goes to the bedroom and shuts the door, hoping the sound wakes her. It does. Luisa stirs, sits up. “Javi?” she asks. “What are you doing? What time is it?” She flicks on the bedroom lamp. Looks at him standing by the door in a bloodstained shirt and with a massive erection. Damn if Javier doesn’t see a look of hunger in her eyes at the sight of him. Always surprising me, my queen, Javier thinks to himself. And he knows he made the right choice with her. Not that he ever doubts himself. “What happened?” she says as he walks toward her, her eyes going between the imprint of his dick in his sweat pants and the blood on his shirt. “I had an accident,” Javier tells her, taking off his shirt. She gasps at the stitches. “Vicente?” “Don’t worry, he’s with Violet now. Thought I would leave them together.” She’s still staring at him in disbelief and he can tell she wants to ask more questions, questions that would no doubt kill this mood. “I’ll explain all after,” he says, slipping off his pants. Luisa’s eyes widen. He grins. Fucking hell is he going to give it to her. He gets on the bed, prowling over to her and she’s stunned as he runs his hands roughly over her exquisite breasts, pinching at her nipples hard, sucking her neck into his mouth. It takes her no time to adapt, relaxing under him, her nails going along his neck, shoulder, back, lightly scratching, just the way he likes it. Later she’ll dig her nails in deep and draw blood, or perhaps not. She might take it easy on him since he’s already bleeding. And the wound doesn’t stop Javier from fucking her like a madman. It doesn’t slow down his rhythm, doesn’t hold back his thrusts. He thinks of all the things he said to Ellie earlier, things he had meant, and realizes how good he has it with his wife, the woman that embraces all her good and bad and the grey areas in between. Ellie’s pussy might have been his back then, but Luisa’s is his now and forever. And it’s a fucking wonderful thing to claim. When he’s done driving her to a climax, he pulls out and comes all over her chest, wiping his seed into his skin, as he likes to do. Then he buries his head between her legs to bring her to another orgasm. Yes, this pussy is all his, all perfectly his. When she’s come again, panting, writhing like he hasn’t seen in years, only then does he feel at peace.

With Ellie submissive and ruined in his hut, his wife happy and sated in his bed, he feels more at peace than he ever has. It doesn’t take long to fall asleep, the kind of deep sleep you don’t ever want to wake up from. HE WAKES UP TO A SLAP, clear across his face. Stunned, he blinks, then sits straight up, reaching for his gun under the pillow, ready to fight whoever just struck him. But it’s Luisa who is standing over him in her robe, looking furious in the low light, the bedside lamp turned on. Now it’s his turn to ask what happened. “You asshole,” Luisa sneers at him. “You come in here with that fucking big dick of yours and fuck my brains out but it’s only because she’s here.” Ah, yes. Ellie. He expected this to happen. He rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Luisa, dear, it’s not what you think.” “Not what I think? You were doing who knows what to her and then you come here because clearly you needed to fuck someone.” “The only person I clearly needed to fuck was you. And I did.” “Because she turned you on!” He gives her a pointed look. “She did not turn me on. I mean, yes, she’s obviously still attractive. Very attractive.” Luisa slaps him across the face again. Javier is growing less impressed by the second. “You do that again and there will be hell to pay.” “She’s your ex-lover and she’s on our land. How the hell did she even get here? How did she find us?” “Emphasis on ex, Luisa. And I don’t know but she’s not an idiot, she’s smart as hell and a con artist and she’s a mother. What did you expect? That she would just let us take her daughter and not give everything to get her back?” “You made her sound like a horrible person, one I assumed wouldn’t care if her daughter was taken.” “Well she’s not a horrible person…” He stops himself, realizing he’s about to defend Ellie to his wife and nothing good can come from this. “She’s a good mother. I guess,” he quickly adds. “And the reason I came in here all hot and bothered was because I got what I wanted and I wanted to fuck you.” “Your revenge?” He shrugs. “What can I say. Maybe I’m easier to please than I thought.” She stares at him for a moment, the wheels turning in her head, her nostrils flaring as she tries to calm down and put everything together. Finally she says to him, “I want to see her.” Javier raises his brows. “Ellie? Now?” “Yes, now. I want to meet the woman who broke you. The woman you’ve been

harping on about forever. I want to know why she was so special.” “You’re sounding jealous, my dear.” “I’m not jealous. I don’t give a fuck who you fucked in the past. But this puta is infamous in our lives and I want to meet her myself.” He narrows his eyes at her. “You’re not going to do anything to her, are you?” “Like what?” “I don’t know,” he says as he slowly swings his legs out of the bed, careful with the stab wound. “It’s four a.m. and you’ve slapped me twice already. Seems you might be in a fighting mood.” “I’ll be good,” she says. “I just want to see her.” He sighs, running his hand over his face. He gets the feeling that whatever peace he had is going to be lost pretty soon. He should have cut his losses when he had the chance. “All right,” he says, putting on a pair of jeans and grey t-shirt. “You’re not bringing a gun?” she asks. He shakes his head. “You know what’s in the hut. There’s nothing she can hurt us with. We’ve never had an incident with anyone in there before. But if I bring a gun, there’s a chance she can get it off of me. And believe me, she’ll use it. She’s tried to kill me before.” Together they leave the room. Out in the hallway he sees Frankie and Parada, tired on their feet, drinking hot coffee. Everyone is on night shift tonight. “Where’s Barrera?” he asks Parada. He shrugs. “Watching Vicente I assume.” He clears his throat. “Sorry the missus found out about her. She overheard me and Frankie talking when she was getting some juice from the kitchen.” Javier can’t be bothered with a response and takes Luisa down the hall. She would have found out sooner or later, he just would have rather it been during the daytime when he wasn’t exhausted. This is turning into the longest night of his fucking life. Hand in hand they make the long walk along the meandering stone path that takes them from the backdoor by the kitchen, through the fruit trees and garden that Luisa tends to, through the groves of exotic palms, all lit by small lanterns. Javier is struck by the fact he’s never really noticed these lights before, nor the deep sounds of the crickets, or the groomed beauty of the landscaping. He just focused before on what wasn’t there, like that fucking unfinished koi pond. Not seeing how normal and beautiful it all seems amongst so much chaos and dirtiness. His own house, his own property itself is something to take pride in. They built all this and they still have it. It’s still theirs. And Luisa is still his as he is hers. But their son…for once Javier is wondering if the damage might be irreversible. One would think the stab wound was a clue. It’s enough that Javier has to stop Luisa, just as they enter the fruit trees and pull her to him.

