Crux Untamed

  Ky looked at Styx. “Sia’s my sister. So I’m going in. Styx is too.” He glanced at me. “Hush will be in. Cowboy’s there too. Don’t know what they’ll do with him . . . if he’ll even make it to Mexico. It’s my sister he wants.”

  My fucking heart cracked. My hand started shaking at the thought of Aubin gone. My leg bounced. I fucking heard his voice in my head. Calm down, mon ami. I wouldn’t believe he was dead until I saw his fucking cold body.

  I wouldn’t be able to function if I did.

  “The Klan works with them too.” Ky looked at Tank and Tanner. Tanner was paler than usual. His hands were gripping the edge of the table, and his eyes were unfocused. “They’re already at our throats. And Chavez heard that if we go against the cartel . . .” Ky looked to Styx. Styx nodded. “We’ll be going to war.”

  The room plunged into a tense silence. I roved my eyes around the table. The brothers were all still, some looking at others, as Ky’s words hung in the air. War. I’d never been at war for the club. This chapter had been against the Diablos only a few years ago, but New Orleans had never been called in to help. I knew most of these brothers had fought in that war. The war that cost Styx his pop. And cost Ky and Sia both parents.

  My attention stayed on Tanner. Because it wouldn’t just be a war for him; it would be against his family. I wasn’t sure his loyalty to the club would survive going against his daddy, uncle, and younger brother.

  I got to my feet. “I’m in.”

  Smiler got to his feet too. “I’m in.”

  AK stood. Flame and Viking followed a second later. Tank, Bull . . . and finally Tanner got to his feet. He lifted his blue eyes and said, “I’m in.”

  Ky stood, followed by Styx. Styx nodded. His hands lifted. “Then we go.”

  My fucking chest swelled. Ky looked at me. “Someone told that fucker, Garcia, where you were.”

  I nodded, trying to think . . . “The vet,” I realized, and tried to remember his name. “Gomez. Tito Gomez.” I shook my head, more than pissed at myself, realizing we never had a chance to get Tanner to check his background because of everything that went down with Ky.

  Ky nodded at Tanner. Tanner nodded back then left the room, no doubt to get what he could on the guy.

  Styx lifted his hands. “We leave in thirty. Do whatever the fuck you have to do. We have a brother and club sister to get back.”

  “And a few fucking Nazis and Mexicanos to pick a war with,” Viking added. He smiled. “My kind of fucking day!”

  The brothers filed out. Just as I went to leave, Ky put his arm out, stopping me dead. “She’s strong,” he said. I heard a whole world of pain in my VP’s voice. How the fuck could there not be? The last thing Sia said to him was that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

  “I know.” I pushed past his arm. “They both are.”

  I walked out into the bar and took my pills from my cut. I swallowed them and went to the armory for guns. With every second that passed, I pictured their faces in my head. With every fucking breath I took, I let the years of name-calling, fucking punches I’d taken, and bruises gained build inside me until I was a walking ball of rage. And thirty minutes later as I got on Sia’s old man’s bike, Ky glancing at me on it like he was seeing a fucking ghost, we pulled out of the compound.

  We had a vet to visit.

  *****

  Blood spattered against the fucker’s wall as Ky slammed another fist against his mouth. Tito fucking Gomez’s head snapped back . . . then the prick smiled. Blood clung to his white teeth. Ky’s white shirt was bright red. Styx stood behind the VP, stoic. But I could see in his hazel eyes that he was ready to fucking kill this bastard.

  “You’ll crack,” Ky insisted, shedding his cut and shirt. His bare, ripped body came into view. Ky rolled his neck and cracked his knuckles. He took a knife and sliced it down the fucker’s chest. “Have a cousin in the Quintana cartel, huh?” the VP said, as if he were as calm as the fucking sky after a summer storm. His eyes told a different story. He was all fucking thunder and hurricanes.

  Ky took the canister of gas he’d brought and poured it right over Gomez’s fresh cut. He screamed, but he kept his mouth shut. His teeth chattered with pain, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the chair he was tied to.

  “Works with Garcia,” Ky went on, drawing another inch-long slash down the prick’s arm.

