Diego smiled. “Was that so hard?”
Looking confused, McLintock actually tried to smile back even as his eyes flickered closed.
Diego fired a hard glance at Mario. “Find the woman—this Susan. Bring her in to me.”
McLintock drunkenly shook his head. “No. Susan...didn’t do this... She doesn’t know anything about—”
“A man’s lover always knows him better than anyone else.” That was why Diego made a habit of not leaving his lovers alive. They’d just betray him if they lived.
There was too much betrayal in the world.
His father had taught him that lesson early on. In Mexico, his father had amassed a fortune by dealing in the darkness. The law hadn’t applied to him. But...he’d always been so good to Diego. Given him a good life, nice clothes, toys. A home.
Diego had known his father was a dangerous man, but he’d trusted him. A boy trusted his father.
Until that night... He’d heard screams. He’d followed the cries. Found his mother dying, and his father—covered in her blood.
“She was selling me out!” His father had wiped the bloody blade of his knife on his pants. “Trying to make a deal with those Americans... She was going to take you away from me!”
His mother had looked like a beautiful angel. Lying on the ground, her white nightgown stained red.
“No one will take you from me!” his father had snarled. “They think they can use you against me, make me weak!”
His father had been so good to him before.
But Diego had seen the real man that night.
No one is good.
His father had stalked toward him with his knife. The knife he’d used to kill Diego’s mother. “No one can use you against me.”
And he’d known that his father had snapped. He’d cried as he looked at his mother and he’d realized— He’s going to kill me, too.
Only, Diego hadn’t been ready to die.
They’d fought. The knife had cut into Diego’s flesh. He still had the long scar on his stomach, a permanent reminder.
Trust no one. Especially not those close to you.
But Diego hadn’t died. At twelve, Diego had killed his father. Then when he’d walked out of that house, covered in blood, with the bodies of his mother and father behind him...
El Diablo.
His father’s men had given him a new name—and they’d feared him. Everyone had.
Diego realized that he was staring down at McLintock. The man was barely breathing, and the hope was almost painful to see in his bleary eyes.
Giving a slow nod, Diego stepped back. “You’ve given me the information that I needed.” And he was sure that Susan would be coming to join him very soon.
“You’ll let me go? Please?” The man’s voice was thready, so weak. No man should talk like that. Diego barely held his disgust in check. No man should beg. His father hadn’t begged.
“The knife,” Diego said as he opened his hand. Without any hesitation, Mario gave him the blade.
McLintock sighed raggedly. Did he think Diego was going to cut his bonds and let him go?
“You’re free,” Diego told him and drove the knife right into McLintock’s heart.
When he turned away from the body, he saw the fear...the respect...in Mario’s eyes.