Page 18

Ozias

T he clock on my oak-paneled study wall ticked gloomily, each second bringing me closer to both my wedding and a potential bloodbath.

Across from me sat Joaquín Valdez, leader of the Jalisco cartel.

He leaned back in a leather chair with a smirk playing on his weathered face.

His eyes, cold as the Arctic winter far beyond my windows, bore into mine.

“Come now, Ozias.” He paused as his fingers drummed on the polished surface of my desk. “Surely you see the benefits of this alliance. Your territory, our product—the possibilities are endless.”

I resisted the urge to clench my fists, keeping my face expressionless. “And what guarantee do I have that you won’t flood my streets the moment I let you in? Your reputation precedes you, Joaquín.”

He chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth and genuine humor. “Ah, but so does yours, El Diablo. Tell me, how many men have you killed to sit where you are now? How many bodies are underneath your throne?”

The question stirred memories I would’ve rather forgotten—faces contorted in pain, the acrid smell of gunpowder, crimson blood staining my hands.

I pushed them aside, focusing on the present.

My father wasn’t the one who previously held the title of cartel king.

It was a role I stole from the man who killed my mother, and I would gladly do it again.

“Enough to know that trust is earned, not given freely.”

Joaquín’s eyes narrowed, the amusement fading from his expression. “You’re making a mistake, Rivera. We could crush you if we wanted to.”

“That’s bold of you,” I replied. My hand inched toward the gun holstered at my side, hidden from view beneath the desk. “But I assure you, it wouldn’t end well.”

The tension in the room was intense, thick enough to cut with a knife.

I was highly aware of my men positioned strategically around the house, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

The meeting was a risk, but one I had to take.

The cartel wars had been escalating, and an alliance, as distasteful as it sounded, could’ve been the key to calming things down momentarily.

I might’ve held the highest position, but none of the smaller cartel leaders understood how to work effectively. One pissed off another. One stole another’s product. It was a complete shitshow.

Just as Joaquín opened his mouth to respond, the door to my study swung open. My heart nearly stopped as Demi walked in.

“You’ll be pleased to know I—” she began, her voice trailing off as her eyes landed on Joaquín. The smile on her face faded, replaced by a mix of surprise and caution.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

I soaked in Demi’s appearance—the curve of her hips accentuated by her fitted skirt, the caramel skin of her neck exposed by her upswept hair.

She was breathtaking, and the sight of her sent a jolt of possessiveness straight to the tip of my dick.

But her presence was a complication I couldn’t afford at the moment.

“Demi,” I called out, keeping my tone steady despite the turmoil inside me. “I’m in the middle of a meeting. We can talk later.”

Her brown eyes pinged between Joaquín and me, understanding dawning in their depths. “Of course,” she replied, her tone clipped. “I’ll leave you to it.”

As she turned to leave, Joaquín’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Well, well. What do we have here? Ozias, you didn’t tell me you had such . . . exquisite taste in women.”

I bristled at his words, at the way his eyes roved over Demi’s physique when she turned to walk away. My fingers twitched, itching to reach for my gun and put a bullet between his eyes. But I couldn’t afford to lose control, not now.

“This is my fiancée, Demi.” I introduced her, my tone warning Joaquín to tread carefully. “We’re getting married in a couple of hours.”

Joaquín’s eyebrows shot up to his receding hairline as a wolfish grin spread across his face. “Married? Today? My, my, Ozias. You are full of surprises, aren’t you, my boy?”

Demi, to her credit, didn’t flinch under Joaquín’s scrutiny. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a defiance that made me equally proud and anxious. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr.. . .?”

“Valdez,” Joaquín answered while standing up and moving toward her like a shark. “Joaquín Valdez. The pleasure is all mine, Ms.. . .?”

“Malone,” Demi replied cooly. “Demi Malone.”

I watched as recognition flashed in Joaquín’s eyes, his smile turning predatory. My muscles tensed, ready to spring into action if needed. The air in the room seemed to thicken instantly, charged with an electricity that threatened to ignite at any moment.

“Malone?” Joaquín repeated, his voice deceptively casual. “Any relation to Cyrus Malone, by chance?”

I swallowed hard, and my throat suddenly became bone dry.

