Page 51 of Stricken

It was inevitable with my last name.

But as the dark desert landscape zips by past the window, I feel myself hardening like tempered steel. I draw strength from Vlad's unflappable composure beside me. He's an anchor in this storm.

Eventually, I break the heavy silence. "Why would La Alianza target you?"

Vlad's eyes are fixed on the road ahead. "I don't know if it's Toro alone or his boss is on it. We used to do business with them. I got a better deal with the Arellano cartel after my father died. Switched over."

I let out a low whistle. "Playing with fire, Hot Shot. Even my family steers clear of the cartels. Too much heat."

"Sometimes you don't have a choice. Not if you want to survive in this game." Vlad's tone is matter-of-fact, unapologetic.

"I'm not judging."

Vlad glances at me, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "I know." He is quiet for a second. "Someone has to handle the cartels on this side of the border. Control the flow. Otherwise, they'll just send their own blood-hungry soldiers. And no one wants that kind of carnage on the streets."

I agree with this assessment wholeheartedly. "True that."

"It's a delicate balance. And seems that La Alianza clearly didn't appreciate me tipping the scales. I don't think they will stop until they finish the job."

"And by the job you mean your life?"

"That is exactly what I mean."

The determination I extract from Vlad's presence solidifies into a plan. "What do you say if we work together on this. Pool our resources, share intel. It looks like La Alianza is gunning for both of us now. Trying to kill you and trying to undermine my deal with the Armenians. We stand a better chance if we combine forces."

Vlad's jaw tightens. The tension in thick. For a moment, I think he's going to shoot down the idea, his pride and stubbornness winning out over practicality.

But then he exhales, a slow, measured breath. "Alright. A temporary alliance we don't tell anyone about. Until we understand what's going on and neutralize the actual threat. And until Toro is dealt with."

Small relief floods through me. It's a start, at least. A foothold in this uphill battle we're facing. "Agreed."

"I know he has been doing stuff on the side, separately from the cartel. We take out Toro, and then we put an end to this, to everything. Because it's becoming too dangerous."

I don't like how final he sounds. The thought of walking away from Vlad, of severing this connection we've forged, it twists like a knife in my gut. But I push it down, bury it deep. This is business. Pure survival. There's no room for sentiment.

Still, I can't help myself. The question slips out before I can stop it. "By everything you mean whatever is going in between us? Business aside?"

Vlad's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "It's better this way, Nico. Cleaner. Less complicated."

It's like a punch to the chest, knocking the wind out of me. I knew it was coming, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. I want to argue, to fight for this fragile, fledgling thing between him and I, this thing I don't even know how to describe. But I know Vlad is right. Attachments are liabilities. Weaknesses to be exploited.

So I swallow my protests and nod stiffly. "You're right. Survival above all else."

But even as I say the words, I know they're a lie. Because somewhere along the way, amidst the chaos and the violence and the blood, Vlad has burrowed his way under my skin. Into my fucking heart. And I will need a serrated knife to carve him out now.

* * *

The tires crunch against the barren earth as Vlad halts the car somewhere far away from the highway. The first rays of dawn paint the desolate landscape in hues of orange and blood red and the desert stretching out before us is an endless expanse of sand and scrub brush.

We work in silence. The shovel feels like it's made out of lead in my hands as I plunge it into the unyielding ground. The physical strain is a welcome distraction from the uproar in my head.

Next to me, Vlad digs with a singular focus, his face grim, sweat dripping down his temples and neck. We move in sync, our bodies attuned to each other. There's some sort of sick understanding passing between us. In this moment, we are not two men, but one entity, united in purpose.

As the grave takes shape beneath our feet, the reality of what we're doing hits me hard. The violence, the death, the secrets we must keep—it threatens to overwhelm me, to drag me under like one of those California riptides.

But then I catch Vlad's eye, see the resolve there, and I know I cannot falter. Not now. Not when so much hangs in the balance.

We lower the body into the earth and Vlad whispers some sort of a prayer in Russian, then makes the sign of the cross with three fingers. There's no going back from this, no undoing what we've done. We are bound together now, by blood on our hands.

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