"And you just squeeze the trigger," Car said calmly, her voice steady behind me.

  I adjusted my grip the way she showed me, my fingers tight around the handle of her 1911. The metal was cool and heavy in my hands—solid, deliberate. I took a breath, then another, and squeezed.

  The gun cracked sharply, the sound echoing across the open space. The recoil snapped back into my palms, a dull sting blooming through my wrists. The wooden target in the distance splintered where the bullet struck.

  "Woah," I breathed, staring down at the pistol like it had just come alive.

  The gun was absurdly beautiful—gold-pted, diamonds catching the light like tiny stars embedded in the metal. It felt wrong and mesmerizing at the same time, something both deadly and luxurious.

  "And you have more of these?" I asked, gncing over at Car.

  She was already smiling, that knowing, amused smile she got when she enjoyed watching me experience something new.

  "Oh yeah," she said easily. "Tons. I'll show you tomorrow—the garage. It's getting cleaned right now."

  That expined it. I gnced toward the garage, where workers still moved in and out, the sound of equipment faint in the distance. I looked back at the gun once more, my hands still buzzing from the recoil, my heart oddly steady.

  It scared me a little.

  But mostly—it made me feel trusted.

  "Where do you even get something like this made?" I asked, turning the pistol slightly so the light caught along the gold pting. I was careful with it, hyper-aware of the weight in my hands, keeping the barrel angled safely away from everyone.

  "Can you put it on safety?" I added, holding it out to her. "I wanna really look at it."

  Car took it from me with practiced ease. Her thumb flicked the safety on without her even gncing down, muscle memory smooth and confident. She handed it back, grip-first.

  Up close, I noticed the details I'd missed before.

  The barrel was engraved—clean, precise. The initials C and J, with a tiny bullet etched beneath them. On the other side, elegant and deliberate, were the words sombra. The letters caught the light just enough to stand out without screaming for attention.

  It was... beautiful. Not fshy in a cheap way—intentional. Personal.

  "I know some people," Car said casually, like she was talking about a tailor. "I pay a pretty penny, too."

  I traced the engraving with my eyes, my thumb hovering just short of the metal, afraid to smudge it somehow.

  "I want one someday," I said quietly.

  Not because of what it could do—but because of what it represented. The power... the status...

  "What gun?" Car asked immediately, eyes lighting up with interest. "And what do you want engraved on it? I can get it made right now if you want."

  I let out a soft ugh, shaking my head. The way she said it—so casually, like she was offering to order takeout—was almost surreal.

  "Let me think about it, Car," I said, still chuckling, trying to process how effortlessly she offered something like that.

  She studied me for a second, then smiled, that knowing smile that meant she'd already decided something.

  "I'm taking you shopping this weekend," she said. "I want to spoil you."

  Heat crept up my face before I could stop it. Being treated like this by her—wanted, prioritized, indulged—still felt unreal, like I was stepping into someone else's life.

  "You really don't—" I started, instinct kicking in, years of learning not to ask for too much.

  She leaned in and gently pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me. Her touch was warm, steady.

  "You don't have a choice, Miguel," she said softly, but with finality.

  I sighed, the tension leaving my shoulders as I gave in, a small smile tugging at my lips. "...Okay."

  "Jefa, alcaldesa de Guadajara quiere reunirse con usted ahora," (boss, the mayor of Guadajara wants to meet with you now) one of Car's most trusted guards announced, approaching us with a straight-backed posture.

  Car let out a low sigh and rolled her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration. "?En serio? ?Hoy?" (Really? Today?) she muttered, her voice tinged with irritation. The guard nodded once, silent and efficient.

  She exhaled sharply, her shoulders tightening for a moment. "Preparen el convoy y el avión," (prepare the convoy and pne) she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. The guard immediately turned and walked off, moving like a shadow.

  I looked up at her, curiosity piqued. "What's happening, Car?"

