Chapter Fourteen

Brynna

I 'm wrapped in Naz's arms, his body half on top of me, when something startles me awake. My eyes pop open, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

"Naz," I whisper, reaching up to shake him awake.

But he turns his head, the whites of his eyes locking with mine. He heard it too.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he slowly slides off me. His hand skims my side, squeezing my hip before disappearing over the side of the bed. He doesn't find whatever he's looking for. I know because his body goes rigid.

"Naz, what is it?"

"My fucking gun is missing."

"No, príncipe, it's not."

I cry out, cowering against Naz as Nicolas's voice sounds in the dark. The overhead light flicks on, momentarily blinding me.

My heart jolts against my breastbone in a terrifying thud when the haze clears. Nicolas looms in the doorway of the bedroom, a gun in his hands. He isn't alone. Another of Naz's men looms beside him, terrifyingly huge, leering at me.

"You motherfuckers," Naz growls, rolling out of the bed to confront them. He pulls me up with him, positioning his body in front of me as if he intends to use himself as a shield.

I don't think this works that way, though. Not tonight. Not this time. One of them—probably Nicolas—is the man who has been slipping information to my dad. He's been working for the man Naz hates more than anything. And he didn't come here to talk. He didn't take Naz's gun because he has good intentions.

He came to kill us.

"I told you that you had changed, príncipe," Nicolas says softly, stepping deeper into the room. "You should have killed me today. You knew then that I wasn't your man, but you let me walk away. You are weak, unworthy of your father's throne."

"So you went to Rojas? You betrayed your own people for that prick because you're mad at me? Naz snarls. "Fucking pathetic."

"You betrayed your people, Nazario." Nicolas nods at me. "You chose that zunga over them."

Naz growls a warning, taking a threatening step toward him. "Watch your fucking mouth."

"You don't give the orders anymore, príncipe," Nicolas says coolly as he aims the gun directly at Naz's chest.

I can't stop the terrified whimper that crawls up my throat. My whole body trembles as I clutch Naz's arm, my nails digging into his skin. This can't be happening. It has to be a nightmare.

"Tie them up, Juan," Nicolas commands the giant, nodding toward us.

Juan advances on us, lengths of rope in his hands.

Naz shudders in rage, a terrifying growl rumbling up from his chest. "Don't touch her," he snarls. "It'll be the biggest fucking mistake of your life, Nicolas."

Nicolas smirks in response, his lips twisting cruelly as he swings the gun in my direction. "I'm happy to blow her pretty little head off instead, Nazario," he says. "Would that be better? You can watch the back of her skull explode, watch her brains splatter all over your bedroom wall. Is that what you want?"

Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow hard, fighting the urge to vomit.

We're going to die. This is really happening.

"Naz," I whimper, hot tears spilling down my cheeks.

Naz reaches for my hand, his fingers brushing mine as he tries to offer me some small comfort. But before I can grasp them, the giant is on top, trying to rip me away from Naz.

"Don't fucking touch her," Naz snarls.

Juan ignores him, shoving me to the floor.

Naz snarls like a wounded, vicious animal, launching himself at the bigger man. He collides with him as if hitting a brick wall. Juan doesn't flinch, doesn't move. But Naz doesn't flinch, either. He's full of rage, of fire.

Until Nicolas strides across the room, shoving his gun up against the side of my head.

I whimper, cold fear sliding through my veins.

Naz immediately stops fighting, stops moving. He goes completely still, terror firing in his eyes.

Juan uses the moment to his advantage, driving his fist into Naz's stomach with brutal force.

Naz lands on his knees with a grunt.

"Naz!" Sobs choke me as I watch, helpless as Juan yanks his arms behind his back, tying his hands together.

Nicolas's taunting laughter echoes around the room, and I want to launch myself at him. Claw that smirk from his face. But he has the gun…and I've got nothing but rage.

"Are you still sure you chose well, Brynna?" he asks, derision dripping from every word. "Your God doesn't look so invincible, groveling on his knees like a beaten dog."

"Fuck you," I hiss. "My father will hunt you down like the traitorous piece of shit you are."

"Your father?" Nicolas smiles. "He's next on our list, princesa . By dawn, Los Angeles will belong to Felipe Rojas."

"How long, Nicolas?" Naz asks, weariness in his voice. "How long have you been playing both sides?"

"Both sides?" Nicolas shakes his head. "There were never two sides, Nazario. There was only ever his side. You were just too blind to see it."

"You've been with Rojas all along?"