He cups her face in her hands, searching her eyes in the dim light. “You’re mine, my queen, you know this,” he says gruffly. She nods. “No,” he says, shaking her slightly. “I love you. Only you. Always you. I don’t know what’s going to happen going forward. What Ellie is going to say. What you’re going to think. I just need you to know that I love you with every inch of my black heart and dirty soul and I will do everything I can to keep you.” Tears well in her eyes. She nods again, her chin quivering. “Sometimes I don’t know. But I do now. Thank you, Javi.” She stands on her tip toes and kisses him softly on the lips. “I know I’ve been…irrational, lately,” he admits, not letting go of her. “I just…I can’t bear to lose what we have. We’ve lost so much already with the cartel. I can’t stand to lose Vicente, too. I would rather have him hate me for the rest of my life than to raise someone weak. Someone who won’t be able to handle this life.” “Our son is the opposite of weak, Javier,” Luisa says. “And he can handle this. He can handle more than you think.” She glances down at his wound. “I don’t think you can afford to underestimate him anymore.” No, I can’t, he thinks grimly. It might be the death of me. They resume walking and soon come to the hut. There is one light on inside, one outside, attracting an array of moths. Javier knocks first, out of strange courtesy, and then swipes the keycard on the door. It beeps open. He steps inside first, just in case Ellie tries to ambush him. He could fight her off but with his wound he’d rather avoid further pain if he could. “Ellie,” he calls out, noting that only the kitchen light is on. “You have a visitor.” He peers around the corner to the bedroom where the opened shuttered doors display Ellie sitting up in bed. Staring at him with cold eyes. Still very beautiful and, at this moment, looking like a ghost from his past. He nods at Luisa to come forward. The front door shuts behind them. “Ellie McQueen,” Javier says, overly formal, “I would like you to meet my wife, Luisa Bernal.” Luisa steps out in front of Javier, stares at Ellie. Ellie stares at Luisa. Neither of them say a word. Mexican standoff. Javier sucks at his teeth, nods to himself. “Well that went about as good as expected.” They’re still staring. It’s like two animals, ready to pounce and Javier really doesn’t want to have to get in the middle of it. He loves Luisa, and, if he admitted it to himself, he cares about Ellie a great deal in his own twisted way. The fact is, he would never hurt Ellie if he could help it. Grab her hair, be rough

with her, yes, but he was always like that with her. She used to like it. But he would never want Ellie to know that. He needs her to know that he might do anything to her and without mercy. It’s the only way he keeps the upper hand. That, and keeping Violet hostage. Javier watches his women curiously and is just about to think to himself how similar the two of them look right now – wild dark hair, intense brown eyes, gorgeous bodies – and have his brain flooded with threesome images when suddenly there’s a low mechanical moan and the power goes out with a whimper. Plunging the three of them into total darkness. What happens next happens fast. A little too fast to be unplanned. While Luisa lets out a gasp from the sudden darkness, Javier hears a scrape of something heavy and Ellie’s feet quickly shuffling across the tiles. He doesn’t know what Ellie has but he knows she intends to use it on them. Instinctively he grabs Luisa and bends over her to protect and shield her. It works. Because the next thing Javier knows something large, cold and heavy strikes him across the head, so he’s falling over onto his wife, crumbling straight to the floor and into a sea of dizzying stars. The last thing he hears before things get fuzzy and he blacks out is the sound of the front door opening. Then closing. And he knows Ellie is gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Violet MY MOTHER. Even though I have no idea what’s going on with Vicente and La Mueca, why he’s negotiating with him about cartels and seats at the table, or why La Mueca just put his fucking gun away, all I can think about is my mother. She’s here. What the fuck? Why? Why did she have to find me? I’ve never felt more humbled and proud to be her daughter and so fucking enraged. Because now she’s here, in Javier’s clutches, and it was probably his damn plan this whole time. Get Vicente to get me or my mother. Fail to get my mother, well it doesn’t matter because Ellie McQueen will hunt down whatever sad fuck took her daughter. For a moment it looked like Vicente and I had a real shot at freedom. Before La Mueca stepped into the picture. And even though he’s putting his gun away and shaking hands with Vicente on something I barely understand, other than he’s supposed to be on our side now, after he broke my fucking wrist, I’m not going anywhere until I find my mother. She came here for me. I will do everything for her. Starting now. “Take me to her,” I tell him. La Mueca looks to me, frowning. “Your mother?” “Yes, my mother. You just said she was here, that Javier has her. We’re getting her free and then we’re getting the fuck out of here. You can stay behind.” “Violet,” Vicente says, “he’s coming with us.” “Like hell he is.” I swear I see a hint of a smile on La Mueca’s face. “I would be concerned if you didn’t hate me, senorita,” he says in that slow deliberate way of his. “Especially after what I did to you. But I told you not to take it personally.” “Yeah. Just business, right?” “And this is just business, too,” Vicente says.

“I don’t give a fuck,” I practically snarl, tightening my grip on my gun. “He broke my wrist.” I raise the gun, aiming it at him. “If you don’t help me get her back, I’m going by myself.” “Easy there,” La Mueca says, eying my gun. “We’re going, we’re going.” He starts heading down the hall toward the kitchen. Vicente motions for me to put my gun away. I’m just about to remind him what kind of person La Mueca is and how we can’t trust him at all… When the lights go out. Everything goes pitch black. I gasp, feeling the dark encroach around me. Vicente’s hand at my side. “It’s okay, I’m here,” he says. “La Mueca?” The moon is faint tonight, covered by the clouds. Other than that, there’s no light anywhere. It seems even darker when La Mueca doesn’t answer back. Suddenly I hear a grunt, the sound of punching, groaning. A struggle. Vicente grabs my arm to let me know he’s there. That something else is going on in front of us. La Mueca fighting…someone. The wind of their movement floats over me. Something clatters to the floor. A gun fires, the burst of the light right in front of us before it fades. A man’s voice cries out in agony, in English, “Fuck! Fuck!” And in a split second I realize whose voice that is. “Stop! I yell into the dark hall. “Stop! La Mueca stop!” “Holy shit,” Vicente says beside me, recognizing the voice too. “La Mueca, stop, he’s with us.” “You could have told me that before I shot him,” comes La Mueca’s voice. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Everything inside me seizes up, my chest, my lungs. “Ben?” I croak out. Ben is here. Ben’s been shot. “Fuck,” Ben says from somewhere low in front of me. “Violet?” “Oh my god,” I cry out, walking forward carefully with my hand waving in front like a blind person. “Where are you shot?” “My leg,” he says, groaning. “Who the fuck just shot me?” “I’m surprised he had to shoot you,” Vicente says, staying beside me. “Most people don’t make it that far.” “Well then I’m fucking honored then. Jesus! Getting shot fucking hurts, my god. Fucking shit.” Suddenly a white light turns on. A small flashlight hanging from La Mueca’s hand, pointing in Ben’s direction. And there he is.

