by Skyla Madi
And he didn’t even put up a fight.
“The way they speak about you around the clubhouse, the way Isabelle speaks about you, you’re like a god,” I say, seething, earning a frown from him. “You’re supposed to be uncontrollable. Indestructible. You’re such a disappointment.”
“First of all.” Iris scowls, her soft, pretty features turning sharp. She steps forward, planting a slender leg in front of her. Dressed head to toe in black, save for her brown cut, she’s ready to defend her vice president. “He doesn’t give a shit what you think of him.”
I turn my attention from her to Creed as he sets his jaw tight. If I can provoke him, or her, enough to let me go… “It’s what they’re all going to think when they get back.”
“Be grateful we’re even here,” Iris snaps. “This isn’t our fight.”
“It’s our fight,” Creed cuts in, not taking his gaze from me for a second. “It became our fight the moment Judge fell in love with her and her son.”
I pull a face even though my heart races at the thought of it being true. “Judge doesn’t love me.”
Creed saunters closer. Dry leaves and twigs are crushed under his heavy boots and crickets grow quiet the closer he comes to me. I swallow as he towers over me.
Tilting his head, Creed asks, “How does a detective miss all the clues?”
Clues? What clues? Judge and I shared a mutual adoration for each other’s paternal and maternal qualities. We shared a mutual physical attraction too, but I don’t think it can go any deeper than that. The fact I’m an ex-law enforcement officer makes him uncomfortable, and the fact he’s a criminal doesn’t sit well with me. And love? The word sends a chill down my spine and a sickness through my stomach. In another life, I’d let myself fall head over heels for Damon Judge, but in this life, the only boy I love is my son. He needs so much love I can’t possibly spare any for anyone else, and I won’t. Not even a drop.
I inch closer, straining Judge’s bike. If I pull hard enough, it will topple over. I’m so close to Creed I can smell his cologne, hints of asphalt and burning rubber. He smells like Judge…and it makes me lightheaded in the most delightful way.
“He doesn’t love me,” I repeat, my voice firmer this time.
“If he didn’t, we wouldn’t be here fighting for you and your kid. He wouldn’t risk the entire chapter for anything less than—”
“They’re here fighting,” I cut in, dropping my attention to the narrow rectangular patch on the breast of his cut. Vice President.
“What?”
“The rest of the members. They’re here fighting. You’re just here as a look out.”
His dark, whiskey eyes flare as he bares his teeth. He hates it. He looks like he wants to slap me. I need to hit Creed where it hurts—his pride and loyalty—and pray he takes me down the hill with him. I open my mouth and it’s loud—the gunfire, drowning out my insult. I’m glad it did. I don’t think I would’ve come back from calling Creed afraid and weak. Lava zips through my veins as panicked heat pools in my face.
“You’re his best friend, his right-hand man,” I say, and it takes everything I have to keep fear from manifesting in my expression, to keep my tone calm. “I pray he doesn’t need you down there.”
Creed whirls away from me and storms to the edge of the hill. He pauses at the lip of the decline and stares into the dark abyss, the moonlight offering little refuge from the blackness. He turns from the hill and paces, only growing more agitated the longer the gunfire continues. It softens over time, as the battle moves from outside to inside. I close my eyes and pray Nicolás is somewhere safe, tucked away from the danger and the noise.
The gunfire goes on and on, an unbearable racket in the distance, rivaled only by the approaching thunderstorm. The moonlight is swallowed up, and dry lightning flickers, the flashes spiking my anxiety. On the tail end of a not so distant rumble, the apparently dense clouds begin to spit.
Creed tilts his head back and stares up at the foliage, then tosses his rifle to the floor. “Screw this.”
He rushes the decline, leaving me behind.
“Creed, wait!” I shoot forward, nearly yanking Judge’s bike from its stand. “Please, please!”
He slams to a halt and whips to face me. Pointing an angry finger at a motorcycle six feet from Judge’s, he bares his teeth. “Key is in Armi’s bag. You want it so bad, get it yourself.”
