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“Makeup,” I say roughly. “You can make it look like you’ve been hit—”

“Absolutely.” She cuts me off, her face pale, nodding determinedly. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

And if I was a fucking idiot, I’d believe her.

Problem is, I’m not. Or at least, not that kind of idiot.

I pull her in and cradle her close, more so she can’t see my face than anything else.

Dusk is fallingas the private chopper Leon chartered heads toward the helipad on his friend’s yacht. The damned thing is the size of two football fields, moored a few kilometers off the Myanmar coast.

I shoot Leon a glance. “Nice friends you’ve got.”

He tilts his head in unsmiling acknowledgment. He’s been noticeably tense ever since we took off from a local airport an hour ago. Rodrigo, sitting opposite us, flanked by the same two goons as earlier, is equally grim.

Fuck, I miss Roman’s banter.

That’s how we’ve always done these things, Roman and I. Laughed like hyenas in the face of death. It’s how we survive, the armor we both use.

Going into danger surrounded by pale faces and fear feels like losing before I’ve even started.

“At least there should be a decent gin on board.” Of all people, I should have known it would be Abby who’d find the light moment in all of this.

I roll my eyes at her. “We’re going to need to ship you off to rehab after this is over, Skip. Quite the habit you’ve got going on there.”

She pokes her tongue out at me. “You’re just jealous. But I’m sure they can rustle up a beer for the peasant, if you want to stick around.”

I snort. “Oh, so it’s a peasant, now, is it? I seem to recall you drinking the odd cardboard box of wine on occasion, Miss Fancy Pants.”

“Joder,” Rodrigo swears, glaring at us both. “Do you two ever shut up?”

Abby’s hand steals into mine as she bites down on a hugely inappropriate giggle. I squeeze it hard, grinning despite it all as the helicopter lowers down.

Fuck, I love her.

“Right.” Abby turns to me as the chopper settles on the top deck, waving her makeup bag at me. “All set.” Her smile is annoyingly convincing. “See you on the other side, muscle boy.”

“Sure.” I match her tone. “Just going to have a word with Rodrigo here, first.”

I watch her scramble out, wearing the sequined evening gown Dao bought for her this afternoon.

We’ve already had our big goodbye, back at the villa. One last session in that enormous four-poster bed, when I tried to press my mouth to every part of her I could find, and some Inever knew existed. Neither of us wanted an emotional goodbye in public, especially not here, when she’s about to walk back into hell and I’m about to fucking let her.

I slip out behind Rodrigo and grab his arm, hard enough to make his goons reach for their guns.

“Fuck off,” I snarl as Abby disappears down the stairs. “Listen, Cardeñas.” I pull Rodrigo close. “Abby needs bruises.”

“Oh, I know.” His mouth spreads in a grin that I fuckingacheto smash off his smug face.

Instead, I hold up a black hood, another gift from Dao. “Your men are going to go downstairs and tell Abby to put this over her head.” I yank him in close enough that I can smell the fucker’s designer aftershave. “Then I’m going to go down there and make those bruises myself.”

Rodrigo stares at me in surprise.

“You are going to warn her,” I growl. “You will tell her it’s you doing it. But I am the only person who lays hands on her, do you fucking understand me? Now, and until this is over. If I even hear a fucking whisper that you’ve hurt her, I will come for you, Cardeñas, and no matter how long it takes or how many have to die, I will kill you. With my bare fucking hands. Do you copy, asshole?”

I’m looming over him, smiling down into his face, but even seeing the way he swallows and nods at his men to obey doesn’t give me any satisfaction.

None of this fucking does.