The grin tightens.He flicks the cigarette to the floor, grinds it under his boot."You got a smart mouth for a man under suspicion."
"Suspicion of what?"
He lets the silence drag until it's a noose."You tell me, Rourke.You think nobody's asking questions?"
I stare him down, heat rising in my chest."If Marquez had questions, he'd ask me himself."
"Maybe he will."Paco circles, slow, lazy."But first, I want some answers.”
The men shift.Ready.I don't flinch.I meet his eyes, fury edging my voice."You lay one hand on me, Paco, you better pray Marquez wanted this."
He smirks."Oh, I'm praying, amigo.Just not for you."
He nods once.A shadow moves.Knuckles crack.
The first hit lands across my ribs—sharp enough to steal my breath.Pain radiates down my side, but I keep my stance.
I force a laugh, rough and bitter."You want to hit me?Do it yourself."
He stops, leaning in, eyes narrowing."Three years I've watched you.Every shipment.Every move.And still you make mistakes."
I shrug, keeping my tone casual."Depends on who's counting."
"Who's counting?"His laugh is low, dangerous."I am.Looking real close at you.And that lady of yours."
Another hit—this time to my side.Not enough to drop me, but enough to remind me Paco’s been waiting a long time for this.
He steps closer, boots scraping concrete."And her..."His voice drops."You think she's going to survive if something happens to you?"
Heat spikes through me.Fingers clench.Jaw tight.Every muscle coiled.
"She'll survive," I say slowly.
Paco tilts his head."Everyone in this world has a price.Everyone.And if she's attached to you...then she's part of the equation.You understand?"
The room narrows.My chest pounds.I could fight.Could take one of them down.But every instinct screams to keep my cool.
"Do your worst," I growl."I have nothing to hide.Neither does Adena."
He backs up a step and curls his fist, his face twisting in pleasure as he swings.I brace for the jaw, but he adjusts at the last second and drives the punch straight into the stab wound on my shoulder.
Pain tears through me.White-hot.Blinding.I stagger under the force of it.
But I'm not thinking about the pain.Not the laughter bouncing off the walls.Not the rage building inside.
I'm thinking about that slight adjustment he made.
And why they're keeping me conscious.
Adena
I keep my stride easy as we make our way back toward the hotel, the Vegas heat pressing down on us.The bodyguard trails a few steps behind—close enough to monitor, far enough to blend in with the crowd.
We pass a cluster of street performers, tourists taking photos, the constant stream of people moving between casinos.
"I need to use the restroom," I say, not bothering to look back.
He grunts acknowledgment.
