Page 35 of Ink

Using my nails, I gouged through his fucking eyes like we were taught. He cried out and jerked away from me and my fist struck, hitting him in the jugular.

He choked and I heaved up with all my might, shoving him off me. I scrambled away from him, my body shaking and yet determined. He hauled on my pant legs, trying to pull me back towards him, but I was faster. My fingers closed around a gun and I whirled–

A shot rang out and he slumped forward. Nothing but a cadaver oozing blood from his chest.

But I hadn’t…

“Xiomara!”

I looked over the dead man’s shoulder and found Ink, gun in hand, rushing in my direction.

And the sight of him, so close, so fucking close, made me feel one thing. My lips curled into a smile as he dropped to his knees beside me, shoving the body away. He pulled me into his arms.

“You’re safe,” he whispered. “You’re safe now, Xio. Te tengo. You’re safe.”

And as my eyes closed into a blissful sleep, I felt it down to my bones.

Chapter Sixteen

Xiomara

A few months later…

Myfiststruckout,punching Ink in the arm.

He jerked back in surprise, wincing before he glared down at me. “The fuck, Vieja?”

“Don’t you Vieja me, cabrón!”

Though the nickname did always make me melt, I was not having it right then.

It started weeks ago. He’d started acting super cagey. Dodging me when I was around, refusing to take off his shirt when we fucked. I knew there was only one explanation.

He was stepping out on me with one of the club putas.

“Who?” I demanded.

His brows furrowed. “Who what, wild woman?”

“Was it Yasmín?” I demanded.

That one had tried sinking her claws into Ink right in front of my very own eyes. Always draping herself over him like she fucking owned him, like she was his Vieja when I was the one with his name tattooed across my breast. I’d gotten into fisticuffs with her so often that the club brothers had started placing bets any time we were in the same room.

I always won.

Of course.

If I could beat three men to death with a bat and kill three with a gun in a warehouse, with a bullet in my shoulder, bruised ribs, and a broken toe, I could fucking end her. Fuck around and find out.

“What about Yasmín?”

I punched him again. My rage rose to an astronomical scale. I was sure I was shouting, drawing clubhouse eyes in our direction. I didn’t give a fuck. Somewhere behind us, I was sure I heard my ma whispering a prayer for patience.

“Stop pretending to be innocent. You’re fucking her, aren’t you?” I hit him again, letting my rage fly. “Why else don’t you take your fucking shirt off, huh? You hiding hickeys under there, pendejo?”

I sent my fist flying, only Ink caught it that time. I tried to yank myself from his hold, but he held firm.

“Benny Juárez, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me go this instant.”

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