Roman

ROMAN

" A ll rise for The Honorable Judge Mayhew."

Everyone in the room stands. Allie's hand is small in mine, and I squeeze her palm, letting her know I'm here. She squeezes back, her grip almost desperate. The judge walks into the room, his black robes billowing as he takes his seat behind the podium.

"You may be seated."

As we sit on the wooden bench, I pull Allie close, but she remains tense, her shoulders stiff, knee bouncing. I place a hand on her thigh, and she freezes. Her eyes meet mine, offering an apologetic smile.

I kiss her temple. "You good, vanilla?" I whisper.

She nods, but we both know it's a lie. That's okay. After today, she will be. I'll make sure of it.

The trial against Miguel has been grueling. He's not being charged for the rape, which infuriates me. But Pops is right—if Allie pressed charges, it'd be her word against his, with no evidence to back her claim. She never completed the rape kit at the hospital and refused to talk to the police once Janessa showed up. That decision still pisses me off, even if I understand her reasoning.

Janessa thought she was protecting Allie, sparing her from a flawed justice system. I get it, at least I try to. But it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Without the rape charge, the case against Miguel is cleaner: first-degree securities fraud, money laundering, and extortion. Each charge carries a minimum sentence of five years. He deserves much more, but with his plea deal, he's looking at six years, maybe less with good behavior.

I suck on my teeth, anger simmering beneath my calm exterior.

I glance at Allie. Her eyes are fixed on Miguel, who sits there smug and unrepentant. My blood boils, but I keep my cool. Allie needs me calm. I can punch a wall later. As the judge reads the sentence, Allie trembles beside me. I tighten my grip on her thigh, a silent reminder she's not alone. We brace for the verdict.

"Ten years, with the possibility of parole."

"Fuck," I curse under my breath.

Allie exhales shakily, her shoulders trembling. "Ten years," I mutter. It's not enough, but it's something. He didn't walk free.

"It's more than I expected," she confesses, her sad smile breaking my heart. "It's over."

It isn't, but I don't tell her that. "Yeah, vanilla. It's over." I press my lips to her temple, hugging her close. She's been through so much. Ten years feels like a slap on the wrist, especially with parole. But I have a backup plan. If all goes well, Miguel won't see the light of day again.

The courtroom empties. People file past with murmurs of approval or dissent. We wait until Miguel is led away in handcuffs before standing. My father might be the chief of police, but I've never cared for what happens after they bag the bad guy. It never feels like enough, and it's why I won't follow in his footsteps, despite my parents' wishes.

Allie stands on shaky legs, and I place my hand on her back, guiding her toward the exit. She's too lost in her thoughts to notice the lone man left in the room, who thankfully stays silent.

"I'm going to hit the restroom before we head out," I tell her, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "I'll meet you in the car?"

She nods, too drained to argue, and makes her way to the exit.

Once she's out of sight, I scan the courtroom. Andrés DeAnde stands in the same spot, his gaze narrowed and calculating. I wasn't sure he'd show up today, and I don't know if I'm anxious or relieved. Regardless, I need his help.

"Andrés," I say, approaching him.

"Roman," he replies, his voice curious. "I take it what you need has to do with today?"

I nod. "Ten years isn't enough."

Andrés leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets. "For money laundering and extortion? Seems sufficient."

"Ten years with parole. He'll be out in three."

Andrés quirks a brow. "Tell me why I should care?"

I inhale deeply. "Miguel raped Allie earlier this year. He wasn't charged, but he did it. Y este cabrón" — this fucker — "deserves to pay. She's your niece. Tu sangre y tu familia." Your blood and your family . "That's why you should care."

Andrés stiffens, a menacing aura falling over him. For the first time, I sense just how dangerous he can be.

"Run that by me again," he demands.

"Miguel attacked Allie at SVH. My pops found her afterward. She refused the rape kit and didn't file charges. Her father's assistant convinced her to walk away."

"Esa maldita perra." That fucking bitch . He curses.

