“You’re carrying our child. Is it really so hard to accept?”
She opens the hand that cradles her stomach, staring down at it like it holds the answers. “Yes,” she breathes. “I never wanted this.”
I give a caustic laugh that does nothing to lessen my blooming fury. “Well you better get used to it because neither of you are going anywhere.”
I am the king of the entire world; I picked her, a lowly former soldier and an emissary of one of the conquered lands to be my wife. Queen of the planet. Who is she to reject me and my child—her child?
She needs to fucking accept that this is the way things are.
Serenity
THE KING THINKS he can keep me and this child of ours around. I still can’t think about the situation without a fresh wave of nausea passing through me.
“If Estes hasn’t already heard that we’ve survived, he will soon,” I say.
I can tell the king hates that I keep changing the subject. I don’t give a damn that he thinks I’m being subversive. He has no clue just how terrible the storm inside me is right now. I’m keeping it together only because we’re in danger.
“I have a safe house an hour from here,” he says.
“Do any South Americans know about it?” I ask.
“Some. You think it’s compromised?”
“The WUN—the Americas—don’t work the way the Eastern Empire does. Everyone here can be bought for a price, and if Estes is willing to fly in a fighter jet to gun us down, he sure as hell will be willing to pay off people for information.”
“I can pay more,” Montes argues.
He’s thinking like a rich foreigner.
“Yes,” I agree, “but Estes lives here. You don’t. This is someone else’s turf and the people here play by their rules, not ours. Trust me when I say that when we’re this close to death, people here are going to remain loyal to Estes for fear of his future retribution.”
“Then we’re going to have to kill him,” Montes says, grim.
“Yes.” If we cut off the head of the snake, the orders stop trickling down to Estes’s loyalists.
“Let’s be clear about one thing,” he says, “my first goal is to get you out of here alive. All our actions will stem from that.”
I reappraise my husband. He didn’t include himself in that statement. If we weren’t in the middle of a dire situation, the magnitude of his words might’ve hit me a little harder.
Something worse than my nausea rises up my throat. Something worse than grief and violence.
I love this broken, broken creature, and damn him to the pits of hell for making me feel it when I should hate him all over again. If I could reason or suppress it away, I would. If I could crush it by sheer force of will, I would.
“Alright,” I say, working to make my voice even, “we’re clear about that.”
“We need to strike before Estes has time to regroup.”
Now this is the king I’m familiar with.
Already the humidity of this place has my hair sticking to the nape of my neck. I squint my eyes and look at the horizon. “Let’s go pay the bastard a house call.”
BY THE TIME we near Estes’s estate, Montes and I have plotted out a rough strategy to kill the man. One that involves liberal use of explosives.
Neither of us know whether the man will be inside, but smug assholes like Estes are fairly predictable. Right now I’m both desperate enough and sure enough to bet all our lives on his being home.
I move back to the bed of the jeep and swap out the machine gun for a rifle. “If we live through this, I’m having a stiff drink,” I mutter.
“Better ask those stars of yours to grant your wish, nire bihotza,” Montes calls out behind me. “I’m not letting you anywhere near the alcohol cabinet when we get back.”
I smirk. I don’t know if the king’s aware of it or not, but banter like this calms my nerves before fights.
The car curves down the road, and ahead of us I catch sight of watchtowers posted on either side of the entrance to Estes’s estate. Two grim-faced guards manage them.
“Are you ready?” I say, lining up my sights. Once I shoot, things will happen very quickly.
“Do it.”
I pull the trigger.
It takes seconds to shoot down the guards. I watch as one of their bodies tumbles from its post.
“Hold on,” Montes warns.
I brace myself against the jeep’s frame as we barrel towards the gates. Our car rams into the wrought iron fence. Metal groans and then, with an agonizing shriek, it rips away completely.
It’s almost anti-climactic, driving guns a-blazing onto a quiet estate. But it doesn’t stop me from taking position once more. I begin picking off guards stationed outside the house one by one as they struggle to grab their weapons and take position themselves. I don’t give any of them time to aim. As soon as my sites lock on heads or chests, I shoot.
Our vehicle comes to a halt, and Montes joins me at the back of the Jeep. His normally coiffed hair is wild. Dirt and ash mar his skin and clothes. He has rolled up his shirt sleeves, and a bulletproof vest encases his chest. This Montes belongs on the battlefield; he looks like he was born to the profession. I definitely like this version of him better.
He bends and grabs a grenade. Flashing me a smile that looks even whiter than usual, he pulls the pin and launches it at one of the windows while I continue to take out anything that moves.