He turns away, ignoring me as I shout after him. Iris follows, not paying me any attention as I demand for her to help me. When she leaves, my chest tightens as if I’m being crushed in a metal corset. I open my mouth, desperate to drag more air into my lungs, but it only makes me dizzy. I still and drop my head, resting my chin against my chest.
I breathe, short inhales in and even shorter exhales out. Then, I drag longer ones in through my nose and hold it for a few seconds, then breathe it out more controlled than before.
You want it so bad, get it yourself.
I set my sights on Armi’s motorcycle and I pull hard on Judge’s bike, toppling it over, getting me closer to Armi’s bag where he’s hiding the key. I reach, stretching so far my shoulders ache, and brush my fingertips along the sewn edge. I curse, then try again, coming up shorter this time. A strangled shriek squeezes out my throat and my feet slip out from underneath me, sending me plummeting into the mess of leaves below.
You want it so bad, get it yourself.
I clench my teeth until their surfaces ache and my jaw throbs, and I stretch more. I dig my boots into the ground and push off. The metal of my cuffs cut into my skin and it feels like fire at my wrists, but I keep pushing, uncaring if I sever my wrist. I groan, and that groan transforms into a gravelly shout as I straighten my legs and feel the ground give away beneath my boots. I gain an inch, then another, as I drag Judge’s heavy motorcycle behind me. By luck, I snag Armi’s bag in my hand and pull it, using it as leverage. I contort my body using as much force as I can to get it off balance, but it’s not enough and I can’t get Judge’s bike to move any further.
A sob chokes me.
Then another.
But I keep pulling…
…until my muscles burn, and I…and I can’t physically do it anymore.
I cry as I release Armi’s bag and I roll onto my back. More thunder growls, more lightning flashes, and there’s more water on my face from crying than there is from the rain. I scrunch my face, pinching it tight to hold back the onslaught of emotion and tears, but like a full cloud, it rips open and the waterworks surge. My dampening hair sticks to my face and I stare up at the canopy, deaf and blind to everything going on around me. In the leaves, I see Nicolás’s face. I see his big eyes and gentle, lopsided smirk, and I cry harder. It seems no matter how hard I try for him, I come up short. It’s never enough.
Lightning lights up the sky and a loud crash next to my head startles me. I jerk my head toward Armi’s fallen bike and peer up at the shadow standing above me, watching from over the top of the motorcycle. I blink, clearing away the blur of tears and see Creed as clear as ever.
I glance at the bike, then back at Creed, who demands my silence with his intense stare. How much of it did he see? Warmth blooms in my cheeks at the thought of him witnessing my emotional meltdown. I don’t know what it is but being in the presence of him—of any of the Devil’s Cartel men—makes me want to be brave. I don’t want them to see me as weak.
When he leaves, I let out the air I didn’t realize I was holding and I waste no time digging through Armi’s saddlebag, uncaring that my hand brushes against grenades and bullets. At the very bottom, I feel the thin, jagged edge of a key and I pinch it between my fingers. My pulse skyrockets as I take the key from the bag and use it to free my goddamn self.
EIGHTEEN
J U D G E
My first mistake was underestimating Elias and thinking we had the upper hand.
Bullets chipped away at the thick stone wall I leaned against and I blinked repeatedly as the residue burned my eyes. Shit. My
chest heaved and I pulled my arms tighter against me, squeezing my shotgun in my grip, desperate to keep out of the line of fire.
My second mistake was leaving Creed on the hill. I needed him. I needed all the men I could get, and he was a fucking overpowering force to be reckoned with. I turned my head and looked at Armi as we rested against the stone wall of an indoor courtyard. Elias’s men were relentless in their fire, but they weren’t accurate. I imagined Elias Vergara was rarely attacked. His men were out of practice—mostly. Outside, we took down thirteen men without issue. Inside, they had time to man their guns and get into position.
Armi lifted his arm and checked his watch. I peered at it and watched the minute hand tick, then I held my breath. That same moment came a deafening boom that shook the colossal stone lodge and the firing squad of twenty paused in their assault.
They shouted in Spanish and the sounds of boots against hard stone was prominent over the buzzing in my ears.
“Go!” Armi demanded, pushing off the wall.