I drop to my knees beside him, ignoring the pain in my leg and try and hug my brother. He’s in obvious pain, his face scrunched up, eyes closed. His hair is a mess, his clothes are torn and covered in mud. He’s trying to hold onto his left leg where his blood is turning his jeans red. “What are you doing here?” I ask him. “Are you here for mom?” “Yes. And I’m with mom. We all were,” he says, opening his eyes and taking me in. He stares at me in horror, from my cheek, to my wrist, to my leg. “Jesus, Violet what happened to you?” “Long story,” La Mueca says, voice clipped. “And I’m not sure how much time we have.” “Did you have to shoot him?” I growl at him. “This is my brother.” He gives me a dry look. “Yes. Actually. And I was aiming for his leg.” He eyes Ben respectfully. “I don’t know where you’ve been trained, senor, but they’ve done a good job.” “Yeah, well fuck you, Machete,” Ben snarls at him. La Mueca just blinks at him. “What do you mean we all were here,” I ask Ben. “Is dad?” “He’s detained in Mazatlan with grandpa Gus.” He closes his eyes. “Ah, god. I should probably suck it up, right? You guys probably get shot all the time down here. It’s been one big fucking welcome party since we got to Mexico.” “Here,” Vicente says, stooping down and putting Ben’s arm around him, getting him to his feet. Ben glares at Vicente as he helps him up. He doesn’t understand any of this and there’s no time to explain. “Ben, where’s mom?” I ask urgently. “I don’t know,” he says. “She’s in the hut,” La Mueca says, waving us forward. “Come on. That gunshot isn’t going to go unnoticed.” We follow La Mueca. Ben looks at me as Vicente helps him limp along. “The plan was for mom to come in here. She knew Javier would want her, do a trade for you. She’d probably be put away somewhere. I was stationed a mile out in the jungle. Had a hell of a time getting the sensors to malfunction. When I finally did, I got in close, over a wall, over the property lines. Then I cut the power.” “You did that?” La Mueca asks, still sounding impressed. “Fuck yeah,” Ben says. He looks at me and manages a small smile. “I have to say, hacking into the system here is a heck of a lot more fun than hacking into the university to change my grades.” But as much as I want to smile back at him, I can’t. Not until I know my mother is safe. I just pray that Javier would never hurt her the way that he’d hurt me. That’s the only thing I’m counting on. I also know that counting on people is a dangerous game here. A matter of life or death.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Ellie FOR A WHILE THERE, Ellie was certain her son wasn’t going to come through. There were too many variables. He had to do so much in order to make it work, all through those gadgets of his while he sat in the dark in the middle of the jungle. If he didn’t disable the sensors, then he couldn’t get close enough to ambush the place when the power was cut. If he couldn’t cut the power, he couldn’t get in unnoticed. That was really all they had going for them. Originally it was supposed to be him, Camden and Gus who would infiltrate the place. But without them, it just relied on Ben. And as skilled and smart as Ellie knew Ben was, they were working with a longshot. Still, she was primed and ready. The minute that Javier had left her in the hut, she started looking for a weapon. This place was the equivalent of a padded room, a furnished cell where no one could hurt themselves or each other. But Ellie knew of one thing that could. The toilet. The ceramic lid on the back of the toilet, to be more precise. She just had to be careful. For all her hatred of Javier, she wasn’t quite comfortable with killing him yet. Hurting him, maiming, sure. Of course. For that she had incurable blood lust. But killing was something that just hovered at the edges of her conscience. So she sat on the bed, the toilet lid beneath her, and she waited. She waited a long time. And finally someone came to check on her. Javier. And his wife. He had said something about them meeting but she didn’t take it seriously because it was hard to take anything Javier said seriously, especially after he thoroughly humiliated her and fucked with her mind. But Ellie got past that pretty quick. And when the lights went out, she sprang into action.

Knew exactly how many steps out of the bed and to the door it was. Had calculated just how far Javier and Luisa had stopped. She ran through the darkness with the heavy lid and swung, knowing she’d get one of them on the head. From his muffled cry, she knew it was Javier. She smiled, especially as it didn’t sound like she sprayed his brains everywhere. Though, she wondered, briefly, if she’d later wish she had. Then she opened the door and ran out into the night. The only problem was, it was dark. No lights equalled no lights anywhere and the jungle seemed to close in on her. She didn’t even know where the house was. Eventually she fell into some sort of pit, a muddy hole in the ground, like someone was putting in an in-ground pool. Then, like a cosmic joke, the sky opened up and the rain started to pour. Fuck, Ellie grumbles to herself as she crawls out of the pit, totally covered in mud. The rain washes it off in no time. And she has no time. She doesn’t know what Ben did to the power, but she knows that Javier surely has a back-up generator and as soon as he wakes up from being hit on the head, that thing is going to go on. She has to get to Violet and Ben and get out of here before it’s too late. She’s back to running across the grass, barely making out the shapes of the trees before bumping into them. Then she sees the house. Then she hears something behind her. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot,” A man says in heavily-accented English. “Hands up.” Ellie is shaking as she puts her hands up. Not in fear. In rage. Rage that she barely got far enough before she was caught. The man comes right behind her, places the cold nose of the gun at the back of her neck. “You’re the woman,” the man says. He’s got that right. “Javier gave us all orders not to shoot you,” he says. “But he didn’t say not to do anything else.” Oh, fuck. Now Ellie is scared. Scared and angry. It was one thing when Javier was violating her. Though it disgusted her, it was expected and familiar. This is something else. But she has to be strong. She closes her eyes as the rain runs down her face. The man presses himself against her ass, one of his hands sliding around her stomach and up. Ellie sucks in her breath.

An explosion goes off by her ear. Her entire body freezes in shock, stunned by the sound. She blinks, shaking, looking down beside her where the man is lying, a bullet wound to the head, eyes staring up into the falling rain. Ellie glances up to see who fired the shot. It’s too dark to tell. A shadow steps out from the house, followed by more shadows. “Mom?” Violet’s voice. Violet’s voice! “Violet!” she yells. She starts running toward the sound. Sees the limping figure of her daughter running toward her. Ellie is too overwhelmed to do anything but burst into tears and try and pull her daughter into her arms. She knows she’s hurt though, can somewhat see the wound on her cheek, notices the bandage and the way she favors her wrist, the halting way she ran. “Oh, my baby,” Ellie cries into Violet’s head. “I’m so sorry if I’m hurting you but I have to hold you. I have to hold you.” “It’s okay,” Violet says and then she’s breaking down too. They don’t have all the time in the world. Ellie knows this. But she can’t help but try and hold on to each second she’s with her daughter. She pulls back and peers at her face. It’s a changed face. Not just from the horrible V in her cheek or the cuts or bruises, but Violet has gone through the fire and come out someone hard and scorched. Ellie feels anger flare through her, anger at herself, anger that Javier took something as soft and delicate as her daughter and tried to ruin her. “Are you okay?” Violet asks. “Ben found us.” “Ben?” she asks, looking beyond Violet at the three tall shadowed figures by the house, the figures who are obviously trying to give the mother and daughter a few moments of private time. “Did he just shoot that fucker?” “No, that was Vicente,” Violet says. “Mom, Vicente had nothing to do with this, with me being here. You have to know this now.” “Did he tell you he hit me and duct taped me to a chair?” “Yes. I’m still mad at him for that, if it makes you feel better. But I did something similar to his mother, so I guess we’re even.” Ellie frowns, thinking back to seeing Luisa and the bruising on her pretty face. She’s not sure she likes this line of reasoning. “But please believe me, he didn’t know what Javier had planned. He had to actually stab his father and hold him hostage in order to see me, to rescue me.” Ellie’s chin jerks up in understanding. Javier’s wound. Vicente really did get him good. That almost buys him favor into her good books.

