I flinched, dizzy from the lack of blood flow, all of it having rushed out of my head and into my feet, and I shivered from the sudden cold. Milo’s venomous words wrapped around my throat, squeezing tight and rendering me speechless. Silence fell like a thick curtain throughout the foyer and Jag stopped struggling. He went completely still for the first time since storming through the front door. It was so quiet I could hear the loud whooshing of my heartbeat thudding behind my ears.
“Let go of me,” Jag rasped, breaking the silence. His voice was a low growl, his words a sharp staccato as he took shallow
breaths, rapidly exhaling against the unforgiving wall.
The Man in Black immediately removed his hands from his boss and stepped away. Milo, however, remained in place, pushing against Jag’s back, wrenching Jag’s arm further up between his shoulder blades at a painful angle. Milo’s furious gaze never left mine, despite his boss’s orders. His focus on me was so singular, I wondered if he even heard Jag speak.
Shaken to the core, my mouth and throat went dry. I licked my chapped lips and there was no moisture to wet them. If looks could kill, I’d be dead a thousand times from Milo’s loathing glare.
“If you don’t get your fucking hands off of me this second, you won’t live to see tomorrow.” It was Jag’s pointed threat that finally snapped Milo out of his trance. Milo sneered and released me from his predatory stare. I gasped as I inhaled, not aware I had been holding my breath throughout the standoff.
The second Milo let go of Jag’s arm Jag spun in a blur of motion and slammed his lieutenant to the opposite wall, pressing a thick forearm against Milo’s throat. Jag magically produced the biggest, scariest knife I’d ever laid eyes on, and held the black serrated blade to Milo’s cheek, eyes blazing and teeth bared.
Holy shit…
13
Boss
Tonight was a clusterfuck of epic proportions. Los Guerreros caught the men Milo assigned to follow their boss, El Cuchillo, and executed them without contacting me or giving me a heads-up. It was an unspoken code to notify another boss if you intended on killing his men—deals were put together, lives spared, compromises made. Not that fucking piece of shit bastard. He sliced through Seven and Jimmy’s throats right outside his compound, in full view of our other team. I had no doubt he did it on purpose to antagonize me into a war. I obviously underestimated how insulted El Cuchillo was when I turned down his offer to enter the sex trade.
If that motherfucker wanted a goddamn war, that was exactly what he’d fucking get.
I was at my base of operations when we got word of the executions. George went ballistic, with Jimmy being a childhood friend. The two of them joined up under the old boss and were as close as brothers. I was pissed, not only because my men were brutally murdered, but also because I honestly didn’t think Cuchillo had the balls to start a war with me. The fact that he did, and did it so brutally, only meant one thing. Brick in Houston had accepted his deal and the two of them had joined forces. They were going to try to overthrow my operation and take Austin for themselves.
And they might actually succeed.
By the time we pacified George and gathered our men for an emergency meeting at my house, I was agitated to the point of losing my shit and it was my turn being the one who had to be calmed.
We rode in three big SUVs back to the house. The second mine stopped, I flung open the door and stormed into the house, my body exploding in a torrent of rage and my vision tinged with red.
“Goddamn fucking motherfucking shithole cuntfaced bastard! I’m going to rip him into tiny pieces with my bare hands!”
“Get your shit together, Boss!”
I whirled around at Milo’s reprimand, ready for a fight. Needing a fight. Anything to let out the anger and frustration caused by the overwhelming feeling of failure. Two of my men would never come back, and it weighed heavy on my mind.
“Shut the fuck up, Milo!” I strode up to him and bumped his chest with mine. I could see Milo attempting to hold back. His jaw pulsed and his eyes blazed with fire. Stupid prick wanted to hit me. Badly.
“We can’t win this thing if we can’t sit down and make a goddamn plan because you’re too busy having a hissy fit,” Milo threw back.
“Fuck you!” I put my palms on the big man’s chest and shoved. Milo stumbled back, his eyes wide. He recovered quickly, red-faced and seething. Milo straightened his suit jacket and lifted a single cocky eyebrow.
“Like I said before, maybe having pussy living in your house is rubbing off on you, making you all emotional and shit. Hell, it made you turn down the deal Cuchillo offered. A good deal that would make us a lot of fucking money. What’s the problem, you got PMS or something, Boss?”
At the mention of Miri, I fucking snapped. With a roar, I lowered my head and charged Milo. I smashed into him and his back collided with a glass cabinet filled with little pieces of expensive bullshit. Milo grunted when I knocked the wind out of him. The cabinet went crashing to the tile floor, exploding with a loud bang followed by the sound of shattering glass.
“Don’t fucking go there with me, Milo!”
My lieutenant stood and pushed me back. Pissed and desperate to unleash my rage, to cause pain, I cocked my fist to take a swing. Someone behind me grabbed my arm, holding me back from killing my right-hand man.
“Boss, calm down.”
The low whisper in my ear did nothing to lessen my fury. In fact, I only fought harder. Milo jumped in and took hold of my other arm, using it to maneuver me into submission. The two men pinned me against the wall while I kicked and demanded to be released. In all my years of working in this business, this was only the second time I had ever lost control. The first was when I found out my little sister was dead. I remembered how that moment felt as if it happened yesterday.
Out of control. Unable to change anything. Helpless. A failure.
“Get the fuck out of here, bitch!” Milo’s snarling words made me freeze, my struggle stopping abruptly. There was only one woman in the mansion he could possibly be speaking to. The housekeeper and cook wouldn’t be here this late at night. Just like that, my red-tinged fury iced over, morphing into a cloak of lethal blackness.