Sia

 

I heard the gunshot at the same time Cowboy did. Hush was still on the bed, his eyes beginning to roll. “Cowboy!” I called, heart slamming in my chest, as I glanced out of the window Cowboy stood at. I saw lights in the distance . . . and my barn was lit up.

A pained noise came from the direction of the bed. Hush’s body started jerking. “The seizure,” I said breathlessly. I moved to roll Hush onto his side like I had seen Cowboy do before. Cowboy ran to my dresser and picked up his gun.

“Hide him!” he instructed. I put my palm on Hush’s sweaty head. He was trembling, his arms and legs jerking with the strength of his seizure. Hearing another gunshot, I tried to pick him up. He was too tall. Too heavy.

“I can’t!” I cried, and Cowboy edged away from the window. He put the gun in his belt and lifted Hush up. I chased after him. “The storm latch!” I said and led him downstairs. I lifted the secret hatch in the floor of the closet.

Cowboy looked at me. “We need to get in too.”

I nodded, readying to follow, as Cowboy lowered Hush into the small space that was built into the house years ago. It wasn’t visible. It had always made me feel safe, knowing I had a place to hide.

Cowboy gave me his hand, his blue eyes frantic. “Come on!” he urged. I took his hand . . . but my fingers slipped through his when I heard another gunshot, then the horrific sound of a horse in pain. I whipped my head in the direction of the front door, my heart falling. “Sandy . . .” I whispered, just as another shot fired. The same heartbreaking cry from a horse rang out, and then . . . “No . . . Clara’s out there . . .”

Before I knew it, my legs were running for the door. “Sia!” Cowboy shouted behind me. But I couldn’t stop. Clara was in the stalls. She was working late for me tonight. I burst from the front door and sprinted over the fields. I heard the front door open behind me, Cowboy calling my name. But I couldn’t stop. Teardrops from my eyes caught in the wind and sailed to the south.

I saw movement from the stalls. I saw men walking along the length of the barn, shot after shot firing like they were piercing bullets into my heart. My horses . . . the creatures that kept me sane . . . kept me safe . . .

Someone emerged from the front of the barn. He was dark-haired, with tan skin. Mexican, I thought. My legs trembled, making me trip. He looked up . . . and a smile grew on his lips.

“Clara!” I shouted. He’d seen me. There was no need for silence. They had come for me. I knew my days had been numbered. “Clara!” I screamed again . . . and then shuddered to a halt.

“Sia,” a familiar voice said in greeting. I turned my head to see Pablo, Juan’s right-hand man, coming out of a blacked-out van.

A shot rang out behind me. I flinched, and then whipped around to see Cowboy firing at the men coming from the barn. Cowboy caught up with me and grabbed me by my arm. Men closed in around us. I narrowed my eyes, peering into the barn. A sob ripped from my throat when I saw pools of blood forming rivulets on the concrete floor.

“No!” I shouted, legs buckling as they gave way on the grass.

Pablo checked his cufflinks, like he didn’t have a care in the world. He flicked a hand at some of his men. “Take her.” Cowboy picked me up and pulled me to his chest.

“She’s not going anywhere.” He aimed his gun at the approaching men.

“Cowboy.” I ghosted my finger over his arm. “Don’t.”

“I got this, cher.”

“No,” I said. “They’ll kill you. There are too many.” As the last of those words left my mouth, a dull thud came from behind us. Cowboy’s heavy body toppled, dragging me to the floor with him. I scrambled from underneath his arm. Cowboy was out cold. I wrapped my arm around him. Pablo came to stand beside us.

“Where’s the other one?”

My pulse raced and my stomach fell. Hush. He was talking about Hush. “He left.”

Pablo’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true.”

Pablo clicked his finger at one of his men. “Search the house. If he’s there, get him and follow behind. Black guy.” He smirked. “Shouldn’t be too hard to spot.” He looked at another. “Get these two in the van. We’re leaving.”

“Clara?” I asked, my soul screaming at me because it already knew.

Pablo bent down. His eyes skimmed over my face and body. “You look better older,” he said in English. His lips kicked up at the side. “Juan will like that. He doesn’t tolerate women aging disgracefully.” He stood, then, looking at me over his shoulder, said, “If you’re referring to your little friend . . .” He paused, leaving my breath suspended like his words. “She’s dead.” He shook his head. “Silly whore thought she could pull a shotgun on us. Accusing us of being ranch invaders . . . whatever they are.” He tutted. “She should know the cartel if she sees us. People in Mexico would never mistake the Quintana family for common criminals.”

“So you killed her?” I whispered, nausea fighting its way up my throat.

“I’ve killed for less.”

Hands grabbed me and dragged me from Cowboy. I fought and fought them until a fist swiped across my face. I tried to keep consciousness, but when the second blow came, it was useless. The last thing I remembered seeing was Cowboy being dragged behind me . . . and a light in the house, with shadows searching for the second part of my heart.

