Page 56 of Hostile King

“Get the fuck out of here, kid,” he bites out. “Move it. Go.”

“I’m not leaving him behind.” I stare him right in the eyes, my nerve plucky and my expression deadly serious.

“This isn’t a fucking game. It's life or death, kid. We’ve got him. Head that way…” He points down the street. “Wait for the chopper to land in the parking lot a few blocks down.”

Beside us a glass window is blown to smithereens. André does a sudden one eighty, lowers to his knees and narrows his dark eyes. “We’re running out of time.” He angles his gun and points it at my chest. “It’s not safe for you here, Carina…For any of us.”

Thwapping blades whir in the distance, an incoming helicopter approaching from the far-off skyline.

“I can’t protect both of you. Do as you’re told and get the hell out of here. This is your chance to break away from all this. You don’t belong in the cartel. Go home,señorita.”

My insides coil with frustration. I press my ribs into the hard steel of his weapon. “Shoot me then, André. And I’ll see you in Hell when Tomás sends you there to find me. I’m not a fragile little girl who needs saving. And I won’t leave him until I know he’s okay.”

“Fuck this. If you get killed…” André bares his teeth as the honorary pack leader while the king is wounded. “None of us want that. Our guys can only hold the bastards off for so long.”

“I can look after myself from here, Dré.”

My fingers curl around the bone handle in my sweaty palm as my courage builds. I’ve stared at death's unhallowed face before. I’m not scared of dying, but I am terrified of losing Tomás.

“Let’s face it, a sniper could hit me while I’m on the run, or right this very second, standing here debating this. You’re the one who pointed out this would be my life with him. I’m not a spineless coward who bolts in his darkest hours. So, let's focus on an escape together. It makes more sense for you guys to coverus. You’re holding the weapons. He can lean on me.”

I glance over at Shane. “Help me get him to his feet.”

This ambush is karma laughing at the Souzas for executing Bianca and every terrible thing they’ve done in the past. It's the universe warning me with ear splitting bullets and ferocious flames—these guys are dead men walking. Eventually, their heinous crimes would catch up with them.

The Reaper would steal their souls to pay their callous debts.

I’ve witnessed their relaxed countenance flip to lawless beasts and how easily they could revert back to mere men again, wearing gilded masks of charm to hide their nefarious deeds. I won’t say it terrifies me, because somewhere in the mix of it all, lies a moral code. An intoxicating decree of honor whereby each of the Souzas would die for the other, and somehow, I’m privy to those standards.

I’m in their circle. Under their care.

Protected by the Souza cartel.

As disconcerting as that revelation may be, I’m no longer the outsider looking in—I’m part of this terrorist pact and that sense of belonging excites me. It feeds my innermost desires for acceptance and inclusion.

For years I hovered on the side lines of life, an outsider gazing at the glamorous girls who hung out in their sly gangs. They systematically annihilated the rest of us with cruel gossip and made us watch as they trapped the popular boys using their infinite good looks and empty souls.

If they saw something they wanted, they took it by whatever means was necessary. There was no integrity in their methods. Only selfishness and the privilege of confidence.

After my corrective surgery, they saw the darkness smolder within me. Dumbasses are notoriously confused by things they don't understand. Eventually, they’d kept a safe distance and slipped into the background.

Looking back, I appreciate the suffering for what it was—preparation. I wasn’t meant to fit into their egotistical lifestyle, because I was nothing like them, and never would be.

All the screwball pieces don’t have to fit together—it only takes one deviant shard to create a liberated woman. A woman who could step into her own light and handle a possessive monster. A man whose sharp edges balance my own until we’re a mess of blood and flesh, heart, and soul.

Or perhaps I’m disillusioned and my instincts to survive have blurred from a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome, having spent so much time with the Souza organization and their superior leader. His sinful touch and sexual commands are all I’ve ever known, and they aren’t something I’d choose to let go of easily.

All I know is that Tomás cares about me, whether it’s love, lust, or the invisible chains of ownership. The hard-hearted villain still feels something for me, his body still reacts to me, and his actions still shelterme.

And when we’re together, just him and I, the burdensome shadows we’ve harbored since we were children fade to gray. His presence brightens my black and white world with psychedelic streaks. Our passion feeds the starved creature within me and makes me believe he’s starved too.

However, seeing this newly crowned king of absolute power, so vulnerable and finite, reminds me how he’s simply a mortal man. And it’s all too easy to forget the devil lives inside of him.

Shane and André glance at each other for a wisp of time and then step into place, silently accepting my plan. Tomás mutters under his breath and curses the movement of being heaved to his feet and fighting the hateful weakness. Even in pain, he’s stunning in the way he forces himself to stay stoic, trying his hardest not to appear fragile in the very moment he’s exactly that.

Sunlight captures his physical distress. Whereas the shade carves his stern expression like his features were structured by immortals. He’s fascinating in a way that portrays limitless danger and godliness. I doubt I’d ever stop loving the thrill of our attraction.

I hook one of his arms around my neck and Shane does the same. With him supported on each side, we ramble as a trio through the narrow maze of vehicles.

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