3. Landon #2
Juan “Cast” Castillo is the head of the Mexican Cartel—and one of the few men who laughed the first time he heard my name instead of pissing himself.
Can’t blame him, really. A trained killer named Landon Heart ? It sounds like the punchline to a bad joke. Meanwhile, Cast is known across borders as La Parca. The Grim Reaper. The kind of name that makes people go quiet in a room.
Me? I never got a moniker that cool. The Brits don’t mythologize their monsters—they just hire them. But when people hear my name, they run. I guess that’s enough. Landon Heart. Trained killer with a knack for stealing hearts—literally.
And yeah, there’s something poetic about watching a heart still beating in your hand. Call it my thing.
“You brought her here?” Cast snarls, but I keep my eyes closed.
“The Italians want her dead,” I drone. “Actually they want Willow dead, and she just admitted that she was Willow.”
Cast groans, and I don’t even have to look up to know he’s probably staring at Jasmine like she’s grown three bloody heads. That’s his usual reaction to anything that doesn’t fit neatly into his violent little kingdom of order and control.
Now, Willow? She’s Cast’s girl. Or more accurately, the Chessmen’s girl—Cast, Damien Sterling, Vincent Beaumont. Powerhouses, the lot of them. Whatever went down to make them let her go... it had to be catastrophic. Fucking unthinkable.
Because me? If my girl ever ran, I’d be on her heels before she made it to the end of the street. No way I’d just let her go. No way in hell.
“That was foolish, Jasmine,” Cast snaps, his voice a low snarl thick with contempt. “Didn’t take you for a fucking idiot.”
I sit up straight at that. Because La Parca or not, I don’t give a damn who he is—he doesn’t speak to her like that. Not while I’m breathing.
“Steady on, Cast,” I say coolly, folding my hands in front of me as I hunch over my knees. “You don’t have to like what she did, but you’ll mind your bloody tone.”
He turns to me, face a mask of stone. Only the slight twitch of his nose betrays the fact that I’ve poked the bear.
Good.
If Jasmine weren’t here, he’d probably already be halfway across the room, blade in hand.
But I’m banking on the fact that the Cartel prefers strategy over spectacle these days.
And I need this arrangement to go off without a hitch.
Can’t afford to start a war before we’ve even had a drink.
Not when everything is leveraging on me having a nice and easy relationship with the cartel.
It’s the only way I can get out of this alive.
Still—Cast can be the Reaper all he likes. But if he speaks to her like that again, we’ll see just how much flesh Death’s willing to lose.
“Don’t worry, Landon,” Jasmine cuts in before the silence can curdle, her laugh dry, dangerous, and sharp enough to draw blood. Sexy as hell, if I’m honest—makes the blood rush straight to my cock. Inconvenient as that is.
“I didn’t take Castillo for the type to stalk his girlfriend’s bestie,” she goes on, smiling sharp enough to slice, “but hey—guess we’ve both misjudged each other.”
I snort, leaning back and watching the wide-eyed expression on Jasmine’s face. She looks like she is ready to shred Cast to pieces with her bare hands. Fuck Peach has teeth. Bloody hell—she’s a peach with teeth. Even better. A bloody peach.
Cast tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studies her like he’s trying to decide whether to be insulted or impressed.
“Careful, nina,” he says, his voice smoother now but no less threatening. “That mouth of yours is writing cheques your blood might not be able to cash.”
I move slightly, just enough that he knows I’ve noticed. Jasmine doesn’t flinch, instead she rolls her shoulders to the back and stands even fucking straighter.
Then she does something that makes my heart pound for all the wrong reasons.
She squats slightly, pinching her fingers together as she steps closer to Cast like she’s mocking his height, his power—his entire existence.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she purrs, all razor-edged sarcasm. “Are you going to kill me too? Is that where Willow is? Did she injure your ego, so you offed her?”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he growls, stepping forward once, just enough to make most people take a step back.
But Jasmine doesn’t move. If anything, she leans in, and Christ, I’m half hard and she hasn’t even touched me.
I laugh—low, moving across the room to be next to Jasmine and amused as hell. “Alright, everyone take a breath,” I say, raising a hand like I’m breaking up a pub brawl. “Nobody’s dying tonight, yeah? Let’s cool it before someone actually gets shot.”
Cast’s glare cuts to me, nostrils flaring—but then he exhales through his nose, slow and hard. He turns back to Jasmine, jaw still clenched.
“I would never hurt Willow,” he says through his teeth, eyes boring into hers.
“Then prove it,” Jasmine snaps. Her voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp enough to crack glass. “Because until I see her breathing, I don’t believe a damn word you say.”
Cast maintains eye contact as he snaps his finger twice and snarls. “Laptop.”
A guard moves quickly, almost nervously, crossing the room with a matte-black laptop held tight to his chest. Cast takes it without a word, flips it open, and begins typing with sharp, practiced keystrokes.
The screen glows to life, cycling through encrypted feeds until he pauses on one.
A surveillance camera, crystal clear and timestamped.