Please, I found myself begging Hades of all people. Don’t let them find him. He’s been through enough. And as the van door shut and darkness engulfed me, I added, Ky . . . please let Ky find us again.

 

*****

 

I opened my eyes, bright sunlight making me squint. My head ached, my jaw throbbing as if I had been hit. I tried to push the fog from my brain. Visions and images came crashing to my mind like a film reel coming loose at a drive-in movie. Hush . . . Clara . . . horses . . . Pablo . . . Garcia . . . Garcia . . .. Garcia . . .

I shot up from whatever I was lying on. My head whipped around the room. White walls, white tiled floors, and a familiar white bed.

My hand hit my chest. I fought for breath. My lungs were failing to receive the memo that I needed air. My palms fell forward and hit the mattress. The smell of sandalwood.

Juan . . .

I moved off the bed, wincing at a pain in my arm. I glanced down and saw a on my bicep. Drugs. I had been drugged. Then my eyes traveled south.

I choked on a desperate cry. Red. I was dressed in a red dress. “I like you in red, bella,” Juan said on our first date. “You were wearing a red bikini on the beach. It was what drew me to you.” He smiled and toyed with the strap of my dress. “Red is the color of a confident woman. I don’t see too many of those in my line of work.” He leaned in and kissed me, stealing my breath. When he pulled away, he said, “I have become quite mesmerized by you, mi rosa negra.” He kissed me again. He smiled against my lips. “I think I will always keep you in red.”

I clawed at the straps. I had just moved them down my arm when a door opened behind me. I froze, my eyes locked on a painting on the wall, of a villa somewhere in the Mexican countryside. The door shut, and as the footsteps came closer, I knew they’d belong to a pair of Prada shoes, shined to perfection. I knew the man in them would be six-foot-four, have a thick crop of dark hair, and have the most handsome eyes and smile I’d ever seen.

And I knew that man was the devil incarnate.

The bed dipped, and I froze. I didn’t even blink as I felt warm breath drift over my shoulder. As I smelled sandalwood . . . and as hands took the straps that were hanging down my arms and lifted them back to my shoulders.

I began to shake, one limb at a time. Wherever he touched became a mass of shivers, my strength buckling in his heavy presence. “Bella,” he whispered. I closed my eyes. The voice that had haunted my nightmares for years was suddenly alive. “You still smell the same.” He ran his stubbled cheeks along the back of my neck. Every hair I had stood on end.

His hands ran down my arms. Then, he took a deep breath and firmly said, “Turn your head.”

Too frozen too move, I couldn’t do as he asked. Tired of waiting, Juan spun me around. I kept my eyes downwards, and I heard the smile in his voice. “Look up, bella. Don’t force me to hurt you.”

His thick Mexican accent felt like thorns stabbing into my ears. Nevertheless, I raised my eyes. Pure fear ran through my veins when his face came into view. I sucked in the breath that I thought would never return. He smiled, his eyes glazed. I knew that look.

It was the look he gave me when I first met him on the beach.

But I had been mesmerized by his eyes when I was seventeen. By his smile and lean, toned body; his accent that, at the time, I believed was the most beautiful accent in the world . . . until I heard Cajun French sailing from the mouths of two men whose smiles were genuine and pure. One free, one guarded, but both striking lightning into my soul.

“Where is he?” I tilted my chin in defiance.

Juan’s smile fell. His head tipped to the side, assessing me. He ran his tongue over his teeth and shook his head. “I see,” he said and got off the bed. I kept my eyes on him. I never let them move. I knew how he worked. One moment he was nice; the next, a true monster. He dusted off his jacket. “I suppose you are asking about the biker in the Stetson?” It felt as though my heart stopped beating as I waited to hear about Cowboy. As I waited, watching Juan’s eyes for any sign of deception, to find out if Cowboy was alive. I nodded, and waited . . . Juan leaned forward, and the devil he disguised with good looks and designer suits flashed through. “Detained for now . . .” He stood and straightened his tie. “But won’t be breathing too much longer.”

Before I knew what I was doing, I shot off the bed and raised my hand to strike his face. Juan caught my wrist in his hand and began to squeeze. I cried out, my body buckling under the pain. He brought me to my knees, exactly where he liked to keep women. His eyes flashed. He spun me around, and I cried out when the back of my dress was ripped in two. I cried out as his finger traced down my burns . . .

