The SUVs arrived less than a minute later. The motel manager shooed Finn to the side, calling for Lars and Cora to come out with their hands up. Finn had hoped Lars would pull some magic trick out of his ass to make him and Cora disappear, but it turned out the motel guy had been right; the only way out was through the front door.

Lars came out first, hands up. Finn saw the pistol tucked into the back of his belt, but it would be suicidal for Lars to try and use it. Especially when those five SUVs came screaming into the motel’s parking lot. A few doors down, the man who’d been sleeping off his hangover came out, looking bleary-eyed.

He didn’t seem to notice anything unusual at first, until he happened to look up while trying to get his car door open. Then his mouth fell open and he ran back inside his room, slamming the door shut.

Would he call the cops? Would that even fucking help?

“You goddamn piece of shit,” Lars said to Angel.

“Hey, back up,” the manager said, pointing his magnum at Lars’s gut. Lars grimaced at the man and then glared at Angel. “It was you, wasn’t it? I knew we couldn’t—”

The manager slammed the butt of his pistol into Lars’s face. Lars twisted a little, touching the cut above his eye, and straightened again. “You hit like a fucking girl,” he spat.

“Where’s she?” the manager asked.

A troop of ten armed men climbed out of the SUVs and formed a rough circle. Another two disappeared off to the side, no doubt circling around in case Cora could somehow squeeze through the bathroom window.

Could she?

Finn’s heart stalled. But no, he’d seen that window. It was little more than a gap for air to flow through.

No place to run.

No place to hide.

“I fetch,” Angel said, and sidled into the room before the manager could say anything.

Jesus, the guy had no shame. They could have left Angel there in Javier’s compound. But no, Cora’d had a fucking vision or something. More likely, she’d still been under the influence of whatever cocktail Javier had fed her.

Angel came limping out, holding Cora by the arm. She didn’t fight him, and almost limped as badly as he did. But when she saw the SUVs and the pair of armed men drawing closer, she stiffened.

Perhaps remembering how it had felt to get kicked in the jaw.

One of the men stopped a few yards away. They all wore shades and dark clothing, like some kind of mob uniform. Did none of these fucking cartels have the time to pick out colors or something? They all seemed to dress the same. Must be hard, figuring out who was on your team when there was a cartel war.

Then Finn stared harder. To the side, a third man was walking closer. Calmly, but with intent. And heading straight for Cora.

“Hey,” Finn said, holding out a hand. “You’re going to have to get through me first if you—”

But the man ignored him. He walked right up to Angel, drew a Five-seveN pistol from its holster, and shot Angel in the face.

Cora let out a short, sharp scream. Both he and Lars had flinched. He expected her to run to Angel’s side, perhaps cradle the young man’s dead body. But she stared at him as he rammed into the motel room’s wall, and then watched his body slide down. There was a spray of blood and brain matter on the wall behind him, a streak following his body to the ground.

But his eyes were blank now. No more hatred. No more doubt. Whatever demons had infested his mind, they’d finally been exorcised.

Cora stepped forward, ducking her head a little so she could see under the shooter’s black cap.

“Miguel?” Cora said. “What—”

And then the hatred writ so plain on that face melted away. A cheery, lopsided smile replaced it. “Princesa!”

Finn recognized him too now.

Miguel waved a hand to the SUVs. “Come, come,” he said, voice oozing charm. “Tío is waiting for you.”

This time, when they arrived at Javier’s compound, the man was waiting at the steps of his villa to greet them. Along with several of his guards, all armed, all looking twitchy. Cora sat in the car until the sicario who’d come to sit beside her prompted her out with the muzzle of his assault rifle. She’d had to travel alone with him and Miguel, and a third man driving shotgun. Finn and Lars had each been bundled into separate cars.

Looked like Javier wasn’t taking any more chances with them.

“Elle,” Javier called, spreading his arms wide.

A wave of deja-vu flowed over her, thick and nauseating. It was like the first day she’d arrived here, if she didn’t take into account all her injuries.

If Javier was put out by the sight of her, he didn’t show it. The rifle in the small of her back forced her forward and up the steps, until she was in reach of Javier.

He scooped her up and squeezed her so tight, tears stung her eyes from the pain that brought her bruises. Then he leaned back, took her chin in a hand and turned her face.

“This is what happens when you don’t listen, Elle,” Javier murmured. He still wore a smile, but it had set in place like concrete. And that smile didn’t touch his eyes, those black voids where slimy things coiled around each other. “Are you going to be a good girl from now on?”

If her mouth hadn’t been dry as desert sand, she’d have spat in his face. “Fuck you,” she said.

Javier slapped her. The pain was twice what it should have been, since one of his large ruby rings landed right where Zachary’s boot had struck her face. She gasped, reeling, and would have fallen if the man behind her didn’t catch her. She caught a whiff of sweat and gun oil before he pushed her upright again.

“Now,” Javier said, dusting his hand against his linen suit like she’d made him dirty. “I’m sure you’ve had quite the ordeal. Let’s go inside where my doctor can take a look at you.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Cora jerked her arm free.

Javier had half-turned to go inside the villa, and twisted back with a mock frown on his face. That wide, suggestive mouth curled up again. “No?”

His accent was thick today but, as if to compensate, he enunciated every word perfectly. “Come on, Elle. You will just tire yourself out, fighting me like this.”

She opened her mouth but, before she could get a word out, Javier clicked his fingers. There was a muffled yell somewhere behind her. She spun, and darted to the side so she could see past the guy standing behind her.

One of the men in the convoy had dragged Lars from the car and thrown him to the ground. His boot was on Lars’s face and, as she watched, he ground Lars’s face into the gravel. Lars’s teeth flashed white in the sun as he gritted them, but then a reluctant cry left him. They’d tied his hands and feet so, struggle as he might, there was no way he could get up to defend himself.

Cora surged forward, but Javier’s sicario caught her effortlessly.

“No! Stop!” Her voice seemed so pitiful, as if the villa’s gaping entrance swallowed it even though she faced away. A merciless wind dragged fingers through her hair and ruffled her clothes. “Por favor, Tío!”

A warm hand touched the back of her neck. “Come inside, Elle. It’s time we spoke.”

She resisted that hand, but only for a second. The man torturing Lars drew back his boot and kicked him in the ribs. Lars curled up silently, but the pain on his face was visible even from where she stood.

Blinking back tears of frustration, Cora took an unsteady step back. Then another. Another.

Letting Javier lead her inside the villa until Lars, the SUVs, and the brutal sun had all been blotted out.