yet. But we’ll no doubt hear the alarm come morning when Quintana realizes the bride has been taken.
A sick kind of smile spread on my lips. I wanted that fucker to suffer. I wanted him to know I was coming for him and that his days were numbered. I rubbed my hand over my head, then texted back.
Me: Good.
The email intercepted by Chavez and Shadow, explaining what the cartel planned to do to us in an attack, lay on my desk. I looked down, and I felt like punching the fucking wall when I read the section that had stood out to me.
Take the mute’s slut of a wife and unborn kid and sell them to the contact. They’ve been looking for someone like her. But make the mute watch her being beaten to within an inch of her life before you slit his throat and burn that fucking club to the ground. Nazis are taking too long as always. We’ll kill them in one quick attack.
My heart slammed in my chest as I tried to calm the fuck down. I reached for a smoke and the Beam that I kept in my desk drawer. I took a long drag. The python in my throat was like a vise, choking me the fuck out. I shut my eyes, but all I could see was Mae in some Mexican’s arms, Charon in her belly, as she was kicked to shit. And me, held back by the cunts, unable to do a fucking thing about it.
I pushed back from the desk and marched to the living room. I stopped in the doorway. Mae lay asleep on the couch, with that journal open on her chest. Moving her shoulders, I sat down and laid her head on my knee. My hand trailed through her hair. Still as long as it ever was. Still just as black.
My own fucking Persephone.
She only got more beautiful by the day.
Mae’s stomach shifted. I reached out and laid my hand over her dress, my lips hooking into a smile when I felt my son kick my hand again. I exhaled a long breath as my hand moved upward and landed on the journal. I stared at that leather book like it was a fucking grenade.
“Get the fuck in here, Mute,” my pop said. He walked back into his office.
“What the fuck d’you do now?” Ky asked.
Shrugging, I walked into the office. I didn’t know.
“Shut the door,” Pop ordered.
I did as he said, then I heard someone suck in a breath. I looked over to see a slut in the corner of the room. She’d been beaten up. She had blood on her face and was crouched on the floor. “River?” she whispered. My stomach rolled at the sound of my real name.
I frowned. My pop laughed. “Don’t recognize her, kid?” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I’ve rearranged her face. Or maybe it’s because you were so young when she betrayed us for Diablo cock.” He paused, and I knew it was so whatever he said next would punch me harder. “It’s your slut of a mama.”
My eyes widened as shock cut through me. “Mama?” I wanted to say, but my throat wouldn’t work. I couldn’t fucking speak!
“Kid’s still a retard. Actually . . .” My pop laughed. I couldn’t stop looking at my mama. She started crawling toward me. I wanted to go to her, but when I tried to move, my pop said, “One more step, kid, and I’ll make sure you don’t wake up for a week.”
I stopped dead, because that was a promise I knew he’d keep. He’d done that before. I wasn’t going through that shit again. Pop turned back to my mama, whose eye was closed with bruising. “Like I said, he’s still a retard. Can’t speak for shit. But it got worse when you left.” I glared at my pop. I fucking hated him at times. He smiled at me. Sometimes I wanted to punch him so hard. “You made him st-st-stutter. My fucking heir to this kingdom, nothing more than a useless little mute cunt. Who the fuck is ever gonna be scared of him? How the fuck will he ever lead my Hangmen when I’m gone?” My pop shrugged. “The fucker takes after you. Weak-as-piss retard.”
“River.” My mama reached out for me. I felt my throat getting thicker, and tears built in my eyes. But I couldn’t cry. Pop would beat me if I dared cry.