“You defied me,” he said as he laid me on my front on the small bed. I was shaking as he rubbed his hands down my wrists. And then I jumped, panicking, when two cuffs were locked into place, keeping my arms strapped to the bed. I thrashed wildly, but Juan cut down my dress, exposing my back. I moved my head from side to side, trying to see what he was doing. Minutes passed, and I collapsed onto the bed, face to the side, chest and arms exhausted. I felt liquid hit my skin . . . then pain, so much excruciating pain that I screamed. Screamed so loudly that I heard people’s shocked murmurs coming from outside. I clawed at the bed, needing to move, yet every movement I made set my skin alight. I screamed until Juan crouched down, his face meeting mine. He ran a hand down my face as I cried out until my eyes felt like they would bulge from my head. As I took a breath, he said, “Try to leave me again, and I will douse you in this.” Tears poured down my face, my body beginning to convulse. My temperature plummeted as my body writhed of its own accord. I clutched the white sheet that covered the bed, trying to breathe through the pain.

He had ruined me.

He had ruined me so I would never leave him.

He had ruined me for anyone else . . .

His hand moved to my shoulder. His mouth came to my ear. “You had it taken off?”

The black rose. The brand he marked all of his girls with. Their brand, like a rancher brands his cattle. On his “girls” the tattoo was burned onto their hips. On me, he made it large enough and visible enough that everyone knew to whom I belonged.

“I wanted nothing of you left on me. Wanted no trace of this place . . . of the hell on earth you’ve created. Your empire built on pain.”

He lifted his eyebrows and then leaned in close. His hand traced my burn scars, then his nails dug in. I stifled a scream. I refused to give the sick fucker the pleasure of my pain. “Too late,” he whispered, and in the simple act of clawing at my desecrated skin, he reminded me how scarred onto my soul he truly was.

He got up and walked toward the door. “Where is she?” I demanded, swinging to face him.

He stopped and glanced at me over his shoulder. “Around.” A wave of relief crashed through my body.

She was still alive . . . after all this time.

“And where is he?” My voice cracked.

Juan tensed and then came toward me. He crouched down, looking as impeccable as always. “Tell me, Sia.” His tone was cold and cruel. “You left me because you refused, as you put it, to be a criminal’s whore.” He left those words hanging between us, until he tipped his head to the side. “I have it on good authority that you are now whored out to two men, and bikers, no less.” As quick as a viper, Juan gripped my cheeks in his hand. I winced, crying out at the flash of pain that shot through my jaw. “Bikers, Sia . . . something you neglected to tell me you were a princess of, didn’t you, bella?”

I pulled my face back and spat in his eye. “As fucked up as they may be, as my family may be, they don’t deal in trafficking women. They don’t sell slaves for profit.”

“Just their sisters to a black bastard and a redneck who fuck each other as much they fuck you.” He pressed a bruising kiss on my lips. I pushed him back. “If I’d known what a slut you were, I might not have been so delicate with you.” He sighed. “It is something I will be taking full advantage of from now on.” He went to stand, but just before he did, he sliced the back of his hand across my face. My head snapped to the side with the force of the unexpected blow. I scurried off, afraid he would come for me again. “That’s for spitting in my face.” He walked away. When the door shut, I staggered to my feet. I ran after him, to the door I once escaped through.

There was no way out.

Slumping to the floor, my burns against the wooden door, I thought of Cowboy, of what Juan would do to him. I thought of Hush, wondering if he was okay. And I thought of my brother, and what could have been the last conversation we ever had.

Only then did I let the tears fall.

 

*****

 

It was the next day before someone came into my room. I lay on the bed, my eyes fixed on the door so I would know the exact moment he came back for me. Because I knew he would. I was starving, thirsty, and I ached all over. Whatever his people had injected into me was messing with my muscles.

When the knob of the door turned, I pushed myself up and braced for Juan. A man I didn’t recognize stood in the doorway. “This way,” he ordered. He was big and intimidating—like most of Juan’s men. He was dressed in a black suit with a silver tie. I hesitated, enough for the man to narrow his eyes. “I won’t ask again. If you don’t move, I’ll come and move you myself.”

With shaking limbs, I stood from the bed. I felt like Bambi when I walked, my feet taking tentative steps as I made my way to the door. When I reached the man, he took hold of my arm and led me through hallways that brought back too many bad memories: of my first steps after the acid burn, the excruciating pain as my taut skin stretched with the movement of my legs, the night I fled from the house and into the woods that kept it hidden . . . running until Ky and Styx found me.

I prayed someone would find me now.

I was forced into a car. I wrapped my torn red dress around me. It was hot, but I was freezing as we drove, and drove, until the place I’d never wanted to see again swung into view.

My breathing quickened. My palms started sweating and my body shook. The man pulled us to a stop in front of a far building. Dozens of men were milling around. Truck after truck was leaving this fucked-up place. Nausea swirled in my stomach when I realized who would be in those trucks. And worse, where they would be going. Auctions, to sell them off to men and women, their new owners  . . . people who could make them do anything they wished.

