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Michael braces against the table and jerks his knife free from Julio’s hand, and then lays it against his throat instead. The huge Mexican stops yelling and freezes. As though thanking him for his silence, Michael gives him a friendly pat on the arm. “You didn’t hear what he was saying before you came into the room, boss. He was planning on letting Andreas cut your dick off. Or at least that’s what I thought he said. It was in Spanish.”
Cade nods. “Yeah. That was pretty much the gist of it.” He gets to his feet, coming around to take a look at Teo, who is lying still and silent on the floor. Sloane’s not looking at the guy at her feet, though; she’s looking at me.
Her eyes are filled with tears. “Did you have to do that?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why don’t you think about it and make up your own mind.” This has to be on her. She has to decide for herself. I turn to Michael. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”
“Agreed. What about him?”
“You motherfuckers seriously think you can pull this shit?” Julio’s skin is purple; spittle flies everywhere as he shouts at us. “You’ve just signed your own death warrants!”
“Hey, Michael, how many times can a man die?” I ask, stalking toward the two of them.
“Just once, boss.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Just once.” I accept the throwing knife Michael offers out to me and I hold it in front of Julio’s face. “Charlie’s already called dibs on my death, motherfucker. So it would seem that you’re surplus to requirement where that little matter is concerned. Now…” I trail the knife down the side of Julio’s face, watching the metal reflect his wide-eyed terror back at him. “We’re both big fucking dogs, Julio, remember? You see yourself in me. We’ve both come from shit, as you so helpfully reminded me the other day. So ask yourself, if we’re so similar, what would you do if you found yourself in my position right now?” I bend down, hands braced against my knees, giving him a thoughtful shrug of my shoulders.
“You can’t kill me, puta. You wouldn’t fucking dare!”
I look up to find that Cade’s joined Michael in standing behind Julio now. He has a grim look on his face, but he gives me a hard nod—I’m with you, brother.
“Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this isn’t happening.” Sloane’s as white as a sheet behind me. She really does look like she’s going to throw up any second. She won’t look at me; instead she turns her back and presses her forehead against the wall, breathing in shallow, faint breaths, and covering her ears with her hands.
Julio’s smirking when I face him again. “And I’m unarmed, Zeth. You gonna show your woman what the kind of killer you are by slitting my throat, huh?”
I rush forward, shoving my face into his. “Yes.”
I lash out with the knife.
But the steel doesn’t strike flesh.
Julio’s already pissing himself when I signal to Cade—finish the job. The Widow Maker flips his gun around and brings the butt down on the back of Julio’s head, knocking him clean out.
I’m a little too smug when I see the bastard sitting there, unconscious, in his own urine. “Come on. He won’t be out forever.”
Sloane’s mumbled cursing drops off, as she turns slowly around. “You didn’t kill him?”
I wrap an arm around her waist and begin to guide her forcibly out of the room. “Julio Perez is an evil son of a bitch, Sloane, but he was right about one thing. I won’t kill an unarmed man.”
******
It becomes instantly clear why Julio’s guards didn’t come running at the sound of their boss’ cries: they didn’t hear them. The engines of countless Mercedes, Lamborghinis and Harleys drown out everything but the loudest of shouts in the front courtyard as people arrive in plumes of orange dust from the desert for tonight’s gathering.
Alexis is a cold, limp weight in my arms. The blonde hadn’t wanted us to take her from the kitchen, but a few sharp words from Sloane and the bitch backed off. We spend a full thirty seconds out in the open, looking for my car; Michael locates it parked to one side, covered in dust from being exposed to the desert for four days. I deposit Alexis in the back seat, and Sloane gets in after her, cradling her sister’s head in her lap.
I take the driver’s side and Michael gets in on the right. Cade stands at the window, eyes searching the crowd of people, looking for a way out. “You’re gonna need to be quick, bro. I’ll call Julio’s boys inside and then we’ll be right behind you.”
I start the engine, revving it like crazy. We’re set to go. Cade holds out his knuckles and I bump fists with him. He’s about to head inside, when a piercing scream tears above all of the noise and Alaska comes barrelling out of the villa.
The engines drown out her hysterical shouting, but one of the guards hears her well enough and signals the others. They charge inside, guns at the ready.
“Better go now, man. We’ll catch you up.” Cade thumps the side of the car and runs back inside the villa. We do as he suggests, and we get the hell out of there.
It takes three hours to reach the hospital in San Jacinto—Julio knows about the hospital in San Bernadino, so we had to take a detour—and I think Alexis has died a total of seven times on the journey. Her pulse is barely there anymore, weak, irregular and thready, and I feel totally numb. A heavy silence reigns supreme inside the car as Zeth drives, and I try to forget where I am. To forget everything that’s happened since I woke up this morning.
