He looks genuinely concerned. Out of the corner of my eye, the woman with pink hair from last night, Shay, emerges from the clubhouse, pulling on a dirty white t-shirt over her florescent pink bra. Classy. She shoots me the foulest look ever, and then frowns as she squints into the distance beyond the compound gates. When I follow her gaze, I see what she sees: tall columns of dust, red and brown, growing closer and closer. Too close, it would seem. The hood of a black car is visible, only meters away from the gates, but there are more behind, following.
“Shit,” Cade hisses. The first black car screeches to a halt, kicking up more dust and debris as it almost crashes into the gates. The sound of hot metal ticking reaches us, and then the loud crack! of a gun being fired. Sounds like it came from inside the car. I can just make out the shape of a figure slumping forward in the driver’s seat, and then the car’s horn starts screaming, blaring out obnoxious sound into the quiet.
“Ah, sweet Jesus.” Cade steps to the right, blocking me from view of the car. He sends Shay a sharp look that she returns, arms folded across her chest. “Make sure this one doesn’t come to any harm,” he tells her.
She scowls and then spits on the ground at her feet. “Rebel said not to threaten her. Didn’t say nothing about protecting her.”
Cade pivots on the balls of his feet and begins marching toward her. He looks like he’s about to tear her head from her shoulders. She holds up her hands, taking a step back, eyes wide. “All right, all right! Fuck, man, it was a joke.”
Cade’s not in the mood for jokes, though. “Just do as you’re fucking told, Shay.”
A high pitched screaming joins in the sound of the car horn, and suddenly there are people climbing out of the first car while a second and a third pull up alongside the first, blocking the gate to the compound entirely. I couldn’t see it before, but all three vehicles are completely riddled with bullet holes.
A tall, leggy blonde in a tight black dress and red stilettos emerges from the first car. She looks like a wild animal, dark eyes round and filled with madness. As soon as she’s on her feet, she turns and unceremoniously drags the lifeless body of a huge man out of the car behind her. He looks like he’s half dead; given the amount of blood spattering the woman’s arms and legs, he could actually be all-the-way dead.
Shay’s mouth hangs open, surprise taking over her features. “Is that…?”
“Maria Rosa?” Cade finishes. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
It takes me a second to remember who this woman is. I’ve met so many new people and been introduced to so many new threats recently that this recalling where Maria Rosa fits in takes a beat. I get there fairly quickly, though. Maria Rosa. What was it Carnie called her the day the police came to search the compound? That’s right…the Bitch of Columbia. The head of the Desolladors Cartel—the woman who tried to frame Rebel by sending men in Widow Makers cuts into a grocery store in Hollywood and mowing down women and children.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” I whisper this under my breath, unable to give force to my words. I’m too disbelieving, too stunned, too completely horrified to grasp what I’m seeing in front of me.
“I don’t know,” Cade replies. “But it looks as though, as per usual, the psycho bitch has brought trouble with her.”
“Help me! SOMEBODY HELP ME!” Maria Rosa topples to the ground, tripping on her own heels as she tries to drag the extremely heavy looking body toward the gates. She spins around, fury and panic lighting up her face. She sees the man standing next to me and the panic vanishes, completely replaced by anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get over here, Cade. Get over here and fucking help me.”
More people pour out of the cars—all men in black suits and white shirts with guns in their hands—but Cade remains utterly still. His eyes look cold. Dead, almost. “You really are insane if you think for one second you’re getting through those gates, darlin’.”
Maria Rosa lets go of the man’s arm and stalks up to the metal railings of the gate, a wicked snarl twisting her features. I can tell that she’s a beautiful woman usually, but at the moment she looks like medusa—her hair is everywhere, her eyeliner smudged down her face, bright red lipstick smeared. She’s hysterical, and from what I can tell about to get much, much worse.