He gripped the well-oiled steel of Creed’s weapon, pressed the stock into his shoulder, and rounded the corner. Bullets sprayed with every squeeze of his trigger and they snapped and cracked through the air. One after another, my men stormed past me, moving further into the lodge. Guns went off and each roar carved its way into my ears, and as Kace pulled up his skull neck gaiter, covering his mouth, I was ready to go. I followed close behind Kace and kept my eyes on the prize—the massive stone staircase at the center of it all. At the sight of it, my thoughts swayed from the fight at hand to the intricate details carved into the stone.
Was this how Minnie lived? In such grandeur? Insecurity I wasn’t used to feeling wormed through my stomach. I bet she thought the clubhouse looked like shit. I put a lot of money into the design, decoration, and the upkeep of our place, but its chromium accents and leather trimmings were nothing compared to the gold fixings and marble sculptures, carved with such precision they looked soft. Images of Minnie dripping in diamonds on superyachts and in magnificent mansions assaulted my mind. It must’ve been hard to leave it all behind…another testament to the unconditional love she had for Nicolás.
“Judge!” Creed’s voice hit me like a train, then came his body, colliding with mine.
Bullets ripped apart the hard floor, sending clouds of dust into the air. I was yanked by the back of my cut and dragged behind a chunk of glossy marble. I shook my head as Creed pressed against the base of a crumbled statue on bended knee, and emptied his clip. Cursing, he dropped low and dug into the pocket of his cut.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, sitting upright.
“Saving your ass.” He freed a clip from his pocket and dropped the empty one from his gun. Clicking the new one in place, he cut his eyes at me. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I was thinking how rich this bastard is. Is Minnie still—”
He threw himself back into the gunfight, shooting his handgun like a mad man. Creed flew out from behind the marble and disappeared into the fray. To my right, a smoke grenade burst, and I rolled into it. I held my breath until it was tight in my chest, and headed for the stairs. From somewhere, Armi shouted for the men to keep driving Elias’s goons out the back. I buried the stock of my shotgun into my shoulder and approached the stairs. Creed flanked me from the left, sporting a long, sleek rifle now. Blood splattered his face and seeped from his lower lip.
“I should’ve known you’d never stay put.”
“If you ever strand me as a look out again, I will shoot you.” He cut his eyes at me, his white-dusted eyebrows narrowing. “We fight together or not at all.”
Clenching my jaw, I nodded my head. It didn’t feel right, breaching the premises without him. He was my righthand man, and now he was here, I had the confidence to get in and do what needed to be done.
Creed and I bounded up the long staircase and swept the upper level. We stepped over large chunks of expensive debris and countless dead bodies. Room after room was barren of life until we hit the upper right side of the building. Breathless, I turned the handle, but it didn’t open. I shook it. Nothing.
“Locked,” I said to Creed, and I stepped aside and braced against the frame.
Creed stood in front of the door and pulled back, cocking his leg back, bringing his knee closer to his chest. A mighty growl ripped from his chest as he slammed his leg forward, crashing his boot into the finely polished wood. The door splintered as if it were made of thin plywood and he rolled his body to the other side of the frame, adjacent to me.
He blew air out of his cheeks, then flicked his chin. I flexed my fingers against my shotgun and turned my body into the broken door. I entered the room, my shotgun up and my finger eager against the trigger. Elias sat behind his big oak desk, relaxed in his leather chair. The jacket of his black suit was haphazardly thrown open, exposing a neatly tucked white button up shirt.
Other than him, there was no one else in the spacious room. He pinned me with his black eyes and dragged his index finger thoughtfully across his lower lip as he gently swayed side to side. He had no fear on his features, nor a weapon in either hand, and the sounds of gun fire weren’t so muted in the distance. That put me on edge.
“Whatever she’s offered you, I can double it,” Elias said, his smooth tenors not betraying any fear he might be feeling inside. “Triple it.”
“Well.” Creed laughed under his breath as he entered the room and stopped three feet to my left, his rifle pointed at Elia’s ugly face. “Three pussies are better than one.”
I smirked. That was one way of letting him know Yasmine never offered me any money, I suppose. Elias clenched his jaw and his eyes thinned, sharp and accusing, underneath his deep frown.
