I felt like I had ants crawling over my skin. A nervous, anxious energy crackling over my nerves until I found myself pacing back and forth, jumping at every creak of the house flexing in the heat and humidity.

Andre was gone, and I didn’t know how to feel about that. Relieved? Afraid? Fucked in the head? He made no sense. Simultaneously terrifying, and strangely concerned for me, and still so fucking hot that I had trouble not staring at him when he stood near.

Which possibly said more about my mental state than his — but he was the real question.

Was Andre really the monster he seemed to be? Was he actually trying to help me? Or was he just a killer with a conscience when it came to women he wanted to fuck?

The last option seemed the most likely, and no matter what I was trapped in his fucking bedroom. Andre’s room, where I’d counted out fifty of those one hundred dollar bills that he was probably handing over to Paulo at this very moment. The five thousand dollars that he’d used to pay off Christopher’s debt, to buy me, to take me out of the basement, to keep me for himself.

“You’re safe, sure… until Paulo wants you,” I mumbled under my breath, cracking my knuckles one at a time.

You belong to me, and I belong to Paulo García. Welcome to Hell.

The door knob turned, creaking and rattling, and I stumbled back from it as it snapped back into place. Heart pounding, mouth dry, I felt my nails digging into my palms. A heavy thud against the door rattled the various locks, and then Diego’s voice came through the wood. “Unlock the door, puta.”

“No!” I shouted, and everything rattled again. Then again as he slammed his fist against it, or kicked it, and I cowered back against the blinds, hearing them clatter.

“You got the door barricaded? You think that’s going to stop me?” he asked, a low laugh in his voice that made me tremble. I felt the panic clenching my chest tight, the dread settling deep like it had when I’d first realized how fucked I was standing in Paulo’s sitting room.

Another hard slam against the door, and I wondered how long it would hold against a full-grown man hitting it like that. When the next hit came I slid to the floor and screamed, “STOP!”

“Just open the door.”

“FUCK OFF!” I shouted, and listened as Diego attacked the door, making it shake in the frame, jarring the series of locks that made me grateful for whatever drove Andre’s paranoia against these other monsters.

“I know that maricón Andre didn’t really fuck you downstairs, but I can. I’ll fuck you until you’re screaming my name.” The door rattled, shaking violently against the frame. “Come on, I’ll even let you go when I’m done with you.”

“I belong to Andre, asshole!” The words came from my panic, and I hated them even as I held them up like a shield.

“He didn’t fuck you, puta. We both know he didn’t.”

“Yes, you motherfucker! He fucked me! In the basement and in here, and he’ll fucking kill you if you touch me!” I was shaking, back to the wall, head against the window sill, and that felt true. Whether or not he’d do the same with Paulo, I couldn’t say, but I’d seen the way he’d reacted to Diego touching me — and that he wouldn’t allow. He’d kill him, and for once I didn’t even flinch at the idea. I’d watch him destroy Diego with a fucking smile on my face.

There was no answer. No more slams of a heavy, male body against the door, and I held my breath trying to listen for noises outside the door.

Nothing.

Eventually I slumped, the tension in my chest caving in until I felt the pain of it, and I felt the tears on my cheeks before I realized I was crying. Brushing at my face I heard the first, pathetic croak of a sob and I had the urge the burn the fucking house down around me. I didn’t want to be the girl crying in a room. I didn’t want to be trapped. I didn’t want to be afraid.

I didn’t want to be here.

The memory of Christopher connected to all of those tubes, the sight of his body wrapped in gauze, the swollen shape of his face that I knew well enough to know it was seriously wrong — it appeared behind my eyes and I still wanted to help him as another sob choked past my tightened throat. I wondered if some other goon of Paulo’s was sneaking into the hospital to end him. To erase the only connection that anyone could use to find me. To kill my little brother that I’d spent my entire life trying to help, to support, to fix.

My friends had probably called my cell phone when I hadn’t shown up at the bar for work last night. But how many times would they call? How many times would they swing by my apartment and knock? Would anyone even call the cops?

For the first time in years I wished my parents were still around. They’d never had much, never had enough, but they had still been parents. There had been birthday parties, and Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and someone to give a shit if I fell off the face of the earth. But would anyone do that now?