  I stood to the side, shaking, needing to unleash fucking hell on this dick. As if sensing me, he turned his head. “Your friend’s tattoo gave you away.” I froze. “I had not long heard from my cousin. I hadn’t seen him in years. When he told me who he was looking for, I knew that Garcia’s Elysia Willis had to be Helen Smith. Your boyfriend’s tattoo confirmed it.”

  Tanner burst through the door, Gomez’s cell in his hand. “Got a lead off this asshole’s cell. His cousin is definitely working with Garcia. Spoke to the Diablos’ prez. Diablos know where to go once we’re there. Their sergeant-at-arms is ex-Quintana cartel. Did some work with Garcia a while back. He’s confirmed he’s still in the same place as years ago.” He shrugged. “Brother is pretty fucking good at extracting, from what Chavez says. And better still, knows Garcia and his fuckers inside out.”

  Ky turned to Gomez. He took Styx’s German knife and slammed it into the fucker’s chest. As Gomez screamed, Ky pulled the knife out and looked up. I could see the war on his face, but he said, “You want the last blow?”

  I was moving before I’d even taken a breath. “She fucking trusted you,” I snarled at his fucked-up face.

  I saw something that looked like regret flash in his eyes. “If I hadn’t given her up . . . if I’d hidden her identity, they would have come for me instead.”

  “Well, now you got us to deal with,” I spat, feeling no fucking sympathy for the spineless cunt. Holding the handle tightly, I raised it, about to strike when Gomez said, “It was . . . your fault.” He coughed, spraying blood onto his chest. “You and the cowboy gave her away.” He smiled. “If they die . . . it’s on you.”

  Before he had even finished the last word, I slammed the knife through his heart and watched as his eyes clouded with death and his head dropped. I wiped his blood off the knife and gave it back to Styx. He looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, I walked away from the traitor’s body and got on my bike, ready to get the fuck to Laredo and the Diablos.

  Because I knew what he said was true.

  Them being taken . . . it was all my fucking fault.

  *****

  Chavez met us inside the compound. Us on one side, twelve Tejanos staring us down on the other. Styx stepped forward with Ky. Chavez did the same. A lean muscled guy, looked to be in his late twenties, with long black hair and light brown eyes, stood beside Chavez.

  Styx shook his hand. I’d heard the stories. Our old prez, Styx’s old man, had lost his wife to the Diablos’ old prez—Chavez’s papa. Styx grew up without a mother. Both fathers had died in the war. Ky’s too. Then, when he took the gavel, Chavez refused good old daddy’s name, Sanchez, in favor of his birth mother’s, Chavez. Daddy issues oozed from the fucker’s pores. It was as fucked up as this outlaw world got.

  They’d helped us get Phebe back from Meister, as long as a favor was one day returned. This time, it was personal. Chavez pointed at his sergeant-at-arms. The guy’s tatted arms were crossed over his chest.

  “AK?” I heard Vike whisper. “Fucker’s good looking, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes at the red-headed giant who never could keep his fucking mouth shut. The Diablo SAA turned his eyes to our secretary . . . and the fucker smiled, revealing a silver tongue ring.

  “A pussy tickler. Nice,” Vike said in approval. AK must have told him to shut up; silence fell.

  “This is Shadow,” Chavez said. Shadow tilted his chin in greeting. “He’ll be taking you in.” Chavez paused. “Some of you. All can’t go.”

  “I’m going.” I moved to stand behind Ky.

  Shadow looked at me. Styx lifted
his hands and signed. Ky translated. “Me and Ky, Hush.” Styx looked behind him. “Tanner. You’ll be needed too.” Tanner’s head whipped up in surprise. The fucker paled. But he nodded. Styx narrowed his eyes. “That good?”

  Tanner shifted on the spot. “Yeah.”

  “You got the tech knowledge. Might need it.” Finally, Styx looked at AK. “You’re on sniper duty. You’re coming, but you are hanging back.” He met the eyes of the rest of the brothers. “Y’all will watch the road for us getting back. Fucking ammo, knives, everything you got.”

  “You got us too,” Chavez said. Styx assessed the Diablo prez with narrowed eyes. He ran his hand down his stubbled face. Chavez’s gaze slid to Tanner and Tank, his lip curling in disgust. He addressed Styx again. “The minute Quintana and Garcia joined forces with the Klan, they were fucking off our radar. And when they supported them in taking our turf over here in Texas, we were done. You need us to support, you got it. It’s selfish. Not a favor to you fuckers.”

