**I'm...back. Hey, guys. *unflinchingly takes everything that you hurl at me because I deserve it*

This is an extra long chapter for those of you that actually care about this story still 😂 It's a rollercoaster...like all these chapters...so...ENJOY THE RIDE! ☠️

If you're still with me, HAVE SOME BESOS. I LOVE YOUUUU ❤️

"You might not be interested in war, but war is interested in you."
— Leon Trotsky

♛♚

"OH, I'M— I'M LACEY."

"Santiago!"

His dark gaze wavered to the doorway as he snickered, "I know exactly who you are. Everyone does, Reina."

It hung on the end of his statement recklessly, a trace of respect confined within the single word. Reina. My throat ran dry with all the weight that held, but the next slam on the door jolted me up from the bed.

Breathe.

I could taste the making of his threat on my tongue even before Soren shouted, "Santiago, si no abres esta puerta, I'm going to ship your ass back to Colombia in tiny motherfucking pieces."

A bolt of panic rushed through me and I shot Santiago a shaky look. "He will."

If he felt even an ounce of the threat, he didn't show it. As casual as ever, he took the glass of water from me, stood slowly and then rolled his fucking eyes. "Tan enojado. Is he always this angry?"

"No, but I...I just got shot, so I wouldn't test him," I warned with a weak smile.

Truthfully, I wanted him to open that door right now. I wanted to see Soren right fucking now.

I felt it in every fiber of my being, and in every single nerve that had ignited when I heard his voice in that flustered, fierce tone.

I knew how it felt. I knew exactly how it felt to watch him bleed out from a gunshot wound, to watch his breathing shallow and deepen, to watch him sink into unconsciousness and not know whether he would wake up.

I fucking knew how it felt to lose him.

Breathe.

My vision blurred with hot tears as the memories of that night came back in hauntingly high definition. In all those smears of blood against skin.

A hand brushed along my forehead tenderly. Santiago dipped closer to me, worry flashing through his eyes. "You're crying. Does something hurt?"

It wasn't a physical pain. I didn't know what it was. It was some emotional wreckage that had taken my heart hostage; a maelstrom of chaos that swept my thoughts out past the breakers; a raw fucking ache that would always anchor me to Soren Calloway.

"Please, I need to see him," I whispered. "Now."

Color rose in his neck as he fumbled off the bed and glanced away. "Sí. Por supuesto."

Breathe.

I nodded, mustering up another brittle smile. "Gracias."

Maybe he knew that I was seconds away from shattering into a million goddamn pieces, but pity replaced worry so quickly that it gave me whiplash. "Just please, don't cry."

How the fuck was I supposed to tell him that I was always crying?

When he moved away from me, nausea churned in my gut. His footsteps were soft against the linoleum, but nearly lost beneath the sudden echoes of fists against doors or feet against doors.

Dead bodies against doors?

Maybe. I didn't know what Soren was doing; I didn't know what he was smashing against the door.

"Ya voy! Ya voy!"

I winced when Santiago shouted, squeezing my eyes shut. My hands shook as they swiped across the cool sheets beneath me and into blanket that covered my bare body. I was wearing nothing but a pair of panties.

Breathe.

Without thinking, I swung my feet around and off the bed. A sharp pain laced through my shoulder as I sat up, but I clutched the blanket to my chest hard enough to forget about it.

It wasn't difficult. I stood up.

I also staggered back as a wave of dizziness hit me. "Whoa."

Everything tilted. I took a weak stride forward, and then another, and then another. I needed to see him.

Bang!

A yelp flew from my lips and I lost my balance, stumbling forward to catch myself on the frame of the bedroom door. Santiago was a whirlwind, whipping around to look at me as the front door swung open.

And then I watched in complete disbelief as my husband stepped into the apartment, tossed a fucking doorknob to the floor and pointed a gun at Santiago.

"I broke your door," he said in a chilling tone. At the sight of him, I fumbled to keep the blanket tucked around my body and to stay standing. "Be thankful it's not your face."

"Soren."

Silence. A silence that stole my breath.

Slowly, so fucking slowly, he turned to look at me. With a black eye and a busted cheek, his lips parted in...awe? Somewhere in my chest, my heart failed to function, it started to stall, it sputtered out, it died.

"Lace."

That was all it took. One word. Breathless and relieved, it unleashed a stampede of emotions that I couldn't control.

Everything fell back into place.

Soren Calloway. With his depthless green eyes and his messy curls and his fucking bruises and cuts and his craziness...I wasn't dead. I was alive.

"I should be dead, but I'm not...which means that I'm not fucking done here."

His words, coming from the cusp of death, twisted inside of me. Why were Soren and I still here? Why did we always survive?

Tears rolled over my cheeks as he stood motionless, just staring and staring and staring.

I couldn't think of why we always survived. I couldn't think at all.