As does the shot he just took of that man that was about to assault her. But Ellie’s good books are a fickle place to be. She’s not ready to forgive or make nice with Vicente just yet. Though something tells Ellie he’s going to be a part of their lives for a long time. This isn’t just young love she’s seeing between Violet and Vicente. This is mad love. The kind that’s incurable. “I hate to rush you,” a calm voice sounds as the figures start toward them. “But we need to get going.” Ellie blinks in the rain to see the man she had seen earlier, the one who escorted her with Javier to the hut. Her eyes widen. “It’s okay,” Violet says. “He’s on our side. I think.” “Phhff,” Ben says, coughing. Ellie smiles at her son, achingly grateful to see him alive, but the smile fades when she notices he’s limping too. “What happened?” Ben glares at La Mueca who is not-so-patiently waiting for the reunion scene to wrap up. “This guy got trigger happy, that’s what.” “Please, we need to go,” La Mueca says, moving along the lawn toward the driveway. With Violet on one side of her and Ben on the other, Ellie looks at Vicente. Holds his gaze. He holds hers. She nods her thanks. He nods his. That’s as good as it will get for now. They follow La Mueca as he heads toward one of the cars. A shot rings out, exploding against the side of the house. The guards. A dozen of them moving through the darkness, coming at them, firing. Ellie and Violet stay back while Ben, La Mueca and Vicente fan out, shooting as they go. Violet raises her gun, her arm shaking, but Ellie takes it from her and pushes her behind so she’s shielding her. Ellie was a good shot once, let’s see if she is again. She’s good enough, anyway. Manages to strike down one guy that was sneaking up to them from the side. But Le Mueca, Ben and Vicente take care of the rest of them. Just when the last shots die down and the air fills with the sound of heavy breathing, there is a deep whir. The lights come back on, bathing the house, the lawn, everything in a soft glow, showcasing the rain that’s slowed to a drizzle. The five of them stand there, staring at each other, adrenaline coursing through them, while bodies lay strewn across the property. And in that harsh artificial light can Ellie really see what was done to her daughter. Violet stands there, soaking wet and shaking from the violence and the rain, the dark red V in her cheek standing out starkly against her pale skin, the swell of her wrist looking more definitive. But what guts Ellie, right to the core, like a hook, is her leg.

Violet’s scarred leg. The bubbling white, pink and red. The horror. Ellie knows exactly what was done to her. She knows too well. Her head snaps up like a viper’s, looking at La Mueca and Vicente. She knows it had to be one of them. But Vicente knows what she’s thinking. Shakes his head slightly. Points behind Ellie. “It was my father.” She whirls around to see Javier and Luisa approaching them from behind a grove of trees. Javier’s arms are raised and he’s smiling through the blood pouring down the side of his head where she had hit him. The fucker is smiling. “You did this to her?!” Ellie screams. “You did this to her leg?” There has to be a mistake. There has to be. It had to be someone else, maybe the other guy from earlier, the one Vicente killed. It can’t be Javier because Javier knows exactly what the scars did to Ellie. He knows too well. Too well. But she sees the rare flash of remorse on Javier’s face as their eyes meet across the lawn. And she knows he did it. He took everything he knew about Ellie, everything that made her weak and he used it on her own daughter. He tried to replicate the horrors of Ellie’s childhood on Ellie’s child. His ultimate revenge. Everything drains out of Ellie. And Javier’s expression relents. Like he welcomes what she’s going to do to him. Like he knows he deserves it. Like he expected this all along. Ellie lets out an inhuman roar. She’s not a mama bear, she’s a god damn monster, ready to tear out Javier’s throat. She starts running, sprinting across the lawn, heading toward him like a bullet. But she doesn’t use the gun in her hand, she tosses that aside because she’s going to destroy him in a million different ways first. Luisa cries out but Ellie barely hears her. She just flies through the air at him and tackles Javier to the ground. Starts punching him. Choking him. Scratching him. And he barely fights back, just enough to keep himself from losing his eyeballs

to her thumbs. Ellie is nothing but white noise, red hot rage, boiling blackness. She feels hatred and vengeance festering through her, invading every cell in her body. She won’t leave until Javier is dead. She won’t be anything until Javier is dead. He stares up at her, pain and pity cycling in his golden eyes and her grip on his throat tightens until she realizes she’s close to killing him. Just a bit more. In the background people are yelling. Luisa is screaming something. Javier starts to fight less. And she knows that if he wanted to, he could fight back. Even with his head injury and the knife wound, he could throw her off of him. But he’s letting her do this. Letting her kill him. Why? Because he thinks it’s what he’s deserved all along? He’s suddenly become a martyr? Or he knows that Ellie is acting out of unchecked rage, much like he did with Violet, and once he’s dead, she’ll have to live with his death at her hands for the rest of her life. Because deep down, try as they might, these two are forever connected. Not as lovers anymore, not even as people who like each other. Most of the time they despise each other. But they are two lost souls who briefly found their way with each other. They are each other’s past and history and as try as you might, that is something one can never escape. They both shaped each other to the people they are today, for better or for worse. Till death do them part. And death is seconds away for Javier. Ellie looks into his eyes. Sees the man she once knew. Sees her past. And gently releases her grip. She doesn’t take her hand away, but she releases it enough to let him live. He blinks at her, holding her gaze in wonderment before he tries to get a breath of air in. He actually smiles at her. And it’s a warm smile. Genuine. She doesn’t smile back. She needs to take her hands away from his neck, get up off of him, step away and get the fuck out. He opens his mouth to say something. Probably something witty, maybe to thank her for not murdering him with her bare hands. But blood splatters all over his face. Ellie sees that first, the shock in his eyes, the blood all over him. Wonders what happened. Then she hears the blast. It’s all backward. Then feels the strange pressure on her back, like someone stepping on her

spine. Then realizes she can’t breathe at all. Terror hits her like a hammer. Something fatal has happened. Terribly fatal. She stares down at Javier wide-eyed. He stares at her, the whites of his eyes glowing with fear. The most fear she’s ever seen in his eyes during their whole time together. He looks over her shoulder, stunned, ruined, just as Ellie collapses on to him. It’s then that she realizes what’s happened. Seconds before her world goes black. She was shot in the back. And now she’s going to die in Javier’s arms, just after he was going to die in hers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Violet I WATCHED everything happen in horrible slow motion. Javier and Luisa appeared from nowhere. My mother saw the extent of what was done to me. She turned into some kind of inhuman machine, one built of parts of steel and knives and hate. She ran at him, lunged at him, tackled him. I for sure thought she’d shoot him but she tossed her gun aside, like it meant nothing. I knew the moment she did that, she’d be dead. The funny thing was, Javier let her attack him. He let her punch and claw and choke him. I could only watch from where I was, wanting to do something but also wanting to see what would unfold. I glanced over at Vicente, he glanced over at me. This was their fight. Their battle. It always was. La Mueca, though, was starting to get impatient. He was about to head over there to break it up. It really seemed like Javier was dying. His movements were becoming slower. He wasn’t fighting back at all. Then he kind of stopped moving in general. She was actually going to kill him. I couldn’t believe what she was doing. And neither could Luisa. Javier’s wife would not let this happen. Luisa was screaming at her to stop. Luisa picked up the gun that my mother had thrown away. Luisa aimed the gun at my mother’s back. And that’s when I knew what was about to happen. Horrible slow motion.