I shook my head, trying not to run through my friends in my head and gauge their willingness to look for me. I needed a distraction. Something to keep my mind off this nightmare.

Standing up I went for his desk chair, pulling it out and opening the laptop as I sat down. I tapped the spacebar and it woke up to a locked screen. Of course it had a password. This guy had six different locks on his bedroom door, why had I even thought his laptop would be unlocked?

Fucking stupid.

Swiveling back and forth I snagged the first book on the short stack of well-worn paperbacks. It was thick, a book called ‘Last of the Breed’ by Louis L’Amour. A western of some kind. Setting it aside I went for the next. ‘Brave New World’ by Aldous Huxley, which felt familiar, but I laid it atop the first. Then there were two by James Patterson, macho-guy action books, and finally Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone. Just seeing it on his desk made me smile, a slightly hysterical laugh creeping up my throat until it came out in a series of huffs. Andre the tattooed badass liked to read Harry Potter?

So weird.

But if he could escape into Hogwarts and a world of magic, then so could I. At least it would distract me from the real monsters roaming the house.

* * *

Andre

José was driving, and Paulo had tilted his head towards the back of the SUV for me to sit with him in the black-on-black Land Rover with custom bulletproof glass. There was no seeing into the windows in the back, and even the front windows were probably tinted darker than legal. It was a luxury fortress on twenty-two inch wheels.

As we pulled out onto the road, Paulo shifted in his seat to face me. “Do you have something for me, cuadro?”

I nodded, lifting my hips from the seat to grab the wad of cash from my front pocket. “Of course, jefe.”

Paulo took it from me, flicking through it for a second before he tucked it into a bag between the seats. “Gracias, Andre. I do hope you feel she’s worth the expense?”

“So far,” I answered before muttering under my breath, “Mouthy little puta, though.”

A low chuckle left him, but there was no humor in it. “You surprise me, cuadro. This Nicole Harris caught your eye quickly. She will not be a distraction, will she?”

“No, jefe. I don’t get distracted.” Something felt off, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. Paulo liked to take me out on meets, but normally Diego or Marco were in the car as well. The temptation to ask a question plucked inside me, but I pushed it away. Asking questions never got me anywhere, it would be up to Paulo if he shared or not.

“I am glad. Some new opportunities have come to light, and I will need all of you at your best. I have also called in a few others.” The man was glancing out the window, watching as we moved onto the highway and the engine purred.

“Who have you called in?” That was something I could ask.

“Luis, Samuel, and Nicolás.” He waved his hand. “It is just a precaution.”

“Good men.” My stomach tightened with the knowledge that they would be in the house. Luis was loyal, handled a lot of the border work, but it was Samuel and Nicolás that would be the concern. A pair of brothers that were ruthless to the core.

“Yes, they are.” His cold smile spread across his face as he turned to look at me again. “Do not worry, cuadro, I have brought my best men with me today.”

“Gracias, jefe.” I nodded at the compliment and settled back in the seat, noticing José’s eyes on me in the rearview mirror before he returned them to the road.

The uneasy feeling wasn’t fading, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. Some instinct, some sixth sense warning me of danger — I just couldn’t tell if it was for me, or Nicky.

* * *

Almost an hour later we pulled up outside a nightclub, but José wove the large SUV into an alley that ran behind the building. I leaned forward, hand gripping the leather of the passenger seat, and shook my head as I saw the alley bend ahead. “This isn’t good, jefe. Do we know if there’s an exit to this, or is it a dead-end?”

“There’s an exit on the other side. Trash pick-up for the buildings.” José grinned, turning the car off as he faced me. “You look nervous.”

“I don’t want jefe trapped if the meeting goes to shit.” And I don’t want to be trapped either, asshole.

“We will be good,” Paulo answered with that cold smile. “Come, we do not want to be late.”

José climbed out on his side, opening Paulo’s door as I stepped out and shut my door, feeling for the zipper on my jacket to ensure I could react if need be. “Guns out?” I asked Paulo as we moved toward the backdoor of the club.

“No. Just be ready if they do not like my terms.”

