Page 4 of Pulse

He’d be the only one to endure unspeakable suffering should the Del Rios discover his true identity. That fact comforted him, though he’d prefer his skin to remain on his body if given thechoice. But seeing as how that choice might be taken from him, at the very least, he knew no one he loved would suffer for his actions.

Because he didn’t love anyone.

And no one loved him.

Well, one person loved him. Someone he had no doubt would turn as brutal as Enrique should she find out he destroyed her family. If the DEA did its job, she never would. She’d mourn his arrest and whatever story they’d concoct about why he didn’t get a trial. Most likely, they’d fake his death, but she’d never discover the truth.

Max Dominguez, her beloved cartel boyfriend, was Maximus Gabriel Varga, an orphan from Texas turned undercover DEA agent.

“What the fuck do we do?” Enrique whispered.

He turned to the panicked man beside him. “We’re chained on the floor. What can we do?”

“I don’t fucking know, but I gotta do something. I won’t let—”

“Drop the weapon!”

The harsh shout had both Max’s and Enrique’s heads whipping in the direction of the command.

“Cami, no.” The cry left Max’s lips before his consciousness registered her standing there with a semi-automatic rifle jammed against her shoulder. Fire blazed in her dark eyes, not unlike the heated gazes she gave Max when she wanted him, but this was full of fury and hatred instead of lust.

His heart hammered against this ribcage.

Why was she there? She wasn’t supposed to be there. He’d booked her an entire day at her favorite spa to keep her far away from this disaster.

“Kill every one of these fuckers,” Enrique shouted at his trembling sister.

“Put the gun on the ground and get on your knees!” one of the agents shouted. “We will shoot you if you discharge the weapon.”

Fuck.

Max hopped to his feet in a move that would make ninjas proud. “Everyone shut the fuck up.” Most guns remained trained on Camila, but a few turned his way.

“Cami,” he said, trying for a soothing tone even though his stomach was tangled in a million knots. “Cami, honey, please put the gun down.”

She shook her head, her long, dark hair swishing around her tear-stained face. “I-I can’t let them take you from me.”

Guilt was a ruthless motherfucker. It twisted Max’s insides until he nearly screamed out his anguish. Camila wasn’t innocent, but she didn’t deserve a life behind bars as her family did. She was aware of who her father and brother were, but she was also a woman born into a militant, male-dominated drug cartel. She held no power and never would.

Max might not love her, but he cared for her deeply. She was the one person he wanted to spare in all this—the one person who didn’t deserve the backlash of his betrayal.

And the one who’d suffer most for it because he’d done a damn good job of convincing her she was the love of his life.

All part of the job.

His fucked-up job.

“It’s okay,” he said as though speaking to a frightened animal. “Just put the gun down, and we’ll sort it all out.”

“Fuck that.” Enrique climbed to his feet and shot Max a disgusted glare. “You know what you need to do, Camila Del Rios. This is family. Blood. The most important thing in the world.”

Her face crumbled. “Enrique,” she whispered, heartbreak bleeding through the words as she stared at him. “I love you, but…”

“It’s okay, baby. Just put the gun down.”

Camila’s gaze bounced between him and her brother. Silent tears rolled down her beautiful face, dragging her mascara with them.

“Max…” Her arm lowered a few inches.

---