Nicolas shrugs. "You think this organization is yours because we put a crown on your head, príncipe? I tried to warn you that it takes more than fear to lead. Your people aren't loyal to you. They're loyal to your father. They're his people, not yours. The rest belong to me. To Rojas. He splintered you from the inside while you thought you were waging war." Nicolas's lip curls. "Without her, you never would have seen it happening."

"Jesus Christ," Naz mutters. "You're throwing a tantrum because I wised up to your fucking game."

"No, Leyva. I'm ending it before you undo all the work I put in. Tie her up, Juan." Nicolas steps aside, making room for Juan.

As soon as he moves, I jump to my feet. He isn't tying me up. There's no fucking way I'm letting him do that. Either way, Naz and I are probably going to die. But I'm not going to die with either of these bastards on top of me, forcing Naz to watch the sick things they do to me to break him. And Nicolas is precisely that twisted, soulless, evil type.

I take off, trying to make it across the room before Juan gets his hands on me. He's a lot faster than he looks, though.

I'm nearly to the bedroom door when he grabs me by the hair, dragging me back against him.

"Let me go!" I scream in pain, in fury, struggling in his arms.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," he growls, viciously pinching my nipple.

I cry out, digging my nails in his arm. Biting. Fighting like hell.

"I'm going to fucking desecrate everything you've ever loved for touching her," Naz says, his tone black.

" Cristo , Juan. Get her under control," Nicolas snaps impatiently. "Whatever it takes."

Juan wraps a hand around my throat, cutting off my air supply. I immediately stop fighting, terror curdling in my blood. Unlike with Naz, this isn't pleasure. This isn't rapture. This is hell.

Naz meets my gaze, torment raging in his eyes. "Let her go and I'll give you whatever you want," he says, the same pain in his voice. It breaks me because I know he means it. His life for mine, that's what he's offering.

I want to scream and rage, but I can't.

I can't even breathe.

Nicolas laughs as if the offer amuses him. "You bargain as if you have something we want, but you still do not understand. There is nothing, príncipe. We simply wish you out of our way."

Juan relaxes his hand around my throat, allowing me to pull in a breath. I choke on it, choke on tears. All this time, I was afraid of the wrong thing. I was so damn terrified the war between my father and Naz would get someone I loved killed, but that was never the real threat. It was always here. It was always this man. It was always Rojas.

"Even if you kill me, my father's people will never accept Rojas as their leader," Naz snaps, anger in his voice. "They will never bow to that malparido. He can take the cocaine fields, Nicolas, but he will never win their respect or loyalty. They will never work for him."

"Then they'll die too," Nicolas says as if it doesn't matter to him one way or another.

"Kill me, but tell your man to let Brynna go," Naz negotiates, his gaze flickering between me and Nicolas, desperate. "She has nothing to do with this. She is la inocente."

"I'm not leaving you, Nazario," I cry.

"You will," Naz says, his voice soft. "I told you that you would be safe with me, mi alma."

"Then you lied to her, Leyva," Nicolas says. "She won't leave this room alive, either."

"If you touch a hair on her head, my men will hunt you to the ends of this fucking earth," Naz growls, murder in his voice. I think he knows he won't be here to do it himself. I think…God, I think he knew as soon as he saw Nicolas that he wasn't leaving this room alive.

The realization breaks me. He isn't fighting for his life because it means nothing to him. But mine means everything.

Nicolas laughs again, his gaze drifting down my body in a way that makes my stomach heave. "She's a pretty little thing. Maybe I'll give her a couple pumps before we kill her, no?"

Pure murder contorts Naz's features, twisting them with rage as every muscle in his body goes taut.

"Naz!" His name is a sharp cry of terror bursting from my lips as he launches himself at Nicolas, roaring in outrage.

He crashes into Nicolas like a wall, knocking the gun from his hand.

"Fuck!" Nicolas roars as they crash to the ground. Despite being tied, Naz fights like hell, rolling around with Nicolas, kicking, headbutting him, using every advantage he can find. Nicolas can't buck him off or stop him. He can't even protect himself.

I don't have any sympathy. He taunted Naz one too many times, pushed him too far when he threatened me. For years, my father and brother have killed for less than what Nicolas just did. I hated it every time. This time, I want this man to pay. I want him to suffer. Because the look on Naz's face and the pain in his eyes—that's unforgivable.

"Fuck this," Juan mutters, reaching into his waistband to pull his gun.

I cry out, struggling in his grasp, fighting to keep him occupied—to give Naz time to deal with Nicolas. Maybe it's a losing battle. Maybe we still die at the end of this. But I refuse to make it easy for either one of these assholes. If they want to kill us, they're going to have to work for it.