"Soren..." I choked out desperately. "Soren."

"Oh my fucking..." His faint mumble trailed off into soft Spanish before he finally murmured, "Lacey."

He took the first step.

Soren took that first step that unraveled everything.

Suddenly, he was dropping his gun and shoving past Santiago to get to me and I was blindly stumbling forward and tripping over the blanket and crying his name.

And then he was on me or beside me or around me. Maybe a fucking part of me. I didn't know.

All I knew was that we were together. All I fucking knew was him. Us.

Soren fucking Calloway — blood and sweat and grit and a million feverish kisses tasting of nothing but love.

Arms winding around my waist and tucking me into his chest, choking out something low in Spanish. Hands clutching at his neck and holding him against me, blubbering into his shoulder.

It all mangled together and clashed with an impact that left me reeling. Frantic bubbling cries and fast fingers in my hair.

Soren was fucking sobbing, his entire body shaking, trembling, quivering, and with each heave of his chest, he seemed to steal every inkling of pain from my body and hold it on his own shoulders.

Nothing hurt. Nothing hurt when Soren was there. Now I finally understood why he always said it.

Because as those fluttering kisses danced along my forehead and my cheeks and my eyes, the pain in my shoulder ceased to exist. For a moment, it was gone. It all descended into a beautifully numb feeling of love.

"Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento," he kept mumbling over and over and over, his lips in my hair and his lips at my ear and finally — his lips against mine.

Soren Calloway had given me a trillion motherfucking besos since I'd met him. We'd kissed lustfully and angrily and fiercely, happily, sadly; drunk or sober; defeated or victorious; in lapses of judgement and fleeting desperation; in recklessness and in calculated, crowning caution.

Somehow, we'd mastered the art of fucking kisses.

Because in all those moments, a single beso could express anything or everything. A mistake, an apology, a lie, a regret, a confession. Hate and love, all tangled together with responsibility and respect.

This kiss was everything. It was firm and warm, flooding over me with so much feeling that I went under without a warning.

My knees buckled.

"Ah, Soren!"

He caught me effortlessly, keeping me flush to his chest as he swatted patiently at the clumps of hair strewn across my vision. I just kept blinking and blinking while he stared down at me with a lethal concoction of pain and relief. "Does it hurt? Are you okay?"

"I love you, I love you, I— te amo, te..." I blubbered helplessly. I felt so weak and so strong and so fucking loved. "I love you so much."

"Sé," he simply breathed. My feet left the floor as he picked me up gently, cradling me to his chest. Bloodshot eyes met mine, the stormy green softening despite the tears that wobbled over his eyelids. "I fucking love you, Lace."

Deep and low, his voice helped soothe the burn inside of me into a distant, dull throb. I was okay. Soren Calloway always made sure that I was okay.

"I'm okay, Soren." My fingers slid through his curls carefully, the splint straining as I tried to grasp the knotted strands. As his glassy, green eyes wavered, still reeling from a hell that I recognized all too well, I whispered again, "I'm okay and she's okay."

I stole a kiss as he hooked me further into his body. When we parted slowly, my gaze wandered over his entire face to take in the damage again. Closer.

A swollen, busted cheek, fresh blood trickling from the shallow cut. Low, deep bags under his eyes, hidden by the red and purple hue of a bruise.

My thumb swiped across the thin veil of blood, a scowl twisting at my lips. "What happened to you?"

His bottom lip snuck out into a pout. "I got hurt so you would have to come back and fix me up."

"No, you didn't." What had he done? How long had I been unconscious?

"You should see the other guy?" he tried sheepishly, but when I only blinked, Soren sighed heavily. "Don't worry about me."

"But I—"

Soren cut me off with an unapologetically deep kiss.

It left me dizzy and gasping for air as he pulled away to twirl a matted clump of hair in front of me. "Let me take care of you. You still have blood in your hair."

That was all it took for me to stiffen. "How long was I out?"

Another silence claimed him. Instead of answering, he flipped the long tails of the blanket up around my body and hooked an arm under my legs.

That scared me. "Soren."

He glanced over his shoulder warily. "Mat, can you grab my bag from the hall?"

I followed his gaze just in time to glimpse the teenager as he ducked through the open doorway, but then Soren was moving — carrying me bridal style through the tiny apartment.

As soon as my toes grazed cool tiles, I swayed. "Soren..."

Still unnervingly silent, Soren steadied me, and then helped tug the blanket up around the stiff bandage on my shoulder. I winced, bit back a cry, forced myself to face the two men that appeared in the bathroom doorway.

Mateo and Santiago stood side by side, and in the moment, I found it strangely surreal that there were so many similarities between the two of them. Santiago stood taller and a little broader, but they shared the same bone structure in their cheeks and the same eyes that were nervously shifting away from me.

