These trash bags are heavier than a mountain as I haul them toward the club’s back entrance. The bar is alive tonight, so the bins keep overflowing with empty bottles, and the barback, Katarina, can’t keep up with her backend duties. Like the gentleman I am, I offered to help carry out the trash. She’s so tiny, she looked like a toddler fighting with a bag of toys.

I slam my back into the crash bars on the double doors and exit the club to fling the trash into one of the metal dumpster bins. The night is crisp, with a thin veil of clouds, so I take a moment to inhale deep breaths to feel at peace with my new reality. Earlier, Emilio Suarez introduced me to his companions as his friend, and I’m still unsettled by it. Never in a million years did I believe I’d be laughing in the same atmosphere as the Cartel, sitting there listening to the men crack jokes like I’m part of the gang. 

A shiver zips down my spine to my toes. I need a stiff drink! And a cuddle.

But life has decided to use me as a punching bag instead.

The double doors burst open, and before I can turn around, Kay’s meaty hands are on me. My feet leave the pavement as he flings me into the dumpster the same way I did Richie that night he threatened me. It happens so fast that I’m still registering what happened and peeling myself off the ground when Kay drives his steel toe boot into my abdomen. 

Fuck.

The air explodes from my lungs on a gasp like shards of glass, and I don’t have a chance to recover when he does it again and again. I recoil, using my arms to guard my stomach and ribs, but his boot rams right into my forearm, and the bones snap.

Fuck.

The pain doesn’t fully click until he grabs my face, and I swing at him with my broken arm. The pang radiates across my arm and shoulder, then to my brain as if acid was poured into a wound. As if that wasn't bad enough, Kay's knuckles are like sledgehammers colliding at once and rocking me so hard I see stars when I blink. The blows keep coming, and I become too weak to swing or claw at him. Instead, my arms dangle at my sides like a rag-doll.

I can’t die like this.

My eyes roll back, so Kay gives me one last punch and releases me. My body sinks into the trash bags, where bottles poke into my back like needles, pinching me to stay awake. However, everything still goes black.

∆∆∆

When I come to consciousness, I have no idea what day or time it is, and I have no idea why Katarina is crying above me, my head cradled in her lap.

“Miguel!” She taps my cheek. “There you go. Open your eyes. Squeeze my hand. Something!”

“Washz go on…” I mumble, and my ribcage is like shattered glass when I breathe.

“You got mugged,” Katarina cries. “I came out here to throw away more trash and found you like this. I called Jude on the walkie-talkie. He’s on his way. We’re calling an ambulance.”

“Nah mug…”

“What?”

“Nah mug.”

“Miguel, please don’t move. You might have a concussion.” 

“I gah gut up.”

“No, stay put. You shouldn’t move,” Katarina cries. 

Regardless, I don’t listen to her and stagger to my feet in a clumsy attempt that has me collapsing to the cold, damp cement like some drunk at a bar. Katarina pleads for me not to move, but I’m too stubborn. I push myself up again with my good arm and roll onto my knees. Searing pain cuts through my ribs, so I clutch myself with a groan. They must be broken. 

“Kat…” I swallow the blood in my mouth. “In no did diz.”

“What?”

“In no did diz…” I repeat, but my mouth is too swollen, and my head too woozy to form proper words, so Katarina stares at me with watery eyes. “Zo’kay. I fin zem.”

Pushing to my feet, I attempt to stand again but look more like a Neanderthal, hunched over and taking big, clumsy strides. I stagger into the dumpster and almost trip over trash as Katarina follows me, her arms out like she’s ready to catch me. But there’s no way her five-foot-two-inch self could hold me up. Not at my two-hundred and twenty pounds of muscle compared to her one-hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet. 

None of it matters, though. I just know I need to find Kay and fucking kill him, so I’ll crawl out of this damn alley if I have to. 

The double doors swing open, and Jude, the head of security, comes rushing out, along with Gavin, my boss. 

“Jesus Christ, Miguel!” Gavin shouts. “You look like hell.”

“Right through here,” Jude says to someone behind him.

A couple of EMTs approach, one with a medical bag, another with a light he flashes in my eyes. They ask me some questions and check my vitals but say they need to take me to the hospital to do other things like take X-rays. I put up a fight, but in my sorry state, I’m not winning against them, and pass out.

A few minutes later, my ass is on a gurney, and I’m being shoved into the back of an ambulance as onlookers stand outside of the club gawking. Right before the doors close, Lucas is on the sidewalk, his phone pressed to his ear, watching me. However, his friends Kay and Jocelyn are nowhere to be seen. 

Under Augusta’s wing, my ass! Where was my protection tonight?

∆∆∆

It's about thirty minutes before sunrise, and I’m in an Uber with bandages around my ribs, a cast on my arm, and an ice pack held to my face. Rage boils in my blood, but I’m in too much pain to even scowl at my bruised reflection. Blood is crusted on my lips and nostrils, and there are cuts across my face from the ring Kay wore on one of his fingers.