"Stop fighting," Juan growls when I claw bloody marks down his arms.

"Go to hell," I snap, kicking backward as hard as I can. My foot connects with the inside of his thigh, making him grunt. I twist in his arms at the same time, ripping his hand off my arm.

The momentum sends me stumbling to my knees at his feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice someone standing behind him, a vase in his hands.

I don't think. I just react, trying to keep his attention on me. I reach out, grabbing his dick the same way he did my nipple. I squeeze as hard as I can, hoping it hurts like hell. Hoping I rip his balls off.

"You bitch," he grunts.

The man behind him lifts the vase over his head, cracking him over the head with him. Juan grunts, stumbling forward as his eyes roll back in his head.

I scrabble backward on my hands and knees, trying to get out of the way as he pitches forward, falling in a heap.

My heart pounds dangerously as the man tosses the broken pieces of the vase aside and leans down, snatching Juan's gun from the floor. I stare at him, terrified, shaking. Not entirely sure if he's here to help or not. Not even sure where he came from.

He's familiar, though. I've seen him before.

"Naz!" I scream in warning when he aims the gun at him and Nicolas.

Naz looks up and sees him standing over me with the gun in his hands. He roars like a wounded animal, the sound sharp, full of helpless rage.

Nicolas whips his head in our direction, his gaze flickering rapidly from the guy with the gun to Juan and then to me.

"Hands in the air, motherfucker," the man says, pointing the gun at Nicolas.

He slowly does as instructed, untangling himself from Naz and lifting his hands skyward. Defeat rolls through his dark eyes.

The man flicks his gaze in my direction, his steely blue-gray eyes settling on me. And realization slams into me. I do know him. Michael Kincaid. Jesus. We go to school together. At least, we did. His girlfriend's family was just murdered in a drive-by. It's all anyone talked about for two days in class. He hasn't been back since it happened.

What is he doing here? How is he tangled up in this? It doesn't make any sense. He has nothing to do with any of this.

"Eyes off my fiancée," Naz growls at him.

"I was going to tell her she can cover up. I'm betting she's not exactly thrilled to be naked in a room of assholes. I'm guessing you're Nazario?" Michael asks him.

Naz narrows his eyes on him, nodding warily. "And who are you?"

"Kincaid," he mutters.

I grab the blanket off the bed, dragging it down over me, nearly sobbing in relief when I'm finally covered, my body no longer on display for everyone in the room.

"Do I know you?" Naz asks.

"Nope."

"Why are you in my house?"

"I've been asking myself the same fucking question since I walked through the door." Michael nods at Nicolas, who still has his hands in the air. "You want to do something about him before his buddy wakes up?"

Naz cocks a brow, frustrated amusement in his gaze. But I see the murderous fury it hides. The broken terror. He'll never show that to this man, this stranger, but he's shrouded in darkness, ready to commit murder, mayhem, and monstrous acts.

"Would love to," he says, twisting to show Michael his hands. "But as you can see, I'm not currently in a position to help you out."

"Brynna," Michael calls softly. "Can you untie Nazario, please?"

I sniffle and then nod, pulling the blanket tightly around me and tucking it in to keep it in place before I push myself to my feet. I stumble toward Naz, every damn atom, every cell, every piece of me straining toward him, desperate for him.

I throw myself to my knees in front of him, biting my cheek to keep from sobbing out loud. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. A broken, shuddering exhale whispers from his lips, his entire body relaxing.

"Naz," I whimper.

"Brynna." He whispers my name like a prayer, sending tears rolling down my cheeks. "Untie me, mi alma. Everything will be okay."

It's the first time he's promised me that.

Nicolas shifts beside Naz, his hands twitching.

"I will shoot you," Michael warns him. "You won't be the first person I've killed recently. Won't even be the second. Or the third."

" Hijueputa ," he mutters, glaring at Michael. But he doesn't move again.

I scurry around to Naz's back to untie him. The bonds are so tight, they dig into his wrists.

"Who are you?" he asks Michael while I work, plucking at the knots with trembling fingers.

"Already told you my name is Kincaid."

Naz nods and then falls silent, waiting patiently for me to get him untied.

"I'm guessing you don't want me to call the cops?" Michael ask him as the damn ropes fall from his wrists.

Naz smirks, a vicious, deadly smile, rising gracefully to his feet. If it bothers him that he's naked, he doesn't show it. Then again, I doubt it bothers him. He's arrogant, cocky. Perfect.

