Everything has been one elaborate lie.
My name.
My identity.
My entire existence.
Crafted by one man and revealed by another.
Brody Harcourt exposed me as a fraud, turning me from a queen into a pariah.
Now there will be hell to pay.
But I'm back for more than revenge.
More than blood.
My eye is on the prize.
The Carrera throne.
I'll win the kingpin's trust at any cost, even if it means crossing enemy lines with Houston's political pin-up boy. Brody's chiseled chest and cocky smirk won't distract me.
But things don't always go as planned.
Sometimes a queen has to steal her crown.
And the one man she should never want...
...is the only one she does.
“You have to take a leap of faith in yourself. No matter what it is, take that leap of faith and know you can do whatever you want to do.”
I miss you, Shanann.
Playlist
Royal Blood - Krigarè
Play With Fire - Sam Tinnesz (feat. Yacht Money)
Bad Bitch - Bebe Rexha (feat. Ty Dolla $ign)
Natural - Imagine Dragons
Sorry Not Sorry - Demi Lovato
Señorita - Shawn Mendes, Camila Cabello
Come & Get It - Selena Gomez
Safari - BIA, J Balvin, Pharrell Williams, Sky
Bad Guy - Billie Eilish
A Little Wicked - Valerie Broussard
Horns - Bryce Fox
Queen - Loren Gray
Fuck Feelings - Olivia O’Brien
Heaven - Julia Michaels
Revolution - The Score
White Flag - Bishop Briggs
I Feel Like I’m Drowning - Two Feet
Born For This - Royal Deluxe
Hold On - Chord Overstreet
This is Me (From the Greatest Showman) - Kesha
Listen to the Drawn Blue Lines playlist.
Prologue
Adriana
Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico
Two Weeks Ago
No one chooses fate. It chooses us.
I knew because I came into this world cursed, my veins poisoned with a depraved and corrupt bloodline. However, after months of running, foolish unrest drew me out of hiding and into the jaws of anarchy. War was a living, breathing thing. Nurtured and cultivated, it bloomed into an unstoppable force of nature. Left in the wild, its branches twisted into a monstrosity that eventually devoured itself.
My family’s legacy had become a treacherous beast feasting on its one remaining root.
Me.
Warm blood flowed around me like an unholy baptism, soaking my hair and coating my skin. Rolling onto my side, I concentrated on breathing even though the smallest inhale shredded my lungs. The beating had been brutal, but not fatal. Not because they wanted to spare my life, but because death was more satisfying when capped off by days of torture.
I’d taught them that.
Now, here he sat in the shadows.
Watching.
The one in charge. The one whose footsteps caused all the traitors to scatter like startled cockroaches.
The muscles in his throat tightened as a dark cloud passed over his face. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his fingers twitch against the dark denim covering his thigh. I knew nothing about the man except that he was a killer, and he wanted nothing more than to pull the blade from its holster and drive it straight through my heart.
But he wouldn’t.
He could easily take my life, but it wouldn’t be without consequence. Even in chaos, there was order.
I swallowed, forcing my native language from my raw throat. “Who are you?”
“A prophet without honor.” He spat the words out like they were rancid, his gravelly Spanish raking over my thin nerves like fresh sandpaper.
Arrogance, a familiar yet foolish friend, filled my chest. “If you touch me, I’ll kill you.”
Shaking his head, he pulled a cigar from his pocket. “I don’t have to touch you. I have something you need. You’ll do whatever I say, when I say it.” He bit off the tip and spat it at my feet, his gaze never leaving mine as he lit the end. The glowing tip sparked to life, his cheeks sinking in as he sucked a few deep puffs.
I let out a silent breath. “I am Marisol Muñoz.”
The low laugh that followed nearly broke my composure. Men had underestimated me all my life. However, the one on the other side of the cold, damp room wasn’t just amused by my obstinance. It thrilled him. He got off on it.
My heart free fell into my stomach, and with my ear pressed against the concrete floor, I heard him get up, each step he took sounding like thunder. Bending down on his haunches, he bore stained yellow teeth in a smirk I wanted to carve off his face.
“You’re no Muñoz, and you know it. I’m the one resurrecting a power you almost ruined,” he snarled. “Bringing honor back to Guadalajara. Spilling enemy blood to fortify our own.”
“I am Marisol Muñoz.” In repeating the declaration, I couldn’t help but wonder which one of us I was trying to convince. “The daughter of your former king, and the sister of your fallen leader.”
He leaned down with eyes harder than stone. “You are a Carrera whore.”
Before I could respond, he wrapped his hand around my blood-soaked hair and dragged me toward him. White hot pain shot through my skull, but my stumble was momentary. As soon as I found my balance, I swung.
It was just what he wanted. Easily catching my wrist in one hand, he pulled his knife with the other. Instinctively, I lunged for it, but he released my hair and shifted, causing me to slam face-first onto the floor.
I turned my cheek just before my nose made contact with the unforgiving concrete. The pain was almost unbearable, but I never screamed. This was a power struggle. Blood meant nothing to a vigilante drug runner. Fuck if I’d let it mean any more to me.
I glared as I turned, ignoring the blood dripping down my chin. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It’s your name.” He resumed circling me like a lion. “Muñoz blood doesn’t run through your veins. You’re the enemy.”
“Stop!” It was the only word I could voice.
Truth was like a splinter piercing the surface of your skin. The initial bite was painful but bearable. However, if left long enough—if accepted without a fight—it dug its way so deeply into your flesh, it became a part of you. Never-ending pain masked as masochistic pleasure.
Self-destruction was a family trait. Raised to hate and taught to avenge, obsession seeped its way into my blood from a young age, addicting me to power like the very drug our kingdom was built on.
Having it. Keeping it. Taking it.
Every spare moment I had, I ate, slept, and breathed one name. Believed one name lived to destroy us.
Carrera.
After all, that was the law of the jungle. Take or be taken. Eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed. But then three brutal words ripped away my identity and a lifetime of respect, turning survival into a goal instead of a game.
You’re the enemy.
My entire existence had been a lie. I wasn’t a queen. I was a pawn. I’d been robbed of the only life I’d ever known and denied the life I should’ve never lost.