The Ghost Who Guarded Me

Five Years Ago. El Paso, Texas.

The warehouse floor was cold through her dress.

Catarina knelt on concrete that still held oil stains from bikes her father had tuned with his own hands. The smell of gasoline and grease had once meant home. Now it meant the end of one.

Three hours since the vote.

Three hours since Cade pressed her own gift against her throat and condemned her in front of every man who'd ever called her la princesa.

Three hours, and no one had spoken to her. No one had looked at her. The clubhouse emptied like she carried plague. Even Hector Fuentes walked past without meeting her eyes, his massive shoulders curved inward, his silver belt buckle catching the light as he disappeared through the side door.

Only Elias stayed. And the two prospects assigned to deliver her to the federal courthouse by dawn.

But first, the ritual.

"You understand how this works," Elias said.

He stood ten feet away, arms crossed, expression patient. A man explaining taxes to a slow child.

"The club votes. The club sentences. The club executes."

"My father.... "

"Your father is dead." No cruelty in his voice.

Just a fact.

"And if he were alive, he'd tell you the same. One body for the survival of thirty-seven. Simple math."

She wanted to spit at his boots. Instead, she pressed her palm flat against the cold concrete and steadied her breath.

"Rhodes requested the shot," Elias continued.

"That was generous.

He could have let one of the prospects do it.

Could have made you wait for a cell transfer and let federal marshals handle the loose end.

Instead, he volunteered.

"Generous," she repeated. Her voice tasted like copper.

"He's giving you dignity. One bullet, fast, in a place that won't prolong it. You'll be dead before you hit the floor.*"

Better.

She thought of her father's hands, still grease-stained, still curled around a wrench. Thought of the radio playing when she walked in. Thought of how she'd held his face and screamed until Hector arrived and pulled her away.

None of them came to the funeral. Elias sent flowers. Cade sent nothing.

The warehouse door opened.

Cade walked in.

He'd changed clothes. Black shirt, black jeans, his cut hanging loose over both. His face was stone. Bone. Nothing she recognized.

The knife was no longer visible.

Elias nodded once and stepped back. The prospects retreated to the far wall. Cade walked forward until he stood directly in front of her.

"Turn around," he said.

She didn't move.

"Turn around, Catarina."

"Look at me."

His jaw tightened.

"If you're going to kill me, look at me."

Something moved across his face. Too fast to name. Then it was gone.

He drew his weapon.

Standard issue. Glock 19, matte black. She'd watched him clean it a hundred times.

He chambered a round.

"On your knees," he said.

She was already on her knees.

"You want dignity?" His voice was flat. Erased. "Turn around. Don't make me watch your face when you die."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to remember you."

The words hit like a second bullet.

She searched his face for some hesitation, regret, the ghost of the man who'd kissed her in the bed of his truck while thunder split the sky.

There was nothing.

"You mean that," she whispered.

He didn't answer.

Behind them, Elias shifted. "Rhodes. Finish it."

Cade raised the weapon.

His eyes stayed on hers. Cold. Empty. The eyes of a man who'd already forgotten her name.

"Any last words?"

A thousand words. A million. Everything she should have said, should have screamed, should have carved into his chest while she still had the chance.

Instead: "I hope you choke on your loyalty."

He pulled the trigger.

The sound was enormous. A percussion that swallowed the warehouse, the city, the river three miles south.

Catarina's body hit the concrete.

Pain exploded through her left shoulder, white-hot, absolute. She heard herself scream. Heard Elias curse. Heard the prospects scrambling.

And then Cade's voice, loud and cold and final:

"Weak. Just like her father."

She tried to speak. Tried to move. Her body refused.

Through the haze, she saw him holster his weapon. Saw him turn his back. Saw his silhouette against the warehouse lights, broad-shouldered and untouchable.

He didn't look back.

He didn't pause.

He walked out like she was already a ghost.

Catarina pressed her palm against the concrete. Her blood pooled beneath her, black in the low light, spreading faster than she could contain.

Stay down.

She didn't know if the voice was his or hers.

Don't come back.

Her vision blurred. The ceiling lights dissolved into watercolor. Somewhere far away, one of the prospects was shouting for a medic.

But Cade Rhodes was already gone.

And Catarina Salazar closed her eyes and let the darkness take her, believing with every fiber of her being that the man she loved had just tried to erase her from the earth.