Violent Triumphs (White Monarch 3)

This didn’t mean a damn thing. And yet, I found myself leaning in, my heart thumping against Natalia’s back.

“I see nothing.”

I released a breath. After a lifetime of non-stop violence and death in the name of revenge, love, and sex, I muttered, “Nothing would be fucking great. For a while.”

“For a while,” the sorceress agreed, nodding. “But not forever. I see light and love, too. Well into old age.” She lifted up and resettled in her seat, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “And a daughter,” she added.

“That we know,” Natalia said.

“I’m speaking of the one after this.”

Huh. Two daughters. I was glad for it. I deserved it, and so did Natalia. No girls would be loved more in the world.

The woman sat back with a sigh. “Then again, I’ve been wrong before.” She glanced at her crystal ball. “I can look a little harder if you like? I may see something after all . . .”

“No,” Natalia and I answered at the same time.

“Well. I’ll be here next weekend, too.” She took a pack of cigarettes from somewhere under her table. “Do you have a light?”

“I quit,” I said.

“Right.”

I put my arm around Natalia and guided her away as she cast a final glance over her shoulder at the woman. “Feel better?” I asked.

“Me?” Natalia’s brows lifted. “I could’ve knocked you over with a feather, you were so interested in what she’d say.”

I chuckled. “Nah. I don’t believe in any of that.”

“Sure.” She rolled her eyes. “So you don’t think we’ll have a second girl?”

The thought put a smile on my face all the way back to the third-floor apartment we’d rented for now.

As Natalia changed, I opened all the windows overlooking a small courtyard. Fresh, cool air breezed in. I turned on the record player, sat on the edge of our bed to remove my shoes, and leaned back on the mattress with an arm behind my head. Something I hadn’t gotten to do very much in my old life—sit and listen to music.

I thought of the Badlands often—I couldn’t help it. It had been my life for twelve years. But between my childhood with my parents, my service at Costa’s compound, and the Calavera cartel, I’d lived several lifetimes. This one, with Natalia, would be just another adventure, and there was nobody I wanted by my side more.

Speak of the she-devil, she strolled out of the bathroom in a black silk slip with lacy red edges that stopped just below the tops of her thighs. She smoothed her palms over her belly, curving her hands underneath and turning to the side so I could see how far along she was. I liked to watch her grow. To look at her as much as possible and commit these days to memory. Once the baby came, things would be a little more chaotic. Traveling around wouldn’t be as easy. I’d have to keep looking over my shoulder everywhere we went, with even more on the line.

But it was a good problem to have. After the life we’d led, I was confident there wasn’t anything my wife and I couldn’t take on.

She poured me a whisky neat from the bottle we’d picked up during our trip to the square and brought the glass and a lit candle to my bedside. “It’s Day of the Dead, and we didn’t do anything,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I think we should be thankful for an uneventful holiday for once.” I winked. “But yes, we honor those we’ve lost. Your mother. Our baby. My men, your father’s, too, and our friends.”

She nodded and glanced at her purse, where she kept the sonogram she’d received this time last year.

I took her hand, brought it to my mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

With a smile, she passed me my drink. “How is it?”

I took a sip. “Not like the Zamora’s blue agave,” I said. “But very nice.”

She took the glass from me, set it down on the nightstand, and climbed onto the bed on her hands and knees. The woman acted as if she wasn’t pregnant at all. Agile as ever—always down for anything, constantly on the move, participating in hand-to-hand combat despite my explicit prohibition. She was only twenty-two, though. At thirty-six, I probably had more aches and pains without carrying a human the size of a cantaloupe.

“You asked earlier if there’s anything I need,” she said.

“Tell me,” I responded. “You know I don’t rely on anyone to deliver my wishes to the gods. I make them happen myself. I will grant you anything.”

She climbed on top of me. “Just you.”

Straddling my waist, she opened my fly. Put me inside her. Rocked on me.

It wasn’t the throne I’d once envisioned for my underground queen, but I couldn’t complain.