"I want him to pay," I tell him. "Can you help me with that?"

Andrés rubs his jaw, considering me. "What are you asking?"

"Whatever you're thinking, that's what I'm asking."

His eyes narrow further. I hadn't considered what to do if he refused.

"We can't have this conversation here."

"Alright. Where should we have it?"

"I'll text you the address. For now, go home. Take care of my niece."

Two:

I stare at the screen of my phone, my fingers drumming against my leg when the text finally arrives.

It's about damn time.

Andrés has kept me in the dark for six fucking days. I've been crawling out of my skin waiting for word from him.

"Everything okay?" Allie asks as she steps into the room, her eyes searching my face.

Smoothing out my expression, I slip my phone into my pocket and widen my stance. "Yeah. Dom's just bitching about shit with Kasey," I lie smoothly.

Allie rolls her eyes. "Those two are always at it. I don't know why Dominique doesn't just tell her how he feels already. They'd stop fighting if he admitted he wanted her, and she could tell him she feels the same."

I chuckle, a hollow sound. "Why don't you tell him that and let me know how the conversation goes."

She huffs out a laugh, and as soon as she's close enough, I tug her down onto my lap.

"Roman—" she laughs, pushing against my chest. I wrap my arms around her tighter, holding her until she finally relents.

"You're ridiculous," she mutters. "I was going to sit next to you."

"Not close enough," I grumble. She makes a sound of annoyance, but I know it's all for show. Allie sinks into my embrace, her body melting against my chest.

"How are you feeling today?" I press my nose into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. Cinnamon and vanilla. I'm fucking addicted to this girl.

Allie leans forward, but I tighten my arms around her. "Fine," she says. Her fingers trace the lines of the anchor tattoo on my hand. "It's just…" She hesitates. "I don't know." Her mouth curls into a frown, and I resist the urge to kiss it away, needing to hear her thoughts.

"I thought I'd feel different. Maybe happier or relieved, but…"

"I get that," I say softly. "Give it time. You'll get there."

"Maybe," she mutters, unconvinced.

With my thumb and forefinger, I turn her chin toward me and capture her lips with my own. She sighs into the kiss, her lips parting as some of the tension leaves her body. "It's going to take time for things to go back to normal," I remind her.

"I know," she grumbles. "I just want to be me again, you know? The old me that wasn't like this." Allie makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.

"I like this version of you," I tell her. "You're perfect. And he's behind bars. Give yourself a chance to let that sink in. He can't hurt you."

She nods and rests her head against my shoulder, her body curling into mine. "What about when he gets out?" she whispers, finally voicing her deepest fear.

"He won't," I say firmly.

She doesn't argue, but I already know what she's thinking. She's thinking that he will. That Miguel behind bars is only a temporary reprieve. She doesn't want to get comfortable. But she needs to. Because I've got her. I won't let anyone or anything hurt her again.

"What's on your agenda today?" she asks.

Running my hand up and down her thigh, I consider pushing my meeting with Andrés, but I know I can't. This might be my only shot. "I need to swing by the field. Coach wants to talk to me about next year," I tell her. "I won't be gone long. Do you want me to call one of the girls to—"

"No," she interrupts quickly, then more calmly says, "No. I'm okay. I don't need a babysitter."

Allie untangles herself from my hold and stands. I scowl, disliking the distance, but I wasn't lying when I said I needed to run by the field. It just isn't Coach I'll be meeting.

Three:

He stands in the middle of the field, his back turned, eyes fixed on the goalposts. The empty expanse makes my skin prickle. The stillness of the stadium feels out of place for a meeting like this.

"Is this supposed to be more inconspicuous?" I ask as I approach.

Andrés turns to face me, a slight smirk on his lips.

"I'm not sure a guy like me and a suit meeting on a football field on a Saturday will go unnoticed."

He shrugs. "I don't care if people see us," he says. "I care if there are ears listening. And here," Andrés waves around the field, "there are none."

Fair point.

