Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

“What are you doing?”

“We have to get Pilar.” Keeping my back to the wall, I made my way down the dark hallway to her bedroom, where I hissed her name.

After a second, Pilar slid out from under the bed, her face streaked with tears. “Natalia. Ay, Dios mío.”

“Come,” I said, squatting to help her up. “Hurry. Are you hurt?”

“N-no.” She shook as she got to her feet. Jaz guarded the door, poking her head into the hall before beckoning us over.

Pilar gasped. “You’re covered in blood.”

“I’m fine.”

“Who’s doing this?” she asked. “What do they want?”

“Come on,” Jaz whisper-ordered.

I took Pilar’s hand and let Jaz lead us through the dark, trusting her intimate knowledge of the house. When we reached the ground floor, she ushered Pilar and me ahead of her. “Run. I’ll watch our backs.”

We crossed the main room and slowed as we approached the kitchen, the quickest route to the cellar and panic room. Jaz raised her gun and entered first, her eyes narrowed sharply as she surveyed the room.

“It’s clear,” she said, nodding at a door that led to the garage. “Through there. You know the way?”

“Sí,” I answered. “What about you?”

“Right behind you.”

I grabbed Pilar’s arm and sprinted forward. My bare feet slapped the tile, and we were within reach of the handle when Pilar tripped and pulled me down with her. My head just missed the corner of a table, but my cheekbone smacked the ground. Pain shot through my face, but I quickly forgot it when Pilar screamed.

I looked back and slapped a hand over my mouth. We’d fallen over Rocío, a woman who’d worked alongside Fisker in the kitchen. Blood splattered the ground and cabinets, darkening the floor around her.

“Shh.” Jaz yanked Pilar to her feet and, when she didn’t quiet, silenced her with a slap across the face. Jaz squatted. Held her fingers to Rocío’s neck. “She’s dead.”

My throat closed. “She—she was going to the panic room, too.”

“Maybe.” Jaz made the sign of the cross, picked up a gun next to Rocío’s body, and nodded toward the refrigerator. “But she went down fighting.”

I followed her gaze to what looked like a man’s body slumped in one corner. “Is that one of them?”

“He’s not one of us. Other cartels don’t realize that we always fight back. Every one of us. We win, or we die trying.” Jaz handed Pilar the gun. “But everyone in this house fights.”

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Pilar said, holding out the Glock like it was a ticking time bomb.

“If anyone comes at you, pull the trigger,” Jaz said, closing Pilar’s hand around it. “You need to watch Natalia’s back. She’s probably the one they want. And she’s going to get you both to the panic room.”

“What about you?” I asked.

Jaz’s eyes dropped to Rocío. “I told you,” she said, swallowing. “I fight.”

“No, Jaz.” I pulled her arm to get her to face me. “You don’t understand. Those men are here for us. They’re looking for any woman, and they will kill you.”

“I have a job to do. Just like Rocío did.”

I still didn’t know exactly how Jaz had ended up in the Badlands, but I could piece some of it together. My first morning here, she’d revealed that she’d used sex to survive at some point in her past. Cristiano had said earlier tonight that Jaz hadn’t known much kindness. Considering the Badlands had partly been built as a safe haven and rehabilitation center for victims of the pleasure trade, forced labor, and more, Jaz most likely fell into one of those categories. “Maybe they won’t kill you,” I said. “What if they take you instead?”

She froze, fear clearly working through her. “I—I can’t hide down there while . . . while the others defend us.”

“You’re not hiding. You’re protecting us.” I wanted to yell to get through to her, but I struggled to speak as it was, my throat aching. I gripped her arms and shook her until alarm crossed her face. “We need you. If you don’t come with us, then I’m staying here with you.”

“No, please,” Pilar begged through a sob, her wide eyes fixed on Rocío. “You can’t leave me alone.”

Jaz shook her head. “If you die, and Cristiano survives—he’ll kill me himself.”

“So where do you think he’d want his most tenacious fighter?”

“With you.” Jaz’s jaw firmed. “Fine—let’s go.”

We all tumbled through the door, into the garage, and down the staircase to the cellar. At the door to the panic room, I was shaking too hard to get my thumb on the fingerprint scanner, so Jaz took over. Within seconds, it lit up green, and the lock clicked open.

I let Pilar and Jaz go in first. After the near complete darkness of the house, the safe room’s overhead lights seared my eyes and turned everyone a dull shade of gray. I pushed the door shut, and the slam echoed in the otherwise complete silence. Even Pilar had stopped crying. Locked in the vault, I pressed my forehead against the cool steel door.