With a nod, I watched as José unzipped his jacket, then pounded a fist on the door. I opened my jacket as well, but tucked my hands into the pockets to keep it closed over the guns. A moment later the door opened, and we moved inside.

The interior of the club was quiet, but I could hear men talking as we walked through the back halls and onto the main floor. The lights were all on, and a group of five men sat around in chairs, looking at us as we arrived. Fuck. With the sixth man that had brought us from the back, we were completely outnumbered. Two to one. Not good odds.

“Carlos, I am glad you found time to meet with me.” Paulo walked forward, wearing those light linen pants he loved, and an off-white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. If he’d been in sandals, he’d look like he’d just walked off the beach. Every other man was dressed in darker clothes, and at least three of the men were carrying, one of them cocky enough to have the gun tucked into the front of his pants. Idiota. The man in the center stood and nodded, moving forward to shake Paulo’s hand.

“Of course. I am always happy to meet with a business associate such as yourself,” Carlos answered in a neutral tone. He snuck a glance over his shoulder to check on his men. Nervous.

Paulo didn’t even tense up as he spread his arms. “What do you say we start with a drink? I hear such good things about your club from my men.”

“Si, that sounds good.” Snapping his fingers, Carlos gestured at one of his men. “Manuel, get us some tequila and glasses for everyone. Top shelf.”

The asshole with the gun in the front of his pants stood, showing off a gold grill on his front teeth as he smirked. “Sure thing, boss.”

“You said you wanted to meet in person. May I ask why?” Carlos settled into a chair.

Paulo took the seat across from him, rapping his knuckles on the table. “I had some things to discuss that I do not like to discuss over the phone.”

He continued to tap his knuckles on the table. Slowly. Thump… thump… thump.

“Is— is there a problem?” The club owner asked, and the slight waver in his voice betrayed the answer. He knew why Paulo was here, which meant someone was going to die.

I glanced over at José, and the man inclined his chin just enough to confirm that I was right. The man may be a bastard, but I knew he’d have my back if, or when, shit went south. He’d done it before, and the pussy back at the house didn’t factor into situations like this.

Paulo laughed softly as Manuel returned with a bottle of tequila under his arm, and four glasses in each hand, his fingers stuck inside them to hold on. “Gracias,” Paulo said as the man set it all down, but Paulo took the tequila before he could pour.

Manuel stepped back behind his boss, watching as Paulo poured an inch or more of the amber liquid into each of the glasses. I hadn’t had a drink all day, and so when Paulo tilted his head for us to come over, I readily snagged one from the table, using the opportunity to take a position behind Paulo, leaning against the rail overlooking the empty dancefloor.

We were one glass short, and another man had walked over to the bar to get a glass for himself, which Paulo filled like the perfect fucking host — even though he wasn’t the host, and definitely wasn’t generous. When he was nice like this, it was dangerous.

He leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of the tequila, and as if Paulo’s movements had given everyone permission we all followed suit. “Ah, this is good Carlos. Muy bueno. Gracias.”

“De nada, Paulo. I am grateful for our partnership, my club is doing very well.” The man’s thumb was running over the rim of the glass, back and forth, a subconscious nervous tick he probably wasn’t even aware of. But if I had noticed it, so had Paulo.

“Yes, I am also grateful. We do good business here, and your men have served our mutual interests well for years.” Paulo tilted his head, still relaxed against the back of his chair. “Which is why I wanted to have this conversation in person.”

“And… what conversation is this?” Carlos asked.

Paulo took another drink. “One I wish I did not have to have with you, Carlos, but… the numbers simply do not add up.”

“Numbers?”

“Si. You know that I pay attention to the movement of my product, to the debts owed to me.” As he spoke, Paulo glanced back at me, and I felt a cold pit form in my stomach. “Unfortunately, your club has shown some… discrepancies.”

“I’m sure there has been some kind of mistake, Paulo. I would never—”

“Never steal from me?” Paulo asked, and everyone in the room tensed except for him. His voice was still soft, unerringly calm.

“Steal? No, Paulo. No, no, no.” Carlos shook his head, sitting up in his chair. “We accept the product from you, we sell it on the premises, and we pay you. On time. Every dime, every month.”

