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The new boss and his men left their weapons with Deke Trenton and Jack Cole, who stood over a dusty reception counter against one wall. Federico snapped at some of his grunts to carry out their dead, including Montilla, who, despite his threats and demands, had never once held his son.
Good. That man’s tainted blood already ran in her nephew’s veins. Jorge didn’t need the stench of his touch, too. Laila didn’t know what Valeria would tell her son someday about his father. She hoped by then her sister had found a good man who would be a positive male role model for the boy so he never succumbed to the evil half of his genes.
At her side, Trees took her in his arms, his gaze watchful as Matt helped an injured Trevor, who had been shot in the shoulder. Joaquin offered a hand to Ghost, who cursed and clutched his middle like he had some bruised ribs.
“Is that the extent of our injuries?” Trees asked Hunter.
“Yeah. One-Mile saved our asses. I called him on his honeymoon in Maui and flew his ass out here, and… Speak of the devil.”
Walker strode through what had once been the front door, sniper rifle in hand, and headed straight for her. “You all right, Laila?”
She nodded, realizing what had happened. “You shot Montilla?”
“When he had the gun to your head, yes.”
Trees looked taken aback—and horribly pissed off—at the news. “The asshole had a gun to your head?”
Laila squeezed his hand. “I am fine. Thank you, Señor Walker. I owe you a giant debt.”
“You don’t. You helped me escape your brother-in-law’s compound last fall. Without you, I would have died and rotted in that place. As far as I’m concerned, the score is even.”
Trees stuck out his hand. “Thanks. If anything had happened to her…”
“I get it. Being in love and having something to lose? It’s terrifying.” One-Mile shook his hand. “I’m, um…sorry I accused you of being EM Security’s mole.”
“I didn’t love it, but it was the logical conclusion. Next time, maybe confront me to my face?”
“Sure. And I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt first.”
“That would be great.” Trees smiled.
“Trees!”
Laila looked up to find Zy entering the big space and, with Kane’s help, dragging Victor inside. Valeria trailed behind them, holding Jorge close.
“Hey, buddy.” Trees smiled.
“You good, man? You look like shit.”
“Aww, you’re just being nice.”
“What are friends for?” Zy teased as he stopped with Victor in the middle of the room.
Her former rapist and tormentor still had venom in his eyes, but he also had the good sense to look afraid. She didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him. Perhaps someone better would be looking into their heart to find forgiveness. Laila couldn’t lie. She was just looking forward to his death.
“This is your fault, puta,” he snarled.
“Shut the fuck up.” Trees barreled toward him.
Laila held him back, loving that he wanted to protect her. But confronting Victor was something she needed to do herself. “No, it is yours. You chose to violate me as a child, over and over, using me for your sick pleasure. But you made me stronger. You made me a fighter. And because of that, you made me the instrument of your demise.”
“Are you going to shoot me yourself? Is that your little revenge?” He sneered. “I doubt you have the stomach.”
Laila realized she could do it now. She had a gun. No one would stop her. Federico might be put out that he didn’t get to torture Victor before ending him, but ultimately the new drug lord wanted this piece of trash dead.
Still, killing Victor quickly would be too easy and merciful for him. And she refused to waste more time and attention on this scum. Besides, she wasn’t violent. Trees had shown her a path to happiness. Why taint her soul with vengeance when she could take his hand and embrace her future?
“You are right. So I will simply say good-bye—my way.” She stepped closer.
“Laila…” Trees warned.
“Hermana!” Valeria gasped.
She sent them both soft, reassuring glances. Then she released Trees’s comforting grip and faced Victor. Her smile turned cutting. And she spit in his face.
He blanched, his eyes shooting fire as he lunged for her. Zy and Kane held him back, each with an unyielding grip on one of his arms.
“Pipe down, motherfucker,” Zy growled, then turned to her. “Got more for him?”
“He deserves it. Go on,” Trees encouraged, pointing a gun in his face. “And if he tries anything…”
Of course her beloved would shoot him. Trees was protective, and he hated this bastard. But it was more. He wanted her to close this chapter of her life and not regret walking away without getting whatever justice she could.
“Just one thing.” Because she knew that whatever Federico had planned for Victor would be far more horrific and painful than anything she could dream up.
Laila braced herself on Victor’s arms. He trembled with rage. She ignored him completely—until she used all her might to drive her knee into his balls.
He groaned and doubled over, falling to his knees.
Laila stood over him. “You are a pedophile and a rapist and a piece of shit. You deserve everything coming to you.”
Behind him, she caught sight of Federico’s men returning. A new arrival in a suit hovered outside, looking very official and carrying a briefcase. The rest rushed in, heading straight for Victor with cuffs, old-school tools, and evil smiles.
“Mr. Ramos, what a pleasure to see you already on your knees.” Federico grabbed Victor by the hair and yanked his head back cruelly. “It is the perfect position for you.”
Then he motioned to two of his men, who took Zy’s and Kane’s places and dragged a struggling Victor across the room. They cuffed one arm to a decorative bracket under the counter. The other they restrained to the nearby door handle. When they were done, one thug whipped out a pair of pliers.
