Page 46 of The Love Language of the Cartel

“Tell them to open the gates,” Demi instructed.

“No.”

“I know my father. He’s not going to back down until I’m on the other side of that gate.”

Instinctively, I gritted my teeth as my hand let go of hers to brush against the weapon holstered on my right hip.I knew she was right, but I still didn’t trust it.

“Please. It’s the only way to stop this.”

I sighed before signaling for the gates to open slightly.

Then, without notice, Demi broke into a dash. “Demi, stop!” I called out, my voice cracking through my clenched jaw, but she didn’t listen.

I broke out after her, halting only a couple of feet away when I saw her fling her arms around her father, burying her face in his broad shoulder. For a heartbeat in time, everything seemed to freeze, and I felt the icy sting of disloyalty twist inside my chest. My jaw tightened so hard I thought I’d crack my teeth. My doubt continued to blossom as negative thoughts danced through my head—had she led me into a fuckin’ trap? Would she choose her family over me and everything I could give her? For the first time, I didn’t know if Demi was riding for me or if she was riding against me. It was a scary feeling, and I wasn’t the kind of man who was easily spooked.

Then, her soft voice sliced through the chaos. “Daddy, please stop this!” she pleaded as she drew back to look him in the eyes. “Ozias told me about your plans to force us to get an annulment so that you can marry me off to some Russian businessman to strengthen your alliances. I don’t want to be a pawn anymore, Daddy. I won’t do it.”

I watched her father’s expression darken as his jaw tightened like mine. “You’remydaughter, and you’ll do as you’re told,” he growled, his tone thick with malice.

“No!” she shot back, her tone sharp as a blade. “I’m done being treated like a pawn one minute and a piece of property the next! I’m not going back to Chicago with you. I choose to stay here with him. No annulment. No war. If you love me, you’ll agree to walk away without bloodshed.”

For a second, her father stared her down. His stormy features were a blend of wrath and surprise. Then he straightened his spine, and his expression turned as hard as granite. “Oh, younaïve little bitch. Don’t you know blood is the love language of the cartel? That’s what you’re choosing to stay married to, which means you’re no daughter of mine,” he hissed, his tone sharp like the crack of a whip.

A muffled gunshot went off, and a sharp gasp from her lips split the air before Demi’s body jerked violently. Her eyes widened in shock as she stumbled, her hand clutching her stomach. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as her body doubled over and her knees buckled beneath her. She pulled her hand away to see a pool of crimson on her palm.

“No!” I yelled, my voice tearing from my throat, raw and gruff. Everything around me blurred as the sounds of the fight faded into the distance. All I could see was her, falling in excruciatingly slow motion. I lunged forward, catching her just before her head hit the cold, hard pavement.

Amid the chaos, her eyes fluttered open, and a tear slipped out the corner of her eye as she clung to me. “I-I. H-he s-shot . . .”

“Shh,mi amor,” I whispered as I cradled her in my arms. Blood seeped through her fingers, staining both our hands. “You’re . . . okay,” I murmured, though my voice was weak.

Cyrus’s action had unleashed full-on anarchy. The battle was deafening—gunfire crackling, shouts echoing, and the smell of smoke and blood filling the air as I shouted orders to my men, signaling the snipers on the roof and then the men on the ground to attack without mercy. Wrath ignited me, a fire in my chest that burned more than any tequila, burning away any fear and hesitation inside me. I moved like a man possessed by the devil himself, shielding Demi as I navigated us through the battlefield and back into the mansion.

I gently laid her down, my jaw set into a hard line and eyes blazing with a savage intensity to rip her father and his men to tiny shreds. A loud roar came out of me as I summoned forsomeone to get her medical assistance. She was losing more and more blood by the second and we didn’t have a minute to spare. Rising to my feet, I turned back toward the fight, my war cry slicing through the night.

Above me, the moon hung high in the sky as the darkness stretched on for miles. The stars were barely detectable behind the curtain of gun smoke, wandering like lost souls through the night air. The ground beneath my feet was littered with expended shell casings, blood, bodies, and broken glass.

The grounds continued to erupt into a warzone, with echoing cracks and flashes of deadly gunfire. I didn’t give a fuck. My eyes quickly scanned the scene, searching for Demi’s father. Thoughts of Demi’s bleeding, helpless body danced through my head, powering my fury. He’d hurt my wife, my reason for existing, and he deserved a fate worse than death. Our feud had reached its boiling point, and neither of us was willing to back down. It was a big joker, little joker situation, and I wasn’t about to get bitched.

My chest swelled with a deep breath as I reached for a grenade from my vest, pulled the pin, and launched it ten yards forward, firing as I moved closer, dead set on ending everything for good. Seconds later, the blast rocked the Earth, throwing my enemies to the ground. I plunged deeper into the chaos, my gun blazing, each shot fired with remorseless accuracy. My men assembled behind me, inspired by my rage.

Gunfire sizzled through the air. I ducked behind an overturned truck, sweat trickling down my furrowed brow as I holstered my empty weapon and picked up a nearby assault rifle. My heart jackhammered against my ribs as I shot up, advancing forward with my AK raised, finger trained on the trigger. I fired at the hood of one of his flaming vehicles, bullets cracking against the bulletproof truck, sending fragments and gold sparks flying through the sky like fireworks.

For a blink in time, Cyrus and I locked eyes across the frontlines, both realizing that if we continued, one of us wouldn’t live to see the sunrise. I had every intention of that being him. Soon, the tide began to turn, and Cyrus’s men began to succumb to the attack.

But my mind was on tunnel vision. Things had gone too far and burned too deep to abandon. It wasn’t a fight for survival, dominance, or power—it was fuckin’ personal. Every order I barked, every kill shot I took, was my solemn vow to my wife: Cyrus Malone would pay for what he did in this life and the next.

Demi

Two days later.

The first thing I noticed was the quiet. There was no hum of machines, no distant echo of footsteps—just an unnatural, pressing stillness.Am I dead? Is this Heaven?

My eyelids slowly fluttered open, and I scanned the room. The soft light of the chandelier overhead signaled that I wasn’t in just any hospital. The room had artwork displayed on earth-tone-colored walls and lavish seating for visitors throughout the spacious area. It was as private as it was posh and faintly smelled of antibacterial supplies and fresh-cut roses.

Turning my head to the left, I spotted him—Ozias, slouched in a plush recliner chair beside my bed with his hand wrapped around mine. His clothes were wrinkled, and the faint bags under his eyes hinted at more than one sleepless night. He looked up the moment I tried to slip my hand away.

“You’re awake,” he said, relief evident in his voice. He leaned closer, brushing a strand of dry hair from my face.

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