"How long was I out?" I whispered, unsure who I was even asking anymore.

That nervousness simmered for another beat of silence before Santiago stepped forward into the bathroom. "Here." He handed me the glass of water and opened his other palm to reveal three pills. "Take these."

That wasn't an answer. With every second that passed without an answer, panic clawed through me. My throat tightened in dread and a bundle of nerves unfurled in the pit of my stomach.

I took the pills and the glass of water in my left hand, swallowing back a storm of curses. Neither him or Mateo would meet my gaze. Why wouldn't they tell me?

Breathe.

"Thanks, Mat," Soren said softly, taking the black duffel bag from him and nodding. "Thank you both."

Obviously there was some sort of order or closure in his gesture because they both spun on their heels and left us alone.

When the door closed and I turned around, my blood ran cold. With tear-stained, bloody cheeks and a trembling bottom lip, Soren's expression broke my heart.

"Soren, what happened?"

"Lacey, you were unconscious for almost three days," he whispered, a heartache in his voice that rattled my bones. "You were unconscious for almost 60 hours and fuck, I...every minute hurt, Lacey. I thought you..."

60 hours? Almost three days?

That knocked the breath out of me. It left my body in one harsh gasp. "What?"

Shaky hands reached up to cup my cheeks. "You...you weren't stable at first. You lost a lot of blood, you...I— I thought you were going to bleed out on the fucking sidewalk."

I screwed my eyes shut as something in my chest erupted. Heat. A palpitation that sent my breathing into broken pants. "I..."

Soren swiped at the tears streaming down my cheeks patiently and tilted my chin up. My eyes fluttered open to meet his, rimmed with unshed tears. "Take those. Please."

The plea in his voice spurred me to swallow the pills with a hasty gulp of water. Soren mustered up the weakest smile I had ever seen as he brushed my hair from my face again. "Soren, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...I didn't—"

"You fell." A shaky inhale. "You hit your head." Blink. "Well, Santiago pushed you."

"I know," I said, remembering what little he'd told me.

"Fuck, Lacey."

Soren pulled back and ran his hands through my hair. With gentle, trembling fingers, he pried the blanket from my body. As it dropped to the floor quietly, his shaky green eyes zeroed in on the bandage across my shoulder.

My heart hiccuped at the slight resentment in his expression. Why was he looking at me like that?

"He stopped the bleeding, he stitched you up," he finally explained. "He had Mat running to Woodhull to steal a bunch of shit."

"You couldn't bring me to the hospital."

Something bitter captured him. Hissing under his breath in incoherent Spanish, he turned and kneeled down over the small tub. "It could've been a concussion or the blood loss or the..." he choked on his next words, but caught himself. "Whatever it was, it kept you out for almost three fucking days."

"I was here the whole time?"

When he swiveled to meet my gaze again, a glimmer of gratitude shone in his dark eyes, so blatant and blunt that it nearly blinded me. "Santiago gave up his bed for you. He skipped his first classes of the semester, he stayed here with me. With you."

Breathe.

In. Out.

"Mateo told me he forced Santiago to go to the memorial because he was worried about you," Soren breathed. 

My brows rose. "Mateo?"

"I almost killed him, Lacey." With a jerk of his head, Soren laughed coolly. "I almost let Bloodline kill him a few weeks ago and he was the first person to try to help you. Everyone scattered, and then the cops and..."

An immense amount of gratitude flooded through me. I didn't have enough time to thank Mateo or Santiago yet.

"Think about that," Soren mused with that bitter edge in his voice. "He went to the memorial for a man that tortured his fucking brother because he wanted to be there just in case you needed him."

"I..." I didn't know what to say to that.

"And Santiago, fuck, I mean...I..."

"He's a doctor," I said. "He's studying to be one. He wasn't going to let me die without trying to help."

Soren swallowed hard before his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Again, his dark gaze found the bandage, but when I ducked down to his level, it wavered up to my face. "Half of what he was saying didn't make sense to me, Lace. Nothing made sense to me, nothing, nothing, nothing...I—"

A sob cut him off, tearing up his throat as his entire expression crumbled.

"Sometimes, when I look at you, nothing makes sense...but everything feels fucking right."

As that messily scrawled confession came back to me, my fingers skimmed his bloody cheek, desperate to comfort him. "Soren, I'm okay. Everything makes sense."

I didn't even know if he'd heard me because he started to ramble softly through fast, broken cries. "He started going on about arteries and blood loss and trauma, losing motor function, the baby not getting fucking oxygen, an—"

My lips met his and Soren surrendered, melting into the kiss with no fucking hesitation.

A serene type of silence seemed to still us for a long time, even after we parted — somehow alone and wrapped up together in another person's bathroom.

"I'm alive, Soren. Santiago said the baby is fine. He said I'm fine."