Joaquín’s eyes widened in recognition, a slow smile curling up one side of his face. “Demi Malone, is it? Her father’s crossed me more times than I can count,” he indicated with malice dripping in his tone.

Before I could react, before I could even process the threat in his words, Joaquín moved with startling speed for a man of his age. His hand shot out, grabbing Demi’s arm. She let out a surprised gasp of pain, her eyes meeting mine in a moment of shared shock.

“You’re going to pay for what your father did,” Joaquín snarled, yanking her roughly.

My heart pounded in my chest as rage and fear coursed through my veins. How dare he touch her? How dare he threaten what was mine? And on my wedding day, no less? But beneath the anger, there was a trace of something else—a protectiveness I hadn’t expected to feel.

“Let her fuckin’ go, Joaquín,” I growled, my hand racing toward my holster. “This shit is between us. She has nothing to do with it.”

In one fluid motion, I unholstered my gun and aimed it at Joaquín’s arm. The sound of the gunshot echoed through the study, followed immediately by Joaquín’s agonized scream. His grip on Demi’s arm loosened as blood spurted from his wound.

“Have you lost your mothafuckin mind? You’re going to pay for touching what belongs to me,” I snarled.

Demi stumbled away, her eyes ballooned with shock. I wanted to go to her, to make sure she was alright, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Joaquín. He clutched his bleeding hand as his face contorted in pain and fury.

“You have no idea what Cyrus has done!” Joaquín spat out between ragged breaths. “The Malones have been a thorn in our side for years. This little bitch—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I barked, cutting him off as my finger tightened on the trigger. “Demi is my wife. Her father’s business is not her burden to bear.”

Joaquín’s pain-stricken eyes darted between Demi and me, a sinister smile twisting his features despite the discomfort. “You think this is over, Ozias? You and your pretty little bride better watch your backs. The Malones have made powerful enemies, and now, so have you.”

I saw the movement before it fully registered—Joaquín lunging toward Demi again, his good hand outstretched. There was no hesitation, no moral dilemma. My body reacted on instinct, honed by years of being at the top of the cartel food chain.

The second gunshot was louder than the first, or maybe it just felt that way. Joaquín’s body jerked, a look of surprise frozen on his face as he crumpled to the floor. The bullet hole in his forehead was neat and precise—a perfect kill shot.

Still, that wasn’t enough for me. He’d laid his fucking hands on my bride not once but twice and was stupid enough to have done it in my presence.

His demise was too clean, and the last thing a messy mothafucka deserved was a clean death.

I stepped over to his lifeless body, screaming my war cry as I grabbed his face, and squeezed it so hard his jaw snapped like wishbones.

I split the lower half of his face open like a juicy watermelon, rendering him unrecognizable.

The warmth of satisfaction washed over me as I dropped him to the ground and pulled out my handkerchief to wipe the blood splatter off my face and lips before looking up at Demi.

There I was—El Diablo in the flesh with my claws out, fangs showing, or however she pictured the monster I tried my best to hide from her.

For a moment, the room was deathly silent, no pun intended.

Then I heard Demi’s shaky breath, and it snapped me back to reality.

I slowly moved toward her, my eyes scanning her for any signs of injury.

“He touched you,” I muttered.

“O-Ozias . . .”

“He touched you,” I repeated, my voice softer than I intended. “Are you okay?” I asked. Her face was colorless, making the barely visible constellation of freckles across her nose stand out even more. “I need an answer, Demi.”

She nodded, but I’d already noticed her hands trembling. “I’m . . . I’m okay,” she managed to whisper. “I—you h-have blood everywhere.”

“He shouldn’t have touched you.”

Her chest rose and fell. It was almost as if I could see her heart beating through her clothes. “T-thank you for not letting him hurt me.”

I reached out, hesitating for a moment before reeling back. I didn’t want his blood on her. “You’re safe now,” I told her, surprised by how much I meant it. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Demi’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of trust. It stirred something in me, something I thought I’d buried long ago.

I’d never even considered letting my heart go all the way before, but Demi had the type of pussy that could bring even a man of steel to his knees.

She was my kryptonite.I was ruthless about her.

I thought I didn’t have a weakness. Turns out, it was her all along.

I ran a hand over my nape, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. The smell of gunpowder still hung in the air, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. I needed to reassure her, to make her understand.