The Killer’s Vow by Aria R. Blue
Vera
On our journey from Florida to Mexico, Simon teaches me how to drive.
For some reason, he traded his Lamborghini for a more economical Cadillac.
It has two dents on it already, one in the front and another in the back. Courtesy of yours truly.
He even praised me for it and said that it’ll help us "blend in.”
“Passport,” asks the border police now.
I hand it to him with a smile.
He’s one of our men, but we still got fake documentation and fake passports just in case.
“Leisure or business?” he asks.
“It’s our honeymoon,” I say sweetly. Just as Simon and I practiced earlier.
Simon is sitting in the passenger seat, holding my hand.
The police officer glances at the back seat. Lion gives him a low growl.
His entire tone changes. “I wasn’t informed about any wolves crossing the border.”
“It’s not a wolf,” I scoff.
“German Shepherd,” Simon cuts in, petting Lion and smiling at the officer. “Here are his vaccination certificates.”
I notice the padded envelope that Simon passes over along with the documentation.
The police officer tucks it into his jacket and nods, stepping away from our car.
“You guys have a safe trip.”
And we’re in.
After two days of traveling, we cross the border, entering the Mexican state of Sonora.
Mexico feels safe even though I can’t really explain why.
The drive from the East Coast to the west felt like we were on the run, but Mexico feels more relaxing.
Maybe it’s because of our surroundings.
After an hour of driving, it’s just our car and the road in front of us.
Simon takes the car from me when we veer off the main roads. It’s tricky to drive fast while avoiding all the potholes on the dirt road.
The sun is high in the sky, and the land on either side of us is a flat desert with mountains in the distance.
Our car leaves a trail of dust behind as we move forward, following the directions of the GPS.
“That’s the house,” Simon says, pointing at a dilapidated red house.
“That’s where Oscar lives?” I ask.
It’s in the middle of nowhere, and it looks like it’s been abandoned for three decades.
“If I were to guess, that’s where he meets people. The Mexican cartel isn’t trusting of strangers.”
Simon thinks that the man Inessa was last seen with is the son of a dangerous Mexican cartel boss.
It’s only speculation, of course, but I think he’s right.
We stop in front of the house.
And we wait.
“Simon?” I ask, my heart lodging itself in my throat again.
He squeezes my hand. “It’s all right. Signora Ranallo has a reputation, but it’s not for cheating people. This isn’t a trap.”
A curtain by the house’s front door moves an inch.
And a second later, the door is swung open.
We’re greeted by a friendly middle-aged man.
“Oye, entra a la casa,” he says. “I wait all day for you two.”
He’s wearing a button-down with short sleeves and a gold watch. But the grin on his face—it’s kind of contagious.
I find myself smiling back even though I don’t know the man.
Simon frowns at us but still walks around the car to open my door.
“We can’t trust him completely,” he says in rapid Russian while waving at the man with a big grin on his face.
I walk toward the house with Simon behind me.
“Hi, I’m—”
“I know,” Oscar says, giving me a smile that makes his plump cheeks rise. “And don’t go around introducing yourself to people with your real name.”
I blush. “Right.”
“There could always be people listening,” he says, tapping his ear.
I glance around at the Sonora desert.
There’s nothing but tall cactus plants for miles. But okay.
“Signora Ranallo said that you’d be able to help us,” I say, letting Oscar lead me into his house.
Oscar sucks in a deep breath as though I just stepped on his dog’s tail.
I blink.
Right.
Italians and Mexicans. They need to chitchat and exchange pleasantries before they get to business.
It’s done the other way around in the Bratva. Business always comes first.
“None of that right now,” he says. “Come. I cut mangos for you.”
I look around the house.
From the outside, it looks like it’s falling apart. But it’s an entirely different story once you’re inside.
A camouflage.
Just like my greenhouse. It looks innocent, but there’s more to it than meets the eye.
“Is this where you live?” I ask him.
“Dios mio, no,” he says. “This is just a place to...meet new people.”
“I like the murals on the walls,” I say, stopping to admire the one in the kitchen. “Day of the Dead, right?”