"So—"

"One moment," he interrupts. "We have one more arrival."

I follow his gaze and see a man walking across the field toward us. He's dressed similarly to Andrés in dark slacks and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He has the same dark brown hair and cold brown eyes. The closer he gets, the more their similarities become evident.

"A relative?" I ask.

"My brother," Andrés says. "Adrián," he introduces. "Adrián, this is Roman. Alejandra's…" he considers me. "What are you to our niece? You're the boyfriend, right?"

I don't like the way he asks that, as if ‘boyfriend' isn't sufficient. Maybe it isn't. We're young, but Allie is endgame. I won't rise to the bait.

"Yep," I tell him. "I'm the boyfriend. Nice to meet you."

I hold out my hand and shake Adrián's as he scrutinizes me.

"You're also the son of the chief of police in Sun Valley," he comments. "So, do you want to explain why you're asking my brother to commit a crime?"

I cock my head. I hadn't considered that angle.

"I'm not asking your brother to commit a crime," I tell him. "I'm asking him to help me commit one. I don't have the resources to get to Miguel now that he's behind bars. But I assume you do?"

The brothers exchange looks. "We might," Adrián hedges.

"Okay. That's all I need. If you can get me to him, or him to me, I can take it from there."

They don't look convinced. "You're what, eighteen?" Andrés asks.

"Nineteen." In another two weeks, but he doesn't need to know that. "Your point?"

"You've got your whole life ahead of you, kid," Andrés says. "Allie tells me you play ball. You want to go pro after college."

I nod. "That's the plan. But that doesn't change the fact that this needs to be done. Miguel needs to be put down. He was given a deal he didn't deserve, and I'm not going to sit back, waiting for my girl to fall apart when that fucker is inevitably set free."

Andrés rubs his chin. "There's no going back after something like this. Taking a life, no matter how deserved, it leaves a stain on the soul. One you can't wash away."

"I can handle it," I tell him.

Adrián chuckles beside him. "Me gusta este cabrón. Alejandra eligió bien." I like this fucker. Alejandra chose well.

My chest puffs up at his statement. I don't need their approval, but it doesn't hurt to have it.

"Sí, lo hizo. Pero él es joven. No sabe en lo que se está metiendo." She did. But he's young. He doesn't know what he's getting into.

Irritation prickles beneath my skin. He's talking about me like I'm not here.

"Te entiendo," I tell them. I understand you . "I don't care if you think I'm too young. I know exactly what I'm asking. Alejandra means everything to me. She's the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. My heart beats for that girl, so will you help me or not?"

Both men sober as they consider my request.

"Sí," Andrés says. "We'll help."

"But there will be a price," Adrián adds.

"Name it."

Adrián chuckles. "It doesn't work that way," he says. "We help you, and when the time comes and we need a favor, you help us. Tú entiendes?" Do you understand?

Loud and clear, and I don't like it. But I'm not in a position to decline.

Jaw clenched tight, I nod. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good," Adrián says. "You'll meet a group of our men here," he hands me a card with a scribbled address. "Tomorrow night, 11:00 PM. Don't be late, and come alone."

"Your men?" I question with a frown as I look over the address, ignoring the anxious knot in my chest.

"Yes," Andrés repeats. "My men. Do you have a problem with that?"

Shaking my head, I tuck the card in my back pocket. I assumed Andrés would be there but this works just the same. "No. It's fine."

"Good. Now go home. Get your shit in order. Everything should go smoothly, but if it doesn't," he shrugs his shoulders, "it's always better to be prepared."

Four:

I stand by the bed, watching Allie sleep. Her breathing is steady, her face relaxed. It kills me to leave her, but I have to do this. Bending down, I press a soft kiss to her forehead and whisper a silent promise that I'll keep her safe. She mumbles something in her sleep before rolling over, her shirt shifting to expose the smooth skin of her stomach. Need thrums through me, but there will be plenty of time for that once this is over.

