Page 121 of Sacrifice
"Los Coyotes?"
"Maybe. No concrete intel, just..." He shrugs. "Feelings."
Six months ago, I would have dismissed 'feelings' as nothing more than being paranoid.
Now I know better.
In this life, paranoia keeps you breathing. W
e dealt with El Martillo's crew—brutally, efficiently—but Los Coyotes didn't become a powerful cartel by giving up easily.
They're out there, regrouping, planning.
We all know they'll come again eventually.
"We'll be ready," I tell him, running my fingers through his hair. "We're always ready."
"I know." He kisses my palm. "Doesn't mean I like it. Having you here, knowing you're a target because of me..."
"Stop." I frame his face, force him to meet my eyes. "We've had this conversation. Elfe and I are here by choice. Our choice. And we're not helpless victims anymore."
He smiles slightly. "No, you're definitely not. Tor's still traumatized from when you outshot him at the range last week."
"He shouldn't have bet against me."
"Nobody bets against you anymore. You've taken all their money."
"Good." I kiss him quick. "Now stop brooding. We have dinner to prepare for."
Sunday dinners have become sacred.
Once a month, my parents come over, and we pretend to be a normal family.
Well, as normal as you can be with three massive protection dogs and enough hidden weapons to arm a small country.
"Is your brother coming?" Emil asks.
"He texted last night. Should be here by two." I glance at the clock—barely seven AM. "Which gives us plenty of time to get ready."
"Good morning beautiful people!" Elfe's voice carries from her room, followed by Luna's excited barking. "Who made coffee and why wasn't I invited?"
She appears in the doorway, hair in a messy bun, wearing skull-print pajamas and fuzzy slippers.
Luna orbits around her, tail creating a lethal weapon of joy.
"Emil's having feelings," I inform her. "Pre-coffee feelings."
"Gross." She pours herself a mug. "What kind of feelings?"
"The kind where he worries about us," I say.
"Double gross." She drops into a chair, and Luna immediately rests her head on Elfe's knee. "We've been over this, Emil. Saga can outshoot half your club, and I've got a mean right hook now. Plus, you know, the three hellhounds."
"Security assets," Emil corrects automatically.
"Right. The security assets who sleep in my bed and beg for belly rubs."
Odin chooses that moment to pad in, yawning massively.
