Page 92 of Unforgiving Queen
Crouching, I glanced over my shoulder to ensure Dante was still unscathed. He was flat to the ground, his focus on the warehouse.
I usually always followed my instincts; it’d saved me more than a few times. And at this moment, my instinct warned we should get the fuck out of here.
I ignored it.
Because I fucking hated the Cortes cartel for having Reina in their sights, and I hated flesh trading. Therefore, letting them get away with anything wasn’t on the table. There were criminals, and then there was the Cortes cartel right in the same bucket as my cousin.
Two peas in a pod.
I aimed at the fucker lurking in the shadows by the doors of the warehouse. Click.
Damn it, my magazine was empty. Out of bullets, I unsheathed my knife and ran toward one of the men. I was at his back in a blink of an eye, slicing his neck. Then I used his gun and started shooting at the rest of the men wearing black masks.
It didn’t take long before Dante appeared behind me. We fought them together, our movements synchronized. We moved in the direction of the entrance while Romero took some of the men down with his gun.
I killed a man on the spot when we reached the entrance. The moment I entered the warehouse, the smoke and the stench and the whimpers slammed into me. I held my breath as I fell to my knees, sensing our mission to save these women had failed.
Still, we advanced further into the building. If I could locate even one survivor, it would be worth the sacrifice.
My movements jerked to a halt in the middle of the singed warehouse, flames and smoke licking what was left of the walls. Piles of bodies—young, old, middle-aged women—lay soaked in pools of blood.
I rushed to them, checking their pulses, one by one. Some had eyes rolled back, others staring at nothing, completely devoid of life. Some had blue eyes, others brown. The seconds ticked by, and with each absent pulse, my stomach sank further. There was one thing they all had in common.
“What the fuck?” Dante rasped, coughing wildly from the smoke. “They almost look like—”
Like Reina.
Each of the women sprawled out on the ground had curly, golden-blonde hair.
Something was fucking wrong. Very, very wrong.
34
REINA
Islammed my fist into the boxing dummy’s face, imagining it was Dante’s and reveling in the sharp burst of pain that jolted up my arm. Every muscle in my body ached and sweat dripped down my temple.
I was back at Darius’s training center, except this time I was here to blow off steam, not to train with him. The center was closed on Thursdays, so I had the place to myself while Darius was holed up in his office.
Each punch was strengthening my resolve further. The only way out of this clusterfuck was to pack up and disappear with Phoenix.
Isla was married and safe under Enrico Marchetti’s protection. Raven and Athena would be okay. Nobody would tie them to Angelo Leone’s murder. I had paid up the rent for the next twelve months for both Phoenix’s and my portion so they’d have a roof over their heads. In a year’s time, I would figure out how to help them out.
Assuming Phoenix and I managed to survive on our own. No Grandma. No Papà. No friends.
By the time I finished punching the poor piece of training equipment, I was a mess of aches and sweat.
“That’s some frustration you’re working off there.” Darius’s dry voice came from behind me and I whirled around to find him holding out a towel and water bottle. “Who stinks of sweat now, huh?”
I tugged on the piece of cloth, then toweled the perspiration off my face. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
He chuckled, clearly not concerned. He was the special one that girls ran after.
An eye roll followed. I was rubbing off on him. “I don’t need words to make someone feel special.”
“Okay, Casanova. If your ego grows any bigger, it might explode.”
“Hey, Reina.” Another voice came from behind me, startling me. My hand flew to my chest.