Bile rose into my throat as the last truck passed us. The place was quiet . . . eerily so. Once the gate was closed, the man Juan had sent to retrieve me got out of the car and came to my door. Grabbing my arm, he pulled me violently from the backseat. My bare feet hit the sandy dirt. I stumbled after the man as he pulled me through a building, down cold dank hallways, until we arrived at a door at the end.

He pounded on the door. Another faceless, nameless man opened it. I was handed over without ceremony. The new man led me further into the room, a single dangling from the ceiling. I squinted, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark . . . and I saw something. A chair, with a man sitting upon it.

My heart began racing so fast I was sure it would burst free from my chest. “No,” I whispered, taking in the beaten mess that slumped in the chair. A familiar plaid shirt torn into strips, revealing the lashes on his skin. His hat was missing, and his blond hair was tinged with red from the blood that I guessed had spattered from his face. His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were tied to the chair legs.

“Cowboy,” I whispered, my voice carrying on the stale air that clogged the small room.

He lifted his chin, slowly, as though the movement caused him too much pain. I cried out, sobbing when his eyes looked to me. They were bruised and swollen.

I needed to hold him.

I tried to pull away from the man, but he wrenched me back and slapped a hand across my face. My legs buckled, still weak from the kidnapping, dehydration, and the of the sedative.

Cowboy let out a vicious growl, his chair moving on the concrete floor. The man lifted me up and tied me to a chair opposite Cowboy. I kept my eyes on him, ignoring the throbbing of my cheek. Tears stung the skin, but I kept my eyes on Cowboy. Even as beaten and hurt as he was, Cowboy smiled as best he could and gave me a wink.

A single pained laugh escaped my lips, before I straightened my shoulders. I refused to let these assholes see me break. The man walked out, shutting the door, leaving me all alone with Cowboy. I checked no one else was around.

“Cowboy,” I whispered, my hushed voice echoing around the square box of a room. “Tell me you’re okay . . .” I squeezed my eyes shut. “What have they done to you . . .” It wasn’t really a question. My beautiful Cowboy. They had hurt him, badly, all because he was with me.

Cowboy tried to speak but coughed up blood. I prayed it was from the inside of his mouth, not from something they’d done to him inside. “I’m good, cher,” he replied weakly; he tried to smile again. The skin on his bottom lip split when he did.

I tried to pull my hands loose from the ties that bound me, but I couldn’t. I looked at Cowboy, catching him watching me. “What will we do?” I asked. We weren’t naive; we’d been brought into this room for a reason. After the way I spoke to him, I wondered if he’d brought me to this building just to kill me. Juan Garcia was a man who never lost. I ran before he’d tired of me. In his eyes, it was the beginning of a cat-and-mouse game.

I was the mouse.

And I’d been caught.

I looked at the walls that surrounded us. Remnants of blood were ingrained into the rough-textured material. I fought for breath. This room had one purpose. To house those about to die.

“Sia,” Cowboy said, pulling back my attention. “Hush will get us out.” I didn’t dare let myself hope that was the case. Especially when the door opened again and yet another man walked through. A man who, I could tell instantly, belonged to the newest associates of Juan’s company, a shaven-headed man with white-power and Nazi tattoos adorning his skin. In his hand was a knife. He sauntered into the room, his eyes on both of us.

My heart kicked into a sprint as he circled us before stopping in front of me. “Get the fuck away from her,” Cowboy said. I had never heard his voice so venomous before. The Nazi looked at Cowboy over his shoulder.

“Just wanted to say hello,” he responded and then walked back the door. It opened, and the Nazi dragged someone else in. I could see a red dress, similar to mine. But then I sucked in a harsh breath when the girl’s face and body came into view. A noise of pure sympathy came from the back of my throat when I saw her flesh. Her eyes were downcast, but I wasn’t sure she could actually see. The Nazi abandoned the girl in the center of the floor, under the single lightbulb, and left the room.

Her body closed inwards, but then she lifted her head. I shuddered, my heart tearing in two when I saw her face. Every inch of her skin looked like my back.

Acid, I immediately thought. They’d poured acid on all of her skin. Even her head was damaged, hair all gone save for a single clump at the back. Her hair had been brown. One of her eyes was blinded, a cloudy milky hue smothering the iris. But the other appeared intact. Brown eyes. Kind eyes. Eyes similar in color to . . .

I choked, refusing to believe it was true. Refusing to believe my eyes. That this was—

“Sia?” The girl froze.

Even though they were tied, I felt my hands shake. My eyes widened as the girl shuffled toward us, her teeth gritting with the pain she was clearly in. When she arrived at my feet, I wanted to turn away. I couldn’t bear to see how she looked. How she could barely move, the skin all over her body damaged beyond repair.

What had he done . . .?

“Sia,” she repeated breathlessly, like it had just taken all her energy to lie by my feet.

“Mi-Michelle?” I managed to croak.

