Beep. Beep. Beep.

The noise sounds over and over annoyingly. Groaning, I blink and squint against the sunshine pouring through the window. I try to sit up but pain lances through my entire body. I gasp through the agony and catch movement in my periphery as I fall back against the mattress of the hospital bed. I glance around the room full of hospital machinery. A heart monitor beeps rhythmically to the side of the bed. This is one of Jésus’ rooms…

"You should be more careful, Victoria." I turn my head on the pillow and meet Jésus' gaze. His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his suit trousers, his inky black hair damp, I assume from a shower. A small smirk darts over his lips as he reaches inside his jacket pocket and takes out a cigarette. He places it between his lips and lifts the lighter to his face, allowing the flame to kiss the end of the cigarette. Taking a puff, he rounds the bed. "It hurts, doesn't it?" he whispers. "Coming so close to death." I glance down at the drip attached to my arm, and notice my body covered from hips to chest in bandages.

Frowning, I try to work through the fog of confusion clouding my mind. Jésus. Jude...it's all like a dream that I can't quite grasp onto even though I know I'm missing something vitally important. "What happened?" I ask, my voice nothing more than a hoarse rasp.

"You were shot, chiquita. And not by my men." He lifts one eyebrow, and though his expression is schooled, I see the anger swirling behind them. I've seen Jude wear that exact look so many times before.

My memories blur together, pulling at the edges of my mind. I remember Cayla, Jude...the meeting in the desert. I set him up. Oh my god, I set Jude up. It all comes back in a rush, but it's more like a nightmare than a dream. And I almost wish I couldn't recall this particular nightmare. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can picture Jude's face, desperate and angry even from across that short expanse of desert that stretched between us. I can practically hear the gunfire, the explosions, the smell of burnt flesh, and scorched sand. And then, blood. So much blood and pain, and the only thing I could see was Jude's face, his anguish as he tried to run to me, as the men around him held him back. I remember knowing that I was dying, knowing that I would never see Jude again, that our story had ended in such tragedy.

Only, I'm not dead. I'm here. "Where's Jude?" I ask quietly.

Jésus tilts his head to the side as a small smirk works over his lips. "He's gone, chiquita. That was the deal you made, remember? His life for your daughter's."

The pain surging through my body does not compare to the pain that grips my soul. It’s as though a vital piece of me is being torn away. All the tiny little threads that hold me together are being shredded and frayed.

He can't be dead. He can’t.

Surely I would have known? I would have woken up with a gaping void in my chest because it's Jude. Without him, I'm ... I don't know what I am. I press my hand to my chest, rubbing over the spot where my frail heart beats so pitifully. Oh my god. I am responsible for the death of Jude, the other half of me, the father of my child. I squeeze my eyes shut and feel a tear slip down my cheek. I know I can't show weakness, but I'm breaking. Part of me wishes I had died from that bullet because Jude is dead. I can never again see my own child. Everything I had is gone, and still, I'm a prisoner of the cartel. What I've woken to isn't worth living.

“You also traded your life for your daughter’s." Jesus steps closer and reaches out, stroking my cheek with his rough finger. He catches my tear and lifts it as though he's inspecting it. "So pretty," he says before he leans over and brings his lips to my ear. "You are mine now, Victoria. I saved you. I saved your child. Everything that you are belongs to me, and I expect your loyalty."

I hear the words he doesn't say. Cayla's life depends on it. I take a shaky breath as his lips brush just below my ear. I can feel myself shutting down, my heart shriveling in my chest. "You have it," I say quietly.

If that is what it takes to keep Cayla safe, then I will do it. I will willingly lose all sense of the woman I once was and become something else. She is my only reason for existing now.

"Good." He grabs my jaw, twisting my face towards him. His dark eyes lock with mine, cruel and hungry. "And remember, that should your loyalties change. I know where your daughter is. I know where your sister is. I have no problem killing Elizabeth and her husband and bringing the little one right back to Mexico. Don't make me motivate you."

I swallow heavily, fighting tears. "No, please leave her alone. You have what you wanted," I beg.

Laughing, he shoves me away hard enough that pain shoots through my body. He turns and walks towards the door. "I haven't even begun to get what I want yet. You need to rest, chiquita. I'll be back later."

The door slams shut and I'm left with my grief, my pain, and my fear. This is what I sacrificed— for Cayla— and even though I feel impossibly broken, I would shatter a thousand times over for my baby.