Taking one last look at her, I leave our bedroom and slip silently through our home. Once outside, I move quickly through the quiet streets to my car. The drive to the address Adrián gave me is short but feels like an eternity. Less than two miles from the Sun Valley jail, it's an abandoned warehouse.

The building looms, dark and foreboding. Four of Andrés's men are already there, waiting for me outside. Each man is dressed similarly—dark denim paired with black sweaters. Parking my El Camino, I shove my hands into the pockets of my black hoodie and make my way over to them, ignoring the chill that runs down my spine as I near.

"Hola," one of them says. "Ven por aquí." Come this way .

I follow the man inside, keeping my head tucked low as the rest of the men follow behind me. Inside, I find a man bound to a metal chair. He's dressed in prison orange, his arms bound behind his back and his ankles tied to the front legs of the seat. There's a black sack over his head, but this has to be him.

My heart pounds, rage boiling beneath the surface. One of the men hands me a black and white skull mask and instructs me to put it on. "En caso de que lo dejes vivir." In case you let him live .

Not happening, but I slip on the mask anyway and thank him. "Gracias."

The mask is cold against my skin, a stark contrast to the fire burning inside me. When they yank the bag off Miguel's face, I finally see him for what he is—a pitiful, broken man. Tears streak down his cheeks, mingling with the snot running from his nose. The smug arrogance is gone, replaced by raw, naked fear.

"It's him," I say, my voice low and deadly.

"What's happening?" Miguel sputters. "Who are you? Why am I here?"

I ignore his questions.

The man who handed me the mask steps forward. "You have ten minutes to do what needs to be done. After that, we have to return him to the jail where his body can be found."

"Body?" Miguel jerks in his seat. "What the fuck are you talking about?" He pulls at his restraints, but whoever strapped him down did one hell of a job because Miguel can hardly move.

"Thank you," I tell the man, grateful for his help. He and the others keep their masks in place as they walk away, giving me privacy to handle this. But before the last of them reaches the door, he turns and makes a sound, drawing my attention.

"Here." He throws something in my direction, and on instinct, I reach up to catch it. "When you're done with your fists, you can use this to finish the job."

I look down at my hands and take in the smooth metal folding knife. Flicking it open, I admire the sharpness of the blade. This will do.

I thank them with a curt nod and return my focus to Miguel. He stares at me with wide eyes, confusion and fear mingling in his gaze.

"Do you know why you're here?" I ask, my voice dripping with menace as I step closer. "You should. You hurt someone I care about. It's only fair that in return, I hurt you."

Miguel struggles against his bonds, but it's no use. Without giving him the chance to brace for it, I swing my fist, and it connects with his jaw, the impact sending a jolt up my arm. Pain blooms, but it's nothing compared to the satisfaction of hearing his pained cry for help.

Drawing back, I punch him again. This time, my fist connects with his nose. Bone crunches and blood pours down his face.

"Whatever you think I did—"

I strike him again and again, not giving him a chance to speak. "You deserve this," I tell him. "You deserve this and so much worse."

Each punch is cathartic, a release of all my pent-up rage. This man hurt the one person who is precious to me. He broke her spirit. He took away her safety. He made her feel weak and helpless. Fuck. He made me feel helpless. I couldn't fix what he did. I couldn't take away her pain.

I think of what Allie was like when it first happened. How withdrawn she became. How she was suddenly afraid of even the people she knew. People she was friends with. Like Dom and Emilio and even me. It took months for Allie to come out of her shell. For her to smile again. For her to feel safe.

And this asshole is the reason behind it.

Fuck him. Rotting in a prison cell is too good for him. He needs to rot in hell.

I channel every ugly emotion swirling inside of me into every blow, again and again, until my hand goes numb and my knuckles are split and bleeding.

A sharp whistle draws my attention, and I look over my shoulder. One of the men makes a motion with his finger, signaling me to wrap it up. Chest heaving, I stumble back on my feet.

Miguel's face is a mess of blood and bruises, but I'm not done. Not yet.

"Please," he sputters, his teeth stained in blood. "Have mercy."