“Si,” he says. “El Dia de los Muertos.”
The mural is a scene that captures the essence of the day in Mexican tradition when they honor the lives of family members who once lived.
It’s of a costumed woman with red flowers in her hair and a sugar skull painted on her face.
“Did you paint it yourself?” I ask him.
He straightens to his full height. “Yes, it’s to...pass the time when I’m here.”
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, smiling at the mural.
When did life get so simple and beautiful?
Simon’s energy is strong against my back. I can feel his body heat.
I think a part of my newfound joy has to do with him.
Since I know that he has my back, I’m starting to let myself relax and enjoy the simple pleasures of life.
Like a piece of art on the wall.
Oscar takes me to the dining table and puts all the biggest mango pieces on my plate.
Simon gets the thin shavings off the sides of the seed.
“From Australia,” Oscar declares, taking a bite. “But Mexican is best.”
The sweet and tart fruit practically melts in my mouth.
“Inessa would have loved these,” I say, unable to hold my tongue. “She’s a little bit of a health freak. Every time we watch TV together, she makes these big salads. Sliced cucumber with almonds, big bowls of fruit, stuff like that.”
Both of the men look at each other and then at their mangos.
It’s then that I realize my cheeks are moist.
God. My little sister is such a pain in the ass.
“She ran away from home, Oscar,” I say, looking at him. I can’t pretend that I’m not in a hurry because I am. I just want to find Inessa and make sure she’s doing okay. “And Signora Ranallo said that you can take us to the man she was last seen with.”
Oscar puts his fork down and stares at the mural of the woman.
The air suddenly feels cloying as I wait for him to answer.
The sunny fruit on the dining table and the bright murals on the walls suddenly seem like a trick to fool me. I know this is just my anxiety creeping in. My old belief that everyone is out to get me.
Oscar isn’t smiling anymore.
But he looks at me, and I see the answer in his eyes before he says it.
“Okay,” he says. “You can meet them.”
I glance at Simon.
He grins at me and squeezes my hand. When I’m with him, everything looks so easy.
So achievable.
He doesn’t hold my hand and walk me through everything, but he’s a quiet presence at my back. Guiding me and protecting me when I fall.
A lump forms in my throat.
I’m really starting to care for the man who was sent to kill me.
“So how do you know Signora Ranallo?” I ask, turning back to Oscar.
He sighs. “I guess I should tell you everything now. We’re her suppliers.”
“For the Shadows?”
“Yeah. Weaponry and some drugs too.”
I thought as much. “And who is the man Inessa was last seen with?”
He splays his fingers over his mouth and studies me. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”
* * *
Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.
I look away from the side mirror and out at the endless desert roads.
Tall saguaro cacti thrive on dry land.
“They have longer lives than you and me,” Oscar says from the back, noticing my fascination with the desert flora.
I turn to look at him. “Yeah?”
“Si. Some say that most of them are well over two hundred years old.”
They’ve been through so much.
So many wars. So many sunrises and sunsets. And they do it all so patiently.
I wish I had some of that patience.
But now that we’ve been on the road for hours with nothing to distract me, my thoughts keep being pulled back to Inessa.
How she’s doing. Who she’s with. How she’s feeling.
Whether she misses me like I miss her.
Finding Inessa is like an itch I can’t reach. It’s all I can think about.
“How much longer?” I ask Oscar.
He only nods at the road in front of me.
It’s so far away that it could be a mirage—a trick of the desert heat.
But the closer we get to it, the larger it becomes.
A palace in the middle of nowhere.
Lush green in the middle of the desert. White Escalades lined up in front of it. And an unmistakable glass sculpture that reaches for the sky.
New money.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Oscar warns. “They enjoy starting wars.”
I nod. Simon looks away before looking back at the road.
On the way here, Oscar told us about the family.
The Rivera cartel is a relatively new but dangerous cartel in Mexico.
In a world that isn’t kind to newcomers, the Rivera cartel paved their own way.
And because of an intelligent and cruel leader, they’re monopolizing all shipments to the West Coast. Recently, they’ve expanded to New Zealand and Australia as well.
