I'm sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen sipping coffee when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn on my stool, a smile painted on my face, but it falls when I see it's not Jésus. I don't like Jésus or his men, but I don't have to pretend with them. I realise it's the same guy who works for Ronan. He hands me the phone again and I eye it tentatively. My gaze darts around the massive kitchen, but we're alone. I snatch the phone and place it to my ear.

"Really? Your guy is putting me in jeopardy," I snap.

"Ah, sweet Victoria. You are in no danger," Ronan drawls.

"What do you want?"

"I am checking on your progress."

My temper spikes. "I do this my way or not at all. Unless you're going to drag your arse down to the desert and do it yourself..."

"Careful, Victoria. Remember why it is you do this. For your daughter."

"No," I take a breath, "I do it because you threaten her."

He huffs a small laugh. "I am no threat to your child. Jésus however..."

"So, if I don't do what you want..."

He groans. "Do not push me, Victoria. Kill the Mexican, free yourself and your child, and win the war. Simple."

"This is not my war!" My blood pressure rises, casting a dizzying heat over me.

He laughs. "This became your war the second you agreed to go to Jésus."

"No—" The line goes dead. He just hung up on me. God, I hate the Russian.

I practically throw the phone back at the guy and get up, taking my coffee with me. I go to the French doors and step out onto the back deck. The sun is just starting to cut through the morning chill. Everything out here is peaceful; the city below is in a calm between storms in this moment before the day begins and after the chaos of the night. I clasp my coffee in both hands and allow my thoughts to drift to Cayla and Jude. I wonder what they're doing right now.

I jump when hands land on my waist. Jésus laughs, his breath washing over the side of my neck as he does. "You're jumpy today."

"You caught me by surprise," I say, turning to face him. He takes my coffee from me, and lifts it to his lips for a sip.

"Get dressed," he says. "We're leaving."

"Where are we going?"

"I told you last night, you want me to trust you—wear the crown."

* * *

Jésus gets out of the car and holds his hand out to me. I take it and he helps me out of the car. We're in the middle of the desert and in front of us is a corrugated iron barn surrounded by some fenced-in pens with cattle roaming around in the dust. It looks like a cattle ranch, but of course, it won't be. Jésus wraps his arm around my waist and leads me towards the barn. His men walk ahead of us, rifles in hand.

"Where are we?" It took hours to get here and I can't see another building in any direction.

"Just a brief stop, chiquita."

Jésus says nothing, simply walks through the open side door into the barn. The smell of cow shit, hay, and stale air greets us. A man steps out of a gated pen, his straw hat tilted at an angle. He greets Jésus in Spanish and they begin a conversation. I glance around at the shabby barn with a cluster of pens holding calves. Why on earth would Jésus have any business on a ranch?

Jésus waves a hand at one of the guys and he steps forward, dropping a duffel bag on the dirt floor of the barn. He unzips it and steps back to reveal wads of dollar bills all banded and packed into the bag.

I glance at the man again, then at Jésus. The man steps forward, hoisting up his dirty jeans before he holds his hand out to Jésus. They shake, and then we're leaving.

"Am I supposed to know what just happened?" I ask as Jésus holds the back door open for me.

He smirks as he gets in the car after me and slams the door. "I just bought this ranch."

"Uh, why?"

He glances at me, smiling. "I'm a business man. I seize opportunities when they arise."

I feel like I'm missing something here because why would a cartel boss buy a ranch? There's not exactly millions to be made from raising cattle.

"Why bring me with you if you're just going to be cryptic?"

His lips press into a tight line. "I do not trust you fully. This is not why I brought you."

He says nothing as we drive back to Juarez. I watch the desert pass by the window, a barren wasteland of nothingness. When we reach the outskirts of Juarez, we pull up outside a little grocery store. Everyone gets out of the car and I stay close to Jésus as we step inside. The bell over the door chimes and luke warm air conditioning blows over my exposed skin.

A man steps through a beaded curtain from the back of the store, a wide smile on his face, but it falls the second he sees Jésus' men. I see the fear in his eyes, the movement of his throat as he swallows and the small step back he automatically takes. He looks like any average man, middle aged, dressed in the shop uniform.

"Mr. Lopez," he says, feigning a smile.

Jésus steps forward wordlessly. His men seem to wonder off, picking up drinks from the shelves and opening them. "Victoria, this is Samuel. He runs this fine establishment." The man’s eyes dart to me and he bobs his head. "He works for me."

"Si, si. I work," Samuel says.

Jésus turns to look at me, titling his head to the side. "He also works for Gabriel Estrada." I school my expression under his scrutiny.

The man starts rambling in Spanish, pleading. He staggers towards Jésus, but Jésus simply puts his hand on the man's shoulder, forcing him to his knees. As soon as he does, the man starts to cry, begging in a frantic rush of words.

Jésus closes the distance between us, taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "This man is a traitor to the Sinaloa cartel." He steps back and takes my hand, placing a gun in my palm. "Prove your loyalty, chiquita. Kill him."

My heart pounds in my chest and my breaths become short and choppy. I've shot people before, but I have always killed to protect myself and my family. This man has done nothing to me. In fact, he's helped Gabriel which means he's probably helped Jude in a way.