I scream. I start running, screaming, I think I hear Ben screaming too. And Luisa pulls the trigger. The bullet gets my mother right in the back. She wavers for a second and then slumps on top of Javier. I lose my head, my mind. Someone pulls me back. Vicente. His arms wrap around me and he’s pulling me back and he’s shaking too. She has to be okay. She has to be okay. “Mom!” I scream. “Mom!” Luisa drops the gun like it was burning into her hands. She staggers backward, hand at her chest, until she stumbles and falls to her knees. Javier is holding my mother in his arms, blood all over him, her blood. He looks at Luisa in absolute horror. Like he’s asking her how she could do this to him. Even in death, Javier has to make it all about him. That this was his pain. His loss. You can see it all over his face. That he’s ruined. But I can’t even feel a fraction of satisfaction. I feel nothing but disbelief, sorrow, the kind of pain that is so much greater than you that it hovers above your body. It can’t be contained. It’s larger than the world. Vicente tries to contain me. La Mueca, is holding back Ben. But eventually Vicente’s grip fails. Probably on purpose. Because he needs to let me fly. I go running, falling to the ground by my mother. She stares up at nothing, not blinking. Red hole spreading on her back. Javier cradles her head in his hands and his hands, his bloody hands, are shaking. I stare at him for a moment, looking right into his eyes, wishing I could kill him. He stares at me and wants me to. Then I shove him out of the way. Take my mother’s face in my hands. “Mom, please,” I sob, hot tears streaming down my face. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me, please.” I kiss her forehead. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop breaking. “I love you, I love you. Mom…” La Mueca and Ben are standing beside me now. Ben reaches down and scoops our mom up into his arms, her limbs hanging at

the side, her head rolled back. He stares down at her for a moment. His heart breaking on his face. Then he frowns, like he doesn’t understand. Turns and walks off with her. La Mueca hauls me to my feet, starts leading me to the the SUV where Ben is placing mom in the backseat. Vicente passes by us, heading in the opposite direction. Storming like a warrior toward his parents, gun drawn. I stop, wanting to see, needing to see. La Mueca stops with me. I watch, numb to the bone. Javier is now on his feet, unsteadily. Luisa is still on her knees nearby, hunched over and crying. Vicente grabs his father by the back of the neck, yanks him to him and shoves the gun underneath his chin. Somehow he manages to contain himself. I’m not sure how that’s possible. “You are no longer my father,” Vicente hisses at him. “And you no longer have a son. You come for me, I will kill you and I will enjoy it. You touch Violet or anyone else in my new family, and that will be the end. I’ll mail my mother your fingers and toes, one by one. Do you fucking hear me?” Javier swallows, his throat moving against the gun. His eyes, shocked, scared, weary, tell Vicente that he understands. Vicente lets him go roughly, enough that Javier stumbles back a few feet, and then Vicente stalks off toward us. He barely glances at me as he gets in the front seat. I get in the back with my mother and Ben. All the blood. So much blood. La Mueca drives off, the gates automatically opening for us. We’re just hitting the dirt road, leaving the Bernals behind on the lawn of their house of horrors, when Ben says. “Whoa.” I look at him dully. He stares at me with big eyes and places his hand at mom’s throat, pressing his fingers in. “Oh my god,” he says. “Oh my god. She’s got a pulse.” “What?!” I lean over her, grabbing her hand, squeezing it. “Mom, mom!?” I cry out. Her eyes twitch. Ben cries out joyfully. “Oh my god! Fuck. I thought I felt her in my arms, breathing, when I picked her up but I thought it was just me.” I place my hand at her heart and cry when I feel a faint beat. Hope floods me from head to toe. “La Mueca,” I say.

“I’m on it, keep talking to her, senorita,” he says. I exchange a hopeful look with Vicente before I start talking to my mom. She’s breathing, shallow and barely noticeable, but she is. We’re not out of the woods though. She’s lost so much blood. She might be paralyzed. We’re in the middle of the fucking jungle in Mexico. But if anyone can pull through it’s her. Fuck, I hope it’s her. “Come on mom, just hold on,” I tell her, squeezing her hand tight. “Hold on for dad and Gus Gus. They need us to all come back together, okay?” I wipe the tears from my face. I swear I see her smile.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Vicente “VICENTE RODRIGUEZ?” the nurse asks me. “Yes?” I say, standing up. Like hell I’d use my real name in the Mazatlan hospital, even though I’m pretty sure that most of the people here know exactly who I am. In a way that’s a good thing. It’s been a few days since I saw my father last, since I shoved my gun in his face and threatened to kill him, and Sinaloa doesn’t have to know that I don’t work for the family or the cartel anymore. “You can see her now,” she says, beckoning me with her clipboard to follow her. She takes me to Violet’s room. The one she shares with Ben. Her father has another room. The one he shares with his wife. Yes, the McQueens have fucking taken over this whole damn ward. Violet is in for treatment to her broken wrist, her cheek, her acid burns Ben for the gunshot wound in his leg. Camden for some other gunshot wounds and a concussion that happened who the fuck knows where or when, except that’s some bad fucking luck right there. And Ellie for the gunshot wound to her back. Thank fuck my mother is a lousy shot. Got Ellie right beside her spine, right below her lungs. A millimetre closer in either direction and she would have been paralyzed or worse. In fact, the doctors are saying it’s a miracle that she survived at all. But then they told me Santa Muerte works in mysterious ways. I have to think that Santa Muerte is looking out for the McQueens. Makes me think I’m marrying into the right family. Because that is what’s going to happen. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not when everyone is discharged from the hospital. Maybe not even in a year from now, when I’ve figured out my next steps. But they will become my family, whether they want me to or not. And judging by the way Camden looked at me the other day, I’m guessing not. Still, Violet will be my wife.

We have empires to build together. I go into the room and give Ben a nod. He’s sitting up in bed, reading a Mexican magazine he can’t understand. He nods back. That’s the best I get out of him. He’s not my biggest fan but he doesn’t hate me either. I think he’s still shell-shocked over everything. Honestly, so am I. But I’m dealing with it, hour by hour. I smile at Violet as she looks at me through drowsy eyes. She just had the operation on her wrist, a cast over her lower arm. “How do you feel?” I ask her, bending over and kissing her on the forehead. “Very high.” “That’s good.” “Enjoy the drugs while they last,” Ben says glumly. “They’ve already weaned me off of them.” So much for privacy. “I just wanted to check in on you,” I tell her. “How are you doing?” she asks. “How is mom and dad?” “They’re fine. They want to kill me but they’re fine. Your dad is a grump and your mother is pretty weak still but she’s getting better. I’m sure you’ll be able to see her later today, that’s what they told me anyway.” She nods, closing her eyes. “Did you go out for breakfast with Gus Gus?” That I did. What a fucking character her grandfather is. I could sit and talk to that man all day and he seems to be the only one who doesn’t stare at me like I’m going to pull a gun at any moment. I think he’s a man who goes by his instincts and his instincts are telling him I’m okay. I hope the rest of the McQueens listen to him one day. “We did. Drank too much coffee and he ate too much bacon. Says your mother shouldn’t find out. Something about his cholesterol.” She smiles softly. “That sounds right.” And then she drifts off to sleep again. I kiss her hand, say goodbye to Ben and head out of the hospital. I have a meeting. LA MUECA IS SITTING in the corner of the dark bar, almost blending in with the wood walls. He’s nursing a Corona Light, which is a surprise to me because I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink before. I tell him that as I sit down across from him. He shrugs. “New boss,” he says mildly. “New me.” He clears his throat, eyes me. “How is she? Violet?” “She’s fine. They might do a skin graft on her leg or leave that to an American hospital when she gets back. Her wrist healed nicely. Her cheek is just a cut now. Will leave a faint scar.” “Are you going to go back with them?”