In a way, they’re not unlike the Shadows.
They’re new and powerful, and they open their doors to everyone who proves themselves worthy. Each individual is given an equal chance.
After Oscar told me the family name, I discreetly looked at the Black Book Ivy gave me.
And sure enough, their names were there.
The Rivera cartel was started by Christopher Rivera. He has three children—Marcus, Milo, and Maya.
Marcus is the eldest, and Milo and Maya are the twins.
My guess is that it’s Marcus who has that ace of spades tattoo.
He was the person she was last seen with.
The Black Book doesn’t have any photographs of people, just their names and their secrets.
And if I play my cards right, things might just go my way for once.
Simon stops the car at the entrance of the wide set of stairs that arch up to the main house.
Behind us are the glass sculpture and the flourishing garden. They must water the plants hourly for them to survive in this kind of soil and weather.
Oscar starts telling me all the dos and don’ts about dealing with the Riveras. “Oh, and don’t make long eye contact with the boss until he approves you.”
I already know this from the Black Book, but I play along anyway. “How will I know if I’m worthy?”
“You’ll know.” Oscar nods with his eyes closed.
Simon strides around the car and opens my door. He takes my hand and flicks his thumb along the inside of my hand.
And that’s it.
That’s all it takes to calm my pounding heart.
I’m still not sure if the drastic effects he has on me are a good thing. If he’s really good for me.
Because he invaded my system like a drug.
And I’m afraid I’ll lose my identity without him by my side. I’m afraid the courage I feel these days was never mine to begin with.
But my lips still smile when I look at him.
“Okay, enough romance,” Oscar says, stretching his arms over his head and then walking toward the house. “Vamanos.”
I get on my tiptoes and press my lips under Simon’s chin.
His unshaved skin is rough against mine. I breathe him into my lungs, letting his heady scent into every dark corner of my being.
He makes it okay again.
He gives me fresh life.
This is why I’ll have to make another hard decision. Something bigger than deciding to run away from home.
“You ready for this?” Simon asks, oblivious to the thoughts forming in my brain.
“No,” I whisper. “But I’ll do it anyway.”
He squeezes my hand, and we head up the stairs together.
I barely notice the guards with HK-416 rifles held in their arms. Having grown up around bodyguards, I’m practically immune to their presence by now.
Oscar is tapping his foot impatiently at the top of the stairs.
“Boss doesn’t like waiting,” he says.
I glance back at the car.
Simon has tethered Lion to a pomegranate tree, where he’s now having an evening snack. The men around my dog have been instructed not to approach him.
“Vera?” Simon prompts.
I swallow and step into the house. I don’t know why, but this feels like a trap.
Maybe it’s only because I have been on the road for so long. And the atmosphere of this heavily protected house reminds me of the home I ran away from.
Expensive art decorates the walls. The Persian rugs are timeless. All of the windows are open, but the desert air is filtered, so only a cool mist kisses our skin.
I follow Oscar as he leads me to his boss’s office.
The door is opened by two beefy men with slicked-back hair.
“Wait here,” Oscar says, stepping aside.
“Okay,” I say, stepping into the empty room.
The office has books in both Spanish and English. Detailed maps of the Pacific Ocean hang on the walls, and smaller maps of individual countries as well.
The door clicks shut behind Simon and me.
Oscar has decided to wait outside.
“Simon, I don’t have a good feeling about this,” I confess.
“What outcome are you worried about?” he asks, his demeanor perfectly calm.
“The bounty,” I whisper-hiss. “Seven million dollars on my head, remember?”
“They’re not interested in money.”
“Why else do you think they’re doing this then?” I say, gesturing around us.
The whole mafia and cartel business revolve around making a profit. The family and loyalty aspect of it is only a consequence.
Simon reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. “These people aren’t old money, tigritsa moya. They didn’t climb their way up to the top without brains. These are people who have worked hard for what they have.”
“You get all that by looking at their house?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips.
“I’ve done my research on these people,” he says. “And besides, you’ve read the Black Book. You know their history.”