“This was true, until six months ago.” Lifting his glass, Paulo took another sip, finishing the tequila so he could reach for more. Refilling his own, he added more to Carlos’ even though the man still had plenty. With a smile on his face, he turned and offered it to me. I took the bottle, poured, and passed it along. Paulo laughed low. “I did not want to damage our business relationship, and so I waited to see if it was a, let’s say, accidental error.”

“I’m sure—”

Paulo raised his hand to cut Carlos off. “Unfortunately, while the errors were small at first, last month they were more substantial. I’m sure you understand that a ten-thousand-dollar mistake is one I cannot afford to ignore. If I let your operation get away with something like that,”—he shrugged—“what would the rest of my business partners think?”

“Paulo—”

The sharp snap of his hand slamming flat onto the table cut Carlos off once again. “They might think I was weak. They might think that they could take advantage of me as well, take advantage of the business relationship we have cultivated. I’m sure you understand why that is something I simply cannot allow.”

“I swear to you, Paulo. I will look into this, I will identify who has betrayed your trust, my trust. It will be dealt with.” Carlos leaned forward on the table, nodding as he continued. “They will die, patrón.”

“There is no need to look into it. I already know who among your men has been selling my product on the side for his own profit.” Paulo snapped his fingers, and José drew his gun, which caused me and each of Carlos’ men to do the same.

“Wait, wait, por favor.” Carlos lifted his hands, gesturing to his men, and for the moment every gun was aimed at the floor — but that didn’t mean a thing. Anyone with experience could lift and fire in a breath.

“José, if you will?” Paulo spoke steadily, still so calm, so steady, and José walked around the table to grab one of Carlos’ men by the collar, pressing his gun against the base of his skull as he jerked him away from the group to stand beside the table. The others twitched, but no one intervened.

“Fuck you, this is bullshit. I haven’t done anything.” The man’s eyes were wide, his hands raised to his shoulders, gun loose in his hand. José reached over and disarmed him, setting the gun on the table in front of Paulo.

The weight of the weapon in my hands was a comfort, but Paulo was still too exposed. Facing four men with guns. Carlos seemed panicked, and he shook his head. “Por favor, patrón, Francisco would not do this. He is loyal to me. I knew his father.”

“Francisco?” Paulo asked, tapping his glass against the table in a patient rhythm. “Do you have something to say?”

“Yeah, I didn’t do shit. I wouldn’t steal from Carlos or the club. I’m no traitor.” Francisco’s chin was lifted, bold and full of machismo.

“Por favor, let me speak with him, find out what has happened. I know we can make this right.” Carlos was begging, but I already knew that there was nothing that would satisfy Paulo except for blood.

“You want to hear it from his lips? Okay.” Paulo snapped his fingers again. “Andre, talk to the man.”

Cold poured through my veins, a dark, chilling ichor that tainted me from the inside out. I put my gun back in the holster and pulled my jacket off. No need to hide the weapons now. Clenching my fists, I felt my knuckles pop just before I tilted my neck and felt the vertebrae do the same.

Francisco looked me over and raised his hands. “Hey, hey, this wasn’t me!”

I shut him up with a hard right hook, and he almost stumbled, but José had him. Gun hand in the man’s short hair, the other fisting the back of his button-down shirt. Without waiting, I landed a left hook as soon as he was upright. Francisco spit out blood, cursing through the pain.

“Carlos! This wasn’t me!” He continued to plead his case, as I brought my fist into his stomach, and José let the man fold over before ripping him back up by his hold on the shirt. There was a retching, groaning noise, and I silently hoped he wouldn’t hurl all over my shoes.

“Paulo, I can handle this internally.”

“You should have been watching the numbers, Carlos. It should have been handled five months ago.” The cold voice behind me held no mercy, and I waited for his command as Francisco breathed hard, spitting again. “But, since I had to come out here to handle it myself, my men will make sure it is done right.”

“I didn’t do shit!” Francisco shouted as he wavered back upright, sniffing hard as he stared past me to glare at Paulo.

“Find the man a chair, José.” Paulo commanded, and José leaned back to drag a chair over and force Francisco into it. “Help him be comfortable.”