Soren pressed a hand to my bare stomach. An uncomfortable itch spread through my shoulder as I sank down into his arms, but it seemed to linger harmlessly.

"He knew you were pregnant," Soren breathed, a sad smile ghosting across his face. "Apparently, you're a hot topic in this apartment. Mateo told him, and Santiago saw it coming before— I...an abdominal gunshot wound would've..."

Killed me? Killed our baby? Both of us?

"Fuck, Santiago pushed you, Lacey. He pushed you and that might be the only reason you're alive right now."

"So maybe you shouldn't threaten to chop him up and send him to...Colombia?" I offered with a meek smile. "That was one hell of a threat."

Ignoring me completely, Soren hummed. His fingers trailed up my bare chest and skimmed the bandage delicately. "He did it for his Queen, he said."

Breathe.

"Soren, he...he didn't even know me."

"No, but he knew what you did. He didn't do this for me and he didn't even do it for Mateo. He did it for you because you are the only reason that his brother is alive." Another smile flitted across his face, but it was wistful in a way that seemed like it hurt. "Es su familia."

Mateo is his family. It would always come down to family. Always, always, always.

"And so he helped you keep yours," Soren croaked out, his voice hitching with a thick thankfulness. "He helped keep my family alive."

That paralyzed me, completely helpless and grateful. I floundered for words, but Soren only craned away from me to turn the knob in the tub. The rush of water filled the silence momentarily as his gaze flicked from my body to the tiled floor.

"Does it hurt?" he finally asked.

"Nothing hurts when you're here, Calloway."

A grin twitched at his lips, and for the first time since I'd woken up, he looked just... happy. "Stealing my lines."

"Forever."

"Those pills are going to knock you back out," he teased, opening his arms for me. "You need more rest, so come here."

I moved forward clumsily, and as I fell into his embrace, he helped me to my feet. Soren stayed quiet mostly, only mumbling under his breath as he plugged the tub and helped slide my panties off.

It wasn't until I slipped into the half-filled bathtub of lukewarm water that he finally breathed, "I thought I lost you, Lace."

Breathe.

Razor sharp and stern, his gaze narrowed in on my wince as I raised my arm slightly to catch his hand.

"Lacey, don't."

But my lips brushed along his palm and he released a small, sated sigh, filled with relief.

"Lacey."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too," he whispered, and then as an afterthought, added, "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up."

That blade plunged into my heart with another sliver of worry. He wasn't here when I woke up.

Where was he? What was he doing? Why was he hurt? Who the fuck shot me?

None of those questions would come out. Not when Soren was watching me like a hawk with bloodshot eyes and dried blood along his right cheek.

Instead, everything leaned into the instincts that had become a vital part of me. "Can you get me a washcloth?"

Soren nodded cautiously, whirling around to grab one from a shelf in the corner. "Doctor Santiago says you can't get the bandage wet."

I smiled up at him when he handed me the dark blue washcloth. "Ven aquí."

Steady and simmering, the burn in my shoulder intensified when I squirmed to sit up on my knees, but as Soren ducked lower to meet me, I tried to focus on him.

That shade of green in his eyes I'd seen when everything else was black.

It was pale in the way that I remembered; the trace of golden flecks were faint against a glacial layer of salty seawater.

I dipped the washcloth in the water as he settled on the tiles and propped his elbows up on the edge of the tub almost lazily. Like this was normal. A loose smile tugged at his lips. "You look beautiful, mi Reina."

My heart skipped. "With blood in my hair?"

"Always."

Soren Calloway was always going to be a romantic. I couldn't help but snort as I moved forward to brush the washcloth along his busted cheek.

He nearly flinched back. "Lacey, you do not need to take care of this. I didn't mean—"

"I know." I shrugged and scrubbed the skin gently. "I want to."

I could hear his teeth grind together.

"I love you." Somehow, he still managed to make it romantic, even with grit and aggravation in every syllable. "I fucking love you."

Our eyes clashed and that ring of gold fluttered up to meet me.

"I love you too," I whispered, memorizing the color with a vengeance. I'd never forget it again. "Did you know that your favorite color says a lot about you?"

Suddenly more lighthearted, the corners of his lips tilted up. "That's such an artist thing to say after almost dying."

"I'm serious," I laughed. "And it's actually psychology. We had to learn about color theory in school."

One brow rose in challenge. "You have no idea why blue is my favorite color."

"Blue is the color of responsibility and trust," I explained. "People who like blue want stability."

Soren seemed to ponder that with a thoughtful expression. "The irony isn't lost on me."

"What irony?"

"I love blue because when I saw you for the first time, you were wearing it."

My cheeks warmed as he gave me a shy little smile. Soren would never stop surprising me. "That's why?"

"Mmm," he hummed happily when I pressed the warm washcloth to his cheek again. "I guess I could have found some sense of stability in you."

