Chapter 16 #2
Spider settles across from us with that easy confidence he carries everywhere, already deep in conversation with a couple of prospects about something—territory routes, maybe, or supply chains. The words wash over me without sticking. I'm not in the mood for business talk right now.
The beer's cold and bitter against my tongue, exactly what I fucking need.
I let it sit there for a second before swallowing, feeling it burn down my throat.
Around us, the compound's coming alive with noise and motion—the particular chaos of Sunday dinner in full swing.
Kids tear past our table, screaming and laughing as they chase each other through the maze of bikes and people.
Someone's got classic rock playing from tiny speakers, the music fighting with the rumble of a dozen different conversations happening at once.
I scan the crowd out of habit, cataloguing faces and positions. The smell of grilling meat hangs heavy in the air, mixing with cigarette smoke and spilled beer. It should feel normal. Comfortable. Instead, there's this tension sitting in my chest that won't ease no matter how much I drink.
Sevyn shifts beside me, the movement subtle but enough to catch my attention.
I follow his line of sight across the yard to where Grace stands with Walker near the massive grill, her honey-blonde hair catching the late afternoon sun.
She's laughing at something our dad said, her whole face lighting up with genuine joy.
The sound carries even over all the other noise, clear and bright and completely fucking innocent.
Something tightens in Sevyn's jaw—a muscle jumping beneath his skin. His knuckles go white around his beer bottle.
The compound gate swings open with its familiar metallic groan. The noise doesn't just quiet—it fucking dies. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Even the kids stop running, their instincts sharp enough to recognize when danger walks into their territory.
Damián Lázaro steps through like he owns the place, like this compound and everyone in it exists for his amusement.
He's dressed in expensive casual clothes—designer jeans and a button-down.
Confidence rolls off him in waves that make my teeth grind together.
Every head in the compound turns to watch him, conversations stuttering and dying as people try to figure out what the fuck the cartel prince is doing at our family dinner.
I spot the exact moment Grace sees him. Her blue eyes go wide, her whole face transforming.
She lets out this little squeal of pure delight that makes something in my chest ache—makes me remember she's still so fucking young despite everything she's been through.
Then she takes off running across the compound yard like her ass is on fire.
He catches her when she launches herself at him, arms locking around his neck as her legs wrap around him like she's trying to climb inside his skin.
The kiss they share isn't appropriate for mixed company—hell, it's barely appropriate for private—but no one looks away.
Can't. It's like watching a car crash happen in slow motion, knowing it's going to be bad but unable to tear your eyes away from the wreckage.
Sevyn groans beside me, the sound rough and pained like it's being dragged out of his chest against his will. He turns his head sharply, refusing to watch anymore, his jaw so tight I can hear his teeth grinding together.
"You know she's marrying him," I say, keeping my voice low enough that only he hears. Not trying to be cruel, just stating facts. "Next month. Big wedding, whole fucking production."
He just grunts—a sound that could mean anything or nothing—and snatches his beer off the table so hard the wood rattles, liquid sloshing over the rim.
Then he's up and walking away, his shoulders tight with tension, hands clenched into fists at his sides like he wants to hit something but can't figure out what.
"He just needs time." Spider's hand lands on my shoulder, warm and heavy and grounding. He pushes to his feet with that easy grace that seems wrong for a man his size. "I'll talk to him. Get his head right."
I watch him follow after Sevyn, those two always moving like satellites around each other—inseparable since before I can remember. If Spider can't talk him down from whatever ledge he's standing on, no one can. That's just how it is between them.
Turning back, I watch Damián finally set Grace on her feet, his movements careful despite the obvious strength in his arms. His hand slides around her waist immediately—possessive but not cruel, claiming without forcing.
They walk toward Walker together, and I study the way my father's expression shifts as they approach.
Acceptance mixing with something harder to name.
Resignation, maybe. Or just exhaustion from fighting battles he knows he can't win.
I watch them talk for a few minutes, their mouths moving but their words lost in the distance and background noise.
My beer's empty too fast—barely tasted it, really.
I push up from the table, tossing the bottle in the nearest trash can before grabbing another from the ice chest someone's set up near the grill.
The cold glass feels good against my palm.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Damián appears at my side like a ghost, pulling his own beer from the ice.
"Yeah, what's up?"