21. Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-one
K ane
The air reeks of cotton candy, cheap grease, and reckless fucking decisions.
We shouldn’t be here.
She shouldn’t be here.
Every muscle in my body coils tight, wired for violence, pulse pounding an angry rhythm beneath my skin. But Camille’s tears, those goddamn tears are apparently my kryptonite.
Now I'm standing in a fucking carnival, surrounded by strangers, neon lights glaring like threats, and noise bleeding from every direction. Kids shriek past wielding plastic swords, laughter crashing in messy waves, and a mariachi band making my goddamn teeth ache.
Danger. Everywhere. Fucking everywhere.
Joaquin shadows my left, expression carved from stone.
Javi’s voice rumbles quietly through the comms tucked beneath my shirt, a low stream of constant intel.
Four of my men weave through the crowds, civilian clothes hiding weapons and vigilance.
One stays close to Rosa and Diego. Two tail Lucia and the twins.
And the last—the one I’d rip apart limb by limb if he makes a single mistake stands closest to Camille.
Still not fucking close enough.
“Relax,” Reina drawls beside me, lips twisting into a smug little smirk. “You look homicidal.”
Marisol laughs lightly, looping her arm through her boyfriend’s. “Let him brood. We're just glad he brought his better half out to play.”
I don’t respond, jaw tightening, fists curling at my sides. My heart’s hammering, eyes flickering over every shadowed face, every sudden movement, every potential threat.
And then Camille turns toward me, eyes sparkling beneath the chaos of colored lights. Her cheeks are flushed, wild curls tumbling freely in the breeze. She looks fucking perfect, holding some ugly stuffed octopus like it’s a goddamn prize worth fighting for
She laughs, bright, real, raw, and for one second I forget the weapons tucked beneath my jacket, the threats lurking unseen, the violence simmering beneath my skin.
All I see is her.
“That’s three to zero!” she shouts, cocky smile curving her lips, eyes locked right onto me, daring me, teasing me, claiming me.
My chest tightens. Fucking hell, I’d burn this whole carnival to the ground just to keep her smiling like that.
She moves toward me slowly, hips swaying, eyes glittering with mischief as she thrusts her stupid octopus into Lucia’s hands. The wind tugs playfully at her hair, curls tumbling in wild abandon until she sweeps it all up into a high, messy ponytail, baring her throat.
“You know, Rivera,” she drawls, stepping into my space, chin tipped defiantly as her gaze drags over me, wicked and slow. “It’s not exactly a victory if I’m just beating Lucia. Maybe you’ll actually give me some competition?”
Heat flares low in my gut, my pulse hammering violently beneath my skin. She’s baiting me shamelessly, recklessly, and every primitive instinct in my body demands I rise to her challenge.
“I don’t play games, Princesa,” I warn, voice rough-edged and dangerous, though the curve of her lips makes it clear she knows he’s already won.
She tilts her head back, exposing the elegant curve of her neck, eyes locked onto mine, daring me to resist. “Scared you’ll lose?”
My teeth grit, a smile sharp enough to cut pulling at the corners of my mouth. I close the distance between us, leaning down until my breath grazes her ear, my voice dropping to a dark, possessive whisper. “You already know I don't lose.”
She shivers slightly, lips parting on a sharp inhale. But the spark in her eyes flares brighter, defiant and reckless, just the way I like it.
“There's always a first time,” she challenges softly, smirking as she turns away, tossing me one last teasing glance over her shoulder.
Fuck.
I follow her without another thought, drawn to her like gravity, every dark promise of danger and violence forgotten in the fire of her gaze.
The world around us fades into background noise, neon lights, laughter, chaos, all fucking meaningless compared to the sway of her hips, the triumphant glint in her eyes as she leads me through the crowd.
She’s a reckless queen, taunting her king into battle. And I’m already helplessly, savagely lost.
We stop at some stupid shooting game lined with garish stuffed animals. Camille turns to me, brow lifted mockingly, daring me again, provoking that dark part of me that can’t resist her challenge.
“Can the big, scary cartel king handle a toy gun?” she teases, leaning casually against the booth, watching me with eyes too knowing, too sharp.
I step close, crowding her against the booth, caging her with one arm planted firmly at her side. My voice drops dangerously low. “Give me something worth playing for.”
Her gaze flicks up to mine, eyes darkening with desire and something intoxicating. She leans closer, breath warm against my jaw. “If you win, you get anything you want.”
I tilt her chin up with a rough thumb, studying her flushed cheeks, parted lips, the pulse fluttering wildly at her throat. “And when I win, Princesa,” I rasp, voice dripping sin, “trust me, I’m taking everything.”