I nod. “I don’t want to leave her. Not yet.” “It won’t be easy to establish things while you’re gone,” he says, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I know. But right now I have to be there for her. Just until things get back to normal.” He nods. “Okay. I’ll do what I can. But you know, eventually, you’ll have to live in Mexico. She’ll have to come with you.” “She will. One day.” “Okay. You sure she wants this life?” “I don’t know,” I say slowly. It’s something I think about often. “But I know she’s born for it. Made for it.” “And her parents? They’ll let this happen after everything they just went through?” “Any enemy of their enemy is their friend.” La Mueca grunts, has a long gulp of his beer. “That is a popular saying but it’s not as cut and dry as you would think.” “Yeah. But what fucking is? Everything is grey. There is no black or white.” “No good guys or bad guys.” “No, there isn’t. There are just people.” “Ah,” La Mueca remarks. “Shame I hate people then.” “As long as you like me, brother, I don’t care,” I tell him. “Where are you going to go after this?” “Well I’m not going back to your father, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll lay low. See if I can get some funds. Shouldn’t be hard. Take what’s mine, what’s owed. Make sure to pass it on to you. You’ll need it, I know. Then I’ll head to Juarez. Start watching. Start talking. We start small Vicente. You understand?” “I understand.” “Rome wasn’t built in a day. Neither was Mexico City. But we do things with patience and we’ll get there.” I take that as my sign to leave. I slap money on the table. “Call me if you need to,” I tell him. “Take care of yourself, Oscar.” “You take care of yourself, Vicente,” he calls out after me as I walk away. “And take care of her.” I smile to myself as I leave the bar and into the hot sun. Head back to the hospital. To take care of my mirlo.

EPILOGUE Two Years Later Violet - Puerto Vallarta I STAND on the rocks high above the shore, closing my eyes, my arms held out to the side, letting the wind wash over me. I breathe in deep, the salt, the sun, casting over me, making me feel so beautifully alive. I smile. Open my eyes, stare into the dark blue, the endless ocean as it stretches between here and infinity. Behind me, beyond the pool, the mountains rise with jungles and waterfalls and tropical flowers. It’s a hot land, steamy and unforgiving. And one day it will be all mine. “What are you thinking, mirlo?” Vicente asks me. “Trying to fly?” I look to my husband at my side, leaning against the stone railing of the patio. Husband. It still doesn’t feel real. Still seems like a dream. That he is mine and I am his. Forever. We’ve only been married a week, though, so I’m sure it will sink in at some point. But if it never does, it’s only because I can’t believe my luck. And I never want to lose that feeling. We got married up in San Francisco, the official ceremony with my parents and family. Honestly, it’s something that I never thought would happen. Not that I didn’t think we’d get married. Vicente proposed to me nearly one year ago, while we were having dinner in Mexico City. Got down on one knee as the restaurant dimmed the lights. Slid the biggest rock I’d ever seen on my finger. Diamond and amethyst. Violet colors that shine under even the dimmest lights. I would have been happy with a private ceremony on the beach – and we had that too, just outside of here, in Puerto Vallarta, with only us, a minister, and La Mueca – but my parents were adamant that I get married like everyone else.

Properly, with a lavish a wedding, an open bar, a gorgeous dress and hundreds of guests I didn’t know. And that’s what surprised me. The fact that my parents not only supported our engagement but wanted to be involved in our wedding. I’d never thought my mom would get so excited about me as a bride, but she literally shoved everything in her life aside and devoted herself to it one hundred per cent. And of course, she took the pictures. As one can imagine, though, the last two years with Vicente haven’t been easy, especially when it comes to my family. They haven’t warmed up to him yet – I think both my parents still see Javier when they look at him. I can’t blame them. They see the faint scars on my cheek and they’re reminded of who did that to me. They see my leg and they think the same. Only now there’s a tattoo on my calf over those scars that my father did of Santa Muerta, a flock of blackbirds flying out from her hair. The very tattoo that Vicente once wanted, I got instead. It’s probably a little morbid to have Our Lady of the Holy Death tattooed on you. But Santa Muerta isn’t just about death. She’s a saint you pray to for love, prosperity and for protection, particularly if you’re a drug trafficker or involved in any criminal activity. You need protection against violent death or gun violence, well I have a saint for you. And, well, there’s no point in pretending that this isn’t the life Vicente and I are leading. Another reason why there’s tension from my family. My parents don’t exactly approve of my new lifestyle with Vicente but they also know now I’m a changed woman and there isn’t much they can do about it. After the showdown at the Bernal’s, after mom and dad were dispersed from the hospital, Vicente came back with us to San Francisco for a while. He laid low, got us a house with some of the money he and La Mueca were able to siphon, and started making plans. Over the next two years, he did a lot of traveling between California and Mexico. While La Mueca stayed on that side of the border, he’d accompany him to Juarez, Veracruz, Tijuana, even Culiacan on occasion. He never saw his father again. He never spoke to his father again. The minute we left him, covered in my mother’s blood, was the minute Vicente decided that Javier Bernal was his enemy and he would spend his whole life trying to ruin him. And ruin him the best way he knew how. By taking over a rival cartel and making it bigger and better than his father’s. Violence and death were one thing, but it didn’t get his father where it really hurt – his pride. And while Vicente isn’t quite there yet, he’s moving up quickly. Or I should say, we are, since Vicente tries to involve me in everything. We’re now affiliated with the Zetas, while making nice with the Juarez cartel. There are double dealings upon double dealings that I’m sometimes kept in the dark about, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s just too much for me. Regardless, we have an asset that they don’t:

La Mueca. With his, well, “help,” we’ve been able to keep ascending. There will come a point when La Mueca, Vicente and I will be at the top and will look down on Javier and that’s when we’ll know it will be worth it. For Vicente, anyway. La Mueca doesn’t care one way or the other. If you’re his chance to the top, he will take it and he’s believed in Vicente from the start. Seen the fight in him, the cunningness and the drive. It takes a lot of fucking nerve to stab your father with a knife in these parts, especially when your father is Javier Bernal. After that, Vicente was known around the cartels as the “King Slayer.” A poor Game of Thrones reference that’s lost in translation because Vicente didn’t exactly slay his father and in the books Aerys Targaryen wasn’t Jaime Lannister’s father, but the point is well taken. Vicente Bernal is a man you don’t dare mess with. In a country where family and blood mean everything, Vicente proves to be an unpredictable force. But to me, he’s just mine. My man, my lover, my husband. Someone who looks at me with all the love in the world, a man who fucks me to oblivion and back on the daily, a man I hope will soon be the father of my children. Despite all that was done to me, revenge and the thirst for power isn’t my top priority. I’m not saying it doesn’t entice me, the thought of being queen of the land one day, of having a country at my fingertips and fear in the eyes of many. But it’s not who I am. I just want to be with Vicente, to be there for him as he navigates these waters. I want him to live up to his full potential. I’m not sure that Javier ever broke the boy that was Vicente but he certainly did make the man. And what a man. I smile at him and gesture to his arms. “Come on, you can fly too. Put your arms out.” He gives me a look, like that’s the last thing he wants to do. “Come on. I’m your wife. I get to boss you around now.” Now he’s laughing. “Violet, you’ve been bossing me around since day one.” “Not true. Since day one, you’re the one who has had me bound up with ropes and blindfolds.” “That’s true. Speaking of, we’ve been married for a week, we’re on our honeymoon and we haven’t done any of that yet. I’m disappointed in our lack of kink.” I bite my lip, feeling the heat between my legs. “It’s a real travesty. I’ll tell you what. Pretend to fly with me and you can tie me up all you want after.” “Fuck,” he growls. “How about I tie you up and make you fly with my fucking cock.” My cheeks go red. “Come on. Arms out.” He stares at me for a moment and I can see he’s trying to keep his lust in check. “All right,” he finally relents. He turns so he’s facing the ocean, pressed up against the low rock wall, and raises his arms, holding them out like wings.

