Bound by Revenge (Dangerous Bonds #2)

PROLOGUE – Leona

The bass pulses through my veins, matching my heartbeat as I throw my head back and laugh.

The strobe lights paint everyone in flashes of electric blue and scarlet, turning the dance floor into a sea of writhing bodies.

My glass is empty again, but before I can signal the bartender, Tasha presses another cocktail into my hand.

"You deserve this!" she yells over the music. "How many days straight have you been staring at that corpse?"

"Fourteen," I shout back, taking a sip of the fruity and potent drink. "And trust me, he wasn't getting any prettier!"

The club—Euphoria—lives up to its name tonight. After two weeks of staring at decomposing flesh and running endless tissue samples, I need this escape. Need to remember that life exists outside the sterile walls of the Port Hollow crime lab.

A male dancer on the platform catches my eye, his body glistening under the lights as he moves seductively. I raise my glass in appreciation, and he winks back.

"See something you like?" Tasha nudges me, wiggling her eyebrows.

I'm about to respond when my phone vibrates against my thigh. I ignore it the first time. And the second. By the third call, I know it's not going away.

"Damn it," I mutter, pulling it out. Dr. Reyes’s name flashes on the screen.

"Tell me you're not answering that," Tasha groans, already knowing I will.

I press the phone to my ear, plugging my other ear with one finger. "Varela," I shout over the music.

"We need you back at the lab." Reyes doesn't bother with pleasantries. "Male body, advanced decomposition, multiple trauma patterns consistent with cartel execution. If we wait until morning, we lose evidence."

My buzz fades instantly. "I just left two hours ago."

"And now you're coming back. I've already called in Phillips for toxicology."

I glance at the clock behind the bar. Just past midnight. "Fine. Fifteen minutes."

Tasha's face falls when I slip my phone back into my purse. "Seriously? They can't give you one night?"

"Dead people can't wait." I down the last of my drink in one gulp, feeling the burn all the way down. "Rain check?"

The night air hits me like a slap when I exit the club, clearing the alcohol fog from my head.

The sidewalk glistens from an earlier rain, reflecting the neon signs from bars and late-night eateries.

My heels click against the pavement as I walk, each step taking me further from the pulsing music and back toward reality.

Fifteen minutes. That's all it takes to go from Leona-who-dances to Dr. Varela, forensic analyst.

I've always been good at compartmentalizing. At keeping my worlds separate. The lab doesn't know about the nights I spend laughing too loud and dancing until my feet hurt. And no one at Euphoria knows I spend my days examining the grotesque evidence of humanity's capacity for violence.

No one except Tasha, who's seen both sides and somehow still sticks around.

But lately, the lines have been blurring. Fourteen days of staring at a body that was tortured beyond recognition will do that to you. I catch myself looking at people on the street and wondering what their bones would look like scattered across an examination table.

Maybe I need a vacation. Or therapy. Probably both.

The lab's glass doors gleam under the harsh fluorescent lights. I badge in, the familiar antiseptic smell replacing the lingering scent of the club—sweat, alcohol, and perfume.

"Cutting it close," Phillips says, not looking up from his microscope as I enter.

"I had plans." I shrug off my jacket, exchanging it for a lab coat. "Where's our guest?"

"Table three. Reyes is waiting."

The body is indeed a mess. Male, late thirties, decomposition accelerated by the water he was found in. But even through the bloating and discoloration, I can see the signs—fingernails removed, precise cuts along the torso, burn marks in patterns that aren't random.

"Definitely cartel," I murmur, snapping on gloves.

"That's why I called you." Reyes points to a partially visible tattoo on the victim's shoulder. "You've worked these cases before."

I lean closer, studying the snake design. My stomach tightens. I know this mark, though I haven't seen it in years. Not since I walked away from my family, from Cody, from everything I was born into.

The Delgado Cartel. My brother's longtime enemies.

"Leona?" Reyes's voice pulls me back.

"Yeah, I've seen it before." I keep my voice neutral. "Let's get started before we lose any more evidence."

For the next two hours, I lose myself in the work.

Cataloging injuries. Taking samples. Photographing the distinctive patterns of torture that tell a story of a slow, painful death.

My mind slips into the analytical groove that keeps the horror at bay—this isn't a person anymore, just a puzzle to solve.

By the time I finish, my feet ache from standing in heels, and the club feels like a distant memory. I file the preliminary report, carefully avoiding any mention of my personal knowledge of the cartel. As far as my colleagues know, I'm just another forensic analyst with a knack for detail.

"Going home?" Phillips asks as I gather my things.

"If there's nothing else trying to decay in our freezers."

"Get some sleep. You look like hell."

"Always the charmer, Phillips." I force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

The night has grown colder during my hours in the lab. The streets are empty now, and most of the bars are closed. I pull my jacket tighter around me, quickening my pace. My apartment is only ten blocks away, but suddenly, the walk feels longer.

I'm halfway there when the feeling hits me—a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I'm being watched.

I glance behind me. Nothing. Just empty sidewalks and shadows. But the feeling persists, growing stronger with each step.

The black SUV appears from nowhere, tires screeching as it cuts across the road in front of me. Before I can process what's happening, a second vehicle blocks the street behind me.

Men pour out of both cars, moving with military precision. I turn to run down an alley, but strong hands grab me, yanking me back.

"Let go of me!" I struggle, landing a kick to someone's shin and an elbow to another's ribs. Years of self-defense training kick in, but there are too many of them.

A man in an expensive suit approaches, his face cold and familiar in the worst way. Delgado's top enforcer. I'd seen him with my brother years ago before I escaped that life.

"Leona Varela." He says my name like he's savoring it. "You look just like your brother."

"What do you want?" I spit, still fighting against the hands restraining me.

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Your brother took something very valuable from us. Now we take you from him."

The blow comes from behind—a sharp crack against my temple that sends stars exploding across my vision. The world tilts sideways as they drag me toward the SUV.

As darkness closes in, I hear his final words, a promise that chills my blood.

"We'll see how much you're worth before we kill you."

The last thought that crosses my mind before unconsciousness claims me isn't fear for myself, but a bitter realization—no matter how far I ran, my brother's world has found me again.