wasn’t pointing the pistol at him.
He was pointing it at Brenna.
* * *
“DO YOU HAVE some kind of death wish?”
Carlton’s voice, usually loud and boisterous, was scarily quiet. But the menace came through as clearly as if he’d screamed at her as he pointed the gun at her head.
Brenna realized her mistake instantly. She shouldn’t have lowered her weapon. She should have swung it toward Carlton.
But she’d never shot anyone before. Sure, she’d fired a weapon hundreds of times. In practice. She’d even held a weapon on resisting suspects before. But she’d never had to use it to protect herself or someone else.
Until now.
There was no question Carlton’s bodyguards were going to kill Marcos. Nothing she’d said had swayed the drug lord. And when he’d released her, she’d acted on instinct. Instinct and fury, and something fiercely protective that scared her.
And afterward, when the man had dropped to the ground, no dying scream, no time for surprise to register on his face, her hand had just gone slack on her. She hadn’t even consciously decided to kill him and now it was over.
She’d just killed someone. Regret hit with the force of a tidal wave, but there hadn’t been any other way. She couldn’t just stand by and watch Marcos die.
Pushing the emotions down, Brenna tried to focus, telling herself she could deal with her regrets later—assuming she lived through the next few minutes.
“Carlton,” Brenna said, her voice shaky. “I was just trying to—”
“You’d die for this man?” Carlton boomed, making her flinch. “After just a one-night stand?” His eyes narrowed, and he glanced from her to Marcos and back again, but too fast for her to lift her own weapon.
He suspected she and Marcos had a deeper connection than the lie she’d given about picking him up at a bar. And Carlton was right. But she and Marcos had only known each other for a few months. A few months of the worst pain in her life. A pain that had brought her here.
Resolution overtook her fear. She’d come this far. She wasn’t going to die without a fight.
And with Carlton, she knew her best weapon wasn’t her fists or the gun clutched in her hand. Tossing the pistol away from her, she lifted her hands in the air and got slowly to her feet, stepping slightly away from the bodyguard moaning on the ground.
Her hair was a disaster; pieces of it stuck to her lipstick, more of it was in her eyes. Her knees were skinned and bloody, her dress hiked up way too high. She ignored all of it, locking her gaze on Carlton and tipping her chin up. “You read my file, right? You know about the fire?”
She sensed Marcos tense, but she couldn’t dare glance at him as Carlton gave a brief nod.
“Then you must know the rest of it, too.” Her voice hitched, remembering the things that had come after that fire, when she’d been sent to other foster homes. Places without smiling boys with dimples to greet her and hold her hand, but older boys with a scary gleam in their eyes.
Carlton’s eyes narrowed even more, but she could tell he was listening. Maybe he even cared.
“If you really looked, then you know this isn’t about Marcos. Marco,” she corrected herself. “It’s about me. I’m here because I want a different life from the one I grew up with. I want security. I want to feel safe.” She let the truth of those words ring through in her voice. “So, I’ll work with you, but you don’t own me. If that’s what you want, I’m not interested.”
A smirk twisted his lips, then faded, and she wasn’t sure if she’d just signed her death warrant or gotten through to him.
Beside her, the bodyguard she’d knocked to the ground pulled himself to his knees, snarling at her. For a second, she thought he was going to jump up and tackle her, when Carlton fired his gun, making her jump.
His bodyguard slumped back down, dead.
She stared at Carlton, speechless, and he shrugged. “He failed me. Kind of like you, Brenna.”
She hadn’t gotten through to him. Brenna took a breath and closed her eyes.
“This is supposed to be a business arrangement, right?” Marcos spoke up.
Brenna opened her eyes again, glancing at him, wondering if it was smart of him to remind Carlton of his presence.
“Because I’ve got to tell you,” Marcos continued, getting to his feet, too, and leaving behind the bodyguard’s weapon, which had been at arm’s length away, “this is how my family did business. All these feuds. It’s derailing their business. Why do you think I want to branch out on my own?”
His family? Brenna frowned, wondering what game he was playing. Some of the kids in the foster homes she’d been to had family out there, either people they’d been taken from because of neglect or abuse, or people who’d given them up. But not Marcos. She knew he’d grown up in the system from the time he was an infant, that they’d never been able to find any extended family. Had that changed? Had he found blood relatives after the fire?
“Let me ask you something, Marco,” Carlton replied. “Or is it Marcos?” His gaze snuck to Brenna, then returned. “You’ve met Brenna once? She was that unforgettable?”
Marcos frowned, and a sick feeling formed in her stomach at the way the drug lord’s eyes wandered over her, way more blatantly than he’d ever done before. As if she was his, whether she liked it or not.
Carlton Wayne White was a killer. A man who’d use kids with no one to help them as disposable pawns in his business. Why should it surprise her if he was also a rapist?
She’d been clear with him that she didn’t want to sleep with him. She’d thought he actually respected that; she’d believed he saw her as a better business partner because of it. But maybe she’d been fooling herself. Maybe he’d never cared because he hadn’t planned to ask.
Before Marcos could answer Carlton’s question, he continued, “Or you just have a problem with loyalty? Is that why you’re dealing with me instead of sticking with family? I looked into you, Costrales. You’re the black sheep, aren’t you?”
Marcos shrugged, spitting blood onto the ground. “You say black sheep. I say visionary.”
Carlton snorted. “You’re awfully confident for a man I still might kill.”
“My family and I may not always see eye to eye, but they’re pretty good at blood feuds.”
Carlton nodded slowly and lowered his weapon. “So they are.” He gave a slight smile. “I suppose I don’t want to have to deal with your entire family coming after me. Too messy for me to clean up.” He nodded at Brenna. “I guess this means you’re vouching for her?”
Marcos paused a long moment and Brenna held her breath, not sure what to hope for. Whoever Marcos’s family was—if his story was even true—they had sway. But if Marcos vouched for her too quickly, would Carlton really buy that they didn’t know one another