“Yeah, but what does their history have to do with me?”
“Everything,” Simon says. “They’re not just doing you a favor out of the kindness of their hearts.”
I cock my head at him.
Simon looks at the closed door. “They’re doing it because you’re the future, tigritsa moya. They don’t have many allies on the East Coast. And earning your respect means that you’ll be there to help them should they need it.”
Oh. Oh.
“If what you’re saying is true, they need me just as much as I need them,” I say.
Simon taps his nose with a finger and points it at me. “Exactly. You need them in the short term. But they’re thinking about the long-term gains.”
My smug smile freezes when something strikes me. “Wouldn’t they gain more approval from the Bratva if they helped the Pakhan instead?”
Simon frowns at my question. “Huh. Let’s hope that hasn’t occurred to them.”
“Simon—”
The office doors open, and in walks Christopher Rivera.
For a second, I think it’s my father.
He has the same height and build. But this man's hair is blond and sleek. His pale blue eyes rake over Simon and me. He’s quiet as he walks over to us.
I recall all the information I read about him in the Black Book.
Christopher Rivera
• Likes: mezcal, honesty, and his wife
• Dislikes: eye contact and messy people
I bow my head slightly in respect and wish him a good evening. “Buenas tardes, Señor Rivera.”
“Buenas tardes, Vera Reznikova.” A flicker of surprise crosses his face before he turns to Simon. “And who are you?”
“Simon Kalashnik,” Simon says, extending his hand toward the man and beaming at him.
Señor Rivera’s smile drops as he stares at Simon’s hand.
I inwardly facepalm.
The eye contact.
Christopher Rivera was raised by an abusive stepfather who always forced him to make eye contact before hitting him.
It was a childhood trauma that developed into an adult pet peeve for Christopher.
“I’d like to speak with laseñorita alone,” he says, rising to his full height as his jaw hardens.
Simon does the same, not saying a word.
I touch his shoulder, breaking the tension between the two men.
“Go. I’ll be fine,” I say in Russian.
Simon takes a sharp breath, not happy with this turn of events. “I’ll be right outside the door.”
And a moment later, it’s just the cartel boss and me in the office.
“Is this your first time in Mexico, Vera?” he asks, sitting down across from me with his desk between us.
The back of my eyes sting.
Everything about this scenario reminds me of my father. There was always a desk between us when we talked.
It was never casual.
It was never like how it was in Russia.
I glance out at the window with the billowing white curtains. “Yeah, it is my first time actually. Your country is beautiful.”
“You don’t mind the heat?”
I smile. “I prefer it, actually.”
“The sun is good for the mood,” he agrees.
I point at a painting of a dark-haired beauty behind him. “Is that Señora Rivera?”
He glances at the picture, and I take that opportunity to study his face. It transforms when his eyes land on his wife. A radiance comes to life.
“Yeah, that’s my Regina,” he says, softly exhaling.
The love I see in him right now puts me at ease.
“She’s beautiful,” I say, taking in her brown skin and red lips.
Christopher glances back at me.
“I have a daughter around your age,” he says. “Maya.”
“I’d like to meet her sometime,” I say automatically.
It got difficult to connect with other people once I became a killer, but I have a lot in common with girls who live protected lives.
“You can meet her right now,” he says, abruptly standing up and walking around the table.
He offers me his elbow.
My heart aches a little.
Papa and I used to go on long walks in the countryside. He’d hold my hand, and our old family dog would walk ahead of us. Inessa was only a toddler then, so she’d stay at home with Mama.
Coming to America and gaining power as a Pakhan changed everything.
Christopher Rivera gives me a tour of his house. Simon sulks a few feet behind us as we walk.
Eventually, the cartel boss opens the doors to a large airy room.
Four fans on the ceiling are rotating at their full speed. Their blades are a gold blur.
And a girl sits in front of a piano with her back to us.
An angry, passionate song halts mid-note when she hears our footsteps.
“Maya, I want you to meet someone,” Señor Rivera says to his daughter.
Maya turns around.
