Page 92 of Loco

His voice had no heat—just certainty like it was already done. And in a way, I think it was.

I nodded. “Damn right, they are. That’s happening, no question.”

His jaw tightened, and his gaze drifted forward again, dark and distant. “And if there’s even a scratch on Sayla or those kids…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

I believed him. Hell, Iwantedto believe him because the idea of anyone laying hands on them was enough to make my blood run hot.

“You won’t have to go alone. If they touched them, I’ll help you burn every one of those sons of bitches to the ground.”

He didn’t thank me, he just gave a single, sharp nod. Because some things didn’t need to be said out loud, some things were already understood.

The silence in the SUV stretched again, heavy but steady, the kind that settled between two men carrying the same weight. I leaned back slightly and pulled out my phone, thumbing quickly through my contacts until I found her name.

Cyn.

I didn’t think too hard about what I was doing—I just typed out a quick message.

How are you?

The reply came faster than I expected.

Fine, now bugger off.

I had to bite back a laugh, turning my head to hide the grin threatening to break through. Roque wouldn’t appreciate me cracking up while his world hung by a thread. But damn, I loved her fire. Cyn never sugarcoated a thing—she came in hot, stayed hot, and didn’t care who got burned. That fire had pissed me off more than once, but right then, it felt like a tether to something normal. Like something was still right in a world turned upside down.

I typed another message.

How’s Wick?

That one took a few seconds longer, but when it came through, I could almost hear the smile in her voice.

Giving me hell and owning the world.

I was still reading it when a follow-up buzzed in.

Now bugger off.

I smirked and leaned back against the headrest. There was a strange comfort in her sharp edges. In knowing there were still people like her out there—fierce, fearless, and just as unwilling to bend as the rest of us.

Beneath all her snark and bite, under the sharp tongue and those expertly built walls, I knew Cyn still gave a damn—probably more than she ever wanted me to realize. She wore her armor well and made sure most people saw her fire before they saw her heart, but I’d caught glimpses of it in the way she talked about Wick and didn’t hesitate to throw herself into something if it meant protecting someone she cared about.

And somehow, that brief exchange—her sarcastic deflections, the sharp one-liners, followed by that tiny crack in the armor when she talked about her son—was enough to ground me right then. In the middle of all this chaos, with the weight of everything Roque was carrying, the corruption we were about to torch, and the danger still hanging over Sayla and the kids, it was something solid to hold onto. A reminder that there was still life waiting outside of this bullshit.

And when it was over—when we’d cleaned house and brought them home—there were fences I needed to mend, some I needed to build, and words I probably should have said a long time ago. And maybe, just maybe, there was something there worth reaching for. Something worth trying for.

I stared at the last message from Cyn for a beat longer than I probably should’ve, her words still hanging in the air like a challenge and a warning all rolled into one. I thumbed out a reply anyway.

We need to talk.

The response came back quickly. \

I don’t think so. What about?

I barked out a quiet laugh, careful not to let it roll too loud in the stillness of the SUV. That was Cyn in a nutshell: say no first and ask questions later. She shut the door just a little before she cracked it open again. Still, the fact that she’d asked told me everything I needed to know—she wasn’t indifferent, she was scared.

I didn’t push her, but I sent a simple answer.You know.

She didn’t text back after that, and that silence told me more than any clever retort ever could.

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