  “Fair enough,” Ky agreed. “We can work with that.” He looked at Shadow. “You’re the ex-cartel member that can get us in?”

  “Know that place like the back of my hand. Got four years working there. I’ll get you in and out.”

  “You wanna get somewhere unseen, he’s your man,” said Chavez.

  “When do we leave?” I asked.

  Shadow looked at an invisible watch on his naked wrist. “I’d say pretty fucking quick. Tomorrow’s off-loading day. Cargo goes to auction. Busy. Men are occupied. It’s our best chance, or we’ll have to wait another week.”

  Cargo. Bitches. As long as one of them wasn’t Sia, I didn’t give a shit.

  “I’ve been schooled on the ones we’re getting out. I got an idea where they’ll be.” Shadow smiled. “It’ll be a fucking breeze.” He raised one eyebrow. “But there’ll be killing, right?”

  “Right,” Ky confirmed, voice thick with rage.

  Shadow smiled again. “Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sia

  I heard the gunshot at the same time Cowboy did. Hush was still on the bed, his eyes beginning to roll. “Cowboy!” I called, heart slamming in my chest, as I glanced out of the window Cowboy stood at. I saw lights in the distance . . . and my barn was lit up.

  A pained noise came from the direction of the bed. Hush’s body started jerking. “The seizure,” I said breathlessly. I moved to roll Hush onto his side like I had seen Cowboy do before. Cowboy ran to my dresser and picked up his gun.

  “Hide him!” he instructed. I put my palm on Hush’s sweaty head. He was trembling, his arms and legs jerking with the strength of his seizure. Hearing another gunshot, I tried to pick him up. He was too tall. Too heavy.

  “I can’t!” I cried, and Cowboy edged away from the window. He put the gun in his belt and lifted Hush up. I chased after him. “The storm latch!” I said and led him downstairs. I lifted the secret hatch in the floor of the closet.

  Cowboy looked at me. “We need to get in too.”

  I nodded, readying to follow, as Cowboy lowered Hush into the small space that was built into the house years ago. It wasn’t visible. It had always made me feel safe, knowing I had a place to hide.

  Cowboy gave me his hand, his blue eyes frantic. “Come on!” he urged. I took his hand . . . but my fingers slipped through his when I heard another gunshot, then the horrific sound of a horse in pain. I whipped my head in the direction of the front door, my heart falling. “Sandy . . .” I whispered, just as another shot fired. The same heartbreaking cry from a horse rang out, and then . . . “No . . . Clara’s out there . . .”

  Before I knew it, my legs were running for the door. “Sia!” Cowboy shouted behind me. But I couldn’t stop. Clara was in the stalls. She was working late for me tonight. I burst from the front door and sprinted over the fields. I heard the front door open behind me, Cowboy calling my name. But I couldn’t stop. Teardrops from my eyes caught in the wind and sailed to the south.

  I saw movement from the stalls. I saw men walking along the length of the barn, shot after shot firing like they were piercing bullets into my heart. My horses . . . the creatures that kept me sane . . . kept me safe . . .

  Someone emerged from the front of the barn. He was dark-haired, with tan skin. Mexican, I thought. My legs trembled, making me trip. He looked up . . . and a smile grew on his lips.

  “Clara!” I shouted. He’d seen me. There was no need for silence. They had come for me. I knew my days had been numbered. “Clara!” I screamed again . . . and then shuddered to a halt.

  “Sia,” a familiar voice said in greeting. I turned my head to see Pablo, Juan’s right-hand man, coming out of a blacked-out van.

  A shot rang out behind me. I flinched, and then whipped around to see Cowboy firing at the men coming from the barn. Cowboy caught up with me and grabbed me by my arm. Men closed in around us. I narrowed my eyes, peering into the barn. A sob ripped from my throat when I saw pools of blood forming rivulets on the concrete floor.

  “No!” I shouted, legs buckling as they gave way on the grass.

  Pablo checked his cufflinks, like he didn’t have a care in the world. He flicked a hand at some of his men. “Take her.” Cowboy picked me up and pulled me to his chest.

  “She’s not going anywhere.” He aimed his gun at the approaching men.