I watch in silence as he yanks Nicolas to his feet with a hand around his throat. He doesn't say a word to him. I don't think he has anything left to say to him. All that's left now is pain and retribution. He drives his other fist into his face twice in rapid succession, brutal, vicious, without mercy, and then drops him to the ground like he's a useless piece of trash.

"Gun, please," he says, hand extended toward Michael.

"Nah, I think I'm good holding onto it," Michael says, shaking his head. There's a weariness in his eyes that I recognize a little too well. I think he's seen enough bloodshed, enough pain.

Naz shrugs like it doesn't matter to him if Michael keeps the gun or not, and grabs the rope I just freed him from. Nicolas doesn't try to fight as Naz ties him up, yanking the ropes so tight they cut off his circulation. He doesn't make a sound, doesn't even move. He just stares blankly at the floor, like he knows his life is over. He rolled the dice and lost, and he isn't the type to beg. Snakes never do.

"You know Rojas will win this war, príncipe," he says only when Naz has him tied up. "He'll send others to finish the job."

"Then let them come," Naz says, his voice lethally soft. "I'll kill every motherfucker he sends my way. Starting with you."

I cry out, startled when Naz backhands him across the face so hard he tumbles sideways. His head cracks against the side of the dresser hard and he goes limp.

Naz watches, vicious satisfaction blazing in his eyes, and then turns to me, holding out his hand. "Come here, mi cielito ."

I don't move for a moment though. I can't because I'm not looking at Naz. I'm not looking at Nazario, either. This is the monster—the man his people call Dios de la Guerra . This is their God of War . And I've never met him before now.

He's been locked away, caged by the man who loves me. But the one who tried to hurt me just set him free. And he's capable of unspeakable acts.

"I will never hurt you, Brynna," he murmurs, his voice soft. "My life before yours. You will always be safe with me. Remember my promise, little one?"

But even the god of war has a soul. Even the monster knows love. And even in the midst of his rage, he needs me.

Tears spill down my cheeks as I fling myself at him. He catches me against his chest, engulfing me in his arms. His eyes drift closed.

" She's safe ," he breathes, talking to God, to the universe…to fate. "Thank God, she's safe."

Sobs wrack my body as I cling to him, trying to press myself into his skin, to remind us both that we're still standing. That, somehow, we survived this.

"Wait," Naz says, and I lift my head to see Michael inching toward the door.

He stops, glancing back at us.

"Who are you?" Naz asks him again.

"I told you my name is Kincaid," Michael mutters, frustration seething in his tone, as if he doesn't understand why Naz won't just let it go. But he doesn't know this man the way I do.

"Your first name?"

Michael hesitates.

"You saved Brynna," Naz murmurs. "I'd like to know who to thank for that."

"Michael."

"Michael Kincaid." Naz nods as he repeats the name, committing it to memory. "Why are you here, Michael Kincaid? Who do you work for?"

"I don't work for anyone. I'm just trying to get the hell out of this city," Michael sighs. "My bike broke down outside. I came to use your phone to call a tow truck. Your door was open and she was screaming. Didn't like that much."

Naz eyes him, skepticism written all over his face. But I believe him.

For the first time, perhaps in his life, Naz put a little good into the world today. He did charity. At least, he wrote a check massive enough to ensure the homeless in this city won't go hungry for a long time. I think Michael Kincaid showing up here and now might be his karma—the answer to his prayers. A reminder that even monsters can balance the scales.

But I don't tell Naz that. That's for him to work out on his own. Instead, I tell him what I know for sure.

"He's telling the truth," I whisper in his ear. "He's a student. We have a literature class together."

His expression morphs from uncertainty to acceptance, his faith in me absolute.

"You're a student. You go to UCLA?" he asks Michael.

Michael grimaces, a wave of pain rolling through his expression. "Not anymore," he rasps.

"Why not?"

Michael clamps his jaws shut, refusing to answer. Or maybe he can't. Some pain is too raw, too awful to speak out loud.

"His girlfriend's family was murdered," I murmur to Naz, speaking it for him. "A rival gang shot them to death on her birthday."

His arms tighten around me as if he understands a little too well what that's like. And I guess maybe he does.

Naz doesn't ask any questions. He just processes and accepts it, leaving Michael privacy to deal with his own messed-up world.

"I'll help you get out of Los Angeles," he says.

Michael's eyes narrow on Naz, suspicion heavy in his gaze. Naz sees it too, understands it, too.

"You helped me," he says. "You saved my life and that of my fiancée. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Getting you out of the city won't balance the scales, but it's a start at least, yes?"

Michael hesitates for a long moment and then lowers the gun. "Yeah," he agrees. "It's a start."