Page 86 of Miguel

And it had me pulling away from him. It had me currently on this couch next to my best friend, hugging my knees to my chest as I stared at the wall beside her.

Desiree put a hand on my arm, the brief flash of her touch tentative and comforting. She pulled away just as quickly, only enough to draw my attention towards her. “Are you going to leave him?” she asked.

I blew out a breath, dropping my forehead to my knees as I thought.

I could picture him in the other room, sitting up in bed, chewing over my rejection and taking it to heart. He couldn’t blame me for being afraid. Not only for my life, but for Zeke’s as well.

This was new for me. It wasn’t something I lived through.

Was I afraid? Yes. Terrified, actually. Who would do that to whole families? To children? Monsters, that was who. Just as quickly as the fear consumed me, so did anger.

How dare they? They had to have known that there had been children at that party. Whatever their issue with the Diablos MC, why drag families into it?

I knew that narcos, cartels, didn’t give a shit about families. They had no honor and killed without prejudice. There was something absolutely disgusting about that philosophy. Families should have been off-limits.

All I kept seeing in my head was Zeke’s fearful face, streaked with smoke and dirt, his lack of hearing making everything that much more frightening. Unable to hear what was going on around him, what must that have felt like not only for him but for Desiree as well?

I took a breath and lifted my head in time to catch Miguel at the entrance of my bedroom door. He must have caught her signing in the dark. Must have understood. Because even in the dim illumination at his back, I could see the distress in his expression just before he backed into the room, going back inside to Zeke curled up on my pillows.

I sighed, my heart aching.

I turned my attention back to Desi and signed, “No.” And we were quiet for the rest of the night.

Chapter Thirty-two

Miguel

“Wegrewwaytoofucking comfortable!”

The words were shouted, and then a chair went flying against the far wall. It shattered, the wood splintering into a dozen pieces from the force of the collision.

“We dropped our guard for a fucking second!” Loco’s fists rammed against the wall, his knuckles splitting and bleeding upon contact.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody dared interrupt.

Because that rage he garnered and exploded? We were all fucking feeling it.

Loco whirled, shoving fingers into my shoulder and pushing me backwards. “I told you it was the fucking gringos and you didn’t fucking listen.”

My anger broiled over, staining my neck and cheeks red.

Loco was my best friend, but he’d just crossed a line.

I shoved him back. “You think I don’t fucking know that? You think I’m happy about this shit?”

“No lo sé, are you? Or are you too much of a pussy to do a thing about it?!”

“Fuck you, Loco.” I whirled to stare along the table at everyone seated there. I could see it in their faces. They agreed with him. They thought I was at fault.

Loco and I had always balanced one another out. He was the explosive one, and I was level-headed. Sometimes too level-headed. And we’d paid the price for it.

“Fuck all of you,” I growled. “I’ve done nothing except protect this club. If you want to put the blame on someone, blame the fucking gringos, but we can’t fight amongst ourselves now. Not when there’s souls to reap.”

I’d never been one to give into the sensation of bloodlust before. It wasn’t something I liked to feed, not when there were other solutions. Better solutions. But that had flown out the window the moment the first bomb had been launched at our compound, injuring members, old ladies, and children. Luckily, no one had died. Except for burns and the instillment of fear within our families, they–we–were okay.

And those hijos de puta would pay for what they did.

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