Jasmine stiffens beside me the moment she realizes what she’s seeing.
On-screen, Willow stands barefoot in front of a half-formed mound of clay, her shoulders tense and her face set in deep concentration.
A cup of noodles is clutched in one hand, steam curling from the rim.
Her hair’s twisted into a messy bun, clay smudges streaking her arms, and she’s scowling at the sculpture like it personally offended her.
Jasmine lets out a soft, fractured gasp that cuts deeper than any scream could. Her hand jerks forward on instinct, reaching for the laptop as if proximity might make it more real.
“Willow…” Her voice catches, barely more than a whisper, full of disbelief.
“You fucking asshole,” she breathes, voice gaining strength as her chest rises. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing,” Cast replies flatly, eyes trained on Willow as he stares at her as if he is lost.
“I don’t believe you,” she chokes out, the words raw and heavy. Her eyes never leave the screen, locked on the living proof of her best friend.
“I don’t expect you to,” Cast says, his shrug careless, but the tone underneath it cuts—somewhere between indifference and a warning. “But she’s safe. Untouched. Protected.”
“ Protected? ” Jasmine lets out a brittle laugh, the sound tight in her throat, half-sob, half-scoff. “By you ? Is that what you call this? Cameras in every corner? Locked doors? Probably a gun under her goddamn pillow just in case you change your mind?”
“I do what I must.” Cast’s voice sharpens, the polished control slipping just enough to reveal the crack beneath.
“I don’t care whether you understand—but you don’t get to stand here and question what she means to me.
You don’t get to touch that.” His next words are barely above a whisper. “She is my everything. ”
Jasmine steps closer, jaw set, eyes glinting with fire through the shine of unshed tears. “She’s my best friend.”
Cast snorts, the sound dry and hollow. “That’s cute. But she’s breathing, isn’t she? So are you. You’re both alive—because of me. ”
Jasmine laughs again, but this time it’s laced with venom. “Right. Thanks, dude. I totally owe you for the stalker.”
She turns and hits me with a look sharp enough to skin flesh, and I take it without flinching. She’s not wrong. I was following her. Still am, technically.
“Look,” Cast says, shifting his weight and running a hand over his jaw like he’s already tired of the conversation.
“There are people who want to get back at me. They can’t touch me directly, so they go for what matters.
That means Willow.” He pauses, eyes narrowing on Jasmine.
“And you, very stupidly, just told them you’re her. ”
Silence drops like a stone between them.
Jasmine’s breath catches. She opens her mouth like she wants to argue, but the truth of it is already sinking in. I can see it—can feel the weight settle across her shoulders.
“So now,” Cast continues, stepping forward, “we need a new game plan.”
She doesn’t answer, just crosses her arms over her chest and waits—guarded, suspicious, but listening.
“For your safety, in case they realized your connection to Willow,” Cast says, voice clipped and direct, “I’ve had someone following you.”
Jasmine’s eyes narrow. “Landon?”
Cast nods. “Among others.”
“You’ve been having me watched?”
“Would you prefer dead?” Cast snaps, before reining it in. “It wasn’t personal. It was a precaution.”
“That’s real comforting.”
“I didn’t say it to comfort you. I said it to explain why you’re still here.”
She flinches at that—just slightly—and I can see the war behind her eyes. Pride and survival don’t mix easily, especially in someone like Jasmine. But she stays quiet.
“I’m offering you protection,” Cast continues, more controlled now.
“What, so I just allow you to continue to stalk me?” Jasmine snorts. “No dice.”
“You know I could easily wash my hands of you right now. Your death would work in my favor, you know that?” Cast whispers, his eyes glinting with danger.
I whistle lowly. “Come on now. Play nice, Cast.”
“I am ,” Cast shrugs, stepping even closer to Jasmine. “Look, I have a proposition for you. You work a dead-end job and live with your shitty mom in a trailer. You wanted to go to college but couldn’t afford it, right?”
Jasmine’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t speak.
“I’ll have you enrolled at Haven University by morning. It’s a couple hours out, which is for the best while I figure out how to convince the Italians not to kill you,” Cast says with a nod. “New apartment. Quiet area. Fenced grounds. Security. Full coverage.”
“And what do you get in return?” Jasmine asks, arms still crossed, voice steady.
“You let Landon keep tabs on you. You don’t cause me any more problems. And I make all your dreams come true while making sure my girl doesn’t hate me for you dying on my watch.”
“Wow,” she mutters. “You’re my fucking fairy godmother, and Willow has you whipped.”
“I do what I can, and you ever tell her that and I’ll gut you like a fucking fish and force her to forgive me regardless.” Cast replies, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “We got a deal, Jas?”
“You sure you want to follow me around Lan?”
I smile, sliding up closer to her spicy, sweet scent invading my senses. Fuck, what is that? Cinnamon? Vanilla? A little dash of bourbon? Bloody hell, she’s delicious. “I’d watch your fine ass anywhere, love.”
Rolling her eyes, she shakes Cast’s hand, sealing her fate with mine, like she stood a fucking chance otherwise.