I heard Cowboy’s quick inhale. But I wouldn’t break my gaze from hers. I couldn’t . . . She had been my friend.

If my hands were free I would have laid a palm on her cheek and I would have promised that everything would be okay. But bound, all I could do was say, “What have they done to you?”

Michelle sniffed. I struggled to see the tear as it fell from her undamaged eye and traveled down her scarred cheek. “Over and over again . . .” she said. She looked at Cowboy and shied away, scurrying near my feet.

“He would never hurt you,” I assured her, but then I felt foolish. All she’d ever known were evil men. Why would she believe any promise? I looked at her red dress. I knew exactly which of those evil men was responsible for this.

“I tried to escape,” she continued, her fleshless lips trembling. I held still. “He caught me.” She flicked her eye up to me then back down to the ground. “Not long after you succeeded.”

I waited. Waited, heart in mouth. Michelle sucked in a sharp breath. “He made me dress like he dressed you.” She shook her head, evidently replaying those days in her mind. “But I wasn’t you. No matter what he did to me . . . everything he wanted, or did do, to you.” My face blanched. He raped her. Juan raped her, because I wasn’t there for him to fuck. “He started by pouring acid on my back. But it didn’t please him. So he kept going. Each month it would be something else, somewhere else on my body he would destroy.” I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to extract the mountain of guilt that was building in my body. “Until there was nothing else left of me to take.”

Michelle inhaled, wincing. She stretched out her hand. I sobbed when her rough fingers took hold of my hands and squeezed. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she said hoarsely. She looked up at me. “I want to go home, Sia. It all hurts so much.” I squeezed her fingers back, trying not to squeeze too hard, to cause her more pain.

“I’ll get you there,” I promised. She slowly lifted her head and tried to smile. The look of hopelessness on her face was the saddest thing I’d ever seen. “I will,” I pushed harder, trying to help her. To give her hope.

She closed her eyes. “I want to see green fields. There’s so much desert here. Too much darkness.”

My eyes lifted to meet Cowboy’s. His face was like stone as he listened to Michelle reminisce about home. “Michelle?” he said. Michelle turned her head to face him. Cowboy glanced at the door. “I have a knife in my boot,” he whispered, barely looking away from the door for whatever, and whoever, would come through next. He waggled one of his feet.

Michelle looked to me. “You can trust him,” I said. “He’s with me.” Michelle shuffled across the room and stopped at Cowboy’s feet.

“At the side. It’s tucked into my sock.”

Michelle reached in, all the time casting wary glances back at me. I nodded my head, trying to give her encouragement. She pulled out the knife. I exhaled in relief, as did Cowboy. Cowboy moved his hands behind the chair. “Untie me,” he instructed, still watching the door.

But Michelle started backing away.

“Michelle?” I questioned as she looked at me. Her hands were shaking and her lips were trembling. “Michelle?” I said, panic in my voice. Tear after tear left Michelle’s eye . . . then she looked at Cowboy and whispered, “Thank you . . .”

My heart tore down the center at the final tone in those two words. I opened my mouth to say something, anything to try to lift her from her hopelessness, but I was beaten to it by two quick slashes of the sharp knife across her wrists.

“NO!” I screamed, the hoarseness of my voice causing my words to fade to nothing. Michelle dropped the knife to the ground, the metal clanging on the concrete. Her too-thin legs gave way, and she staggered back to the wall behind her. Blood dripped to the floor around her. She slumped down the wall, a smile playing on her lips. “Michelle,” I whispered, as the shell containing my best friend met my eyes, never moving her gaze from mine as the light in her eyes faded to nothing.

The tinny scent of blood infused the air. I stared and stared at Michelle on the floor, eyes open, yet gone. A loud cry ripped from my body. And then I screamed. I screamed so loud. So fucking loud at the asshole who could do this to another human being.

I hated him. I hated Juan Garcia with everything that I was. Everything he stood for and everything he did.

The door to the room opened, and the Nazi came in. Anger replaced the sorrow I was feeling. My hands shook on the seat. “Where is he?” I growled.

The Nazi’s eyes widened as he saw Michelle. “You fucked up,” he gloated. “Boss man had plans for her.” The pulse in my throat throbbed. He shrugged, and then looked at Cowboy. “It’ll just be you he uses.”

I froze and snapped my head to Cowboy. His jaw was clenched. I felt the blood drain from my face. He was going to kill him. Juan was going to very slowly kill Cowboy in front of me. Just like he’d been going to do with Michelle before she took her own misery-ridden life.

“Don’t touch him,” I snarled as the Nazi walked closer to Cowboy. He had his knife in his hand again.

“Oh, I’m gonna touch him.” The Nazi stopped in front of Cowboy. “I was disappointed when I found out I only got you.” He twirled the knife in his hand. “I was told I was getting a mongrel.” My blood turned to ice. Cowboy’s tied hands clenched into fists behind him. The Nazi noticed. He glanced at me, then at Cowboy and asked him, “You a fag as well as a coon-lover?”

