“You shot me again! My own daughter!”
“I didn’t shoot you. I shot at you.” Shaking my head, I sighed at my own ineptitude and conscience. “For all you are, and the father you aren’t, for some fucked up reason, I still can’t kill you.”
A commotion up the stairs pulled my attention away from my father and toward the door. With a slew of obscenities, Manuel Muñoz flew down the stairs, an entourage of men clamoring behind him. In the middle of him, Marisol stood sandwiched, a gun tucked in her perfectly manicured hand.
I backed up as fast as I could, but with broken ribs and a sprained ankle from the tumble down the stairs, Manuel easily caught up with me, jerking the gun out of my hand and grabbing me in a choke hold. “Where the fuck did you get a gun, puta?”
Clawing at his arm, I fought for air. “I... I…can’t…”
“Let her go!”
Unable to turn my head, I rolled my eyes to the side as my father’s clenched fists charged toward Manuel. I tried to shake my head and warn him to stay where he was.
“What the hell do you care, Lachey? She’s been down here using you for a target practice.”
“I’m warning you, Muñoz, take your hands off my daughter, or—”
Groaning, Manuel turned over his shoulder toward Marisol. “You know what? I’ve had just about as much of the protective father act as I can take. You?” Marisol shrugged as Manuel raised his gun and pumped four rounds into my father’s chest.
With the kick-back, Manuel’s hold lessened enough for a full scream to tear from my throat as my father dropped to the ground in an explosion of angry red splotches that quickly soaked his shirt.
As Manuel readjusted his hold, I struggled to free myself.
I’m next. I’m next. I’m next.
The words repeated over and over in my head, until I swore I said them, out loud.
With a kiss to my temple, Manuel chuckled in my ear. “Perk up, Cereza. The fun has arrived.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Valentin
The last thing I wanted to do was announce my arrival by shooting out a window, but once I heard her scream, I would’ve bulldozed my way in. With the commotion behind me, I knew Muñoz sicarios were minutes from pumping a few bullets in my back.
When gunshots rang out, I froze, glancing over my shoulder to make sure I hadn’t been hit. Having been shot before, I knew sometimes the bullet tore through so fast, there was no way to know it had even hit until someone screamed, or blood stained a shirt.
The irony always made me shake my head. A bullet could rip through a man’s skin, likely severing vital organs in the process, yet the only thing he’d feel would be the wetness of blood.
Once I knew the gunshots weren’t meant for me, my heart constricted as another scream traveled up the stairs, leading from the basement.
Eden.
Without a second thought, I ran full force to the door where I knew I’d find her. Tightening my hold on my gun, I kicked it open, ready to blow anyone’s head off who dared get in my way. As I stepped one foot off the ledge, a gun pressed against my temple.
“Don’t fucking move, Carrera.” Ripping the gun from my hand, one of Manuel’s enforcers smiled as he swung the tip toward the bottom of the stairs. “Only the hosts get party favors.” Laughing at his own joke, he pushed the muzzle harder against my skull. “Now go…you’re the guest of honor.”
I half expected him to either shove me straight to the bottom, or go ahead and put a bullet in my brain. He did neither. He just continued fucking smiling to himself as I slowly took one step at a time, making sure to stay aware of my surroundings.
The moment I hit the bottom, all hell broke loose.
“Ah, El Muerte, welcome. We’ve been anticipating your arrival. Sorry for the mess. One of our guests forgot his manners.”
The familiar scent of spilled blood drew my attention to an older man crumpled on the floor in a pool of it. By himself, a dead man in a basement would mean little to me. However, as my eyes traveled back to the voice, I knew without question the dead man was Elliot Lachey.
My mouth went dry as my gaze landed on Manuel Muñoz, his forearm wrapped around Eden’s throat. She struggled against him, her face red from lack of oxygen.
A murderous blinding rage shattered my hold on the humanity Eden had resurrected the minute I saw what he’d done to her.
Her beautiful face stared back at me, mangled and covered in too many bruises and gashes to count. Both her right cheek and right eye were swollen, and blood trickled from both nostrils and the corners of her mouth. We locked gazes and her brows furled as she fought for every rattled breath.
Broken ribs.
Her exposed arms and legs were covered in bruises and cuts, as if she’d been thrown around like a rag doll. Deep lacerations on her wrists drew my eyes, sickening me to the permanent reminder she’d suffered for me.
I held her eye, communicating without words.
He’ll pay. On the soul of my mother, he’ll pay.
“Let her go, Muñoz. This is between you and me. She has nothing to do with it.” My mind raced, frantically trying to come up with workable scenarios where four against two logically came out in our favor. I kept coming up short, especially since the four were armed, and the two had nothing but the small pistol attached to my ankle holster. Unfortunately, with four guns drawn, one of them would put a bullet in Eden before I could reach for it. I wasn’t willing to risk it.
“Hello, Val.”
Who the hell was the woman? “Do I know you?”
“Probably not. But I’ve studied you for a while now, and I think I understand you more than most anyone.”
“I doubt that,” I shot back with full conviction.
Stepping out of the shadows, she ran a hand through her long dark hair, and I immediately took a step back. Something didn’t feel right.
“I’m the one that ordered the hit on your new girlfriend’s brother.” She smiled and moved closer. “I’m the one who’s been tracking you, turning all your allies against you.” Pounding her chest with her palm, the light hit her eyes, highlighting flecks of glittered anger. “I’m the one who watched you long enough to know you had such a hard-on for your own lieutenant’s bartender that it was just a matter of time before you fucked up.”
A rock landed in my stomach. “You didn’t get Elliot Lachey hooked on coke.”
A wicked smile spread across her face. “Didn’t I?”
“Oh, my God,” Eden croaked, her voice hushed and strained from Manuel’s restrictive hold. “It’s you. You’re the woman from the bar. You were sitting at the end the night Val came in. I remember because…because it was the night Nash was killed.”
As if on rewind, my mind traveled back to the night at Caliente. Eden had just commented about the news broadcast of Nando’s death when the two drunk assholes made remarks about her that made me want to blow their nuts off. Eden had been making conversation with a lady in the corner with long dark hair…holy fuck.
“You’re Isabella Diego.” Everything hit me at once.
“Actually, jefe, there’s one more thing.”