Beneath us is the rest of the private house, one of our properties, then the rocks and the crashing waves. “Close your eyes.” I tell him. He does so. “Now arch your back, tip your face to the wind and sun. And that’s it.” “That’s it?” “Just do it, Vicente.” “Yes, my wife.” I grin like a fucking fool at that term – wife! – and watch as he does it. And watch I do. With his neck arched slightly, showing off the strong curve of this throat, his tanned skin looking extra dark and golden in the sun, he looks like a fucking Aztec god. His muscles are taught and sculpted, a sheen of sweat on his bare chest from the heat. I have to fight the urge to not tackle him right here, pull down shorts and suck his cock. At least I fight it for a minute. Until I see a small smile appear on his gorgeous lips. “Do you feel it?” I ask him softly. “The freedom? The air, the ocean? The world? Do you feel like you’re one with it all?” He nods, licks his lips. “I do. I feel everything.” He pauses and tilts his head to look at me. “So this is what it’s like to be you.” I shrug. “A hint of it.” He lowers his arms and steps over to me, putting his hand around my waist and pulling me to him, his finger slipping under the string of my bikini bottom. “And what does it feel like when I touch you?” “Like it’s as natural as breathing.” “What if I kiss you?” he murmurs, lowering his head and placing his lips at the hollow of my throat. I let my eyes fall shut. “It feels like I’m coming alive.” “And if I do this?” he asks softly. I groan as he slips his hand between my legs, finding my clit. I’m already wet for him and his fingers slip over and into me with delicious ease. “It feels like if I don’t get your cock inside me, I might just die.” “Mmmm,” he grunts into my neck as his fingers play and swirl until I’m swollen and slick with maddening need. “I was hoping that’s what it might feel like. But, my dear wife, I don’t see any ropes or blindfolds here.” “Fuck it, we’ll use them later,” I tell him, grabbing his head and pulling it up to meet my lips, enveloping him in a hot, wet, messy kiss, while he pushes my bikini bottom down my legs. Then he grabs me by the waist and props me up on the low wall. I’m acutely aware that there’s nothing behind my back except empty air and a drop to the house below. I’m also aware that we’re up on the pool deck and I’m pretty sure the maid is puttering around in the pool house. With those big glass

windows, she could see everything. “I’ve got you, don’t worry,” he tells me with lust-glazed eyes, pulling his thick dick out of his swim trunks and positioning it. “And the maid?” “You know I don’t mind if anyone watches,” he says, voice raspy, a sly grin on his lips that folds into an O the moment he pushes into me. Fuck. Me. He feels so good. So good. My husband. My man that owns me inside and out. I grab onto the back of his warm neck and his rounded taught shoulder and hold him close as he thrusts in and out, wasting no time in getting me to the space I need to be in. All thoughts leave my head. All worries left behind. Just the two of us as it always was and always will be. Flying together. “Oh, mirlo,” he says through a moan. “I’m close.” And I’m closer. I come hard, my body convulsing in violent shudders that take me by force. I come so hard that I don’t even know where I am for a moment, or what’s happening to me. I’m almost scared, hurtling through hot, dark space. And then I moan, the noise ripping out of me as I hold onto Vicente’s back, sinking my nails in, holding on to this man and his big dark love for all it’s worth. Eventually, the world comes into focus again, as does Vicente, his seed spilling down my legs as he helps me off the wall. He watches it go in milky streams, then glances up at me. “Here’s hoping some of that stayed put.” I think the best part of the honeymoon is that we’ll only try again later, just for the hell of it. The moment Vicente told me he wanted to make a baby, is the moment we were rarely seen with clothes on. But it’s still early in the day and we have a later lunch date at the marina with La Mueca. He’s actually pretty good company, considering our past and the fact that my wrist aches when it’s raining. He doesn’t say much, which means he knows when to shut up. And when Vicente and I start making out, he knows when to leave the table. I pull up my bikini bottom as Vicente brushes my hair off my face. He grabs my hand and kisses the back of it. “Let’s go, my wife. The world is our oyster.” That it fucking is.

Ellie - San Francisco

“Mom, do you have to fucking take a photo now?” Ellie lowers the lens and looks at Ben quizzically. What is it with her children hating having their photo taken? She glances at Camden who just gives her a subtle shake of his head. She sighs and lowers the camera. She supposes it’s not the most appropriate time for her portraits. Especially just before Ben is supposed to step into the ring at his fight. Ben goes off to talk to his coach anyway so Ellie and Camden tell him good luck and they go sit down at their seats. Gus and Mimi aren’t there – fighting is too violent for them, which is kind of ironic. Ever since that trip to Mexico, Ben’s been putting more time and effort into his competition, regularly competing with the top fighters in the country and often winning. He’s rising, slowly but steadily, to the top. Ellie also wonders if he’s been doing the same with his hacking career since she doesn’t quite buy that he works as a lowly tech support guy. First of all, she knows the apartment he rents in the city is way too expensive for that salary. And second of all, we’ll, he’s the son of Ellie and Camden McQueen, so she wouldn’t expect anything less. But she would never ask. Let sleeping dogs lie. The same goes for her and Violet. She still hates to this day that Violet doesn’t live in San Francisco, or even America, but she understands why Violet chooses to live in Mexico. She understands that she loves her husband – god, that’s still so fucking weird – and wants to be where he is. And she sadly understands that her husband is a drug lord. That apple really didn’t fall far from the tree. But she doesn’t let that hurt her relationship with her daughter. She still texts her every day, they talk every week and Violet flies home a lot to visit, often with Vicente in tow. The one good thing about this though is that Violet kept her last name. She’s not a Bernal. She’s still a McQueen. And Vicente was completely okay with that. He doesn’t want to be a Bernal either. In fact, Vicente has been completely okay with a lot of things. It eases Ellie’s heart to know that he’s good for her. That he’ll do anything and everything for her. And that in their relationship, Violet is pretty much the boss. It was hard for both Ellie and Camden to admit that Vicente could have some good in him, that he’s not like his father. As a result, she doesn’t worry when she’s with him, living this new life. Much. Of course she worries a bit. As mother’s do. But the McQueens are a special breed and as Camden and Ellie know, they aren’t like most families. The rules don’t apply.