“You slept with the enemy.”
I flexed my fingers against my gun. “She’s not my enemy.”
“She’s a pig.”
“Was.”
Elias sat forward and Creed jolted, stepping toward him. “Always will be.”
“Where’s the boy?” I demanded, sparing a glance to my right.
Nicolás wasn’t in here—unless Elias had him stashed behind a fake bookcase.
“Boy? You mean my son.”
“No.” I lowered my gun and barreled forward. “He’s not your son. You lost the right to call him that.”
“Is that what she told you?” Elias looked me up and down, his lips quirking with smug disgust. “I’m not surprised. You see, my darling wife is…” he tapped his temple. “Unwell.”
“Ex-wife.”
His smug lips pulled into a wide, wolfish grin. “Funny. I don’t remember signing any divorce papers.”
His words triggered a jealousy unlike anything I’d ever felt. It was hot in my blood, mixing dangerously with emerging anger. My nose twitched. It fucking bothered me he felt he still had claim to her. She was mine—she said she was mine—but if he was telling the truth, she was still legally his. His wife.
“I told you, she’s unwell,” he said, as if it was all he needed to say for me to lower my gun and retreat. “Give her back to me and I’ll make sure she gets the help she needs.”
I aimed my shotgun at the surface of his desk and squeezed the trigger. It fired, vibrating my arms, and kicked into my shoulder. I blew a massive hole in his desk and shrapnel scattered from the blast, cutting exposed parts of Elias’s wrists as he shielded his face.
“Mierda!” he shouted, his face flushing an angry red.
“Give me Nicolás!”
“Sobre mi cadaver,” he seethed, shooting forward and slamming his fists against his destroyed desk. Over my dead body. “What kind of father would I be handing my only son over to murderers and rapists?”
Creed’s rifle went off—a quick burst of noise and fire from the tip of his weapon. Murderers we were happy to admit, but rapists? None of the men in my chapter had ever been involved in a rape. Any that were I dealt with personally. Elias howled, his body jolted, and he fell deeper into his seat. C
reed marched forward and I followed, approaching the desk. Elias squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his palm over his shoulder. Blood flowed freely over the back of his hand and spattered his crisp, white shirt. I felt my pupils dilate at the sight and saliva flooded my mouth.
Elias gasped and dragged deep inhales through his nose. “I-I can give you N-Nevada.”
Creed peered sideways at me and I tightened my jaw. Nevada was the only state the Devil’s Cartel didn’t have a chapter in. It was quite an offer. It was an offer I had no business turning down without a meeting with my men…but they’d forgive me. Scoring a new territory or not, I had no intention discussing business with the likes of Elias Vergara and I trusted Creed not to mention it to the others.
“The Ventillis own Nevada,” Creed said.
Elias shrugged his good shoulder. “For now.”
I had no doubt he could take this state from Marco Ventilli, but so could I, if I really wanted to. The old president would’ve struck the deal with Elias and thrown Nicolás and Yasmine under the bus, but I was a man of honor. Yeah, I was a criminal, but I was loyal, and my loyalty couldn’t be bought.
“Fuck Nevada,” I said, and I meant every word of it.
Sighing, Elias closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. I glanced at Creed and he shrugged, then Elias pushed his seat back and lifted himself off it. He swiped at his nose, smearing blood against his nostril. Groaning, he made his way around the desk and Creed let him go. I lowered my shotgun, then held it out for Creed to take.
Blowing air from his lips, he stopped gripping his shoulder and straightened his spine. “I thought you’d be a smarter man, Damon Judge.”
The corner of my lips quirked. “And I thought you’d be taller.”
For an injured man, he moved quick. He shoved his hand underneath his jacket and whipped out a small handgun. My heart leaped into my throat and I reacted. I grabbed his wrist in one hand and the barrel of the gun in the other. Growling, I snapped the gun back on him and, in the fumble, he squeezed the trigger. The bullets that exploded out the end kissed the tousled, charcoal colored hair by his temples. We froze and his volcanic glass eyes widened at the near miss.
