Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
I meet his gaze, mine filled with rage so cold it's turned to ice. "Keep her safe no matter what because every single motherfucker Rojas planted in my organization is going to die."
Nolan stares at me for a long silent moment, shock and distrust warring in his eyes. He wants to believe me, but he's spent so long looking for the knife in his back, he doesn't even know what the word means anymore. But he does understand love. He had a wife. He has a daughter and a son he loves, even when he fucks it all up. And that's what sways him now. "You're really going to kill your own men for my daughter?"
"They aren't my men. They belong to Rojas." I meet his gaze, letting him read the truth in mine. "And I'll kill anyone I have to kill because tonight is the one and only time anyone will ever paint a target on her back. I'm not you, Sullivan. I won't wait for them to come and pick them off one by one every time they insult or target her. I'm going to bathe this city in blood until every motherfucker in it knows exactly what'll happen if they even look in her direction."
"And Rojas?" Sullivan asks.
I smile coldly, viciously. "Felipe Rojas is already dead. His goddamn body just hasn't realized that it's time to stop flailing yet."
"Good," Sullivan grunts, satisfaction glinting deep in his eyes. "Destroy the motherfucker, Nazario."
"Keep her safe, Sullivan. Don't let anyone near her while I'm gone."
He jerks his chin in a nod, eyeing me sideways. "I'm still not on board with this."
"And I still don't care," I mutter. "Neither does she. She loves you, but her place is at my side. You won't stop her. You won't stop me, either. So you can either get used to the idea and keep your daughter in your life, or you can cut off your own goddamn nose to spite your face. The decision is yours. But you and I are done with this bullshit. This is the last time she'll be in the middle between us. Take it or leave it."
I don't wait for him to respond, instead striding around to the passenger side to wrench open the door. I kneel beside the car, at her feet. She reaches out for me immediately, placing her hand against my cheek. Her bottom lip quivers.
"I have to go, little one," I murmur, turning my face into her palm. "I love you."
"Please be careful," she pleads, those emerald eyes eating me alive, as if she's afraid this is the last time she'll see me. But that isn't going to happen, not today or any other day. This pretty little princesa is mine. Nothing is taking her from me—not her father, not Rojas, and certainly not death.
It takes three days to purge my organization of the stain Rojas placed upon it. I spill more blood than I can clean off, kill more than I can count. It doesn't cool my rage any.
Nothing does that until I slip through Felipe Rojas's bedroom window outside Barranquilla on day five, exhausted, covered in blood…and as calm as the goddamn eye of the storm.
I settle into an armchair in the corner to wait, a bloody bag on my lap. Patient. Cold.
He stumbles in nearly an hour after I begin my vigil, an old fucking man with a lifetime of brutality beneath his belt. He's changed since I last saw him. He's pushing seventy, his hair gray, his face lined. His hazel eyes are still the same—still cold, devoid of emotion.
He doesn't see me at first, too confident that he's untouchable in his own kingdom, that no one would dare come for him here. Most wouldn't. They're too terrified to even consider it. This man has no soul. He's a goddamn demon, hungry only for pain and misery. Seeking only to be worshipped, to rule.
But he created a monster a little bit too much like him in me. This fucking war between us twisted my soul, shaping me in his image instead of the image of my own father. I've got a little bit of demon in me too. He put it there.
He freezes when he finally sees me sitting there like I own the goddamn place.
"Qué putas?" he growls.
"What? Did you think I wouldn't come for you when I was finished killing all your fucking people, Rojas?" I ask, arching a brow, my expression cold. "You aren't that stupid, are you?"
His hand slides toward the gun at his waistband. Even here, he stays strapped. Even here, he trusts no one. I point mine at him.
"Don't even try it, motherfucker," I growl. "I'll paint the goddamn walls with your brains before you can touch it."
"You will never get out of here alive, Leyva."