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“Have you called the police?”

“No.”

“Good, don’t. Listen very carefully. Don’t touch anything. I need you to get anything out of there that’s yours or that has your information on it.Anything, Leighton. Pack your bags and come to Houston now. I’ll take care of it.”

Warning lit every nerve ending. Brody was always the rational one of the two of us. He was my calming voice of reason in the eye of a storm. We had a process—I fucked up, and he fixed me. Our process couldn’t fail me now. But what he was suggesting…

“The police...”

“Leighton!” he yelled. “I’m going to protect you, but you’ve got to keep your head clear. Understand?”

I nodded, as if he could see it.

“I need you to say the words.”

I smiled in spite of the situation. “I understand.”

I never questioned him again as he barked a few more instructions and hung up, announcing he had to make another call.

But maybe I should have.

Doing exactly as he told me, I bagged up what I could find, wiped down what I’d touched, and threw on one of Luis’s hoodies. As I drove away, I realized it should’ve bothered me that the assistant district attorney of Harris County encouraged me to leave the scene of a crime. My brother’s calm response to my admission of murder should’ve been a bright red flag.

Two

Mateo

Mexico City, Mexico

I tapped the tip of my boot on the concrete floor as muffled curses came from the other side of the steel door. I fought a smile and traced the skull design on my pocket knife.

“Last chance,pendejo,” I offered. “Apologize, and we’ll just mostly kill you.”

Not that I expected an answer from the man dangling from a hook in the far corner of the room, but I gave him a chance anyway. As anticipated, he lolled his head to the side and spat on the floor.

Well, as best he could with his chin halfway up his cheek.

I had to give the man credit. He’d been hanging like a side of beef from an overhead pipe after oursicariohitmen had worked him over, and he still had some fight left in him.

Good. He’d need it.

I stared at the glob of saliva and sighed. “Not your best move.”

“Go to hell.” His chest rattled as blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.

I leaned forward and grinned. “You first.” Giving his knee a hard kick, I sent him swinging. He looked like a bungee jumper waiting to be rescued. Only these cords were steel, and no one was coming for him.

“Asshole,” he wheezed.

“I can’t decide if you’re brave or just really fucking stupid, Lopez.” Rolling my eyes, I flipped the knife over in my palm before standing and releasing the blade. I wasn’t fond of this part of my job. Whereas most men’s dicks in my cartel hardened at the mention of drawing blood, it was a simple means of survival to me.

Guilt wasn’t an emotion I lost any sleep over. Innocence never landed these men here. However, theculerocowering in the corner had earned the rare misfortune of facing someone far worse than me.

As if on cue, the steel door slammed open, and Valentin Carrera, head of the Carrera Cartel and the one man above me, charged into the room. His normally slicked back black hair was in disarray, and from the fire blazing in his eyes, I half expected him to pull out his gun and put a bullet in this guy’s head. Instead, he circled around him, a layer of sweat beading across his forehead.

“Lopez, you stupid motherfucker, you ignored my wife’s orders and then tried to enlist one of mysicariosto hurt her?” The words hissed from his clenched teeth.

I could tell he was coming unhinged, and I’d intervene if I gave a shit about Lopez.