Page 68 of LA King

“You’re fucking loco, amigo.” I clap him on the back. The truth is I love this as much as he does—or at least I used to. Until it started keeping me away from my wife. We’ve been in Philadelphia chasing down this prick and his goons right here, and I can’t wait to get home.

I glare at Richie Burnett. I’ve always hated this fucker. I had a feeling he couldn’t be trusted, but he worked for my Uncle Phillipe for years, and the latter convinced me to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But even before his fuck-up last month, I was keeping my eye on him and was proven right when I caught him stealing from us, skimming an extra cut of the profit for himself every time he made a deal on my family’s behalf—as if we don’t pay him enough. Greedy motherfucker.

I slap Richie hard across the face, and his eyes flicker open. “Hijo de puta!” he spits. How dare he use my native tongue to insult me. Disrespectful sack of shit.

Jax shakes his head and laughs quietly, looking forward to the carnage sure to follow Richie’s insolence. “Can you believe this piece of shit?” I ask.

“Nope,” Jax says. “Must have a death wish.”

Richie’s eyes roll back, and I slap him again. “You still with us, mal nacido?”

He attempts to swing his arm at me, obviously forgetting that I dislocated his shoulder a few hours ago. He’s endured so much torture that he no longer knows what he can feel or where any pain is coming from.

“Argh!” he screams, slumping back against the chair.

I grab the knife from the table beside me and hold it up so the metal blade catches the light of the overhead bulb, ensuring that Richie knows exactly what’s coming next. We made him watch yesterday while his most loyal employees, fellow thieves, had their tongues and eyes cut out before they were shot in the head. He already knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be getting off so easily. Their bodies were disposed of quickly and cleanly, and we appointed a new head of our Philadelphia operations—Neo Lopez. Neo is young and ambitious, but he respects the order of things, and I like that about him.

Richie sits on the chair, blood congealing on every part of his body. His gray hair is so matted with dried blood that it looks black. He’s been in this room for over twenty-four hours, enduring pain every second of his time here.

I have to admit I’m impressed with how much he’s been able to take. I learned the fine art of torture and the ability to inflict exactly the right amount of pain to keep a man alive while making him beg for death at a young age. But now Richie is close to the end. He’s constantly slipping into unconsciousness. His body is broken, burned, and bruised beyond recognition. But Richie is a message. A message that nobody steals from the Montoyas.

I lift his head by his hair and hold the blade to his neck. “Goodnight, Richie. You greedy little fuck.” I slit his throat open and watch as the last drops of life drain from him.

I wipe my hands on a towel and motion to Jax. “Let’s get cleaned up and get the fuck out of here.”

“I miss LA already. Too fucking cold here.”

We head out of the small room that stinks of Richie Burnett’s filth to find Neo waiting outside, his arms crossed over his chest. “What do you need from me, Boss?”

“Get that shit cleaned up and make it look like we were never here,” I tell him. “And leave Richie’s body somewhere that sends a message.”

His lips twitch. “You got it.”

Yeah, I like this guy.

My business in Philly kept me away from Alana for two days and two nights. I’ve missed her much more than I will admit to anyone. I hated sleeping in my hotel room alone, without her warm body pressed against mine.

It’s been a week since our night at my hotel and something has definitely shifted between us. That night when she broke down, I saw a side of her that I never have before—her insecurities and vulnerabilities—and it brought out my protective side.

It’s late when I get home. I creep into to our bedroom and am filled with relief and contentment when I see her sleeping figure on the bed. Quickly, I pull off my clothes and toss them into the laundry hamper. My cock is already hard just thinking about what I’m about to do to her.

I slip beneath the covers, and she stirs in her sleep. “Alex?”

I press my body to hers. “Yeah, it’s just me, princesa. I missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

My hands slide over her hips, over her soft cotton underwear. “Why are you wearing panties when you knew I’d be back tonight?” I really don’t give a fuck right now, but a rule is a rule.

“I got my period,” she murmurs.

I kiss her neck, and she purrs like a kitten as I slip my fingers under the waistband of her panties. “Open your legs for me. I want inside you.”

She rubs her sexy ass against my cock. “You’re going to ruin these beautiful white sheets.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the sheets,” I growl against her skin. “Besides, Magda is very proficient in getting blood out of clothes. I’m sure a few stained sheets aren’t beyond her.”