"In me?"

"I know," Soren snickered. "There's nothing stable about you."

"Maybe there was...a long time ago," I said breathlessly.

A long, long time ago. Before Seth, before gangs, before love. Before Lacey.

The conversation lulled and we took to a certain pattern, hopeful for a stability between the lines of what we knew would never be safe.

I'd rub the washcloth down his cheek softly and he'd whisper something that I could barely hear. Lazily, his hands dipped into the tub and wandered up my waist, sparks and flames erupting in the place of his fingertips.

By the time the blood was gone, his fingers were twined into my damp hair, tugging slowly to my left shoulder to keep the bandage dry. In careful, waterfall motions, Soren wet my hair.

"Tilt your head back, Lace," Soren soothed. "I'm going to wash your hair, okay?"

I nodded, a content sigh escaping when he cupped my forehead and started to rinse my hair.

Breathe.

In. Out.

Breathe.

Every soft motion pulled me away from my body. With the mantra echoing quietly and each gentle rinse, I slipped further and further into a peaceful slumber.

Dozing off to feeling of his fingers massaging my scalp and the mumbling of a beautiful Spanglish soundtrack.

A million tender endearments. Reina and amor, esposa and artista. Familia. Bebé.

All the things that I had become to Soren, all the things that I was.

They all started to blend together into what I always knew was my home.

I could listen to Soren all day, all night. Para siempre.

So when he succumbed to a silence as he started to pat my hair with a towel, I lolled my head to the side and begged him, "Por favor, keep talking. I love it when you talk."

His chuckle was faint, featherlight against my cheek. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, I'm never going to shut up."

Maybe one day, I'd regret that.

But what mattered was today; today, I didn't regret anything about Soren.

I didn't regret one thing about how he continued to talk and sigh and breathe in my ear. Nothing.

Even as he helped me out of the bathtub, lifted my arms slightly to guide them into the sleeves of a button-up shirt, and then fiddled with the buttons until the long shirt closed completely...I didn't regret anything about the man that loved me too much.

And even when he started to ramble wistfully about blueberries...I didn't regret anything about the King that I'd fallen in love with.

I blinked sleepily, and my brows furrowed at the sight of the midnight blue fabric draped over my hands. "Is this..."

"I know you like me in it, but you look even better in it."

Without warning, Soren hoisted me up into his arms again. My legs swung around his waist and a pain ripped through my shoulder with the fast movement. "Soren!"

"Ah fuck, Lacey, I'm so sorry," he rasped in that faint, frenzied voice. His footsteps hurried, the apartment blurred by me, a sob built in the back of my throat. "I'm so sorry."

I'd spent a long time believing that apologies were empty, but in that moment, his heartfelt apology was full of something tangible and tortured and tender. I knew he was apologizing for so much more.

So for once, I let that apology mean something. I let it hit me with the force of a thousand mistakes and a thousand regrets, with three fucking years worth of memories that had led me to this place and this person.

Me.

It withered inside of me, ebbing with the tides of consciousness, drifting through a sensible slumber that was merely fueled by the warm summer breeze that held all of his whispered promises.

"...I'll never let anything happen to you, Lace...we'll fix this...you're going to be okay...you're going to be safe..."

Soft and warm, something soft and warm, a new darkness that didn't feel fatal, hushed voices somewhere around me. It all built this cocoon of comfort that stole me.

Safety.

Would we ever be safe?

Breathe.

"Es mi familia," Soren was saying so softly that I thought I was dreaming. It was fading and far away, out of my groggy grasp. "Es mi familia y ahora es tu familia."

"Va a estar bien."

The voices unraveled around me quietly, like a winding highway or a stroke of death. "She should eat, O. You said she was underweight."

"I know, I know."

"Puedo ir a conseguir algo," another person slurred weakly. "I'll do it."

I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't. I was tired and my throat was dry and that dull burn inside of me simmered uncomfortably.

"Soren?" I mumbled, twisting my fingers into cool fabric. "Soren..."

His fingers found mine instantly, and the other hand caressed my cheek. My lashes fluttered when his hot breath met my lips. "What is it, mi amor?"

Nothing but a whisper, the endearment tugged at my heart ruthlessly. "Amor. You never call me that."

"I call you everything," Soren retorted teasingly. "I literally call you sugar sometimes."

"Only because I'm sooooo sweet," I giggled.

He pressed a chaste, loving kiss to my lips. "Muuuy sweet. What do you need?"

"Mi amor." I squeezed his fingers. "Can you get me water?"

"Por supuesto."

But his hand never left mine. I had a sneaking suspicion that he made Santiago or Mateo get the water so that he wouldn't have to leave me, and something about that made my heart throb.

I didn't remember opening my eyes. I only remembered tipping the cool glass to my lips with my left hand and then falling away from everything again. Tendrils of smoke wafted through my brain, obliterating all the questions that seemed important.

