Page 12 of LA Reign

“And as for your husband—Gary, is it?” I snarl. “If I find out he has had even one impure thought about that little girl, I will hunt him down and castrate him myself.”

I mean it too. God help him, I mean it. And I’ll use a blunt knife, too.

“How dare you come to my house and speak to me like that?” she shrieks, puffing out her chest. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

There it is. The question I’ve been waiting for, even if I didn’t quite know it until now. I point a finger in her face. “I am Alana fucking Montoya, and I am also Lucy’s new guardian.” The words feel natural coming from my mouth. “You can call the cops, your church, or your momma. It won’t do you any good. My husband owns this goddamn city. Now crawl back into your hole and figure out why you’re such a nasty bitch—and why your husband thinks a sixteen-year-old child has been looking at him.”

Her mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water.

Bitch!

I turn on my heel and walk down the path, every click of my heels loud and deliberate. My hands are shaking now, the adrenaline catching up to me, but I keep my spine straight and my shoulders back. I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me doubt myself.

When I reach the car, both windows are down. Hugo is grinning, and Lucia is staring at me like I just dropkicked a rhino.

I climb into the backseat and she throws her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder while she laughs. The sound is so carefree that Hugo and I laugh too.

“Wow, Alana,” she says, pulling back. “You just handed Melody Baker her ass.”

“You sure did, boss,” Hugo adds, starting the engine.

Heat floods my cheeks. I’ve never spoken to anyone like that before, and I liked it. It could become addictive.

“I did, didn’t I?” I murmur, suddenly aware of how fast my heart is still racing. “I didn’t go too far, did I? I just…God. What a horrible woman.”

“You definitely didn’t go too far,” Hugo assures me.

“No way,” Lucia agrees, her eyes shining in a way that makes my throat tight. “You were like a momma bear protecting her cubs.”

I lean back against the seat, exhaling slowly. A momma bear, huh? That’s what it felt like. Something feral and maternal and ruthless woke up inside me the second Melody opened her mouth. I make a mental note to call Alejandro’s lawyer. The Bakers will not be fostering another child if I have anything to say about it.

And as for Gary…The thought of a grown man saying he’s being tempted by a pregnant sixteen-year-old makes my skin crawl.

Let him pray I never find proof he’s ever hurt a child or a woman.

Because I wasn’t bluffing.

After that encounter, we spent the entire day at the shelter, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lucia look lighter or more carefree. The women hugged her like she was a little sister who’d come home, and the kids followed her around like ducklings. She was so good with them, effortless and patient.

At one point I stood in the doorway of the rec room and just watched her sitting cross-legged on the floor, a toddler in her lap, another tugging on her braids. She laughed hard, and I saw the mother she’s going to be one day. Only sixteen and already instinctively protective.

I’m just finishing up some paperwork in my office, thinking it’s probably time to head home, when there’s a knock and Hugo pokes his head in. “Evening, boss. I’m going to take Lucia home now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I blink at him, confused. “So you’re leaving without me?”

He grins like he knows something I don’t. “Yup. Your chariot awaits outside, Ma’am.” He laughs to himself and tips an imaginary hat. “Have a great evening.”

And then he’s gone. I stare at the empty doorway for a few seconds, suspicion prickling under my skin. My chariot?

I shut down my computer, stack the files I need, and slide them into my bag. Subconsciously, I smooth my hands over the desk, never taking for granted the life I’ve built here, and this job that I love. Then I grab my purse and lock the office behind me. I call out a goodbye to Kristen at the front desk and step through the doors—and then I forget how to breathe.

He’s leaning back in the driver’s seat like he owns the road beneath him. The late afternoon sun glints off the sleek black curves of a Bugatti Veyron, the kind of car you only ever see in music videos or behind velvet ropes. The engine purrs low and dangerous as he revs it once, slowly, deliberately.

I practically moan. The grin that spreads across Alejandro’s face when he sees me is wicked and sinful. My heart flutters in my chest.

I walk toward him, heels clicking with every step. God, he looks far too good for anyone’s sanity sitting there—shirt sleeves rolled up, dark hair catching the light, confidence oozing from his every pore. I open the door and slide inside. The leather is cool and supple beneath my skin, and the interior smells like money and power and adventure. Even more importantly, it smells like him.

“This is like a million-dollar car, Alex. When did you get it?”