She’s a stunning mixture of her mother and father. But what I notice first are her eyes.
Trapped eyes.
She masks it quickly, but I know what I have seen.
I recognize them so well because I used to see those same eyes looking back at me in the mirror.
“Te presento a Vera,” her father announces.
I lift my hand and wave at her. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she says, walking toward us. There’s something regal about the way she moves.
Her eyes shift to something behind me.
I turn and find Simon standing in the doorway.
Señor Rivera storms toward the door. “In how many languages do I have to tell you that you’re not welcome?”
Just then, a guard arrives and whispers something to the cartel king.
“You girls get to know each other, okay?” he says, stepping away from us and shooting another glare at Simon.
Maya smiles sweetly at her father. “Está bien, Papá.”
The doors close, and it’s just us and the loud fans.
As expected, her sweet demeanor shifts when her father is out of sight.
“What do you want from us?” she hisses, her beautiful features contorting with malice.
This is nothing new to me.
Half of the people I know have two faces. The trouble arises when you’re trying to figure out which face is the real one.
I read about Maya in the Black Book.
Maya Rivera
• Biggest turning point in her life: Having her childhood sweetheart murdered in front of her eyes
• Disposition: Sweet to family, sour to everybody else
So I just get straightto the point. “One of your brothers took my sister to a party on a yacht. She was last seen with him before she went missing.”
She sighs. “And I should care about your problems because…?”
It’s a front.
Being a bitch is how she shows up to the world.
It’s how she copes with her own issues.
I also know she can’t stand it when people complicate things.
So I make it simple for her. “If it’s not you, then I’ll just ask your father. He’ll tell me what I need to know.”
“Good,” she says, getting back to her seat in front of the piano. “You know where the door is.”
Music fills the air.
But this time, it’s restrained. It doesn’t have the wild energy of the music she was playing before.
“I can ask your father, but I would rather make a deal with you.” I pause for effect. “We can help each other, Maya.”
The music slows. “There’s nothing you can do for me.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Why are you doing this?” she asks.
“I grew up in the Bratva. As you can imagine, I’ve been under heavy protection all my life. Bodyguards, homeschool, all of it. It was okay until it was not,” I say, not delving into the eight men I almost married. “They always say that it’s for—”
“Our own good?” Maya asks.
“Yeah,” I exhale. “But it doesn’t always feel like it’s worth it, does it? That’s why girls like you and me need to stick together. Not many understand how it is to live in a gilded cage.”
Maya’s hands drop to her sides. “The brother you’re looking for is Marcus. He was the one who was in America two weeks ago.”
I suck in a breath and hold it. “Can we call him?”
Maya stands up from the piano stool and retrieves her phone from a side table.
She dials a number and holds the phone out toward me.
Her brother picks up almost immediately.
“Maya, qué pasa?” His face shuts off when he sees me.
It’s him.
I know it.
And judging by his reaction, he knows who I am.
There’s movement behind him. A group of men is talking by a pier.
Noticing my eyes, Marcus turns so that the water is his background instead.
It takes every ounce of patience in me to keep myself from screaming at him.
“Marcus, I need to—”
“Where is my sister?” he asks.
“Ay, Dios mío, I’m right here.” Maya tilts her head toward mine so her brother can see her. “This girl wants to know if you kidnapped her sister.”
“I’m hanging up.” He sighs, glancing up at something else that catches his attention.
He scratches the top of his ear. There’s that ace of spades tattoo on his hand.
“Thank you for beating up that scumbag who was touching her,” I say.
He turns his attention back to me.
“I killed him,” he admits. “It wasn’t the first time I saw that rascal making girls feel uncomfortable.”
“Ay, Dios mío, how many times do I need to tell you, Marcus? You don’t admit to murder so casually.”
“I was going to do it,” I say, indignant that I wasn’t the one to kill that man.
Maya throws her head back, exasperated. “Increíble.”
I scan the man’s backdrop for signs of Inessa. He seems to be out in public and is near the coast.
White ships dot the sea behind him, and he’s bathed by artificial yellow pier light.
He’s on the East Coast.
