Page 22 of Their Princess

I pinched my lips together, trying to come up with an answer quickly. I needed to fix this. There were probably more cartel members hanging around, making us all sitting ducks.

Outmanned.

Outgunned.

Fuck.

“We can double it.” I hated the words I spat and didn’t know how to achieve it, but I would.

We would liquidate. Move funds. We would cut back on the beer and steak grill outs. We had a cut of the arms trade now that we’d setup the arrangement with Parisi. Perhaps this fucking marriage would save my ass after all.

The Rojases huddled around our table and started talking. In Spanish. I failed Spanish in high school and didn’t try to pick it up now. They didn’t even try to hide their words, and I didn’t know if any of my brothers could speak Spanish either. I would bring it up in church. We needed a position that could speak Spanish—call it our fucking translator. We should’ve had one anyway, living and operating this close to the border. Especially now that the cartel flaunted what we didn’t know.

“Sas,” said Adelina, popping up beside me.

Fuck, she was so small and quick. Like a rabbit. I’d always hated rabbits. They were scary little fuckers with red eyes and twitchy noses.

“Stay back,” I ordered.

“But,” she said, inclining her chin toward the Rojas brothers, “they’re?—”

“Enough.” I grabbed her arm and shoved her back a step.

“You don’t understand,” she whined.

Why did she have to keep talking? The Rojases were looking at her with lust in their eyes, and el Fantasma actually licked his lips. And why did everyone tell me I didn’t understand? I knew this business and these slimy motherfuckers better than anyone here. I had lived this life for more than a decade. And I had been the one to strike the deal.

“Puedo hablar español,” Adelina said.

I tightened my grip. “Shut your trap.”

Adelina was a princess who wouldn’t stand a chance against the Rojas brothers. Everything they said was wrapped in tipping the scales in their favor. A princess, yes, and it was time to lock her away in a tower.

I towed her toward the entry to the bunnies’ bedrooms. Duchess, behind the bar, watched us, a frown on her face. Great, she would be up my ass for this too, but she could get in the long line behind everyone else already trying to check my fucking prostate.

“Where’s open?” I asked.

Duchess huffed. “Three doors down.”

She was as much a part of this club as I was, maybe more so after seeing both her husband and her son lost to shit that happened in our line of work.

I dragged Adelina away from the group and down the hallway, opening the door to throw her inside. She squealed, her shrill shrieks garbling with incoherent words. I had gotten a stupid slut with an apparent death wish. Or at least a lack of self-preservation.

She was pretty, but that wouldn’t do me much good at the moment. She landed on the floor but pushed to her feet quickly.Not fast enough, though, because I was already slamming the door, locking it. She tried the doorknob, and I smiled. So innocent. Massimo really did protect his little dolls.

As I took a step back toward our common room, she started banging against the door, screaming.

“Shut up!” I pressed my palms to the sides of my head. “You’re not part of this.” And I suspected she was a spy, anyway. “Keep your ass to the sweetbutts’ side of the house and out of club business.”

Adelina banged on the door. “But?—”

Rafe stalked down the hallway, approaching me silently. I almost jumped at his shadowy skills. I’d have to remember to watch my back around the bastard.

“Keep her quiet,” I ordered, needing to keep another rat busy and out of our club business. He was patched, but likely a traitor.

Rafe glanced toward the door, where Adelina screamed on the other side. “That might be hard.”

“Deal with it, uncle,” I hissed, stalking past him. “She’s your fucking niece.”

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