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I rattle off the address of the hotel. "She's alone, and she's scared." I pause for a split second. "She's pregnant, man."
"Fuck me."
"I'd prefer for me or Mila to be the ones to tell Tahani that news, but if you have to do it…"
"I'll get her there, Roman," he promises me softly.
"Once this shit is dealt with, the silence ends," I warn him. "It's gone on long enough. I've given her all the time she's going to get. If she doesn't start responding soon, I'll show up on your doorstep."
"About fucking time," he mutters. "No disrespect to you, Roman. I know you mean well not telling her this shit, but I'm fucking tired of her crying. You need to handle shit there and then fix this because she's miserable, and it's driving me crazy. She misses you both."
"I plan on fixing it."
"Good. I'll get her to Mila. And congratulations on the baby, man."
"Thanks," I mumble, warmth spreading through me again. Mila's pregnant with my baby. I know she's worried out of her mind that something's going to happen to the baby, but I'm not. I know down to my fucking soul that the baby is going to be just fine because Mila's a warrior, and our kid will be too. With a mother as strong as her, how could our kid not be a fighter?
"It's about fucking time you did something about Mila. The only reason she was with that dick was because of you," he says, his voice deadly serious. "He didn't deserve her."
"No, he didn't," I murmur, surprised as hell that Trent knew how she felt about me, though I'm not sure why that catches me off-guard. She's looked at me the same way since the day I met her, like she wanted me to claim her as badly as I wanted it…like she wanted to curl up in my lap and stay there. It's honestly more surprising that Tahani never noticed than it is that Trent did.
"Future father-in-law or not, if you hurt Mila, I'll break your kneecaps. She's like a sister to me."
"Fair enough," I say with a smile. Not that I'd let him do it, but I'm fucking glad that he's protective of her. She deserves people like him and Tahani in her life, in her corner. He doesn't have to worry about me hurting her, though. I'd cut my own fucking heart out first. I protect what's mine.
When I'm done, no one will ever threaten her again.
"You sure about this?" Brady asks me, his eyes locked on the house across the street.
The Spanish villa is almost a mini-mansion, located miles from Guerrero's usual haunts. It's three stories of stucco and decorative arches under red tile. The yard is perfectly landscaped and clean, with a fucking fountain out front. A wrought iron security fence surrounds the property, keeping the curious out.
I don't know if Guerrero has any of his men inside, but we're about to find out.
"We're going in," I mutter to Brady. "Even if we have to shoot our way in."
"Fuckin' A," he says, a grim smile spreading across his face. He may have fucked up with the motherfucker who followed him home, but there's no one else I want inside with me if we end up in a fucking shoot-out. Brady is an artist with a gun. He hits exactly what he aims for, every damn time.
I loop my shield around my neck, leaving it outside my shirt so it's visible. If Guerrero has men inside, I want them to know who is coming for his girl. I want him to know who's coming for him. check over my Glock before holstering it with the holster clip unfastened to allow me to draw it quickly if need be.
Brady does the same with his and then grins at me. "Let's do this," he says, holding out his fist for me to bump it.
"Let's go," I mutter and bump his first before climbing from his Rover. I keep my eyes on the house as we jog across the street, but nothing moves. I scan the area anyway, looking for any signs that Guerrero has his people watching the house. Aside from a couple climbing into separate cars halfway down the block and three little girls skipping toward the bus stop at the corner, there's no one around.
Brady hits the buzzer on the gate as soon as we step up to it.
I position myself near a column in case we need to duck for cover.
The intercom buzzes.
"Can I help you?" a woman asks.
"My name is Brady Kaplan, and this is my partner Roman Gregory," Brady says. "We're with the ATF. We're here to speak to Selena Ortega."
The woman is silent for a brief moment. "Hold your badge up, please."
Brady lifts his up with a finger and turns in a circle.
"Now his, please."