  “Cowboy.” I ghosted my finger over his arm. “Don’t.”

  “I got this, cher.”

  “No,” I said. “They’ll kill you. There are too many.” As the last of those words left my mouth, a dull thud came from behind us. Cowboy’s heavy body toppled, dragging me to the floor with him. I scrambled from underneath his arm. Cowboy was out cold. I wrapped my arm around him. Pablo came to stand beside us.

  “Where’s the other one?”

  My pulse raced and my stomach fell. Hush. He was talking about Hush. “He left.”

  Pablo’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s true.”

  Pablo clicked his finger at one of his men. “Search the house. If he’s there, get him and follow behind. Black guy.” He smirked. “Shouldn’t be too hard to spot.” He looked at another. “Get these two in the van. We’re leaving.”

  “Clara?” I asked, my soul screaming at me because it already knew.

  Pablo bent down. His eyes skimmed over my face and body. “You look better older,” he said in English. His lips kicked up at the side. “Juan will like that. He doesn’t tolerate women aging disgracefully.” He stood, then, looking at me over his shoulder, said, “If you’re referring to your little friend . . .” He paused, leaving my breath suspended like his words. “She’s dead.” He shook his head. “Silly whore thought she could pull a shotgun on us. Accusing us of being ranch invaders . . . whatever they are.” He tutted. “She should know the cartel if she sees us. People in Mexico would never mistake the Quintana family for common criminals.”

  “So you killed her?” I whispered, nausea fighting its way up my throat.

  “I’ve killed for less.”

  Hands grabbed me and dragged me from Cowboy. I fought and fought them until a fist swiped across my face. I tried to keep consciousness, but when the second blow came, it was useless. The last thing I remembered seeing was Cowboy being dragged behind me . . . and a light in the house, with shadows searching for the second part of my heart.

  Please, I found myself begging Hades of all people. Don’t let them find him. He’s been through enough. And as the van door shut and darkness engulfed me, I added, Ky . . . please let Ky find us again.

  *****

  I opened my eyes, bright sunlight making me squint. My head ached, my jaw throbbing as if I had been hit. I tried to push the fog from my brain. Visions and images came crashing to my mind like a film reel coming loose at a drive-in movie. Hush . . . Clara . . . horses . . . Pablo . . . Garcia . . . Garcia . . .. Garcia . . .

  I shot up from whatever I was lying on. My head whipped around
the room. White walls, white tiled floors, and a familiar white bed.

  My hand hit my chest. I fought for breath. My lungs were failing to receive the memo that I needed air. My palms fell forward and hit the mattress. The smell of sandalwood.

  Juan . . .

  I moved off the bed, wincing at a pain in my arm. I glanced down and saw a pinprick on my bicep. Drugs. I had been drugged. Then my eyes traveled south.

  I choked on a desperate cry. Red. I was dressed in a red dress. “I like you in red, bella,” Juan said on our first date. “You were wearing a red bikini on the beach. It was what drew me to you.” He smiled and toyed with the strap of my dress. “Red is the color of a confident woman. I don’t see too many of those in my line of work.” He leaned in and kissed me, stealing my breath. When he pulled away, he said, “I have become quite mesmerized by you, mi rosa negra.” He kissed me again. He smiled against my lips. “I think I will always keep you in red.”

  I clawed at the straps. I had just moved them down my arm when a door opened behind me. I froze, my eyes locked on a painting on the wall, of a villa somewhere in the Mexican countryside. The door shut, and as the footsteps came closer, I knew they’d belong to a pair of Prada shoes, shined to perfection. I knew the man in them would be six-foot-four, have a thick crop of dark hair, and have the most handsome eyes and smile I’d ever seen.

  And I knew that man was the devil incarnate.

  The bed dipped, and I froze. I didn’t even blink as I felt warm breath drift over my shoulder. As I smelled sandalwood . . . and as hands took the straps that were hanging down my arms and lifted them back to my shoulders.

  I began to shake, one limb at a time. Wherever he touched became a mass of shivers, my strength buckling in his heavy presence. “Bella,” he whispered. I closed my eyes. The voice that had haunted my nightmares for years was suddenly alive. “You still smell the same.” He ran his stubbled cheeks along the back of my neck. Every hair I had stood on end.