I pull the knife from my pocket, the blade glinting in the dim light. He whimpers, a pitiful sound that only fuels my determination.

"Mercy is ending your pathetic life before making you suffer the same pain you've inflicted on others," I snap, plunging the knife into his side. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, my vision narrowing to the sight of my own hand and the blade now buried in Miguel's stomach.

His scream echoes through the empty warehouse, and I grit my teeth. Finish this.

I twist the blade, and Miguel cries out again, this time softer. His chest heaves at first, but as the seconds pass, his breathing begins to slow. I tear the knife out, and he gasps as I step back, the knife now dripping at my side.

Andrés's men return, their expressions hidden behind their masks. They look at Miguel's unmoving form and nod in approval. One of them claps a hand on my shoulder. "You finished it," he says, his tone pleasantly surprised. "Good for you."

I nod, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction. It's over. This wasn't the justice my girl deserved, but I'll settle for vengeance.

As two of the men carry Miguel away, the other two lead me to a large barrel with a fire burning bright inside of it. "Strip and burn your clothes here," one of them says. The other holds up a small bundle of items. "Toss it all in, and we'll make sure no evidence remains while our guys return Miguel to where he belongs."

Swallowing hard, I do what he says, tearing my shirt and hoodie over my head and tossing them into the waiting flames along with the skull mask. Kicking off my sneakers, my jeans are next.

"Shoes too," the other man says.

Gritting my teeth, I toss those in as well along with my socks until all that I'm left in are my black boxer briefs. "Here." He opens a container of wet wipes and hands them to me one at a time. I scrub the blood from between my fingers and hiss at the sting of alcohol against my split skin. "Shower when you get home. Be thorough."

I nod, and with my hands as clean as they're going to get, I accept the small bundle of clothes and slide into a pair of unfamiliar sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that's a size too small. As soon as I'm dressed, one of the guys heads to his waiting vehicle. He returns with bottles of bleach in either hand and starts pouring it on the ground, both on and around the chair Miguel was previously tied to.

"Go home," the other says to me. "We've got it from here."

Swallowing hard, I thank them one last time and walk away. Back to the waiting arms of my girl. The one place I belong.

I stare at the screen of my phone, my fingers drumming against my leg when the text finally arrives.

It's about damn time.

Andrés has kept me in the dark for six fucking days. I've been crawling out of my skin waiting for word from him.

"Everything okay?" Allie asks as she steps into the room, her eyes searching my face.

Smoothing out my expression, I slip my phone into my pocket and widen my stance. "Yeah. Dom's just bitching about shit with Kasey," I lie smoothly.

Allie rolls her eyes. "Those two are always at it. I don't know why Dominique doesn't just tell her how he feels already. They'd stop fighting if he admitted he wanted her, and she could tell him she feels the same."

I chuckle, a hollow sound. "Why don't you tell him that and let me know how the conversation goes."

She huffs out a laugh, and as soon as she's close enough, I tug her down onto my lap.

"Roman—" she laughs, pushing against my chest. I wrap my arms around her tighter, holding her until she finally relents.

"You're ridiculous," she mutters. "I was going to sit next to you."

"Not close enough," I grumble. She makes a sound of annoyance, but I know it's all for show. Allie sinks into my embrace, her body melting against my chest.

"How are you feeling today?" I press my nose into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. Cinnamon and vanilla. I'm fucking addicted to this girl.

Allie leans forward, but I tighten my arms around her. "Fine," she says. Her fingers trace the lines of the anchor tattoo on my hand. "It's just…" She hesitates. "I don't know." Her mouth curls into a frown, and I resist the urge to kiss it away, needing to hear her thoughts.

"I thought I'd feel different. Maybe happier or relieved, but…"

"I get that," I say softly. "Give it time. You'll get there."

"Maybe," she mutters, unconvinced.

With my thumb and forefinger, I turn her chin toward me and capture her lips with my own. She sighs into the kiss, her lips parting as some of the tension leaves her body. "It's going to take time for things to go back to normal," I remind her.

