I have a gun aimed at my brother’s head. He smirks when I tell him not to look at Harper. That look alone makes me want to put the bullet through his fucking skull. He’s taunting me and he knows it. Enjoys it. The gun pointed at his smug face doesn’t even faze him.

Now that I know the truth, I can see the resemblance between us. Anger courses through my veins, and I can’t do anything but stare at him.

“Bastard.” Rafael smirks.

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“It is a cute nickname, no? Besides, that is what you are. Bastard.”

I press the gun against the skin between his eyes. “Fuck you.”

Rafael’s eyes flick to the door at the sound of wailing sirens. “I suggest you put the gun away, brother. This place is about to be swarming with pigs.”

I don’t move a muscle. I continue to press the gun between his eyes, keeping him there on the spot. “Why Harper?”

Rafael evades the question. “I will be sure to keep the lovely Harper company while your ass rots in prison. When they come inside and your gun is trained on me, who do you think they will believe killed all these men?”

“Not fucking likely,” Harper mutters. My lips twitch. Only that girl could make me want to smile while I’m pointing a gun at someone’s head.

“Roman, please,” Harper begs behind me. Her broken voice is the only thing that could make me lower the gun in this moment. I tuck it in the back of my pants but keep my stance ready to pull it free and kill the motherfucker in front of me.

“If it’s a trick, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground, brother,” I sneer, making Rafael laugh in delight.

Not even five seconds later, the front door bursts open with cops filling the entrance and paramedics running in behind them. Rafael smiles before turning away, giving me his back. Smug prick.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling something free, as he turns and raises his hands in the air. A leather wallet hangs open. I can’t see the inside, only the back. Harper gasps behind me when Rafael speaks. His words root me in place, knocking the air from my lungs. “Rafael Bazán Cortez, DEA agent. Currently undercover. They’re with me.” Rafael jerks his thumb over his shoulder indicating Harper and me.

No.

Not fucking possible.

Harper is whispering my name but I refuse to take my eyes off of the man in front of me. Federal fucking agent. No.

A police officer steps forward, inspecting the badge. He nods, and all the other officers lower their weapons. Rafael looks over his shoulder at me, winking and making a zipper motion across his lips. I don’t think I could speak right now even if I tried. I drop next to Harper, wrapping an arm around her and inhaling her scent to calm my rattled nerves. Even with the blood and sweat covering most of her body, I can still smell her sugary scent underneath it. It’s everything I need in this moment as we watch James being loaded onto a stretcher. His breathing is shallow and shaky. Harper cries as the paramedics wheel him out the door.

“We’ll be with him as soon as we can,” I whisper into her hair.

The cops only speak to Rafael. He weaves a story that sounds so detailed, it could be true. Harper and I stand there, wrapped around each other and taking it all in. The blood-stained floor and walls and the devil in front of us saving us from immediate questioning. I don’t trust anything about this situation. He’s still fucking dirty, I know it. The first cop to show up was dirty, too. I don’t trust that any of these men and women here have our best interests. Minutes or hours later, all the cops leave, and it’s the three of us.

I pull the gun from my pants, pushing Harper behind me, and leveling it on Rafael again.

“Shooting a federal agent wouldn’t be a smart move, brother.” Rafael smiles, looking into my eyes as if he doesn’t know the gun is even aimed his way.

“Stop calling me that,” I spit out between panting, angry breaths, firing a warning shot into the wall, close to his head. He only laughs, not even flinching when the bullet passes just inches away.

“Roman,” Harper screams, covering her ears.

“We’re not family.”

“We are family,” Rafael says calmly, standing with his legs apart and arms crossed in front of his chest. “I’m the only family you have.”

“I have no family,” I yell, taking another step toward him, never lowering the gun.

“Stop saying that,” Harper yells behind me. “I’m your family. We’re your family.” Her hand is on her stomach as she walks around, coming next to me.

Rafael stares at her hand on her stomach with confusion on his face. “Pregnant?”

“Harper––” I warn, praying she doesn’t tell him about our baby.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes,” she speaks over me, announcing her pregnancy to the fucking man trying to take every damn thing away from us. What the fuck is she thinking?

“God dammit, Harper.”

“He’s a DEA agent, Roman. This hopefully is a misunderstanding.” Her eyes slide to Rafael with wariness but there a tinge of hope in her voice that we can all walk away from this.

“Stop being naive, Harper,” I grunt, staring into Harper’s eyes, watching them crumble with each word I speak.

“Yes, Roman. It is all a misunderstanding. I am to be an uncle? How thrilling.” Rafael raises his eyebrows, still playing his fucking games.