Fire flared in Cowboy’s blue eyes. “Yeah,” he replied defiantly. “Love sucking dick just as much as I love licking pussy.”

The Nazi’s lip curled in disgust. “As if being a fag isn’t bad enough, you chose to suck black cock.”

Cowboy smiled, a real wide smile, blood spilling from his wounds and dripping down his chin. “Tried white.” The Nazi froze. “They weren’t big enough to fill my mouth like I want.”

“Cowboy,” I whispered, begging him not to antagonize this prick.

The Nazi leaned down and held out his knife. “You like fucking the weaker, corrupted race . . . then we’ll let everyone know it.” My heart was in my mouth as the Nazi moved behind Cowboy and slit off his cut, then his shirt, baring his chest. The Nazi pushed Cowboy’s head forward and brought the knife to the top of his spine.

“No!” I shouted, thinking he was going to stab him. Instead, the sadistic fucker started carving. “Get off him!” I screamed when Cowboy’s eyes flared and his teeth gritted together as the knife was pushed into his flesh. The Nazi’s hands, his “SS” and “88” tattoos, were stained with Cowboy’s blood.

Cowboy shook as the pain clearly became too much. The Nazi stepped back, admiring his work. “Gonna get the message to your club that no one fucks with us.” He shrugged. “Your body will ensure that.” He smiled a twisted, cold smile. “This ‘23/2’ bladed into your back shows that you love black.” He shook his head then spat at the wound. “Races shouldn’t mix. White blood is weakened by the coons.”

Cowboy went to speak, but I didn’t want this asshole to hurt him more, so I cut in. “Then you better mark me too.”

The Nazi looked at me. I lifted my chin. “Sia,” Cowboy warned.

“I’m in love with a man of mixed race.” I could tell by Cowboy’s face that he was pissed at what I’d just done. But I stared at him too. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Cher,” he said in a graveled voice.

I looked at the Nazi. “If you mark him with whatever the fuck that number means, then you’d better do the same to me.” I smiled.

The Nazi came toward me. “I have orders to tattoo Garcia’s brand on you.” The black rose. The Nazi shrugged. “I can do both.”

He moved behind me and shoved my head down. I bit my tongue, tasting the blood in my mouth, when the first slice was made. I held Cowboy’s furious gaze as the pain almost made me puke. And I imagined Hush’s face. How the loneliness that lived within him for so long lifted when he was with us. Where he belonged. With us. His home.

“Twenty-three,” the Nazi said as my body started to shake, adrenaline spiking through me. “Is the alphabetical number for ‘W,’ meaning white. Two is the alphabetical number for—”

“B,” I cried out, as a pent-up breath escaped my mouth.

“Is for black,” he finished. “23/2, for those who fuck the inferior race. Mixing blood and creating freaks that should never ever be born.”

I thought of Hush and how he was no freak. How he wasn’t an abomination or a mongrel or a half-breed. Instead, he was perfect. One of the most honorable men I’d ever met, but broken by pricks like this cunt of a Nazi. Damaged, with such little self-worth that my soul cried for all that he went through . . . the daily hate he endured for just existing.

The Nazi moved away from me, giving me a break from the blade’s searing pain. I gasped for air, my body immediately draining of energy. The Nazi moved to the door and left. My head hung low, but when I looked at the floor, I saw Michelle, or the girl that used to be Michelle, lying lifeless. I lifted my eyes to see Cowboy, bruised and broken, face ashen, but his chin still lifted. Defiant until the end.

“Cher,” he rasped. “I’m sorry.” The agony of watching me being hurt was evident in his broken voice. I stared at this man, one half of the duo who swept into my life, changing my constant night into only sweet summer days. And I felt the strength I’d tried so hard to convey slip away like butter off a hot knife.

Because this man, this Cajun with the smart mouth and cheeky wink, was going to be taken away from me. Robbed of his life because of a man I met when I was seventeen. A man who couldn’t stand to lose, and would do anything to win.

“I’m sorry.” I glanced at the door, wondering how long I had left before the Nazi or Garcia himself would return to kill Cowboy, and with it, fucking shred half of my heart.

“Cher,” Cowboy started. His voice was strong, brave. But I saw his eyes shimmer. I heard the catch in his breath when he read my expression.

“I love you,” I whispered. I smiled, my bitter-tasting tears bursting on my tongue as they dripped down my face. It was surprising how quickly my heart had claimed both his and Hush’s. Like it had been looking for them, sifting through the few I had met, sleepily, until it had been awakened by a smooth-talking Cajun in a Stetson and a damaged soul with crystal-blue eyes. “I . . . I just want you to know,” I said softly, “that . . . that . . . I love you.” I smiled, missing the other third who made our peculiar triangle complete. “And Hush,” I added, the words catching in my throat.

