Page 92 of Shameless Vows

My hand drags down her face and rests on the side of her neck. I’m looking at her, but she’s not looking at me. Her teary eyes are wide and focused on something behind me, and though I know this woman’s face better than anything in the world, her expression is suddenly unreadable.

I don’t know who or what is back there, and now I don’t know if she’s actually in the clear.

“Isla.”I drag in another excruciating breath, and there’s nothing I can do now.“I failed you. I’m sorry.”

INTERIM

JOAQUIN

Present

WHAT-WHAT!

Hey, Reader! I know what you’re thinking.

Why the fuck am I here right now, right?

Yeah?

Well, I’m gonna friggin’ tell you.

Lemme tell you first about the fuckin’ traffic coming back to Southampton from JFK.Dude, it is fuckingwhack.It’s almost as whack as Papá not letting me use one of the company jets to spend the week in Ibiza, but I digress.

Since I had to fly friggin’commercial—ugh—my flight got delayed, and then I got caught up in a fuckin’ rat race of people leaving the city. That doubled my drive time, and now I’m not getting back to the house until way the hell into the night.

Fuckme, I need friggin’drink.

Ugh.

At least by the time I’m passing the golf club, everything has cleared up, and I get to my street at a little after nine. And once I get inside, it is gonna be whiskey o’clock.

Pausing next to the keypad, I punch in the code and wait for the iron gates to pull open, drumming my fingers on the wheel and thinking about my scrumptious morning with a hot little number I met last night in one of the clubs. She didn’t speak a lick of EnglishorSpanish. It was allFrench, andooh-la-la, indeed.

I smirk to myself, practically still feeling her skin under my fingers, and pull forward—only to stomp the brakes when something on the drive comes into view. I can sort of make it out in the distance, so I flip on the high beams, and—

Holy fuck.

That isdefinitelyone of Mal’s security guys that have been stationed at our place since Isla came back, and he isdefinitelydead.

Just past him are more of Mal’s guys, and they are definitely dead, too.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on at my house right now, but shit has clearly gone down. And about a million instances from my entire life practically scream that our Californiaprimoshave finally made good on all the threats they’ve spewed to Papá over the years.

And that means it’s fuckinggo time.

Flipping off the headlights, I pull the car around the friggin’ bodies—fuck. Poor fuckin’ bastards.

The guest cottage is my destination because there’s a closet in there with all those beautiful hunting rifles that we previously only broke out for boujee autumn deer hunts with all the snooty friggin’ society bros in Southampton. And deer hunting was never really my thing, but Papá insisted that we kept up with the Joneses around here, so I fuckin’ learned. I learned enough that I know I can take down whoever is all up in my house threatening my family right now.

The first bead of fear-fueled sweat trickles down my back as I shift into park behind the guest cottage and step out of the car.

At least, I hope they’re stilljustthreatening my family right now, and seriously,fuck traffic. God damn.

I should’ve been here sooner, and if my whole fucking family isn’t dead before the night is over, I’m gonna tell Papáthisis why he needs to let me use the friggin’ company jets.Shit.

Anyway, the guest cottage is dark and empty the way it always is when we’re not hosting people, so that means these fuckin’cholosare all in the main house. Good. I know every discreet service entrance to the house, all the hidden hallways intended for staff to slip into parties and slip out unnoticed, and thevatoswon’t know what hit them.

A Remington thirty-aught-six seems like the best option for this particular hunt, but it only holds five rounds, and I don’t know how many men are in there. So, I load up the pockets of my blazer with extra ammo and hope for the friggin’ best.

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