“You’ll be in the ground before that ever happens.”

Rafael laughs again. “People always said it is fun to have a brother.”

I stare at him, seething, wishing I could just take him out. My hands are bound, though. I’d never meet my kid or see Harper again if I shoot a federal agent. More rage and hatred pours inside of me, more than I’ve ever felt before.

“Start talking,” I demand. “That’s why you sent them all away, isn’t it? You want your grand finale.”

“I have hated you my entire life,” Rafael says, turning his back to me and pouring himself a whiskey. Harper steps in front of me, putting her hand on the gun to lower it to the ground. Rafael turns back around, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

I take Harper into the kitchen, keeping my eyes on Rafael as he keeps speaking. Slowly and gently I clean the blood from her face, hands, and legs with one hand and eyes on Rafael. She stares at me with pain and hurt rolling off of her. I avoid looking into them, knowing I’ve failed her again.

“You are a bastard. Your mother was a whore who slept with our father for drugs.” Rafael’s lip curls in disgust. My rage turns lethal when I hear him describe my mother. She wasn’t much of a mother, but she was still mine. “My mother, Father’s wife, was a gold-digging tramp. Father put us up in a mansion in Mexico, surrounded by huge stone walls so the filth and vermin couldn’t touch us. He hated his heritage so much, he sent me to an American school. ‘Why not a school in the states?’ you ask. That is a fantastic question, hermano. He didn’t want my mother or me.”

When Harper’s face is clean, I take it in my hands, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Stay behind me, Harper. I mean it.” She nods once.

“How sweet,” Rafael sneers. “If things were different, if they went the way it should have, lovely Harper would have been mine.”

“Keep fucking talking. Don’t look at her again. If you do, I might just give you what you’re really here for.”

Rafael eyes light up. Harper and I can get out of this alive. I need to know this story, though. We have the piece to bargain with. He showed his cards too soon. He has nothing I need, I have everything he wants.

“One time when Father came to visit, I heard him on the phone talking about you. A filthy street kid. How could he love you? I was his heir. I did everything right.” Rafael’s voice is getting louder, and he looks at me with loathing in his eyes. “I have always hated you. Sucio.”

Rafael’s lip curls, looking me over from head to toe as if I’m the filth he just called me.

“You did not know Father existed, and yet he protected you. Father sent you to her school hoping you’d escape your miserable life so you would meet her.” Rafael points toward Harper. She’s standing so close to my back I can feel her heat. I bring my hand around, anchoring her to my back. What the fuck did he mean by Santiago wanting me to meet Harper?

“You should not even exist, and he gave you everything. All that should have been mine, he gave to you. Then her father tried to destroy me. I had already made it my mission to be bigger, larger than my father who sat like a fucking king at the top of Texas, controlling his people like puppets in every city. He treated his men like they were royalty but treated me, his son, like a waste of space. I would take him down. I stole from him, taking money, making it look like it was his beloved brother who was not even blood. I tried to make the other cartels come after him. I used Daniel for so much of it, my poor scapegoat.” Rafael shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. “He liked to make his own rules, though, he had to go.”

He used Dawson—or Daniel—and shot him, killing him like it was nothing. This man is sick. How the fuck is he a DEA agent?

“My plans were foiled by her father,” Rafael sneers in Harper’s direction. “When I saw her, though, I would have forgiven that debt if she would have been mine. If she spread those long legs for me and learned to keep her mouth shut, she could be the perfect woman. That would have been the ultimate win. A beautiful girl my father loved as his own, doing the thing he hated most––ruling the cartel.”

Harper shivers against me, and I squeeze her hips tighter. Over my dead body will he ever get closer to her than he is right now.

“I made a new plan,” Rafael laughs. “I set out to become a DEA agent, how much fun would that be? A cartel heir taking out his father? It has been useful being on the inside. A badge can gain you so much trust. Idiotas.”

He pulls on the sleeves of his tailored shirt, smiling to himself. “They thought they were so smart, planting me in a world I knew, it is the perfect cover. I fed them tidbits of information, letting them have the men who did nothing but drag down my business. I could do anything,” Rafael says, bring his hand to his chest in mock sincerity before he lets out a sinister laugh. “All for the badge, of course.”

Rafael swallows the rest of his whiskey. “I am bored, story time is over.”

He stands, pulling the gun from his waistband. I push Harper back, grabbing the gun from mine. My gun is aimed between his eyes, his settled over my heart. Harper runs up behind me, putting her hand over my heart, trying to protect me. It won’t be necessary.

He smirks. “Which one is it going to be, bast––”

Harper screams when I shoot the gun, landing a bullet straight between his eyes.