"I know this is going to come off as creepy," Car said at st, her voice low, measured. She turned her head and looked directly at me now, really looked at me. "But how about you come with me?"

  My steps slowed, then stopped entirely.

  "You wouldn't have to worry about anything," she continued. "You'd be fed. Protected. Comfortable. No one touching you at all. No surprises."

  The words settled in my chest like a weight.

  I looked up at her, searching her face desperately—her eyes, her mouth, the set of her jaw—for something. A flicker of hunger. A crack of cruelty. Any sign that this was just another version of the same nightmare, dressed up prettier.

  But there was nothing obvious. No smile. No leer. Just a calm certainty that almost scared me more than malice ever could.

  "I—I don't know, Car..." My voice came out thin, brittle. I shook my head slightly, more to steady myself than to refuse. "I barely know you. I don't know if I can trust you."

  My hands curled into the fabric of my sleeves. Trust felt like a joke now—something people used right before they hurt you.

  She stopped walking too.

  I gnced behind us without meaning to, my eyes finding the bench where I'd been sitting just minutes earlier. Empty now. Quiet. Like it had never held me while I fell apart.

  "Well," Car said, "you can stay somewhere you know you'll keep being abused."

  Her words were blunt, almost clinical.

  "Or," she added, softer but no less firm, "you can go somewhere you know will be safe."

  My heart started racing, thudding so hard I felt it in my throat. The air felt thinner. My mind spiraled—Victoria's smile, Julianna's hands, the locked doors, the way nowhere felt neutral anymore.

  Safe.

  The word echoed in my head like a promise and a threat at the same time.

  I swallowed, my mouth dry. Every instinct screamed this is dangerous, but another quieter voice—the exhausted, broken part of me—whispered I can't survive another night like that.

  "...Alright," I said finally. The word felt heavy leaving my mouth. Like a door closing behind me.

  Car's lips curved just slightly—not into a smile, but something close. Something satisfied.

  "Good boy," she said.

  Heat rushed to my face before I could stop it. My stomach twisted, not with desire, but with confusion—because the words didn't feel the same coming from her. They didn't feel like control the way they should have.

  And that scared me more than anything else. Because part of me—the part that was tired of fighting—felt relieved.

  "Can you... can you come with me to get my stuff?" I asked, rubbing at my arm like I could scrub the anxiety off my skin. "I don't think I feel comfortable going alone."

  Car didn't even hesitate.

  "I wasn't going to let you go alone in the first pce."

  Her hand closed around mine, firm and immediate, and she started walking as if the decision had already been made long before I asked. Her grip was strong—really strong. For half a second, a stupid thought crossed my mind that she could crush my hand without trying.

  But she didn't.

  Instead, she adjusted her hold, loosening it just enough to be careful, deliberate. Like she was constantly aware of how fragile I felt—even if she never said it out loud.

  "Are you sure I'll be safe?" I asked quietly as she guided me toward the house, my feet almost struggling to keep up. "I know you... deal with a lot of crime and stuff."

  She let out a short breath, almost a scoff, but not directed at me.

  "You wouldn't see any of that, Miguel," she said. "You'd be living with me and only me. My home's in the mountains—isoted. No neighbors. No noise. Just my people."

  She gnced down at me briefly.

  "My special forces bodyguards are the only ones nearby."

  That helped more than I wanted to admit. The idea that anyone who tried something would be stopped immediately—without debate, without excuses—settled something nice in my chest.

  "I hate those bitches..." Car muttered suddenly, her jaw tightening as the house came into view. "God, I fucking hate them."

  The pce looked peaceful from the outside. Still. Too still. Like nothing bad had ever happened inside those walls—which somehow made my skin crawl more.

  "Your aunt betrayed my family," Car continued, her voice colder now, sharper around the edges. "Did you know that?"

  My stomach dropped.

  "She fed information to people who would've loved to see us buried. Locations. Names. Patterns." Her fingers flexed slightly around mine. "The only reason they're still breathing is because you showed up."

  I swallowed hard.

  "You took my breath away, Miguel," she said, stopping just short of the door and looking down at me fully now. "If you hadn't walked in when you did, they would've been dead by nightfall."

  A chill ran through me—not just fear, but understanding. So it wasn't just debt. It never had been.

  And as Car stood there beside me—calm, dangerous, impossibly certain—I realized something that made my chest ache: I hadn't just been spared.

  I'd been chosen by Car.

  We stood by the door. I didn't knock. I didn't ask. I didn't hesitate. I pushed it open.

  The hinges creaked softly, and in that instant, the sight inside hit me like a sp to the face—them. The two women I despised. The two women I had trusted at some point.

  Victoria stood near the living room, mid-movement, like she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. Julianna was closer, half-turned toward the hallway, her posture rexed for just a split second before her eyes nded on me.

