Page 55 of God of War

Naz eyes him, skepticism written all over his face. But I believe him.

For the first time, perhaps in his life, Naz put a little good into the world today. He did charity. At least, he wrote a check massive enough to ensure the homeless in this city won't go hungry for a long time. I think Michael Kincaid showing up here and now might be his karma—the answer to his prayers. A reminder that even monsters can balance the scales.

But I don't tell Naz that. That's for him to work out on his own. Instead, I tell him what I know for sure.

"He's telling the truth," I whisper in his ear. "He's a student. We have a literature class together."

His expression morphs from uncertainty to acceptance, his faith in me absolute.

"You're a student. You go to UCLA?" he asks Michael.

Michael grimaces, a wave of pain rolling through his expression. "Not anymore," he rasps.

"Why not?"

Michael clamps his jaws shut, refusing to answer. Or maybe he can't. Some pain is too raw, too awful to speak out loud.

"His girlfriend's family was murdered," I murmur to Naz, speaking it for him. "A rival gang shot them to death on her birthday."

His arms tighten around me as if he understands a little too well what that's like. And I guess maybe he does.

Naz doesn't ask any questions. He just processes and accepts it, leaving Michael privacy to deal with his own messed-up world.

"I'll help you get out of Los Angeles," he says.

Michael's eyes narrow on Naz, suspicion heavy in his gaze. Naz sees it too, understands it, too.

"You helped me," he says. "You saved my life and that of my fiancée. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Getting you out of the city won't balance the scales, but it's a start at least, yes?"

Michael hesitates for a long moment and then lowers the gun. "Yeah," he agrees. "It's a start."

Chapter Fifteen

Naz

"Stay in the car,mi alma," I murmur, staring out at the mansion where she grew up.

"Naz," she says softly, my name a protest on her lips.

"Please, little one."

She huffs a breath, grumbling quietly. "Fine. But if you get hit again tonight, it's your only fault."

The ghost of a smile paints my lips as I glance over at her. "You think he'll hit me?"

She shrugs, her expression disgruntled. But I see the anxiety behind the mask, the worry. Even now, she fears for my safety, worries that we've pushed her father too far. And perhaps we did. Perhaps we should have handled shit a different way, gone aboutusall fucking different. Too late. We didn't.

And I know something she doesn't. Sullivan may hate me for taking her…but he loves her infinitely more. And Rojas just declared war on both our houses. On her. Nothing unites motherfuckers like us quite like giving us a mutual enemy to hate, to destroy.

It's time to destroy.

I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, watching the way irritation bleeds from her eyes, replaced with lust. It's good to see, not because we have time to fuck right now—we don't—but because after the trauma of tonight, I wasn't sure what to expect with her. But Brynna is aprincesato her fucking core. Myprincesa. She doesn't break. She's soft, malleable, able to endure because she can adapt.

People like me and Sullivan, people like Nicolas, we tend to think you need to be the opposite. That this world takes darkness and granite skin to survive it. People like Brynna know better. They live better. They endure because they adapt. They survive because it's who they are. It didn't have to be beat into them like it did with us. They were born with souls that never flag, with light that can't be tarnished no matter how much bullshit is poured over it.

"He isn't going to hit me,mi amor. Trust me."

Those are the magic words, the ones she can't resist. She trusts me the same way I trust her—with every fucking piece of me.

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