"I know," she grumbles. "I just want to be me again, you know? The old me that wasn't like this." Allie makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat.

"I like this version of you," I tell her. "You're perfect. And he's behind bars. Give yourself a chance to let that sink in. He can't hurt you."

She nods and rests her head against my shoulder, her body curling into mine. "What about when he gets out?" she whispers, finally voicing her deepest fear.

"He won't," I say firmly.

She doesn't argue, but I already know what she's thinking. She's thinking that he will. That Miguel behind bars is only a temporary reprieve. She doesn't want to get comfortable. But she needs to. Because I've got her. I won't let anyone or anything hurt her again.

"What's on your agenda today?" she asks.

Running my hand up and down her thigh, I consider pushing my meeting with Andrés, but I know I can't. This might be my only shot. "I need to swing by the field. Coach wants to talk to me about next year," I tell her. "I won't be gone long. Do you want me to call one of the girls to—"

"No," she interrupts quickly, then more calmly says, "No. I'm okay. I don't need a babysitter."

Allie untangles herself from my hold and stands. I scowl, disliking the distance, but I wasn't lying when I said I needed to run by the field. It just isn't Coach I'll be meeting.

He stands in the middle of the field, his back turned, eyes fixed on the goalposts. The empty expanse makes my skin prickle. The stillness of the stadium feels out of place for a meeting like this.

"Is this supposed to be more inconspicuous?" I ask as I approach.

Andrés turns to face me, a slight smirk on his lips.

"I'm not sure a guy like me and a suit meeting on a football field on a Saturday will go unnoticed."

He shrugs. "I don't care if people see us," he says. "I care if there are ears listening. And here," Andrés waves around the field, "there are none."

Fair point.

"So—"

"One moment," he interrupts. "We have one more arrival."

I follow his gaze and see a man walking across the field toward us. He's dressed similarly to Andrés in dark slacks and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He has the same dark brown hair and cold brown eyes. The closer he gets, the more their similarities become evident.

"A relative?" I ask.

"My brother," Andrés says. "Adrián," he introduces. "Adrián, this is Roman. Alejandra's…" he considers me. "What are you to our niece? You're the boyfriend, right?"

I don't like the way he asks that, as if ‘boyfriend' isn't sufficient. Maybe it isn't. We're young, but Allie is endgame. I won't rise to the bait.

"Yep," I tell him. "I'm the boyfriend. Nice to meet you."

I hold out my hand and shake Adrián's as he scrutinizes me.

"You're also the son of the chief of police in Sun Valley," he comments. "So, do you want to explain why you're asking my brother to commit a crime?"

I cock my head. I hadn't considered that angle.

"I'm not asking your brother to commit a crime," I tell him. "I'm asking him to help me commit one. I don't have the resources to get to Miguel now that he's behind bars. But I assume you do?"

The brothers exchange looks. "We might," Adrián hedges.

"Okay. That's all I need. If you can get me to him, or him to me, I can take it from there."

They don't look convinced. "You're what, eighteen?" Andrés asks.

"Nineteen." In another two weeks, but he doesn't need to know that. "Your point?"

"You've got your whole life ahead of you, kid," Andrés says. "Allie tells me you play ball. You want to go pro after college."

I nod. "That's the plan. But that doesn't change the fact that this needs to be done. Miguel needs to be put down. He was given a deal he didn't deserve, and I'm not going to sit back, waiting for my girl to fall apart when that fucker is inevitably set free."

Andrés rubs his chin. "There's no going back after something like this. Taking a life, no matter how deserved, it leaves a stain on the soul. One you can't wash away."

"I can handle it," I tell him.

Adrián chuckles beside him. "Me gusta este cabrón. Alejandra eligió bien." I like this fucker. Alejandra chose well.

My chest puffs up at his statement. I don't need their approval, but it doesn't hurt to have it.