  "Miguel..." Julianna whispered.

  My name sounded fragile in her mouth. Almost pleading. She took a step toward me—then froze.

  Her gaze slid past me.

  Past my shoulder.

  And nded on Car.

  The color drained from her face so fast it was almost impressive. Her eyes widened, pupils blown out with raw, unmistakable fear, like an animal realizing too te it had wandered into the wrong territory.

  Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

  Victoria followed her gaze.

  And when she saw Car standing there—calm, composed, hand still loosely wrapped around mine—her knees visibly weakened. She didn't scream. She didn't argue.

  She just knew.

  The room felt smaller suddenly, suffocating, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. Car didn't raise her voice. She didn't move forward. She didn't need to.

  Her presence alone was enough to crush the air out of the space.

  I stood there silently, my chest tight, heart pounding—not with fear this time, but something sharper. Crity.

  These women had hurt me. They had lied. They had taken pieces of me and acted like it was love. And now? Now they were afraid.

  "No te metas," (don't involve yourself) Car said coolly, her Spanish sharp and final. "Miguel solo vino por sus cosas. Me lo voy a llevar conmigo." (Miguel only came for his stuff, he's coming with me.)

  I moved past them without looking back.

  The house felt different now—smaller, stripped of whatever false warmth it once had. Each step toward the bedroom felt heavy, like I was wading through something thick and unpleasant. I crouched beside my suitcase and opened it, my hands shaking just enough to annoy me.

  Everything was there. Good.

  I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, zipped it shut, and pulled it upright. The sound of the zipper felt painfully loud in the silence, the wheels cttering softly as I dragged it back down the hallway.

  That sound was the only thing filling the living room.

  Victoria didn't move. Julianna didn't speak. They just stood there, frozen—eyes flicking between me and Car like prey watching a predator decide whether it was worth the effort.

  I stopped in front of Car. For a heartbeat, everything was still. M

  Then—

  Metal clicked.

  Car's hand moved fast, smooth, practiced. Her 1911 was suddenly out, arm extended, barrel aimed straight at Julianna's chest.

  "Car—" I grabbed her wrist immediately, forcing the gun down. My grip was tight, desperate, my voice barely above a whisper. I looked straight into her eyes. "They're the only family I have left."

  Her gaze didn't waver.

  "I hate them," I continued, my throat burning. "But... let them live. For now, at least." The room held its breath.

  Car searched my face—not for weakness, but for certainty. Something passed between us then, silent and heavy. Finally, she nodded once.

  The gun disappeared back into its holster. "Vámonos," (let's go) she said simply.

  She pced a firm hand against my back—not rough, but gentle—guiding me toward the door. I didn't look at Victoria. I didn't look at Julianna.

  I didn't need to.

  We stepped outside into the dirt street, the sun gring down, the air thick with heat and dust. The door shut behind us with a dull, final thud.

  And just like that—This chapter of my life was almost over.

  Car lifted her radio with one smooth motion and clicked it on.

  "O4, adente." (O4, come through)

  Her voice was calm. Almost bored.

  Within seconds, the distant growl of engines rolled down the street like approaching thunder. Three pitch-bck trucks rounded the corner, CDS stamped cleanly on their doors, sunlight sliding uselessly off their armored frames. The engines roared as they came to a stop in front of the house—heavy and final.

  People stared. Curtains twitched. A door smmed shut somewhere down the block. The entire Pueblo seemed to hold its breath.

  The second vehicle—an Escade—pulled forward and stopped directly in front of us. The back door opened silently. The windows were thick, dark, unmistakably bulletproof.

  The way the convoy was arranged, the way the street bent around her presence, you'd think Car wasn't just powerful—You'd think she was the president.

  Car reached for my hand, her grip firm and grounding, and guided me toward the open door.

  "Men first," she murmured.

  I hesitated for half a second, gncing back at my suitcase, a flicker of worry breaking through the haze—until a woman stepped out from the truck behind us, lifted it effortlessly, and pced it into the trunk like it weighed nothing.

  That worry vanished. I climbed in.

  The door shut with a soft, airtight thud, sealing the outside world away. The interior smelled clean—leather, faint cologne, something metallic underneath. I sank into the seat, my body finally loosening, exhaustion settling into my bones now that I wasn't running anymore.

  The engine hummed. The convoy moved.

  I watched through the darkened gss as the Pueblo slipped past—houses, streets, faces—shrinking into something distant and unreal. Everything I'd suffered, everything I'd lost, staying behind with it.

  "You won't have to worry about anything anymore, sweetie," Car said quietly.

  She took my hand again, her thumb tracing slow, absent patterns over my skin—not possessive, not rushed. Steady. Certain.

  And weirdly... I started trusting her.

  ———

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