Her breath catches, and I watch in dark satisfaction as her confidence falters for one heartbeat before she steels herself again.
“Promises, promises,” she murmurs, smiling wickedly as she slips from my grasp, sliding one of the cheap toy guns into my hand.
She picks up her own gun, stance confident, eyes fierce with determination, hair wild in the breeze.
Game on.
The cheap plastic feels ridiculous in my hands, but her hungry gaze locked onto mine makes it worth it. Her mouth curves, smug and confident as she lines up the shot, certain she’s going to beat me.
Cute.
The buzzer sounds, targets pop up, and I fire. Smooth, precise, lethal, even with a damn toy in my grip. My shots land dead center, one after another, methodical, controlled. Beside me, Camille curses softly, missing twice, her frustration adorably obvious as she tries, and fails, to catch up.
When the game ends, the scoreboard flashes obnoxiously above us: my perfect score, her half-hearted attempt trailing behind.
Camille huffs, cheeks flushed with a mix of annoyance and reluctant admiration. She tosses her gun down dramatically, pouting. “You couldn’t let me have this one?”
“Not a fucking chance.” I smirk, savoring every second of her irritation.
“Show off,” she mutters, biting down on her lush bottom lip.
I lean down, crowding her space, savoring the way she trembles, how her pulse flutters at her throat, the intoxicating blend of defiance and surrender in her eyes. “I warned you, Princesa.”
She exhales shakily, glaring half-heartedly. “Fine. Claim your victory.”
My gaze drags slowly, possessively, over every fucking inch of her, letting her see exactly how I plan to claim her later, in private. Then I jerk my chin toward the prize wall. “Biggest one.”
The booth worker grabs the obnoxiously huge stuffed bear and shoves it into my hands with an amused smirk. I thrust it toward Camille, watching her eyes widen in surprise.
“Really?” She laughs softly, almost shy, gripping it with both arms.
“Consider it a trophy,” I say quietly, darkly, leaning closer again. My voice dips into something raw, edged with unmistakable promise. “And later, when I’ve got you head down and ass up, it'll be something you can scream into."
Camille’s eyes flare wide, heat rushing up her neck to color her cheeks a furious shade of pink. She shifts on her feet, clearly torn between embarrassment and arousal, her grip tightening reflexively on the oversized bear.
“You’re fucking shameless,” she whispers breathlessly, voice shaking, pupils dilating with undeniable hunger.
“You love it,” I rasp, lips grazing the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “You love it when I’m filthy. Admit it.”
She inhales sharply, pulse throbbing visibly at the base of her throat, defiance warring openly with submission in her gaze. “Maybe.”
“Definitely.” I catch her chin between my fingers, forcing her eyes to mine.
She shudders visibly, eyes darkening, breath hitching in anticipation. I step back just enough to give her space to breathe, a wicked smirk curving my lips
“Now,” I murmur softly, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, my touch deceptively gentle. “Go show Lucia your new trophy. Let her know exactly who won.”
She glares, “You’re an asshole, Kane Rivera.”
I grin darkly, possessively, sliding my thumb over her lower lip savoring how she trembles beneath my touch. “And yet you can’t get enough.”
Camille rolls her eyes, biting back a reluctant smile as she pulls away, gripping the enormous stuffed bear with exaggerated possessiveness. Lucia and the twins rush over, laughter bursting from their mouths as Camille holds up the massive stuffed animal triumphantly.
“I hate to say it, but Kane kicked my ass,” Camille admits grudgingly, eyes twinkling despite herself.
Lucia grins, nudging her playfully. “Yeah, that’s because he cheats.”
Marisol snorts, arm looping casually around her sister. “He always cheats.”
I watch them all together, the playful banter, their laughter rising effortlessly above the noise. Diego shifts slightly beside me, mouth twitching into something that resembles a smile.
"Look at you," he murmurs quietly, amusement threading through his voice. "Almost enjoying yourself."
"Don't fucking start," I grumble, but I can’t quite bite back the faint smirk pulling at the corners of my mouth.
Marisol catches my eye, brows raised in mocking disbelief. “Is that an actual smile, Kane? Careful, your face might crack.”
Camille glances back at me, her eyes warm and teasing, lips curving into a soft, secretive smile reserved just for me.
“See?” she says sweetly. “Told you a night out wouldn’t kill you.”
I shake my head slowly, fighting another grin as the twins erupt into fresh laughter, Lucia tugging Camille toward the next bright attraction. I follow closely, keeping watch, tension still coiled deep within me, but for just one night, just one fucking moment, I let myself breathe.