“You heard me,” she says.
I look down at her. “Yeah, baby. I heard you.”
Her mouth tightens at baby, but she doesn’t correct me this time.
We move.
I scoop her up because she can argue later when the building ain’t full of armed assholes and chemical roses. She curses in Spanish against my shoulder the second her feet leave the ground.
“Put me down.”
“No.”
“Shady.”
“File a complaint.”
“I’ll file my foot up your ass.”
“Good. Means you’re feeling better.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I.”
She goes quiet, and I hate that more than the cussing.
I carry her through the roses while Vice covers our left and Diablo clears the way ahead. Magic and Six finish what is left of the resistance with ugly efficiency. Boca moans near the chair as we pass, clutching his shoulder.
Lady twists in my arms, eyes locking on him.
Boca smiles through blood. Stupid man. “Ask him, muñequita.”
I stop so fast Vice nearly runs into me.
Boca coughs and grins wider, teeth red. “Ask him about Cherry’s baby.”
Lady goes still in my arms.
There is the knife.
Not in my ribs.
In hers.
I hand Lady to Diablo before I know I’m doing it.
Diablo takes her because he knows murder when it moves.
“Shady,” Vice warns.
Too late.
I cross the distance, grab Boca by the front of his shirt, and drag him halfway off the floor. Pain makes him scream. I put my face close to his.
“You say her name again, I peel it off your tongue.”
He laughs, shaking. “Which one?”