I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath. I've killed to protect Cayla before and is this really any different? I wonder if he has a family, a child just like Cayla. What would he do to protect his child? Or perhaps I'm wrong. Any man willing to double cross two cartels can hardly have anyone else's interest besides his own in mind, and even his own interest is questionable at this point.

My stomach knots uncomfortably and the gun feels like a lead weight in my hand. I look at Samuel and his eyes lock with mine. "Please."

My pulse pounds against my ear drums and my vision narrows. I don't want to do this.

"He is a traitor to the Sinaloa, chiquita." Jesus brushes the hair off my neck. "If you are loyal to me, this should be easy for you. If not..." If I'm not loyal then I'm just like Samuel, disposable. And if I die, then Cayla has no one to fight for her.

I release a long breath and raise the gun in front of me. My hand trembles as I stare down the barrel at Samuel. He's pleading and begging, praying, to who, I don't know. Everything slips into the background until it's just me and him and the gun. My raspy breaths echo around me, my heart beat racing. I line up the shot, pointing the gun right between his eyes, my finger squeezes over the trigger and I feel it right there, the power over life and death. This isn't survival anymore, this isn't self-defense, it's just cold murder. Another thing I would do for my baby girl. I inhale a breath, look Samuel in the eyes one last time and then I close my eyes and pull the trigger. BANG. The gun explodes in my hand and the scent of gun powder fills the air. There's the muted thud of Samuel hitting the ground, and when I open my eyes he's sprawled face down, a pool of blood growing around his head.

Jésus gently caresses my shoulder and leans down next to my ear. “So ruthless,” he whispers against my neck before he grabs my arm, takes my gun, and leads me from the small shop. Holding the back door of the car open, he helps me inside and gets in before the driver pulls away. Silence envelopes the car as we drive into Juarez.

I feel no guilt, although I know I should, but I've come to learn that as humans we like to think we're selfless. We like to think that in the moment we'll do the right thing—save the innocent person. The truth is, we are nothing more than animals driven to base instincts and the simple primal need to survive. We may be selfless for those we love, but simply because we cannot cope with the pain of losing them, but that in itself is selfish. We will always choose ourselves, and when you accept that...when you accept that the killing of another person is nothing more than human, you are absent of guilt.

But the absence alone is sometimes enough to make you feel as though you have lost your humanity.

Chapter Tor

Three Weeks Later

I sit in the passenger seat of the bulletproof Hummer as Michael, Jésus' right hand man drives up to the gates of the villa. The gate's swing open and the headlights pan across the front of the house, illuminating Jésus' form standing in front of it. The engine cuts and the entourage of men Jésus sent with me get out of the car. He rounds the front of the car and opens the passenger door, smiling as he grips my waist and helps me to the ground.

"Oh, chiquita, you look beautiful. As always." His eyes roam over my body, taking in the white pencil skirt suit that I'm wearing. One hand fists my hair whilst the other skates down my body, grabbing my arse and yanking me tightly against him. "How did it go?"

I paint a smile on my face, fighting back the tension I feel with his hard dick pressed against my stomach. "Swimmingly. They turned on the kid just like you said they would." It's a simple notion I guess. You have a street gang that deals for the cartel, but one kid is a bit too sharp and rises to a point where he thinks he can take a larger cut. Some industries might reward ambition, but not the cartel, not the drug industry. So you go to them and make them an offer, in front of the kid. We'll give them a bigger cut, as long as he's not in charge. They'll go for blood faster than a pack of sharks on a wounded seal. And of course, Jésus sends me to do it because if I'm not loyal, it's a fairly irrelevant task. If I am loyal, then my willingness to carry it out proves said loyalty.

"Good. Come." He steps back and leads me back to the house. He says nothing to anyone as he pulls me up the stairs and into his massive master bedroom. "Get changed," he says, reaching for the button of my jacket. It falls open, revealing just my bra beneath. His eyes lock with mine as he reaches around me and releases the clasp at my back. The straps fall away and I fold my arms over my bare chest, dropping my eyes away from him. A small laugh slips from his lips and he trails his fingers over my cheekbone. "So pretty when you blush." He kisses my forehead. "Get changed." I glance at him and back towards the closet. As soon as I'm inside I unzip my skirt and push it over my hips. I take one of the many white dresses off the rack and slide the thin material over my head. He does this deliberately, makes me leave the house wearing a power suit, representing him and the cartel. But when I'm here, in these walls, I have to wear this dress because I am his. His property, his prisoner, his woman, and he likes to remind me of it in a subtle yet oh so obvious way.

When I step out of the closet, Jésus is waiting, his hands casually in his pockets as he leans against the far wall. His crisp white shirt clings to his broad shoulders, contrasting the deep tan of his skin. The afternoon sun plays through the jet-black strands of his hair, throwing his face into shadow. "I have a surprise for you," he says, pushing away from the wall.

He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me from the room. The scent of his aftershave wraps around me, but I don't like it. It's too clean, too sharp. He takes me to his office, and closes the door behind us. There's a guy sitting there, an empty chair next to him and a tattoo gun in his hand. Oh, shit.

I glance at Jésus and swallow heavily. The look on his face says it all. This isn't optional and it's as much a test as the last few weeks have been. I silently take the seat next to the guy. I'm not about to fail now.