Page 90 of LA Reign

Together with my men, I have been raining terror on the streets of LA. The word is out that anybody who knows anything about the attempted hit on my father must come forward or pay the price. I’ve also let it be known that if someone willingly provides information we need, they will also be handsomely rewarded. Despite offering both the carrot and the fucking stick, or in this case the long nose pliers, nobody has said a damn thing.

I don’t especially enjoy torturing people, but I have no qualms at all about doing it when it’s necessary. I’d never ask my men to do a job I wasn’t willing to do myself.

But…I will admit it is all starting to weigh on me. I still have the legitimate Montoya business to run, which is a full-time job by itself, in addition to tracking down the shooter and whoever paid them.

I gently slide Alana’s head from my arms, lay it on the pillow. Her curls spill over the sheets, and she murmurs my name in her sleep. Fuck. She really is perfection. I didn’t mean to come home and do what we just did. I had in mind a romantic dinner, maybe a movie. Something to try and remind her of what our normal life can look like. If we ever have such a thing as a normal life.

Instead, I ended up fucking her in her perfect ass, that vibrator in her perfect pussy. Fuck, the sounds she made! She is spectacular. I suspect that even now, while she sleeps, I could let my hand drift below the sheets, down between her legs, and find her already wet…

No. I snatch my hand away as it starts to do exactly that.

That would lead to more sex, and while I’m already hard at the thought, I don’t have the time. We’ve spent some quality time together, admittedly the filthy kind, and now I need to leave her in peace and get back to work.

I climb silently out of the bed and dress in some sweatpants and a T-shirt. I give her one last glance before I leave, and my heart contracts at the sight of her. Arms splayed out wide, plump lips parted, one rounded breast spilling from the covers to tempt me. I’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful, so sweet. Despite her high sex drive and her willingness to try anything in the bedroom, there really is a kind of innocence to my wife. She’s good and pure, and that sometimes gives me pause for thought. Makes me wonder if she’d have had a better life away from all the Montoya drama.

No, I tell myself, shaking my head as I leave the room. I’m being self-indulgent. She loves me as much as I love her, and this is the kind of love you can never turn your back on.

I pad quietly down the stairs, seeing a light on in Lucia’s room. Magda is done for the day, and the house feels quiet and settled. Guards are outside, and all is well. We’re safe.

Except I never feel like we’re safe these days, and I won’t until that shooter is found.

I head into my office and immediately boot up my laptop. I deal with the business emails I’ve been ignoring, give Samuel some instructions, and read through the various reports that Jax has sent to me. More and more, we’re convinced that my father’s attack was an inside job. There are too many factors for it to be coincidence.

Jax has been doing deep dives on everybody, including those closest to me. Ones I trust with not only my life, but the lives of those who mean the world to me. The guards at Phillipe’s house, my aunt, and my mama. The team my father uses in San Diego. Even my own hand-picked elite, Hank and Hugo. Not even Jacob and Magda are spared Jax’s probe.

It makes me feel guilty, investigating their lives like this. But not guilty enough to stop. I can trust no one outside my family.

So far, nothing, which is both a relief and a frustration.

My phone buzzes, and predictably enough it’s another pile of messages landing from my Uncle Carlos. All of them basically say the same thing: why haven’t you found the man who tried to kill your father? He might use different words and ask different questions, but at the heart of it, he’s furious with me. For being away when my papa needed me, for failing to track down the shooter.

I sigh and lean back in my chair. My back is sore, my head is pounding, and for fuck’s sake, I kind of agree with him. I always say I’m doing everything I can, but am I doing enough?

My father is still lying in his hospital bed, with a long recovery ahead of him. He almost fucking died. Someone, somewhere is laughing at us and possibly planning a further attack. Papa is guarded in hospital, but no system is perfect. What if the shooter comes back to finish the job? What if his employers change tack, and go for someone else instead? How could we survive it if my mama was taken, or Alana? Even my asshole Uncle Carlos might not be safe, and he’s blood.

I need to protect him. I need to protect everyone.

So far, I’m doing a shit job of it. And today I came home early and fucked my wife in the ass. It was great, but I really didn’t have the time. I should have stayed at the hotel. It’s impossible for me to be around her and not want to fuck her. She is the ultimate distraction.

I stare at the framed photo of her on my desk. It was taken while we were away at my beach house, and she is radiant. I soften, reach out, and stroke the picture. “Ti quiero, princesa,” I murmur.

I love her. But to keep her safe, to keep everyone safe, I need to get my head out of my ass, or hers, and really focus. I can’t rest until I’ve finished this job. I will work through the night, this night and all the others, until I succeed.

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

ALANA

After that night together, where he showed me exactly how much I enjoyed both my doors being taken, I didn’t see Alejandro for several days.

We’ve spoken briefly on the phone. I’ve picked up from Hugo that he’s super busy, but we haven’t been awake and in the same room for so long now. It makes my heart hurt. At the same time, I also know he is under pressure. I will not add to his burden. I try to keep busy with work, I do yoga, I help Lucia with a few school projects. I even start some online Spanish lessons. I don’t sit around crying, but I do miss him, terribly.

Half an hour ago, though, I heard his car pull into the driveway. The doors slam, and he shares a few incomprehensible words with someone. Jacob, maybe.

I was lying awake in our bed, burning with the need to be with him. Not just for sex, but for the simple pleasure of being with him. I never feel complete when we are apart. I don’t know if that makes me pathetic or very, very lucky.

I sit up in bed, my once sleepy eyes now wide. He’s home! After spending so many hours at the hotel, he’s finally home.