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Miguel’s back remains my target, and I don’t do the backstabbing thing. I prefer him to know what hit him, and that’s me.
“Miguel!” I call out.
He rotates to face me and his gaze lands on the blade in my hand, a moment of concern followed by unmerited relief. It washes over his expression, thick like honey on a hungry bear’s face, sticky and sweet, at least to me, because it proves, he too, is stupid.
You see, what few people know about me is that I was on a knife-throwing team in college. Yep. Little ol’ me. I have always liked a good, shiny, and sharp blade, and with practice and time, I learned how to throw with more force than a man Kane’s size.
It’s all in the grip and flick of the wrist.
I lift my arm, and crook back my wrist, fully intending to plant my blade in a place the sun does not shine. It’s time for Miguel Mendez to be brought to his knees.
Chapter Three
Suddenly, a hand closes down on my hand from behind, and with a grind of my teeth, I twist around with every intention of going to war. I find Kane standing there, having come from who knows where but clearly not from the door where I’d exited. “He’s mine, bella,” he says softly. “You know this. We agreed.”
“We agreed I wouldn’t kill him until the time was right. I didn’t say I wouldn’t castrate him, which was my intent.”
His eyes light with amusement. “Of course, it was, bella. And as much as I would have enjoyed watching, not now. Not here.”
It’s a statement that makes it clear the man knows me.
Not here. Not now, implies later.
In other words, the dream is not over, and therefore, I can wait, but not forever. My patience for Miguel, and the cartel in general, is wearing thin. But this is also a cock fight, and as much as I enjoy ending cock fights—the irony of me not having a cock and all—I no longer win if Kane loses. And right now, his perceived control over the cartel by pretty much everyone is in our favor. This belief that he is the true kingpin influences the views of the Society—Pocher, specifically—on how formidable an opponent we represent.
I allow my wrist to soften.
Kane registers this action with no emotion when he would normally gloat at any form of compliance on my part. But nope. Nada. Not this time. His jaw sets hard, his eyes harder. There is a brutality to his stare that is unfamiliar but not unknown to me. Miguel has pushed Kane too far.
Kane releases me and he’s already focused on his uncle, closing the space between himself and Miguel. He doesn’t bother with a weapon, which tells me he knows the loyalty of the men. He knows that Miguel holds a gun but in turn, he holds the masses.
Andrew curses under his breath and then whispers, “Is he crazy?”
“Far from it,” I assure him, but the blade in my hand is ready, as is every muscle in my body.
Kit, Kane’s bodyguard, who is incessantly present, steps between me and my brother, while Jay, my “pretend bodyguard” steps to my side. “Pretend” because I have to protect him, not him me. But we don’t talk about that–okay, I do, but he doesn’t. Despite this, these two men take my abuse and keep coming back. They irritate the fuck out of me, but they are family. I would kill for them, and they will kill for us.
Kane halts in front of Miguel, and grabs the barrel of his uncle’s weapon, pointing it at his chest. My fingers clench the handle of the blade a little tighter. I know what Kane is doing, I know he knows what he’s doing, but one pulse of a finger, and he’s dead. “You want to kill me, Uncle?” he challenges for all to hear. “Have the balls to do it standing in front of me.”
Miguel answers in low, clipped Spanish, meant for Kane’s ears only. Kane replies with one word—mentiroso.Liar.Followed by the words, “You test me, Uncle,” in English.
It’s a love/hate moment for me with Kane.
It’s just a plain surreal moment to watch the man I love act like the kingpin we both deny him to be while standing down the man who is the true kingpin, if only in name. Because right now, Kane’s decision not to draw his weapon sends a message. And that message is that Miguel is a pussy who doesn’t have the courage to shoot him, too weak to be feared.
His uncle says something to Kane in Spanish, and again, his tone is low and exclusive. Kane replies, in an equally hushed voice, after which they stare at one another, and only when Miguel lowers his weapon does Kane step backward. The two men stare at one another again, and then Miguel lifts his hand, motioning to the men. All weapons are lowered, and the men retreat, packing into the vehicles.
Kane remains focused on Miguel, and his attention might as well be a sniper weapon for its intensity. Seconds tick by, each a heavy thud echoing in an otherwise silent alleyway. Finally, Miguel breaks the connection and climbs into his vehicle. A few beats later, his SUV is leaving the alley.
There is what feels like a collective breath expelled by our group, as if everyone was waiting for an explosion that has now been avoided, at least for the moment. Kane doesn’t move, waiting for a full retreat. As if he expects more. As if we haven’t avoided the explosion at all.
Chapter Four
I tuck my knife in my bra and close the space between me and Kane, stepping in front of him, only to have him drag me to him, kiss me hard and fast but, oh, so thoroughly, which is ridiculously sexy until he demands, “What the hell was that, Lilah?”
Romance ended.
War started.