When my eyes opened again, I didn't know how long I'd been asleep. All I knew was that I was gazing up at someone that wasn't Soren.

Someone blurry, someone lean and short and tan, someone smiling timidly at me.

"Reina."

"Mateo?" I blinked, but my attention shifted immediately with the delicious scent that snaked up my nostrils. "What..."

"I...I brought a pizza," Mateo said with some jittering, nervous edge. Why was he always so anxious around me? "Um, he said it was your favorite..."

I blinked again, glanced down at the box he was holding. A smile twitched at my lips. "Gracias. I am muuuuy hungry."

"Disgraceful," a voice drawled from across the room. Facing me, sitting casually at his desk with his arms folded over the top of a the chair, Santiago shot me a grin. "Your Spanglish needs work."

"Don't listen to him." My heart leapt into my throat as I finally found Soren stepping into the doorway, waving him off with a cheeky grin. "I love it when you speak Spanglish."

Santiago whistled. "Whipped."

"Cállate, cabrón."

I didn't hear the rest of their argument because Mateo took a step forward and it all just fucking hit me. I was so hungry. Sticking my arms out with a smile, I beckoned him to me. "Por favor."

His grin was small, but friendly. "For mi Reina."

As he placed the box into my lap, a million words jumbled into a knot at the back of my throat. Warmth spread through my cheeks and my thighs and my entire body with his gaze on me. I wanted to thank him for so much an—

"Did you do something to your hair?"

That was what came out of my fucking mouth.

Because as my eyes raked up his torn jeans and his damp, dark hoodie and landed on his hair, I thought I was going crazy.

One hand shot up to run through the small, dark curls that had grown out, revealing all the blonde strands nestled within. "I...yeah, I did."

"It looks cute," I admitted coyly. "I like it."

"Your hair looks awful," Soren grumbled instantly, letting out a threatening slew of Spanish to follow.

Mateo rolled his eyes and shot back sassily, "Oh yeah? Your hair looks like a fucking mop."

I fucking gasped. It was a full, dramatic gasp that made everyone in the room freeze. With furrowed brows and a frown, I scolded him. "Don't make fun of his hair."

"Queen's orders," Soren snickered. "Lacey loves my hair."

I shifted my scowl to him. "Don't make fun of his either, Soren."

"We're just messing around, Lace," he said with that infuriating grin, slinging his arm around Mateo's shoulders. "Mateo and I are really good friends now. We have a mutual interest."

Disgruntled, I pinned him with a glare. "Yeah?"

"Sí. You."

A blush snaked up Mateo's cheeks as he averted his gaze and tried to fidget away from Soren. "I..."

It echoed through me like second-hand embarrassment. "That's..."

"Oh, please," Soren scoffed, tugging Mateo closer to rustle his hair. "We've already been over this, Lacey. Está enamorado de ti."

My own cheeks flamed. "Oh."

"Mat may or may not have a crush," Santiago teased, his gaze flickering between all three of us with mild amusement.

Mateo cringed, and then shot his brother a murderous glare. "Dude."

"Don't dude me."

"You just—"

"It's okay, compadre." Soren playfully punched him in the shoulder, but when Mateo winced, I knew it wasn't completely friendly. "At 17, I would have been all over her too."

Mateo fumbled, taking a step back and sparing a wary look at my husband, as if he was waiting for a threat. "I don't— I..."

Surprisingly, Soren grinned. "You don't have to deny it. I heard you at the universal and I actually don't care."

Mateo's dark eyes steered to me next as he scrambled awkwardly, "I just told Santiago that you were—"

"Rica," Santiago cut him off. "Qué culito rica...qué rica mami...Is that what you said?"

Cornered and still blushing insanely, Mateo mustered up a weak grin. "Maybe."

"My brother thinks you're sexy, Reina."

Soren snorted, but let Mateo go. "Actually, he thinks you have a sweet ass."

"Oh," I squeaked out. "Um, thanks?"

A burst of laughter came from my husband. "Well, twist the knife a little more, Lace. Why don't you let him down gently?"

"Lo siento," I fumbled, my fingers twisting into the sheets. "I mean, you're cute, but—"

This time, the rowdy laughter came from Santiago. "Sorry, Mat, that's definitely code for not interested."

"It's actually code for married," Soren said, wiggling his fingers at Santiago.

Breathe.

"Can I..." I finally found words. "Can I talk to Mateo alone?"

The flicker of hurt in Soren's expression was unmistakable, and even though it wounded me, I was thankful when he simply nodded and left the room with Santiago.

Flustered, Mateo started babbling as soon as the door closed. "I know you're married and I know he's fucking crazy—"

"Mateo, thank you."

He stilled. "What?"