Or somewhere else where it’s already nighttime.
“What happened the night of the party, Marcus?” I ask.
He looks at me and glances at something in front of him. “I can’t really talk right now. I’m—”
“Make it quick, then,” I snap.
He raises his eyebrows and touches his ear again. Something is making him uncomfortable.
And slowly, it dawns on me that I’m the reason for his discomfort.
He still gives me a reply.
“Nothing happened. I didn’t know who Inessa was, but she looked like my own sister.” I glance at Maya and her silky black hair that’s not unlike Inessa’s. “She was on the dance floor when I saw her being groped by some dude. I beat him up and then took him outside to finish the job.”
“And my sister?”
“She watched him die.”
I close my eyes.
No.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to live the same life as me.
I promised myself that I’d look after her.
That I’d protect her from the worst of mankind.
“And after?” I ask.
“I let her tag along with me to a party,” he says.
“On the yacht.”
“How do you know this?”
“She told me the next morning. It was before she ran away from home,” I say. And then I ask him the question that started all of this. “And at any point during that night, did you pretend to be someone you’re not?”
He blinks, a little confused and agitated. “What do you mean?”
“What did you tell her your name was?” I ask, thinking about the man who called himself Luigi Monte. There’s still no evidence of him at that party.
“I gave her my real name,” he answers. “And, Vera?”
“Yeah?”
I’m lost in thought.
If Marcus isn’t the one who pretended to be Luigi, then the one who did is still out there.
“There’s a bounty on your head,” he says as if I don’t already know. “Everybody knows about it. You should be more careful.”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “And the people on the yacht, did you know all of them?”
“Of course not.”
“I’m still searching for my sister,” I tell him. “What else happened at the party?”
Marcus starts to walk. He stops when he reaches a darker corner.
I can barely make out his features.
“I don’t remember the rest of that night,” he says. “I just felt like she’d be safer on the yacht, so I invited her.”
I watch the bobble of his Adam’s apple.
“What else?” I press.
“I told you I don’t remember—”
I muster all of my bravado and do what my babushka would have wanted me to.
“It’s obvious that you’re not telling me something,” I say. “What part are you leaving out?”
He shifts, letting the orange light bathe him again.
“I saw her talking to Milo,” Marcus admits. “I didn’t keep tabs on them after that.”
“Ay, no,” Maya groans. “What was that idiot even doing in Chicago?”
Marcus glares at his sister. “Do you think it was my idea to have an after-party on a yacht?”
“This is hopeless now,” Maya says, shaking her head and looking at me. “I’m sorry my stupid brother corrupted your nice sister.”
“Wait. Milo. Isn’t he your—?”
“Other brother?” Maya asks. “Yes. He’s my stupid half.”
“Where is he now?” I ask, trying to recall what I read about Maya’s twin brother in the Black Book.
“Nobody ever knows,” Maya says. “He’s the black sheep of the family. No loyalty, no sense of responsibility. All we know is that his blood is half cocaine half the time.”
I glance down at my feet.
Loyalty.
The word rings in my head like a slap to the cheek.
I left my family behind too.
My babushka didn’t raise me to be this way. She told me to believe in the people who raised me.
I tried that.
It didn’t work out so well.
Maya touches my shoulder. Her hands are warm on my skin.
“Hey, I-uh,” she says, swallowing. “I don’t know what you’ve been through. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“I know,” I say, nodding and then glancing back at Marcus. “Is there anything else?”
He glances up at something in front of him and opens his mouth to say something.
But just then, the door slams open.
Christopher Rivera stands in the doorway.
Maya starts posing as the perfect daughter again.
Señor Rivera doesn’t move or say anything.
“What’s…wrong?” I ask.
“I have to go,” Marcus says from the phone, hanging up. Maya takes the phone from my hand.
Simon storms inside. “Lion is gone.”
My throat dries. “What?”
“He was last seen napping near the pomegranate tree, but he’s nowhere to be found now.”
“I thought you secured him—”
“I did,” Simon says, shooting a glare at Señor Rivera. “Somebody cut the leash, though.”
