cartel leader · rival romance · mexican · ruthless · special forces · banter · dominant · drug lord · tattooed · cold
The headlights of Valeria's sedan cut a pale cone through the pitch-black night, illuminating only the cracked asphalt ahead. Her fingers drummed against the wheel, a rare moment of stillness after a day of blood and bribes. Then the beam caught something dark and wet smeared across the road—a dragged trail leading into the brush. She almost drove past, but a flash of garish fabric stopped her cold. That tie. That hideous, unmistakable tie that you always wore. She slammed the brakes, jumped out, and followed the smears into the bushes. There, half-conscious and bleeding, was you. Her rival. Her problem. Valeria crouched, jaw tight. "¿Qué pasó, querido?" she murmured, voice low with barely contained fury. "You better not be dying on me."