"Thank you for going to the memorial, for helping me, for helping Soren. I know that Seth hurt you and your brother and I know that Soren hurt you too, but thank you."

His mouth opened and then closed. The silence stewed with the heat in the room until we were both choking on stale air.

Finally, he murmured, "You don't have to thank me. You're the Queen."

"What kind of Queen would I be if I didn't thank someone who deserved it?" I shot back in frustration. Mateo's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything as I squirmed in the bed. "I do have to thank you. He told me that you were there for me and that you were the first to offer to help."

With a curt nod, he shifted on his feet hesitantly. Every trace of the red tint had faded from his cheeks. "I really loved your speech. At the universal."

Fuck, that felt like a distant memory. Like a bitter taste that I'd already swallowed and forgotten. All the promises. "I...I'm sorry I haven't helped more."

A heavy sigh left his lips as he took a step closer. "I don't think you're rica, Reina," he said and then paused, an immediate flush sneaking up his neck. "Well, I mean, I do. You're definitely hot, but I— mierda."

Crush or not, I didn't want him to be this nervous around me, so I smiled. "It's okay, Mateo."

Mateo returned the smile weakly. "You saved my life and I— I didn't want anything to happen to you. I just...I think that..."

Breathe.

"Mateo, I don't want anything to happen to you. I don't even think that you should be involved in this and..."

"I think that you're kind," he admitted in a soft voice. "I think that beyond all the gang bullshit, you're nice, Lacey."

That might've been the first time he ever called me by my name.

Tears flooded through me as my throat closed up with too many baffling emotions. "I...I don't want you to get hurt, but thank you for being there. For everything."

He grinned, his eyes brightening significantly. "I've got your back."

There was something about his expression that tugged at my heart. In the faint light, with the fast aroma of greasy pizza and the tension lifting, Mateo looked so much older than he actually was.

I wanted to yell at him until he left the gang behind, or send him so fucking far away that they'd never find him. I wanted to shake some sense into him. I wanted him to be fucking safe.

There was no going back, so it would be useless.

"I do like your hair," I said instead. "Why did you do it?"

"Oh." The infamous blush returned. "It was for the first day of school, but I missed it."

The first day of fucking school. I grimaced at him. "You missed it?"

"It was today."

"Mateo," I ground his name out harsher than I'd expected. "You need to go to fucking school."

Sheepishly, he ran his hand through his hair again. "I know, I just— I wanted to make sure you were okay and O asked me to help him and I...carajo, I—"

"Watch your mouth, young man," Soren suddenly scolded from the doorway. "You're still a child."

"I'm seventeen," he said with a pout. "Not seven."

Soren chuckled, stepping into the room to tug him under his arm playfully. "Listen, I know you dig my wife, but could I get a minute alone with her?"

With a frantic nod, Mateo slipped from his grasp and shot me a timid smile. "Amor de Reina."

"Amor," I called back softly.

And as soon as the door shut behind him, a new silence reigned. For a long time, Soren and I just looked at each other. There was a tranquility that came with it, running my eyes down the edges of his dirty jeans and his sweatshirt and just listening to him breathe.

Breathe.

But then my husband broke the beautiful moment with a snicker. "He's fucking whipped, you cradle robber."

My jaw must've dropped. I sputtered in disbelief, "A cradle robber?"

"He's what? Six years younger than you? Still in high school?" Soren laughed loudly. "You're a cougar to him, Lace."

"I am not a cougar!"

"It's not your fault," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "The poor kid has no chance."

I couldn't help it. I slipped into an uncontrollable, incredulous bout of laughter. "Come here, Calloway."

Moving to the bed with a new goal, he grinned. "I love your laugh."

Breathe.

Nothing was impossible for Soren Calloway. Even squeezing himself into a twin-sized bed beside me and a full pizza was no difficult feat.

I sagged in relief when he kissed me. "I saw you. I saw you when I was unconscious."

"Mmm," he mumbled into my lips. "Did you also see us get hitched?"

"No, you were talking to me."

"Yeah? That's because I was talking to you most of the time. I didn't leave until he promised you were stable this afternoon."

"What were you saying?"

"The usual stuff." Mischief glistened in his eyes as he pulled away. "If you didn't come back, I'd have to murder the other half of New York."

One side of my lips quirked up. "So...the crazy stuff?"

His shoulders lifted into a nonchalant shrug. "The usual."

"You told me I had to come back to kiss you," I sighed, letting him flip the pizza box open on top of our laps. "You had our daughter believing that kisses solved everything."

Soren stiffened. "Our daughter?"

"She had your curls," I admitted breathlessly. "She had your curls and she...she loved you so much."

Even though he smiled, it felt sad. "I can't wait to meet her, mami."