Señor Rivera isn’t the type to do petty things like that. Especially when he has nothing to gain from releasing my dog.
I stride out of the house and don’t stop until the hot desert wind is blowing at my face again.
The sun is about to set.
It’ll be harder to find Lion once it’s dark.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Spiraling into panic isn’t going to do anything for me.
I inhale to the count of four and exhale to the count of eight.
And then I whistle for Lion.
It’s the same whistle I used to use when I didn’t know where he was in the house. He used to answer with a bark of his own.
But now, there’s nothing.
I whistle again.
A steady hand lands on my shoulder, keeping me from floating away.
“He usually never leaves,” I say, turning to Simon. “Even when he’s off the leash, he comes when I call.”
“Maybe he spotted a really hot she-wolf?” Simon says. “I would do the same for you if I were Lion and you were the she-wolf.”
“Simon, I swear to God, if you don’t stop saying she-wolf, I’m going to turn into one.”
Despite my threat, Simon takes my hand and guides me to the tree where Lion was last seen. There are some cartel guards around the spot.
“This is where he was,” he says, pointing at the bitten leash.
“No dog can do this,” one of them says.
“He has stronger and sharper teeth,” I explain, picking up the leash that’s sliced clean. “Half-wolf, half-dog.”
It’s entirely possible Lion did this.
I glance back at the house. I spot Maya’s form watching me through the music room window.
It felt good to talk to her.
She wasn’t exactly welcoming, but I saw her "attitude" for what it was. It’s like my poisons—just a defense mechanism.
I glance back at the stretch of land around me.
The Rivera home takes up a significant portion of land. Lion could still be on Rivera grounds.
I glance up at the sky.
I have another hour of daylight left.
Sweat drips down the side of my temples. My cheeks feel heated, and my heart is on fire.
“Is it okay if I look around for him?” I ask the guards.
“Si.”
“I’m coming with you,” Simon says.
I glance back at the house one more time.
Maya is still watching me.
I had a bad feeling about the Rivera family before I got here. But I don’t think they have anything to do with Lion being missing.
I planned on searching the grounds of the estate first, but I find myself moving toward the main gate anyway.
The walls around the main house aren’t that tall. In other words, they’re scalable by a wolf hybrid.
I breathe in the warm earthy smell of the desert.
And I whistle as loud as I can.
“There,” Simon whispers, seeing something I don’t with his sniper eyes.
I scan the flat ground but don’t see anything. “Where?”
“The cloud of dust,” he says, pointing in the direction. “It’s moving.”
And sure enough, I see the cloud hugging the flat earth.
It’s moving toward us.
And then I hear his precious bark.
My relief is a drug that invades my system, making everything soft and relaxed again.
“Lion,” I shout. His round golden head emerges from the dust cloud, and as he gets closer, I see his feet too.
I crouch down to receive him.
He looks at me guiltily at first, his big round eyes searching mine. But when I reach my hand out, his tail starts wagging, and he snuggles his face against my shoulder.
“Where did you go, boy?” I ask, patting his back. “I thought I lost you.”
I lean away to look at his face.
That’s when I notice the blood coating his chest. And it’s not my dog’s.
My throat dries.
I turn to Simon. “We need to get out of here.”
“Vera.” A female voice makes me look up.
Maya.
“Hey,” I say, standing in front of my dog. The blood is camouflaged by the gray in his coat, but it’s still noticeable. “What’s up?”
“Dios mio, you have a big dog,” she says.
“He’s a hybrid,” I say, glancing at Lion. He’s not showing any hostility toward Maya.
He trusts her. Which means that he believes that I trust her.
“Well, I’m glad you found him,” Maya says. “And it was nice meeting you too. If we ever cross paths again, maybe we can bitch about our shitty lives over tequila?”
I grin and then hug her tightly. She’s surprised, but she wraps her arms around me too.
“Totally,” I say.
We talk a little more and then go our separate ways.
Something tells me this is just the beginning of a friendship.
I glance at Simon, who’s still looking at the Rivera cartel boss. Another voice tells me it’s the beginning of the end.