Cowboy dropped his head, and then, raising it, said, “Je t’aime, cher.” He cleared his throat. “And I know Valan does too.” His eyes frosted over with something that looked like steely resolve. “You hold on to the fact that he’s out there. That he loves you just as much as me. If you lose faith, if . . .” Cowboy’s gaze found Michelle. His nose flared and his eyes closed for a split second. “No matter what he does to you. Hold on.” The door opened and the Nazi came back through, a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

He walked purposefully to Cowboy. I held my breath, bracing for the surge of devastation I was sure was about follow. But I didn’t know how to find that brace. How the hell do you prepare for your heart to be pulled from your chest and torn into a million pieces?

Cowboy straightened his back, his hands and feet taut in their binds as the Nazi stood before him. I wanted to cry at the dignity a person could muster when facing certain death. Cowboy looked straight into the eyes of his killer. My vision blurred as tears like I’d never shed before drowned my eyes. My heart beat a sloppy, unmelodic rhythm in my chest. Time stood still. The knife was lifted into the air. I gasped a final easy inhale of air, knowing that each breath after the knife fell would be laborious and heavy to my lungs. Then, just as I stilled, waiting for my soul to be ripped in two, a large figure ran in front of me and stabbed a knife into the Nazi’s neck.

What the hell?

The man, dressed all in black, long black hair running past his shoulder blades, turned and smiled. I breathed fast, eyes wide, wondering what was happening, and then a voice spoke, sounding like heaven itself. “Älskling.”

“Hush,” I whispered in disbelief. Hush ran into the room. He ran to me and put his hands on my face. He searched my eyes, his blue gaze warm like the sun. My hands were suddenly free, as were my ankles. My numb hands found their way to Hush’s cheeks, knowing exactly where they belonged. My fingers shook on his face. Hush held my wrists, his eyes closing as if in silent prayer. A hand landed on his shoulder. Hush snapped his head back, his eyes closing for a second time in so many seconds. Hush turned and pulled Cowboy to his chest. Cowboy grunted, and Hush immediately drew back.

Hush looked at his hands . . . his now-bloodied hands. He turned Cowboy around, and I watched his face blanch. Then he looked at me again. The man who had killed the Nazi was helping me to my feet. I glanced at the tattooed emblem on his arm, snatching my hand back when I saw the Diablo patch. A flash of anger cut through me. They’d killed my momma.

But Hush snapped me from it when he gently turned me around. I didn’t want to. I knew the effect this would have on him. I knew this would just be another stab into his already punctured, bleeding heart.

I knew when he saw the carving. He sucked in a breath. When I turned back around, it was like a shutter being pulled; his face adopted the same mask he’d worn when he’d first come to the ranch.

“Hush.” I reached for his hand. Hush turned away and then stopped dead. He stared at Michelle’s body. Cowboy put his hand on Hush’s shoulder. The Diablo moved to the Nazi to make sure he was dead. I swayed on the spot, my body beginning to shut down in shock.

“Garcia did it,” Cowboy told Hush, leaning on his best friend for support.

A hand suddenly wrapped around my throat and dragged me backward. “Some of my best work, even if I do say so myself.”

Hush, Cowboy, and the Diablo spun around as one. A knife was at my throat. Juan’s arm was wrapped tightly around me, and I gripped it simply to stay on my feet. I knew if I moved, if I fell, the blade would split my throat.

“Ah.” Juan kissed my cheek. “The third member of your little trifecta.” Hush’s eyes were locked on Juan. Garcia looked at the Diablo. “Well well, Angelo. Seems you have found a new home.”

The Diablo raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Seems that way.”

“We always wondered where you had gone.” Juan shrugged, all arrogance as he stared down three men who could kill him in a flash. But then, he knew they wouldn’t shoot. They couldn’t hit him without hitting me. “We could still use a man of your skills, if you wish to return.”

Angelo tilted his head.

“We can forgive you for abandoning the cartel for the Tejano joke that is your little biker gang.”

Angelo shook his head. Hush took that opportunity to try to move to the left. “I wouldn’t,” Juan warned. He pushed the blade into my throat, and I cried out as I felt the sharp edge. I didn’t dare swallow. Hush stilled. Juan’s mouth came to rest on my cheek. I caught a scream in my mouth as his chest rubbed against my wound. “He deserved to die,” Juan said of the Nazi. “I’m the only one who desecrates this skin.”

I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I looked at Hush and Cowboy. “Please . . .” Their gazes set on mine. “Go.” They didn’t move. But I knew Garcia had no one left to help him or he wouldn’t be threatening my life. They could get out. I knew I was always going to end up here again. “Go,” I begged.

“No,” Hush replied firmly. Cowboy shook his head. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt my tears hit Juan’s ear.