  She looped her arm through mine as she led me toward the house, her grip firm but comforting. "I've got some errands to run," she replied, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "The mayor of Guadajara wants a meeting. She's so annoying."

  I followed her into the living room, noting the faint tension in her stride. Even when irritated, Car carried herself with that quiet, dangerous authority that made everyone around her fall into step.

  "I'll be back soon, alright? Hopefully by tonight. Le's gonna be taking care of you," Car said, pointing toward one of the guards standing in the living room.

  My eyes nded on her, and I remembered—she was the one I had asked about when I first wondered where Car had gone.

  I gave a small wave, and she returned it with a polite smile. There was something calm and steady about her, a presence that made me feel a little safer.

  Car turned back to me, her gaze lingering for a moment. I walked over, and pressed my lips to hers. It wasn't just a quick peck—no, it was long, warm, and filled with the weight of everything we'd been through. Passionate. Real.

  "I love you," she whispered against my lips, her hand brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

  "I love you too, be careful" I replied, feeling my chest tighten as she pulled back with a soft smile, her eyes locking with mine one st time before she turned and left.

  I watched the door close, the quiet click echoing in the room. I sank back into the sofa, the weight of her absence settling in, but also a warmth in my chest from that kiss—proof that no matter what happened outside, I had her.

  Le soon settled beside me on the couch, the weight of her presence calm and deliberate. Her rifle was resting neatly at her side, angled just so, a subtle reminder of her readiness.

  "Hey, Le," I began, my voice hesitant but curious. "I have a question."

  She tilted her head slightly, her green eyes meeting mine, sharp and observant. "What's up?" she asked, the faintest hint of amusement in her tone.

  I turned to look out the huge windows of the living room, the fading light of the sun painting long shadows across the floor. "Do you have a nickname?" I asked. "Almost everyone I've met that works for Car has one."

  She chuckled softly, a low, confident sound. "La Bruja," she replied, her voice calm and measured. "I lead your girlfriend's bodyguard group... Grupo Sombra."

  I blinked, impressed. "Grupo Sombra..." I repeated, letting the words roll around in my mind.

  "We're all ex-special forces," she continued, leaning back slightly in the couch, arms crossed. "The government doesn't wanna pay us shit, so we came to work for your dy. She's good... she takes care of her own. And she takes care of us too."

  Her words hung in the air, heavy with loyalty and quiet authority. I looked at her, realizing that Car's world wasn't just about wealth or power—it was about people like Le, fiercely protective, and willing to risk everything for her. And now, somehow, that protection extended to me.

  "Do you have any family? A husband?" I asked cautiously, my curiosity outweighing the usual nerves I felt around her.

  Her face shifted instantly, the light in her eyes dimming, repced with a shadow I hadn't expected. She drew in a long, shaky breath.

  "My husband..." she began softly, her voice almost breaking, "he was killed by the government... in a raid." She swallowed hard, and for a moment, her gaze drifted upward, distant. "I miss him every day. But... I know he's up there, watching over me."

  The weight of her words hung in the room, heavy and raw. I felt my chest tighten. "I... I'm so sorry for your loss," I murmured, my voice thick. "It must be hell... losing someone you love like that."

  She let out a small, bitter ugh, more a sigh than anything else, and nodded slowly. "Yeah... it's hell. But I keep going... because that's what he would've wanted."

  For the first time, I saw Le not just as a guard, but as someone who had lived through pain and loss, who carried it quietly while still standing strong. It made me respect her even more.

  "I won't let anyone hurt you," she said firmly, her voice steady but carrying a quiet weight. "I can't have Car go through anything I went through."

  I felt a warmth spread through me at her words, the sincerity in her tone impossible to ignore. I gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Your husband... he would be proud of you," I breathed out, letting the words hang in the air.

  For a moment, her eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude passing through them. The room felt quieter, heavier with unspoken pain and respect, and I realized how much strength she carried beneath that tough exterior.

  ———

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