CHAPTER 39: SHOULDER TO SHOULDER

RAYÉN

00:04… 00:03…

The red LED blinked beneath the dashboard.

Lautaro didn’t hesitate.

His hand crossed my chest, pushing me against the passenger seat as he drove his shoulder through the shattered driver’s-side door.

“Out! Move!”

He dragged me across the console. Broken glass cut through my silk gown and scraped my bare hip.

We hit the rain-slick road just as the dashboard exploded.

The blast threw us toward the edge of the mountain bridge. Fire filled the night, and the smell of burning plastic and leather flooded my lungs.

Lautaro rolled over me, shielding me from the debris.

A piece of metal struck his shoulder.

He didn’t make a sound.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

“I can fight.”

I pushed against his chest and sat up.

My mother’s words echoed in my mind.

I suppose I will have to clean up the rest of this bloodline myself.

The woman who had brushed my hair as a child had betrayed me. The woman who had cried over my brother’s empty casket had treated my life like something disposable.

Headlights appeared through the fog.

Two black vehicles moved past our burning car.

“The warehouse,” Lautaro said.

He pulled me up by the elbow.

“Inside. Now.”

An abandoned winery stood beside the bridge, its concrete walls dark with age and its roof rusted through.

We ran as gunfire struck the road around us.

Lautaro kicked open a rusted side door. We rushed inside, and he shoved iron crates against it.

Silence followed.

Water dripped from the broken roof. Our breathing filled the dark.

Wooden wine casks, old pallets, and rusted machinery filled the warehouse.

I leaned against a concrete pillar, my knees shaking.

My gown was ruined, soaked with rain and grease and torn along my leg. My dagger was gone.

Lautaro removed his bloodstained jacket and drew a tactical pistol from his shoulder holster.

His shirt hung open, and his amber eyes stayed on me.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re not cold, Rayén. You’re realizing your entire life was written by a woman who wanted you dead.”

“Don’t speak about her.”

I stepped closer.

“Don’t pretend you understand. You grew up as a Don’s son. You knew your enemies.”

His expression hardened.

“And I watched my father die in my arms while his closest adviser held the door open for the shooters.”

He stepped into my space.

“You think you’re the only one who has looked at a bloodline and seen a pit of vipers?”

His fingers closed around the back of my neck.

“Look at me.”

I did.

“You want to destroy this world? You want your vengeance? Then stop bleeding for her.”

He placed the pistol in my hands.

“Take the weapon.”

The metal was warm against my palms.

“I still hate you,” I whispered.

It was a lie.

A faint smirk touched his mouth.

“Good. Use that hate. If we survive tonight, I’ll give you your vengeance on a silver platter.”

Heavy footsteps sounded outside.

“They’re surrounding us,” I said.

“Four men at the south breach. Two on the upper catwalk.”

“They think I’m a hostage.”

I stepped beside him.

“Let them.”

He looked at me.

“Stay behind the casks. When I draw their fire, take the catwalk.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

His lips came close to my ear.

“It’s not an order, Rayén. It’s a partnership.”

The front doors exploded inward.

Smoke and splinters filled the warehouse.

Three operatives rushed through the opening.

Lautaro stepped from behind a support beam and fired twice. The first shooter dropped.

The second opened fire. Bullets tore through the wine casks, sending dark liquid across the floor.

I slipped through the shadows and climbed the spiral staircase.

At the upper catwalk, I spotted a mercenary moving toward Lautaro’s flank.

I raised the pistol and fired twice.

He dropped.

Lautaro looked up.

“Clear left!” I called.

“Catwalk behind you!”

Before I could turn, an arm locked around my throat.

The mercenary dragged me against the railing. My pistol fell below.

“The Duchess said you were feisty,” he growled. “She doesn’t care if you’re breathing when we bring you back. Your mother wants the seal.”

I clawed at his hands, but his grip tightened.

I am no one’s pawn.

My brother’s voice flashed through my mind. Then my mother’s cold laugh. Then Lautaro standing between me and the bullets.

I stopped fighting.

I went limp.

The mercenary shifted his balance.

I slammed my head into his nose.

He gasped.

I twisted free, grabbed the combat knife from his vest, and drove it into his thigh.

He staggered.

A gunshot came from below.

The bullet struck his chest, and he fell over the railing.

I clutched my throat and breathed.

Lautaro climbed the stairs.

“You alright?”

“I told you. I can fight.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You can.”

He stopped in front of me and touched my face, wiping blood from my lip.

I leaned into his hand.

My palms settled against his chest. His heartbeat was fast beneath my fingers.

“We need to reach the Andes,” he said. “Conco’s safehouse is three hours north. It’s off the syndicate grid.”

“Conco is dead.”

“You saw the reports your mother wrote.”

He held my gaze.

“Who helped him cross the border when she tried to kill him?”

My heart stopped.

“What?”

Before he could answer, the emergency doors opened.

A man stepped into the warehouse wearing a dark coat and carrying a tactical flashlight.

The beam found us on the catwalk.

He lowered his hood.

A familiar jaw.

Dark eyes.

A scar crossed his left forearm.

The pistol suddenly felt heavy in my hand.

“You’re late, Lautaro,” he said.

His voice echoed through the warehouse.

“And you brought my sister into a war zone.”

My brother.

The thought struck so hard that I forgot the blood on my hands.

Lautaro watched me.

“You know him?”

“I know that scar.”

“My brother has been dead for three years.”

“Maybe,” Lautaro said. “Or someone wanted you to believe he was.”

The man stepped into the light.

He didn’t look at Lautaro. His eyes stayed on me.

There was something familiar in them.

“Rayén,” he called.

My breath caught.

No one had said my name like that since I was a child.

Lautaro’s hand tightened around his weapon.

“I didn’t come here to hurt you.” His voice was calm, almost.

“Then why are you here?”

His gaze shifted toward the entrance.

“You have two minutes before the next team arrives.”

Gunfire sounded.

“And this time, they aren’t coming to take you alive.”