I opened them again. “GO!” I shouted, the effort causing blistering pain to shoot through my upper back. I breathed through the pain. “Please,” I whispered. “Save yourselves.”

Hush and Cowboy kept their eyes on me. I met the two shades of blue I adored so much and felt a strange sense of completion. I may have lost them, thrust back into this hell with Juan, but at least I had loved. At least I had felt the adoration and kindness that I’d only ever seen in movies.

I smiled weakly. They would have been perfect for me. We would have been perfect together.

Suddenly, a choked gurgle came from Juan’s mouth. His hand slipped away. Hush grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. My legs buckled, and Hush caught me before I fell. The sound of a heavy object hitting the floor echoed around the room. I quickly turned my head to witness Juan on the floor, throat slit and bleeding out. Then I looked up and—

“Hey, sis.”

“Ky,” I whispered in surprise, just as Styx and Tanner ran into the room. Styx had his German blade in hand, blood over his arms and cheeks. He gave me the ghost of a smile, his broad shoulders dropping some when he locked eyes with me.

“We gotta go,” Angelo said. “We got about thirty minutes before the trucks return and we’re as fucked as the bitches they steal to sell.”

Hush scooped me up in his arms. Ky moved beside me, his eyes on fire as he looked at my back.

“Sia.” He ran his hand down my arm. Such agonized pain flashed across his face that I could have cried. But then Hush was rushing me through the empty hallways. Angelo led us out of a back door and into another building. We kept to the shadows. With every step Hush took, I clenched my teeth against the pain the jerky movements sent to my back. I glanced behind me. Styx was propping Cowboy up, his beaten face swelling and deepening purple.

We had just rounded the corner when we came face to face with a man at the exit door. I stared at that door, knowing it was our escape to freedom. Then I looked at the man who had drawn his gun, surprise written on his face. His tattoos were the same white-power symbols as the Nazi who carved our backs had. Hush tensed and held me closer.

Suddenly, Tanner stepped forward. The man’s eyes widened. “Tanner Ayers?” he asked in shock, and then his eyes narrowed. He lifted his gun higher. “We were all told you’d defected from the cause to join this fucking impure gang.” He opened his mouth again, but Tanner whipped a gun from his cut and sent a bullet straight into the Nazi’s head. His dead body slumped to the floor.

“Fuck yeah,” Angelo said, then quickly led us through the door. We raced to a waiting van. As we all piled in, Angelo stopped and said, “I’ll be a minute.” He ducked away, leaving the van doors open.

I jumped as a sudden blast of heat shot through the van. Light blinded my eyes, making me flinch. Loud bangs and deafening pops seemed to echo around the van like we were caught in the middle of a crossfire.

“What the fuck?” Ky snarled, rushing to the entrance of the van. The buildings that housed the girls were alight. I watched the flames climb higher and higher as they devoured the godforsaken structures. Adrenaline surged through me, and I tried to scramble from the van.

I slumped in Ky’s arms, no longer feeling my legs, all my strength stolen away by the blaze before me. The heat from the buildings rose until my face began to sweat. I didn’t even notice Ky had moved me away from the doors, placing my back against the van’s wall, until Cowboy laid a gentle hand on my arm. I looked tiredly, numbly, into his bruised eyes. “She wanted to go home,” I pleaded, voice cracking. “To the green fields of Texas.” I swallowed. “Her parents deserve to have her back . . .”

Cowboy’s gaze filled with sympathy, the light of the fires outside reflected in his blue eyes. “Not like she is,” he said softly. “They couldn’t cope with what she went through. We’ll get word to them, but we’ll spare them the truth. No one could cope with their daughter being put through that.”

I held Hush’s hand tightly. Cowboy stroked his thumb along my face. I could feel Ky watching us. But I had no energy to spare for him right now. I slumped back against Hush, letting him cradle me in his warm arms. Cowboy leaned into Hush, the last of his energy seeming to drain away.

Angelo, or as Ky had called him, Shadow, came to the door. He was slightly breathless. He smiled, making his already handsome face breathtaking. “Couldn’t fucking stand this place when I worked here. Been dreaming of torching it since I got out.”

The door shut, plunging us into darkness. AK opened the latch between the cabin and the back of the truck. “How many?” Tanner asked.

“Fifteen,” AK replied.

Tanner nodded and then lowered his eyes to some iPad-type device. “The road’s clear. The brothers are all on guard and expecting us.” He sighed. “An hour to the all-clear.” I looked up at Hush to see him watching Tanner like a hawk. But as the van started moving, I gave in to the sleep that was calling.

And I sent a prayer to Hades to welcome Michelle into the afterlife with open arms. Her beautiful face once again intact, with a wide smile upon her lips as she danced through the Elysian Fields.

But Juan . . . that fucking bastard could burn in Tartarus.