I wasn’t supposed to leave the hospital, but it turns out my ribs are just bruised, not broken, so I didn’t see the need to remain there like some prisoner, not with how livid I am. So I yanked the IV drip out of my vein and snuck out.

The Uber pulls up to the Abramovitz mansion, and I stumble out, clutching my ribcage while taking shallow breaths since it hurts too damn much to take full ones. Dragging myself to the gate, I pound my fist on the intercom to alert the guards I’m here, and after a few minutes, the gate rolls open. 

“Rough night?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I walk past him and hop onto one of the golf carts so he can give me a ride up the path to the mansion. 

I’m so worn out, I could fall asleep right here. However, every bump and groove in the pavement sends a shockwave through my ribs, making it impossible to close my eyes. After a few minutes, the golf cart pulls in front of the mansion, so I stumble out, and my legs are like cement bricks as I place one in front of the other to climb the stairs. The guards pacing the gigantic front door stop to pat me down, and I wince when my sides are swiped for weapons. They finally open the doors, and when I enter, Augusta is rushing down from upstairs, tugging on her silk robe over a nightgown. 

“Lord have mercy…” she whispers when she reaches the foyer.

“Where the fuck was my protection!”

Her hands go to her mouth. “Oh, Miguel…” 

“Don’t you fucking, oh Miguel, me! I signed my life to you to be your little slave for the next five years, and you said you would protect me and the people I love. Is this what you call protection?” 

“No.”

“Then what fuck?”

“I will take care of this,” she says.

“I don’t believe you. We’re done. Fuck your contract. I’ll protect myself.”

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” Augusta shouts, and like an idiot, I pause from walking out the door. She circles to face me, hands on hips, and says, “I meant what I said about protecting you. When you are under my wing, you are an extension of me, so when someone touches you, they are messing with me.”

“Well, maybe you should relay that information to your sister! Kay and Jocelyn were at the club last night. She wanted me to tell her what you’re planning, and she said she would pay me double whatever you’re offering.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yes. I was informed about your interaction and how Kay ambushed you.” 

“By Lucas?”

However, Augusta doesn’t answer. Instead, she walks around me to speak with a servant, who has joined us within the last couple of minutes with a tray of coffee. “I need you to reserve a private room at the Wayfare Tavern for around noon, then summon Bernard and tell him to gather the men he trusts and meet me there, but not Niko or Kay since they're away with Jocelyn.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t tell Jocelyn. She’s off on a bachelorette retreat in Lake Tahoe, and I’d like her to enjoy her time away.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, go home, Miguel.” Augusta pats my chest. 

“Wait a damn minute.” I grab Augusta’s arm and look her dead in the eyes. “I’m part of this meeting, right?”

"No."

"No? So you'll let Jocelyn sip champagne in Lake Tahoe after having her gorilla do this to me?"

Augusta's gaze trails down to my fingers wrapped around her arm, and she yanks herself free. “Don’t forget you work for me now, Miguel. You don't call the shots. I do. At the moment, your job is to go home and rest. I’m sending a doctor to your apartment.” 

“You can’t expect me to sit by after what Kay did to me.”

“Actually, I do. You’re no good to me with a broken arm and face. So, for once, Miguel. Do as I say without fighting me on it. Go home. I will take care of this.”

“But—”

“Go home,” she says, walking up the stairs to her living quarters. 

Reluctantly, I leave, and it takes about an hour to Uber through early morning commuter gridlock. When I get to my apartment, the stairs are like climbing Mount Everest, and every breath is like sharp ice picks. However, I grit through it, and by the time I make it to my door, sweat drips down my face. I try to be quiet as I step inside and peel off my jacket. I even wince silently at the ache swelling through my torso. 

But I'm not as stealthy as I thought.

Behind me, Angie stomps down the hallway, her bare feet slapping the hardwood, so I know I’m about to get my asshole chewed off and spit in my face. 

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling your phone all damn night, and it goes straight to voicemail. I haven’t slept at all, and you waltz in here—”

She doesn’t finish her ranting when I turn around. Instead, her jaw drops, and her hand goes to her mouth. I limp to the kitchen, open the cabinet where I keep all the medicine, and pull out a bottle of painkillers.

“Can you do me a favor and pick up my prescription later when the pharmacy opens?” I dig into my pocket and press a script against the counter, then proceed to pop pills into my mouth.

“That’s it?” 

“What’s it?” I turn on the faucet and gulp back the water that pours out. The cold soothes the cuts on my lips, so I let it run over my mouth for a bit longer.

“Are you seriously not going to explain what happened to you? You walk in here at six in the morning, all beat up and bruised, and the only thing you say is to pick up your prescription? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

Turning off the faucet, I straighten and wipe my mouth. “Well, my head feels like someone is jackhammering it, so stringing sentences together is rough.”