"I'm so sorry. I put her in danger. I put us both in danger. Everyone warned me and I—"

Silencing me with another fierce kiss, my loving husband killed all of the apologies building low in my throat. "Lacey, you're both okay. That's what matters."

With those words, the conversation ended.

Soren shut down any other apology and resorted to lazily stroking my knotted hair as I ate. Exhaustion crept back in on me slowly, and with every bite, my eyes drooped lower.

"Doctor says you have to keep your shoulder elevated," Soren whispered after I'd finished eating. He moved the pizza box to the floor and then shifted me onto his chest carefully. "Does it hurt?"

I shook my head sluggishly. "Nothing hurts."

"Back to sleep for the bebé," he lulled. "Besos para ambos."

When his lips fluttered against mine with a simple, sweet kiss, everything faded away.

Time didn't exist when I was with Soren. It dragged and it sped, it tripped and it passed, it always seemed to catch up to us, but it didn't matter. Because all of those one days were always on the horizon.

The bed dipped abruptly. In some surreal state of half-consciousness, I swept my hand out to catch fabric and yanked. "Don't leave me."

It felt like only minutes had passed, but it must've been longer. "I have to go, Lace."

"Okay," I mumbled sleepily and lifted my head. Sunlight pried my eyes open as his words hung in the air. They didn't make sense to me. Where would he need to be if it wasn't with me? "I'll go with you. I always...I always go with you."

"No, no, no," Soren hissed from somewhere in the blurry dream, suddenly close to me and easing me back down onto the bed. "You're not going anywhere."

"But I—"

"I should've tied you to the bed like Adrian suggested. You're not going anywhere."

The urgency in his voice shocked my system awake. I clutched at his arms in panic. "No, Soren, you— you can't leave me."

I couldn't lose him again. No, no, no.

"Lacey." His brows furrowed in concern. "I'm sorry, but this is a fight you won't win. You're staying here. I'll tie you to this bed."

I frowned. "You'd tie me to another man's bed?"

Soren didn't even blink. No fucking hesitation. "If it keeps you safe."

Scowling, I sank back into the pillows and blinked back the tears. An irrational dread spread through my chest and blossomed into something venomous and deadly. Fear.

So much fucking fear.

"Soren, I..." My voice cracked and I cursed under my breath, scrubbing at my eyes with my good hand. I was being irrational. I was not going to cry over this.

Before I could say anything else, Soren was sitting on the edge of the bed. As soon as his fingertips brushed along my forehead to tuck my hair back, I sighed in defeat.

Fuck him for knowing all my weaknesses and every fucking shortcut to my heart.

"Why do you have to leave?"

"I'm sorry, Lace." Soren avoided the question and it made me so fucking sick. "Santiago will stay with you. He's kind of cool."

"Hey!"

The sound of his whine somewhere outside of the room should've made me grin, but it only added to the sudden bile that crawled up my throat. "He's okay."

"I know. He's not as good as me."

In the dreamy haze of a sunrise, dust fluttered airily over Soren. Half cut with the light from the window beside the bed, something in his expression crippled me. "Why can't you stay, Soren?"

"Because I have to avenge you, Lacey."

My breathing hitched with another crest of panic and nausea. "What?"

"They think you died, mi Reina."

I felt my heart plummet. "They think I'm dead."

His hand caressed my cheek again and I wanted to flinch away from it. "Yes, and we're going to keep it that way until someone steps up."

The realization hit me like a hurricane. "Whoever shot me."

"Whoever tried to ice you wasn't smart, Lacey."

"Ice me?"

"Because now they've picked a fight with me," Soren said, his voice low and deadly with every fucking promise of a merciless King. "You know I always find a way to win, mi Reina."

"Soren, I—" I choked on fear or doubt or paranoia. I wasn't sure what it was, but all that would come out was his name. "Soren."

"Someone tried to kill you and I'm going to take care of it." The grit and determination laced through the undertones of that statement sent a shiver down my spine. "And then the Queen will rise from the dead and reign over all of New York. I promise."

Horrified, I could only hear those first fucking words. Someone tried to kill the Queen. "They...they didn't try to kill me. They tried to— they tried to assassinate me."

Adrian. Adrian. Adrian.

Something broken tore from my lungs. "Adrian."

Breathe.

In. Out.

"Where is Adrian?" I gasped, my pulse spiking. "Where is he?"

"Adrian—"

"I'm so sorry," I croaked out again. "He warned me. You all...warned me and I— I'm so sorry. Where is he? I need to see him."

"Lace..." Soren trailed off cautiously. "Adrian thinks you're dead."

**OHHHHH SHITTTTT. Who else thinks Adrian went on a fucking RAMPAGE? 😅

IN OTHER NEWS, I LOVE YOU ALL SO VERY MUCH! 💕All the people that are still with this story and still supporting. YOU ARE EVERYTHINGGGGG. BESOS BESOS BESOS. 💋💋