Page 46 of Rage & Paradise
“Hold,” Vado says. “Three more and they quit.”
Two pop up at the broken window and AZ nails them shoulder and thigh. The third tosses his gun and runs.
Silence falls except for the hiss of water and a few low groans. My lungs burn. My hands shake. We did it.
I turn to sweep our sector, and a hand snakes from the edge of a toppled couch and grabs a fistful of my hair. Pain blooms at my scalp and my head jerks back. A woman I do not recognize launches at me, eyes wild, a knife glittering in her fist.
“Carajo,” I grunt, twisting. I do not hit women. I shove her forearm and try to strip the blade, but she moves like a cat. The knife kisses my ribs through my shirt. Fabric tears. Heat licks my skin.
“Oro,” Vado snaps, raising his pistol. He is a breath from taking the shot.
“Wait,” I bark, keeping the woman between me and his line. The knife slashes again. I parry with my forearm and feel the bite.
She yanks my hair harder, trying to drag me out of the shield’s shadow. Another inch and I am open to the door.
Then the air changes. Heels slap tile. A chorus of female voices rises behind me.
Coca, Prissy, Dulce, and three more club bunnies explode from behind the bar like a wave. They move with purpose, all elbows and fury. Coca loops her rosary around the attacker’s wrist and yanks it down. Prissy steps in and drives a palm into the woman’s nose. Dulce hooks a leg and scythes. The knife clatters and skids.
The woman still clings to my hair. Coca grabs a handful of the attacker’s ponytail and gives it back with interest. Two more bunnies grab shoulders, twist, and plant her face-first into the wet floor.
“No knives for our house,” Coca hisses, boot on the woman’s wrist. “Tranquila, loca.”
The woman snarls and tries to buck. She gets nothing. The bunnies pin her clean. Prissy scoops the knife and flicks it to me handle first.
“You good, Oro?” she asks, breathless but grinning.
“Estoy bien,” I say, rubbing my scalp. “Gracias.”
Vado lowers his weapon, eyes flicking over the room. “Secure the wounded. Get zip ties on any live ones. Pooh, call the doc. AZ, sweep the perimeter. Lobo, check the tunnel and bring our people home.”
“Yes, Presidente,” we answer as one.
I crouch by Digger. He is pale but stubborn, pressure bandage blooming red.
“You still with me, cabrón?”
He grins through clenched teeth. “You owe me a beer and a new shirt.”
“You get a beer, a shirt, and a damn medal.” I squeeze his good shoulder. “No te mueras.”
“Not today.”
Across the room, the last Canos limp for the street. Engines snarl. Tires spit gravel. The sound dwindles into the night.
The sprinklers finally cut off. Water drips from the rafters. The colored party lights hum to life, painting the wreckage in soft red and blue. The room smells like rain and victory.
We are not done. Sina is still out there, and the Canos just learned we will not break. But my brothers are alive. My house still stands. And every bastard who thought they could walk through our door learned something important tonight.
You do not come for the Royal Bastards on our island and walk away whole.
I turn back toward the wine cooler to put my eyes on Estrella again. I need to make sure she’s okay.
That’s what I need but that’s not what I get.
I don’t see her. She’s not there.
“Estrella!” I shout but no one answers.
