“I’m not asking permission,” I snap, too sharp, because fear turns into attitude in my mouth.
Lady’s gaze flicks to Shady, a silent exchange. He gives the smallest nod like, I’ll be right here.
Lady squeezes my hand hard.
My throat tightens.
“What the hell?” I ask.
Shady looks away.
They’re not just worried for my physical safety. Now I have to go.
The hallway toward Diablo’s room is dim, quieter than the bar, quieter than it should be after a shootout. A couple patched men are posted at the end like sentries, talking in lowvoices. One of them looks at me, recognizes me, and shifts aside without a word.
My heartbeat gets louder with every step.
His door is slightly open.
Not wide. Not closed.
Just open enough to feel like a dare.
My hand touches the edge and pushes.
It swings inward.
And my whole body goes ice.
Diablo is on the bed.
Carmen is straddling him.
Not a suggestion. Not an accident. Not a misunderstanding.
Her hair is down like black silk, perfect. Her blouse is wrinkled. Her ring catches the light when she shifts, bright and cruel like she wants it seen. Diablo’s shirt is open beneath her hands. I can see the ink on his chest. The scars.
His pants are around his ankles.
His hands are on her hips.
Not pushing.
Not stopping her.
Holding.
My stomach drops so hard it feels like falling off that rooftop.
The air disappears from my lungs.
For one long second, the only sound I hear is the distant hum of neon and the blood pounding in my ears like a drumline.
They both look up at the same time.
Carmen’s smile spreads slowly, satisfied.
A queen’s smile.