“Yes, jefe,” José answered with a dangerous grin, and he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket, bending Francisco forward enough to drag his hands behind his back. The man struggled, shouting and cursing about his innocence, but I brought my fist back and hit him again so that José could get his wrists cuffed behind his back. The hit was a dull ache across my knuckles, but I barely felt it as I went cold, let the darkness swallow me whole.

“Ready to confess?” Paulo asked, casually sipping his tequila as I watched him, looking for his direction.

“Fuck you!” Francisco shouted, but I didn’t move.

“Andre, if you will.”

“Yes, jefe.” Turning, I waited for José to get a grip on the man’s shoulder, his gun hand back in Francisco’s hair to lift his head upright. Then I hit him, feeling the impact of his cheekbone in my fist and the ache continued to fade as I focused. Another hit to the stomach, then the other side of his face, this time across the jaw.

Francisco shouted in pain, grunting, but he just spat out the blood as José pulled him upright again. The look he gave me was a challenge, a silent promise that I wouldn’t make him crack.

Over the next thirty minutes, I hit him until he’d lost a few teeth, and his face had become a swollen, bloody mess. The hits to his sides had probably cracked a few ribs, if not straight up broken one or two by the rough sound of his breathing. Paulo had asked a few more times, but the man had only muttered curses and insults.

My knuckles were split in spots, reddened and angry, but I hit much harder than José. He didn’t have my build, my weight to put behind it. This was the kind of shit Nathan didn’t want to know about.

“Francisco…” Paulo sighed and stood. He placed a fresh glass of tequila in my hands, and I took a drink, watching the smears of blood mar the outside of the glass as I finished it off and welcomed the burn into the swirling black inside me. “You have a daughter, yes?”

Francisco jerked, looking up with his one good eye, the other already swollen shut.

“She is eleven. Very pretty, or so I’m told.” Paulo grabbed the man’s chin as his head wobbled, lifting until he met his stare. “I know you don’t want anything to happen to her… and so many bad things could happen to her. And your wife.”

“Boss!” Manuel spoke up from behind.

Carlos raised his hand fast. “Cállate, Manuel,” he ordered, jaw clenched tight as he told his man to shut up. He watched Francisco with empty eyes as the man shook his head over and over, pulling free of Paulo’s grip.

“No, por favor, don’t hurt them. It was me, it was.” Garbled words, but we all heard them.

Paulo wiped his bloody fingers on the traitor’s shirt and stepped back, locking those coal black eyes on me as he nodded slightly. Then he returned to his seat, and I hit Francisco hard. He almost fell out of the chair, would have if José hadn’t held him in place.

“See?” Paulo said. “He stole from me, and from you, Carlos.”

“Don’t hurt my little girl…” Francisco’s words were slurred, altered by the mess that his mouth had become. “Or Anna, por favor.”

“Where is the money?” Carlos asked, a coldness to his tone that made me aware of how he would have handled the situation if he had truly known.

“It’s gone. I—” Groaning, sloppily spitting out more blood and drool, he let out a pathetic sound. “I sent it to my mamá in Cuba. She needed it, boss. Was going to lose her house. Carlos, por favor, give me a chance. I’ll get you the money back. I’ll do whatever you want!”

Ending on a shout, it was clear he was looking past me to Paulo now, pleading with the man really in charge. I set the blood smeared glass on the table and shook out my hands, waiting for Paulo’s order.

“If that’s true, I understand why you did it, Francisco.” Paulo sounded empathetic, which was impossible. It was fake, a blatant lie, but the poor fucking idiot in front of me still looked up with hope in his good eye. “But you can’t steal from me. The others need to know that. Do you understand?”

I watched as the reality of death settled inside him, for a moment he cried, cursing as he slammed his shoe onto the smooth, black concrete under him. Then he nodded, tongue running over his split lip. “Si, I understand. Just… just please don’t hurt my family. They didn’t know, I swear, they didn’t know, patrón.”

“Twenty-three thousand dollars’ worth of product, Francisco.” Paulo sighed. “I may have let you live for less, let you earn it back, but this I cannot forgive. You have a choice to make.”