Camden puts his arm around his wife and holds her closely, the two of them nervous for Ben’s fight, as usual, but excited too. He grins at her. “Have I ever told you, Ellie McQueen, that you’re looking especially ravishing tonight?” She rolls her eyes, and presses her head into his chest. “Have I ever told you that you need to get your eyes checked?” “All the time.” She smiles. Happy.

Javier - Sinaloa Javier hangs up his cell phone and stares at the koi pond. Yes, there are finally fucking koi swimming around in there. He’s even got the lotus plants he loves so much. It’s pretty much perfect. Except Luisa wants to get flamingos and keep them around the pond. Javier can’t be a man with pink fucking flamingos running around his compound. What kind of drug lord would that make him? Well, it would throw people off guard, he thinks to himself, putting his hands in his pockets. No one would ever suspect the man with the flamingos. “What are you doing?” Luisa calls out. He looks over his shoulder at her, sitting by the pool and taking sun. She pats the empty lawn chair next to her. “You said you were going to actually relax for a moment. Get your ass over here.” “I say a lot of things,” Javier says, strolling toward her with a smile on his face. “Who was on the phone?” she says, looking up at him over her sunglasses, a big floppy hat shielding her face from the sun. “Marisol,” he tells her, feeling a burst of pride. “Did she sound excited?” Luisa asks. He nods. She did. A lot has happened over the last few years for Javier. Things he doesn’t want to think about. Dwell on. Things that wake him up in the middle of the night. So many nightmares he tries very hard to forget. The sight of Ellie as she died in front of him, right in his arms. The look in Vicente’s eyes when he told him he wasn’t his son anymore. Luisa’s shock when she realized what she’d done, that she’d killed Ellie. She hadn’t meant to. She was just trying to save her husband. It didn’t matter. Their family was ripped apart for a long time. In a way, it kind of served them right.

Being drug lords and all. You can’t run this type of business and not expect comeuppance from time to time. But in the end, Javier still counts himself lucky. The cartel is still number two and holding strong, maybe even climbing thanks to his wife’s involvement. Sure, Vicente now works for number one, but he tries not to think about that. It rains on his parade. And, of course, there is his wife herself, whom he loves more than ever. She’s his angel, soulmate, the light of his life. His partner in crime. His heart in everything. And now there is Marisol. While she was growing up, Javier never had the best relationship with his daughter. But after everything that happened with Vicente, he’s really tried to be a better father to her. Talking to her almost every day, really reaching out and being involved in her life. And it’s working. Marisol is graduating university in a few days and leaving New York City in a week with a degree and her aunt Marguerite in tow. Javier hasn’t seen his own sister in a very, very long time. He’s not really sure what Marisol has planned for next but he expects that while Marisol is here, at least for the summer, they’ll figure that out together. Who knows, maybe she’ll end up having a taste for the family business. She didn’t get a business degree for nothing. Yes, the world certainly put the Bernals through shit there for a while. But through every season, turn, turn, turn and all that crap. Things are starting to look up again. “Hey,” Luisa says to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. He eyes her curiously. “Did you give any more thought to the flamingos?” “Luisa, I swear to god…” “They’re beautiful, Javi.” “I can’t be the drug lord with the flamingos. I just can’t.” “Darling,” she pleads, pouting slightly. He closes his eyes, sighs. He can’t say no to her. Wishes he could. He can bargain though. Wouldn’t be good at his job if he couldn’t. “All right,” he relents. “If we get fucking flamingos, can I use them as target practice?” “Javier.” “Fine, fine,” he says. “We get flamingos and you have to do anything thing I want tonight.” “Why do your negotiations always involve sex?”

“Because I’m a smart man who takes what he can get when he can get it.” “That you are, my king. That you are.” The word king sends a thrill through him, all the way to his toes. He hasn’t been called a king in a while. But that time will come again. He’ll make damn sure of it.

***

THE END *** Thank you for reading Black Hearts & Dirty Souls – I hope you enjoyed the ride!

FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, I have the rockstar accidental pregnancy Rocked Up coming in May, co-written by me and my husband! You can preorder it now and save 40% off the release price.

I ALSO HAVE a bunch of other fabulous contemporary romance standalones coming your way soon.

AND FOR SOMETHING of the same, I *might* have plans for standalone books about La Mueca, Ben McQueen, Marisol Bernal and the “fake priest” Evaristo (this book would be set back in the old timeline, so if you’re read Dirty Promises you know it takes place after that). At least one of these books will come out in 2017, so if you want to keep in the know, I’ve provided lots of links below where you can stay up to date with me!

IN THE MEANTIME, if you haven’t read the backstory of the Bernals and the McQueens, now is the time!

START with The Artists Trilogy - Sins & Needles - On Every Street (just 99 cents!) - Shooting Scars - Bold Tricks

AND THEN MOVE on to the Dirty Angels Trilogy (please note that this series is set in Mexico and revolves around the Bernal family and the cartel lifestyle. Though a romance, it is very dark and disturbing and some books contain graphic scenes of rape and torture) - Dirty Angels - Dirty Deeds - Dirty Promises

TO GET updates and stay connected with me:

- JOIN my exclusive readers group on Facebook where I have awesome giveaways, sneak peeks, fun trivia, great people and lot’s more. Seriously. We’re the best group of readers on the internet: Karina Halle’s Anti-Heroes - Sign-up for my newsletter to get alerts when new books come out, plus exclusives such as FREE books, excerpts and cover reveals! - If you dare, follow me on Twitter (@metalblonde)

- WATCH my daily adventures on Instagram (I practically live here) Also, I have written over thirty novels in a range of different genres, from contemporary romance, to romantic comedy, to romantic suspense, to paranormal romance. Want a list of them all? Visit my Amazon author page HERE and give me a “follow” while you’re at it so you can stay up to date with new releases!

PLAYLIST

BLACK HEARTS & Dirty Souls playlist can be found at: bit.ly/KHBHDSPLAYLIST

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Karina Halle is a former travel writer and music journalist and The New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author of The Pact, Love, in English, The Artists Trilogy, Dirty Angels and over 20 other wild and romantic reads. She lives on an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband and her rescue pit bull Bruce, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails and devours a lot of books. Halle is represented by the Waxman Leavell Agency and is both self-published and published by Simon & Schuster and Hachette in North America and in the UK. To connect: @metalblonde Karina Halle’s Anti-Heroes www.instagram.com/authorhalle

ALSO BY KARINA HALLE The Experiment in Terror Series Books #1 – 9

Edgy Suspenseful Romance reads by Karina Halle The Devil’s Metal (The Devil’s Duology #1) The Devil’s Reprise (The Devil’s Duology #2) Sins and Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1) On Every Street (An Artists Trilogy Novella #0.5) Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2) Bold Tricks (The Artists Trilogy #3) Donners of the Dead Dirty Angels (Dirty Angels Trilogy #1) Dirty Deeds (Dirty Angels Trilogy #2) Dirty Promises (Dirty Angels Trilogy #3) Veiled Black Hearts (Sins Duet #1) Dirty Souls (Sins Duet #2)

Contemporary Romance reads by Karina Halle Love, in English Love, in Spanish Where Sea Meets Sky Racing the Sun The Pact The Offer The Play Winter Wishes The Lie The Debt

Smut Heat Wave Before I Ever Met You (coming April) Rocked Up (coming May)