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“Muñeca, is this because I haven’t given you a ring? I do have to admit; I should’ve rectified that years ago. Probably would have saved me the trouble of meeting with that piece of shit. I can’t believe my father thought the Skeletons of Society MC would be worthy of working for me.” A sigh left his lips. “But oh well, it is done. For the time being.”

Mario took my stunned silence as an opportunity to lean forward and grab my hand, pulling it to his mouth and placing a kiss on my ring finger. The sincerity in his words was visible in his eyes.

“I’ll get you a ring now, Muñeca,” he commented.

What kind of fucked-up dream was I having? Thirty minutes ago, I was hot and bothered watching a man choke someone for me. I was ready to let Gunner take me against a wall. Any wall. Fuck, all the walls.

Now, I stood, letting my mouth open and close like a fish—idiota.

Mario was serious about this whole fiancée business. All the conversations about moving me to Mexico with him came rushing back. Nikki was right. I should’ve put a stop to his obsession years ago. Because now here I stood, apparently fucking engaged.

The flash of betrayal that I witnessed on Gunner’s face was the worst part of this whole situation. And I hadn’t helped anything with my silence. How the fuck would I go about fixing a shit show like this?

“Oh, hey. Remember how Mario told you I was his fiancée, and I didn’t say shit? Yeah, well, I’m not his fiancée, and I think we should have sex.”

I took a deep breath, deciding to rip the Band-Aid off when it came to Mario. But I would be fucking lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about how he would react. I’d seen a man die for sitting in a chair Mario decided was his. He said disrespect was a killable offense. How would he take me breaking off an engagement?

Santa Muerte, please let me not get shot before I make out with the biker. Amen.

“Mario, we aren’t together, not romantically. Weren’t you out with someone a few weeks ago? I care for you. Or, I mean, I owe you this whole world you brought me into. And I’m thankful you’ve kept me around all these years.” I paused my blabbering, cringing at my word vomit. God, this was a shitty breakup speech.

“But we aren’t engaged…” I rushed out, my eyes closing, waiting to hear him yell.

My eyes popped back open when nothing happened, searching his face for any sign that I might be taking my last breath. The chill in his gaze was as unnerving as the cruel smile that appeared. He stood up, closing the distance between us. His fingers curled under my chin, tilting it to make eye contact.

“Oh, my little Muñeca. Still so naive. You’ve always been—and will always be—mine.” He said the last word with a possessive tone that made my skin crawl.

Then his lips brushed against my ear. “I’ll share you with no one, Muñeca. I claimed you for myself long ago and have done many things to ensure you stay with me. I suggest you remember that,” he whispered.

A chill ran down my spine at his words. Like so many things he said lately, it felt like there was more to what he was saying than the words themselves. Leaning forward, he kissed the top of my head before making his way toward the door.

The feeling of dread was suffocating.

I sat down in my office chair, hanging my head in my hands. What the fuck was happening right now? And why was I most worried about how Gunner had reacted?

“Fuck, I need a margarita and a good lay,” I breathed out.

Too bad the person I wanted to fuck me up against a wall thought I was engaged to the heir of the cartel his MC was working for. An heir who was speaking in creepy riddles and didn’t seem to grasp the concept of me not being engaged to him.

Oh, and Gunner was probably pissed that I let him flirt with me while lying to him about being with Mario. It wasn’t true, but I sure as fuck hadn’t corrected this whole situation moments ago.

Fuck.

Lotería was closed tonight thanks to Mario needing it for Dios knows what. So I was going to go home, binge-watch trashy shows, and pretend to live a normal fucking life.

One season.

I gave myself one season of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills to throw a pity party and get in touch with my emotions. Then it was time to be a bad bitch again. Meaning stabby and aggressive.

Was that healthy? Definitely not, but I couldn’t care less. It felt better to put on my strong bitch attitude than my whiny, worry-over-men one. Too bad for everyone else, I wouldn’t be putting up with anyone’s shit, so they better come to work on their best behavior.

I strode into Lotería’s loading area, ready to assess what flaming pile of shit Mario was leaving on my doorstep now.

“Of course it’s fucking chaos in the warehouse,” I mumbled in irritation, taking deep breaths and reminding myself it was bad to shoot people.

My eyes caught on Robert shoving his finger into the chest of one of Mario’s lackeys. All the men were supposed to work for Los Muertos, but the ones Mario kept close definitely seemed to only bend to his will.

Good thing I loved breaking men.