I glanced up at José to see him grinning, holding Francisco’s head up as he twisted in the handcuffs. I should have felt something, but all I could feel was the cold darkness that filled me up. The emptiness that told me what was coming before Paulo even spoke.

“You can choose death, and Andre will shoot you in the stomach. Let you bleed out on the floor here in front of Carlos and the others. It will be very painful, cabrón.” Paulo took a slow breath. “Or, you can choose to sell Anna and Luisa to me, and I will make my money back that way. I’m assuming Luisa is still young enough to be a virgin, yes?”

Francisco stiffened, rage making him jerk against José’s hold on him, but he was too weak to get out of the chair. “Don’t touch them!” he shouted, breaths strained from the pain of his ribs and the blood in his mouth.

“Your choice?” Paulo asked, voice as calm and steady as ever.

There was a low whining groan from the man, and José let him buckle forward as he started crying. Almost everyone broke at the end. I could count on one hand the number of men who had faced death without pleading, without crying. Most of those didn’t have a family though.

Francisco sniffed hard, sucking his bloodied lip between his teeth for a moment before he forced himself upright and stared at Carlos. “I’m sorry, boss. I swear, I never meant for this to happen. Please, por favor, tell Anna I’m sorry. Don’t tell her what I did. Let her think it was an accident, something Luisa can live with.”

“I will, but I will not support them for you. You betrayed me, traidor.” Traitor. Carlos’ tone was cold, and I knew I should feel for the woman and her child, but I was too far in to react like a human.

“Andre,” Paulo said my name, and it was an order. An order to kill. Not the first time, and not the last. For some reason, as I drew my gun, I saw Nicky in my head. I couldn’t refuse. Refusal would mean death for me, and then they’d have her. All of them.

I’d never had something to live for before, but the idea of going back to her, of hearing her cries against my ear as I buried my cock inside her… that was worth living for. Worth killing for. What was one more mark on my ruined soul anyway?

I pointed the gun at his stomach, just like Paulo wanted, and flipped the safety off. Francisco drew himself up as much as he could, fighting the pain in his broken ribs, and I stared into his bloodied, swollen face — and pulled the trigger.

The boom of the shot echoed off the high ceilings and all that concrete, and there were several low sounds from Carlos’ men. José showed no expression, he just let him go, let him tumble from the chair to the floor as Francisco curled around the wound, groaning in pain.

“I can trust that there will be no further issues with the numbers, Carlos.” Paulo was staring at the other man whose eyes were glued to the dying man on the floor.

“There will be no issues, patrón. I will monitor it personally from now on.”

“Bueno.” Clapping his hands together, Paulo turned with that cold smile and nodded. “Thank you for the tequila. I will leave you to decide what to do with the body.”

Paulo walked around Francisco’s writhing form, and José fell into step beside him, but I kept my gun out, walking backwards until I was sure Paulo was securely in the hall. Only then did I turn and catch up with them, exiting out the back into the sweltering midday heat.

The SUV was boiling when we climbed inside, the leather hot enough to bleed through the denim of my jeans, and I felt sweat breaking out all over my skin. None of it could touch the cold core inside me though, that empty black that filled me as I added another death to the tainted weight of my soul.

José cranked the air conditioning as we settled into our seats, and I dragged the seatbelt across me on automatic. Barely aware of the low words he said as he guided us around the end of the alley and out the other side. There was an exit. Bright sunlight, blue skies, and traffic.

“Gracias, cuadro. You did well.” Paulo spoke low, nodding at me with a slight smile. “I knew I brought the right men to deal with this issue.”

“De nada, jefe,” I replied. It’s nothing. Nothing to beat a man, nothing to take a life. What bothered me more than anything was that I wasn’t sure if I felt any guilt or remorse at all, or if I was just thinking of how I should feel something. Francisco would be dead soon. Carlos wouldn’t dare seek medical attention for him, and he’d probably end up in the swamps, or the gulf — but as I clenched my bloody fists, I felt nothing. Nothing except an urge to get my hands on Nicky again, so that I could feel something as I fucked her. Something to placate the darkness, and she was innocent enough to be the perfect outlet for all of the evil inside me.