"Sí, lo hizo. Pero él es joven. No sabe en lo que se está metiendo." She did. But he's young. He doesn't know what he's getting into.

Irritation prickles beneath my skin. He's talking about me like I'm not here.

"Te entiendo," I tell them. I understand you . "I don't care if you think I'm too young. I know exactly what I'm asking. Alejandra means everything to me. She's the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. My heart beats for that girl, so will you help me or not?"

Both men sober as they consider my request.

"Sí," Andrés says. "We'll help."

"But there will be a price," Adrián adds.

"Name it."

Adrián chuckles. "It doesn't work that way," he says. "We help you, and when the time comes and we need a favor, you help us. Tú entiendes?" Do you understand?

Loud and clear, and I don't like it. But I'm not in a position to decline.

Jaw clenched tight, I nod. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good," Adrián says. "You'll meet a group of our men here," he hands me a card with a scribbled address. "Tomorrow night, 11:00 PM. Don't be late, and come alone."

"Your men?" I question with a frown as I look over the address, ignoring the anxious knot in my chest.

"Yes," Andrés repeats. "My men. Do you have a problem with that?"

Shaking my head, I tuck the card in my back pocket. I assumed Andrés would be there but this works just the same. "No. It's fine."

"Good. Now go home. Get your shit in order. Everything should go smoothly, but if it doesn't," he shrugs his shoulders, "it's always better to be prepared."

I stand by the bed, watching Allie sleep. Her breathing is steady, her face relaxed. It kills me to leave her, but I have to do this. Bending down, I press a soft kiss to her forehead and whisper a silent promise that I'll keep her safe. She mumbles something in her sleep before rolling over, her shirt shifting to expose the smooth skin of her stomach. Need thrums through me, but there will be plenty of time for that once this is over.

Taking one last look at her, I leave our bedroom and slip silently through our home. Once outside, I move quickly through the quiet streets to my car. The drive to the address Adrián gave me is short but feels like an eternity. Less than two miles from the Sun Valley jail, it's an abandoned warehouse.

The building looms, dark and foreboding. Four of Andrés's men are already there, waiting for me outside. Each man is dressed similarly—dark denim paired with black sweaters. Parking my El Camino, I shove my hands into the pockets of my black hoodie and make my way over to them, ignoring the chill that runs down my spine as I near.

"Hola," one of them says. "Ven por aquí." Come this way .

I follow the man inside, keeping my head tucked low as the rest of the men follow behind me. Inside, I find a man bound to a metal chair. He's dressed in prison orange, his arms bound behind his back and his ankles tied to the front legs of the seat. There's a black sack over his head, but this has to be him.

My heart pounds, rage boiling beneath the surface. One of the men hands me a black and white skull mask and instructs me to put it on. "En caso de que lo dejes vivir." In case you let him live .

Not happening, but I slip on the mask anyway and thank him. "Gracias."

The mask is cold against my skin, a stark contrast to the fire burning inside me. When they yank the bag off Miguel's face, I finally see him for what he is—a pitiful, broken man. Tears streak down his cheeks, mingling with the snot running from his nose. The smug arrogance is gone, replaced by raw, naked fear.

"It's him," I say, my voice low and deadly.

"What's happening?" Miguel sputters. "Who are you? Why am I here?"

I ignore his questions.

The man who handed me the mask steps forward. "You have ten minutes to do what needs to be done. After that, we have to return him to the jail where his body can be found."

"Body?" Miguel jerks in his seat. "What the fuck are you talking about?" He pulls at his restraints, but whoever strapped him down did one hell of a job because Miguel can hardly move.

"Thank you," I tell the man, grateful for his help. He and the others keep their masks in place as they walk away, giving me privacy to handle this. But before the last of them reaches the door, he turns and makes a sound, drawing my attention.

"Here." He throws something in my direction, and on instinct, I reach up to catch it. "When you're done with your fists, you can use this to finish the job."

I look down at my hands and take in the smooth metal folding knife. Flicking it open, I admire the sharpness of the blade. This will do.

