There was silence behind Cora’s door. Finn knocked twice, but not hard enough for the sound to carry down the hall. It was quiet out, but armed guards patrolled the corridor ringing the villa’s top floor. The men carried assault rifles from straps on their shoulders, half-cocked so they could aim and fire in a second.

Expecting danger, even here…or just being cautious? He’d wondered the same of Swan at that manor of his. But Swan had been right to be cautious. It seemed he’d been the target of rival cartels for a long time. Martin too, perhaps. It was just more difficult to find Javier out here in the desert. Especially with all the precautions he took to keep this place hidden.

Still no answer. Finn turned to the door and knocked again, slightly louder.

He tried the handle. The door was unlocked.

He opened it a crack, about to call out to Cora when he heard the unmistakable sound of people about to fuck; heavy breathing, whispered words.

Finn threw open the door, jaw already too tight to shout out anything. He stopped in the doorway, staring over to where Lars and Cora were making out on an expensive piece of furniture that looked designed singularly for the purpose of fucking.

Cora tore away from Lars with a gasp he heard all the way across the room. Lars looked over at him and gave him an open-mouthed smile.

Finn fumbled behind him, found the edge of the door, and slowly pushed it closed.

If her heart had been racing before, it was fluttering like a trapped bird now. Pins and needles speared into her fingertips and traveled with light speed up her arms. She tried getting out from under Lars, but he’d managed to trap her with his long limbs.

Finn walked closer—mute, face a thunderstorm. He was all in black, but dressed as casually as Lars in a t-shirt and sweats. He wore a hoodie, but it hadn’t been zipped up and his muscles strained against the shirt as if it was a size—or two—too small. This, however, didn’t seem to hamper his movements as he grabbed Lars by the scruff of his neck and hauled him off her.

She managed a breathy, “Finn, don’t—”

But by then Finn had already slammed Lars against the wall. The man laughed at him, started to say something, and was cut off when Finn grabbed him by the throat.

A scream bubbled up inside her, but it was strangled in a throat suddenly too tight to breathe. She half-fell, half scrambled off the chaise lounge, and staggered closer to the pair. She could so clearly imagine Finn pounding his fist into Lars’s face. Shattering the man’s jawbone. Sending teeth and blood spraying over the long-haired rug.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, hand around Lars’s throat, glaring at the man as Lars slowly began to break into a laugh.

“Did you think I was joking?” Lars asked, his voice struggling through a chuckle.

“Yes,” Finn muttered. “Then I remembered what a cocky shit you are.”

“Well, if you hadn’t interrupted, I’d have gotten to know her real good.” Lars brought his elbow into Finn’s stomach. Finn folded over with a groan, and tried to keep his hold on Lars. But he sidled out of reach and brushed off his clothes with exaggerated care.

Finn straightened, a murderous glint in his eyes. Eyes that he then turned on Cora.

Her stomach twisted, and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hide her hardened nipples.

“Do you want to fuck him?” Finn asked quietly in that rough, ruined voice of his.

Her stomach went cold. She swallowed hard, and tried to force a protest past her lips. But it would have been a lie. And one thing Santa Muerte looked down upon was a liar.

Inexplicably, her mind flashed to all those red candles she’d burned—almost as many as the black ones.

Black for protection.

Red for love.

Until Bailey, she’d thought she was destined to spend the rest of her life alone. When Finn had killed the man, that thought had come back twice as fast and twice as hard. Because how in the world would she ever meet anyone—let alone someone she could fall in love with—if she never saw more than five people throughout her entire day. Each day, every day.

And then Finn had happened. But she’d been wrong about him. He didn’t love her. And she probably didn’t love him either.

Well, there was only one way to find out, right?

She stuck out her chin at him. “Yes,” she said, voice warbling only a little.

“You do?” Finn didn’t seem surprised. Maybe he’d lost conquests to his friend before. Lars wore a permanent grin now, and turned it on her.

“Yeah you do,” Lars said.

“Then fuck him.” Finn came up to her. For a moment, she thought he’d walk past her and out the door. Her heart hammered at the thought, knowing he’d never look at her again. Would never make eye contact. And tomorrow, he’d be gone. Never to return.

But instead of leaving, Finn sank down in a single armchair close to the unlit fire. He brought one leg up, resting his ankle over his knee, and settled back in the chair with a hand draping over the edge of each armrest.

She gaped at him. And then jerked when Lars touched her shoulder. She took a step back, glancing between the two men. “W-what are you doing?” Who the hell the question was meant for, she didn’t know. Maybe both of them. Her heart pattered furiously.

“Go ahead,” Finn said dryly. “Fuck him.”

“Wh—” she cut off, managed a laugh that sounded more strangled than anything else. “I’m not going to…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Lars trailed his fingers up the side of her neck. Traced the outline of her ear. And slowly stepped closer, as if afraid she’d bolt.

Which is exactly what she should have done. Except she couldn’t. Panic had paralyzed her.

What the hell was going on?

She looked at Finn, opened her mouth to demand an explanation. Because maybe he was being all kinds of sarcastic, or he was waiting for Lars to take out his dick before he’d launch himself across the room and beat him to death.

Or…maybe…

Something in Finn’s expression had changed. She was still trying to figure out what when Lars’s mouth touched her ear. His breath whispered unintelligible, hedonistic promises to her. Her eyes fluttered, blurring Finn into a dark smudge.

Her arms slowly slid out of the tight hold she’d had on her chest. Lars’s fingers caressed her collarbone, and then the man took a last step, closing the distance between them. Standing behind her, his body flush with hers.

Warm.

Hard.