“You’re stringing them together fine right now!”

My head and face are throbbing, so I close my swollen eyes and lean against the counter. “Angie, please. I’m in a lot of pain, so can you not bite my head off for once in your damn life?”

“I’m upset, Miguel!” She shouts and swipes away a few tears, red, hot, and full of rage. “I spent all night worried, and then you show up looking like this!”

“I got jumped by fucking Kay while I was at work, alright?”

“No,” Angie cries, her trembling hands curled into fists. “It’s not alright. I had no idea where you were and no way of finding out if something happened to you. And look.” She motions to me. “Something did happen to you, and you walk in here without bothering to explain, and then you get mad at me?”

Fuck.

She’s right.

I’m tired and angry, but not at her. Angie doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of my frustration when she was just worried and scared.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Pushing away from the counter, I go to her and manage to lift my arm to pull her in for a hug. However, she resists and shoves my chest to untangle herself from me. I wail from the pain, my arm recoiling and going to my torso, causing her to freeze.

"Shit. I'm sorry." She looks up at me, her eyes full of tears. "That asshole really did a number on you, didn't he?”

It hurts to lift my arm again, but I wipe her tears away with my thumb and whisper that I'll be fine. Who would have thought this hot-headed, rebellious woman could ever be this emotional upon seeing me in pain? She used to desire frying my balls in lava. Now, she traces her fingers down my chest like she’s afraid she’ll wound me.

“Kay caught me off guard while I was helping Katarina take out the trash. He kicked me repeatedly in the fucking ribs and then used my face as a punching bag.”

Angie touches my cheeks, her fingers gentle as they outline the swollen bruises. “I ought to rip that fucker’s eyes out. He needs to pay. I’ll call Sammy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It'll get taken care of.”

“How?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

But I should know better. Angie is too damn smart. Her brows furrow, and she steps back, shaking her head. “Miguel, please tell me you didn’t.”

Unable to lie to her, I look away, and she sucks in a sharp breath. That was all the answer she needed.

“How could you go behind my back to that woman!?” she yells, her finger jabbing at me.

“I had no other choice, Angie.”

“The fuck you didn’t! We could have talked to Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Yes. We should have taken him up on his offer to help. Not Augusta, the fucking manipulative whore!”

Never in a million years did I imagine Angie wanting to do things the legal way. Not this woman who proposed we kill our exes with an Italian mobster on speed dial.

“Angie, it’s the only way I can guarantee we’re all safe.”

“Bullshit! You did this for yourself.”

“For myself?" My swollen eyes widen. "Are you kidding me?”

“Yes, for yourself. When will you learn that you can’t go out and make unilateral decisions that affect everyone you say you love. Your life isn’t just yours anymore. It’s mine, too!”

“Where are you going?” I ask when she blazes past me and yanks her coat off the hook on the wall. 

“To Alma and Jacksons.” She tugs it on.

“Are… are you leaving me?” 

Angie shoves her bare feet into a pair of slippers and rolls her eyes. “No, you selfish dick. But right now, I can’t stand looking at you. So I need to get out of here before I say things I’ll regret.”

“Wait.” I take her elbow when she throws the door open. “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. When I’m not mad as hell anymore.”

She marches out of the apartment, so I rush after her, and even though it hurts like fucking hell, I haul her back into me. “You can’t leave. Not like this when you’re all fired up and in your pajamas.”

“I don’t give a shit if I’m in my nighty.”

“Well, I care that you’re leaving here all angry and without even kissing me.”

Angie reels her head back with a shake. “What?”

“I don’t like you leaving here upset without a kiss goodbye.” 

“Fine.” She bounces up on tiptoes and plants a peck. “Happy?”

“Like you mean it.”

“I can’t with you!” She stomps her foot but leans up and kisses me again. “There. I’m leaving now.”

She spins on her heels and continues marching away, so I shout, “I love you.”

That stops her in her tracks, and she glares at me over her shoulder. "What was that?"

"I love you. I didn't want you to storm off without hearing it. You never know what could happen."

Angie scoffs, "Oh, like you getting your ass beat into a pulp and me not knowing where the fuck you were all night?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry. Please don't leave. I need you."

"For what?" Angie turns around and folds her arms. "To pick up your meds?"

"No. I just..." I stare at the ground, my shoulders slumping. "I just really need to feel your love after a shitty night."

A few beats of silence pass, but then Angie says, “Alright, handsome. You win.”

She marches back to our door but won't look at me, so I kiss the top of her head as she passes. Her gaze flashes to me, and there's a crack in her furious expression, a tiny smile teasing the edges of her lips. So I kiss her head again.

I don’t care that it hurts like fucking hell putting pressure on my mouth.

Kissing her head has become my favorite way of showing her that I love her.