I thank them with a curt nod and return my focus to Miguel. He stares at me with wide eyes, confusion and fear mingling in his gaze.

"Do you know why you're here?" I ask, my voice dripping with menace as I step closer. "You should. You hurt someone I care about. It's only fair that in return, I hurt you."

Miguel struggles against his bonds, but it's no use. Without giving him the chance to brace for it, I swing my fist, and it connects with his jaw, the impact sending a jolt up my arm. Pain blooms, but it's nothing compared to the satisfaction of hearing his pained cry for help.

Drawing back, I punch him again. This time, my fist connects with his nose. Bone crunches and blood pours down his face.

"Whatever you think I did—"

I strike him again and again, not giving him a chance to speak. "You deserve this," I tell him. "You deserve this and so much worse."

Each punch is cathartic, a release of all my pent-up rage. This man hurt the one person who is precious to me. He broke her spirit. He took away her safety. He made her feel weak and helpless. Fuck. He made me feel helpless. I couldn't fix what he did. I couldn't take away her pain.

I think of what Allie was like when it first happened. How withdrawn she became. How she was suddenly afraid of even the people she knew. People she was friends with. Like Dom and Emilio and even me. It took months for Allie to come out of her shell. For her to smile again. For her to feel safe.

And this asshole is the reason behind it.

Fuck him. Rotting in a prison cell is too good for him. He needs to rot in hell.

I channel every ugly emotion swirling inside of me into every blow, again and again, until my hand goes numb and my knuckles are split and bleeding.

A sharp whistle draws my attention, and I look over my shoulder. One of the men makes a motion with his finger, signaling me to wrap it up. Chest heaving, I stumble back on my feet.

Miguel's face is a mess of blood and bruises, but I'm not done. Not yet.

"Please," he sputters, his teeth stained in blood. "Have mercy."

I pull the knife from my pocket, the blade glinting in the dim light. He whimpers, a pitiful sound that only fuels my determination.

"Mercy is ending your pathetic life before making you suffer the same pain you've inflicted on others," I snap, plunging the knife into his side. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, my vision narrowing to the sight of my own hand and the blade now buried in Miguel's stomach.

His scream echoes through the empty warehouse, and I grit my teeth. Finish this.

I twist the blade, and Miguel cries out again, this time softer. His chest heaves at first, but as the seconds pass, his breathing begins to slow. I tear the knife out, and he gasps as I step back, the knife now dripping at my side.

Andrés's men return, their expressions hidden behind their masks. They look at Miguel's unmoving form and nod in approval. One of them claps a hand on my shoulder. "You finished it," he says, his tone pleasantly surprised. "Good for you."

I nod, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction. It's over. This wasn't the justice my girl deserved, but I'll settle for vengeance.

As two of the men carry Miguel away, the other two lead me to a large barrel with a fire burning bright inside of it. "Strip and burn your clothes here," one of them says. The other holds up a small bundle of items. "Toss it all in, and we'll make sure no evidence remains while our guys return Miguel to where he belongs."

Swallowing hard, I do what he says, tearing my shirt and hoodie over my head and tossing them into the waiting flames along with the skull mask. Kicking off my sneakers, my jeans are next.

"Shoes too," the other man says.

Gritting my teeth, I toss those in as well along with my socks until all that I'm left in are my black boxer briefs. "Here." He opens a container of wet wipes and hands them to me one at a time. I scrub the blood from between my fingers and hiss at the sting of alcohol against my split skin. "Shower when you get home. Be thorough."

I nod, and with my hands as clean as they're going to get, I accept the small bundle of clothes and slide into a pair of unfamiliar sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that's a size too small. As soon as I'm dressed, one of the guys heads to his waiting vehicle. He returns with bottles of bleach in either hand and starts pouring it on the ground, both on and around the chair Miguel was previously tied to.

"Go home," the other says to me. "We've got it from here."

Swallowing hard, I thank them one last time and walk away. Back to the waiting arms of my girl. The one place I belong.