Page 69

“Options?” Babet’s voice is steady, a rock amid the storm. But I can see the tightness in her jaw, the age lines that speak of too many battles, too much loss.

“Think, Isa. Think. There’s always a way out.” But doubt creeps in. We’re running out of time, and I know it.

“If we’re surrounded, we’re fucked,” Babet mutters.

“Do you have a crawlspace under the house?” I ask, directing my attention to Blue. She will know every nook and cranny of this place.

“Yes! In the library. There’s a door to it under the rug.” Blue’s quick-witted, even with danger snapping at our heels.

Each second we hesitate is a second lost, an inch closer to capture, or worse. We need a miracle, and this might be it.

“It’s our only chance,” I say. “We’ll have to hide under the house until they give up and leave.”

Babet nods in agreement. “It’s the only place we haven’t tried.”

We dart through the house like phantoms. Babet’s breath comes in ragged gasps beside me, but her eyes are steel—sharp and unyielding. We’re so close to slipping free when I hear bootsteps pounding toward us.

“Go! Go!” I urge them.

I spin, gun raised, and fire. The shot slams into his chest, and he stumbles back, gasping. I take down one, then another, each bullet finding its mark. I keep count of how many bullets I have left, but I’m running out fast. Cartel thugs spill from upstairs like a flood. I hold them back while Babet and Blue hide in the crawlspace.

Three bullets left.

Two.

One.

After firing the last shot, I throw the empty gun at the men and break for the door to the library. I make it two steps before aheavy hand grabs my shoulder, spinning me around. I come face to face with one of Juan’s top goons. His sneer is as ugly as his intentions.

“Got you,puta.”

“Let me go,” I snarl, trying to free myself from his rough grip.

Fueled by raw fear, I jerk my head forward hard, connecting with his jaw. He stumbles against the wall, but more men are closing in. They’re oppressive and relentless, exactly like my brother.

One man swings his fist toward my face. I duck while simultaneously kicking my foot out to trip another man. But they keep coming, and I’m cornered. Still, I won’t cower. I’ll fight with the ferocity of a woman protecting her own, because that’s who I am. If nothing else comes from this, at least I’m buying Babet and Blue enough time to hide.

A blow lands hard against my side, and pain explodes across my skin. With each hit I take, my resolve hardens. I will not yield to their force. If they want me, they’re going to have to kill me.

Grit and sweat mix on my skin as another punch lands, the force almost knocking the breath from me. My fists are a blur, but it’s like fighting demons. They multiply, each one more determined than the last. Hands grab at me, fierce and unyielding. I twist, turn, and lash out with all the fire that burns in my bloodline.

“¡No me toques, cabrones!” My voice is a jagged blade, slicing through the chaos, but it’s not enough. Not this time.

The world tilts as I’m thrown to the ground, my arms wrenched behind my back. The bite of plastic zip ties cuts into my wrists, a cruel reminder of my new reality. Captured. Bound. But not broken.

“Get off me!” I snarl, but my words are muffled against the floor.

Panic claws at my chest, yet beneath it all lies a cold, hard resolve. I’ll protect my new sisters no matter what. We may not be blood, but I’d kill for them. I have killed for them and I’m more than ready to do it again.

They drag me up and out. The humid night air strikes my face like a slap. I catch glimpses of Vapor’s house retreating into the darkness. My brother is going to try to use me to get to Ice. I know it in my bones. But I swear they’ll have to kill me before I let them turn me against him.

The drive is a blur of streetlights and darkness. Time stretches and contracts until we arrive at a dock surrounded by scummy water and black-trunked trees. They hoist me into a boat and start the engine. Mosquitos buzz around my face, but I can’t bat them away. They feast on my exposed flesh, while frogs croak along the banks of the river.

Eventually, we arrive at a crumbling warehouse. Rusted metal panels sag under the weight of creeping vines, their jagged edges peeling away like dead skin, while filthy windows obscure whatever’s inside. The air reeks of mildew and stagnant water, and though the building is silent, I can’t shake the feeling that the ghosts of Juan’s past inhabit it.

They yank me out of the boat before shoving me into the building. One man cuts the zip ties then shoves me into a sturdy wooden chair. He re-secures my hands behind me, then ties my feet to the bottom of the chair with more zip ties, making it impossible to move. Satisfied with his work, he grins at me. As he leaves, the door groans shut behind him like a tomb sealing.

The air is thick, laced with the scent of sweat and fear. It clings to my throat, a tangible dread that tries to smother me. Dim bulbs cast sickly pools of yellow light across the bloodstained concrete floor. The walls are a patchwork offlaking paint and grime, splattered with crimson dots of blood. Although I’ve never been here before, I know exactly where I am—Juan’s torture room.