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Rafael lifted an eyebrow. “An asshole?”
“A liar.”
“I’m not lying! I swea—” I narrowed my eyes, and he stopped himself. Inhaling a labored breath, he started again, choosing his words more carefully. “Okay, fine. But you won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“It’s Marisol Muñoz. She’s calling herself Adriana Carrera now.” He smiled, his teeth coated in a thin layer of blood. “But I guess you’d know that better than anyone.” When I didn’t answer, his smile wavered. “Come on, Harcourt. If someone was after Val or Mateo, would you hand them over to the enemy? You’d do the same thing in my position.”
He was right. I’d hold on to that shit until my dying breath.
He took my silence as an affirmation, his confidence elevating. “As long as you need a name, you needed me.”
Only, I didn’t. There was always another asshole left holding a smoking gun who eventually tucked his balls in his vagina and ran like a little bitch. Whether it took two more days or two months, I’d find him too.
This wasn’t the first time I had to fight my way out of a corner, and it wouldn’t be the last. Stopping my circling, I stood behind him and leaned in close. “Here’s the thing, José. I really don’t.”
With those last words, I stuffed his sock back in his mouth and pulled my gun from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. Aiming it at the back of his head, I pulled the trigger, watching as his broken body danced its way toward death.
“You know what to do.”
Rafael dipped his chin in acknowledgment as I wiped my hands on a handkerchief from the breast pocket of my suit jacket. When not a speck of blood remained on my skin, I left them both and stepped back out into the pouring rain
I didn’t waste time with small talk.
I had a queen to catch.
Chapter Three
Adriana
Appraising myself in the mirror, my lip twitched, curling up on one side. I looked the part. The pencil-thin black skirt fit like a glove, just as I suspected it would. The snug white blouse was a different story, but it’d have to suffice.
Sometimes assets were a liability.
No one would ever mistake the woman looking back at me for the one who stepped off that bus. Disguise had always been my specialty. Growing up in a family as notorious as mine, blending in wasn’t just a learned skill, it was basic survival. There was always an enemy lurking around the corner, just waiting for me to let my guard down.
The air was thick with justice, and it was time a certain counselor choked on it.
My heels clicked against the polished tile as I made my way toward the lobby elevator.
People crammed into the tiny box like migrants sneaking across the border. My chest tightened, but I forced myself to join them, tapping the toe of my high heel as the elevator stopped on each floor, depositing and acquiring passengers.
Fourth floor.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Fifth floor.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
We made it to the seventh floor when a woman behind me let out an exaggerated sigh. “Do you mind?”
She looked like the woman I used to be—a revelation that made me want to sink a blade deep in her chest while watching that pretty white shirt turn dark red.
Stirrings I hadn’t felt in close to a year swirled in the pit of my stomach, and I shuddered with anticipation. A part of me I thought had faded away sprang to life. Slipping into my old skin was like coming home.
I could’ve stopped. I should’ve stopped. Adriana Carrera would’ve stopped. Unfortunately, there was still a tiny piece of Marisol Muñoz left inside me, and she stopped for no one.
