"Sorry you had to see that," Eris says. "That motherfucker Javier never knows his place. Been dying to do that since the day I met him."

I stare out the car window, watching the L.A. lights come into view as we pass over the looping highways. "You're not worried his gang or whatever will come after you?"

"Come after me?" she scoffs. "When he's the one who doesn't understand respect? He's always starting problems, even his little bitch of a dad."

What I want to know is what will happen to the fingers.

"He deserves it," I say flatly.

Eris' pale lips curl into a smirk. "Damn, Ef, didn't think you were bloodthirsty like that."

"Clearly not as much as you."

"So you're not weirded out?"

"I actually found it quite exhilarating," I admit. "Seeing you point a gun at him, defending me. It was almost sweet."

She laughs loudly, her posture easing against the premium leather seat.

"I can't believe they have a Rembrandt in there," I say. "I should honestly tell the FBI, get my ten million in compensation, and then disappear to Canada."

"You won't do that."

"I should."

"Don't wanna mess with Ximena Levya."

"Who is she, anyway?"

"She's from Sinaloa. Used to be part of a powerful cartel that went all the way into Michoacán and Guerrero. Her and my dad go way back, even though they're not technically supposed to be allies. They worked together in the art trade. She stays low key. Manages real estate properties, hotels—you know, the legal businesses that help to launder the real cash. Lady has been married four times, finding a new capo every time the last one gets murdered, and she and Iker have definitely had an affair."

"You say she used to be part of a powerful cartel," I say. "What happened?"

"They got wiped out. They used to be part of the Sinaloa cartel, but they broke off in 2008 or something, and Sinaloa and the police wiped them out for the most part. So Ximena moved up to Tijuana."

"And she started working for Sinaloa again?" I ask.

Eris gives me a look, like she's calculating the cost-benefit analysis of divulging any of this information. "Nah. She's working with us now. We've always been allies."

"And who are you?"

"Tijuana Cartel."

Hearing her say it out loud makes it so much more real.

"That's the cartel that's supposedly dying, isn't it?" I ask. "Because Sinaloa and some other rival are fighting for the territory."

"Damn, Ef, have you been doing research?. Yeah. That's right."

"That puts you in a precarious position."

"Or a privileged one, depending on how you look at it."

"How so?"

"When you're one of the smaller dogs in the biz, you have more freedom to bring in new allies. It's not so centralized. Less people to upset, less consequences for changing loyalties."

"So what's the plan of action? How does Iker plan on getting power?"

Eris checks her reflection in the rearview mirror, noticing the smear of blood on her chest, staining her white tank top. She wipes at her skin and then reaches for the tube of sanitizer in the cupholder, squeezing out the sweet-smelling liquid and rubbing her hands.

"Hands on the steering wheel," I remind her.

She scoffs but obliges, headlights zooming past us on the highway. "Iker wants to link up with the Sinaloa Cartel. Sell his soul and kiss the asses of the pinches CEOs. Because Sinaloa has the real connections with the government. Hell, even here. They have DEA informants selling out their rivals 24/7. Makes it a lot easier for both the US and Mexico if there's only one alpha in control. And that could bring Iker stability. Not only for him, but for us."

"Weren't all these cartels part of the Guadalajara cartel in the 80s?" I ask. "Before it split into factions. Juareaz, Tijuana, and Sinaloa which became the biggest."

Eris smirks. "You really have been researching."

William was the one who told me, but I say, "Well, obviously."

"Yeah. Sinaloa and Tijuana have been fighting for years. Iker wants to see if he can use any of his old connections. Go back to his Sinaloa roots, because all his family got wiped. Growing up, every few months we'd hear stories about his cousins, his tíos y tías getting shot until there was no one left."

"Must've made for very depressing family reunions," I say, then remember: "Ximena basically told me they're going to murder you if you ever go back to Mexico."

"Speaking of which. She basically told me you're going to die if you ever go back to Mexico."

Eris' grip freezes over the wheel. "Esa chismosa."

"Doesn't that pose a bit of a problem if we're supposed to win this competition?"

"It'll be fine. It's Mexico City. Not exactly cartel territory."

"What happened?" I ask. "What happened that you can't go back anymore?"

"Long story."

"It's a three-hour long drive back."

She drags her hand down her face, sighing. If I wasn't depending on a ride with her, I'm sure she would be tempted to kick me to the curb.

"Big rival cartel from Jalisco," she says finally. "They're growing fast. Once they made it to Tijuana, it became even more of a shitshow than it already was." 

"And they're after you?"

"They'd love to put a bullet through my head before I become a real threat."

"So it's true," I say. "Your dad is raising you to take his place."

She purses her lips. Glances out the front window and then the back, probably double-checking that no one's followed us here.

"Yeah," she admits. "Yeah, he is. He always wanted my siblings to have a normal life, you know, go to college and get real jobs, that whole American dream type shit, but someone needs to help with the business. So it's me and my oldest sister Josefina. She manages shipments all the way from Guatemala to New York. But she stays anonymous. No one really knows who she is."  

William would be salivating right now. I'm literally getting to interview the future narco princess for free.

"Why does he want it to be you?" I ask. "Why not Axel?"

I hesitate to mention her brother's name, as if she'll know what happened between us if I do, but all she says is, "Axel is weak. He never had the stomach to kill."

"And you do? You've killed someone?"

"I'm not answering that."

"You've told me I'm the only one you don't have to hide anything from. So why wouldn't you?" 

Will her answer change the way I see her? Will it give me another reason to fuel my hate? 

"Fuck," she breathes, reaching up to pull at her hair, only to realize it's tied up. "Okay. Fine. The first time was when I was ten. It was in the mountains of Guerrero, this other state on the Pacific coast toward the South where my mom's from. Iker had a lot of powerful allies there at the time. See, when Guadalajara split, it wasn't only into the big three. There was another cartel. They even had this white dude from Texas who controlled Acapulco, but anyway, those were Ximena's O.G. bosses. Some of my mom's cousins were part of it, too. My mom's parents didn't wanna be part of all that, though. They had decent jobs and made it to the upper-middle class, but the cartel wouldn't let them get out so easily. So they made a deal. They'd leave my grandparents and my mom alone, but she would have to marry a narco."

I stare at my skirt, dirty with dust from the couch at the warehouse. "So she married Iker."

"Yep. Even though he was from a different cartel, but it was a way to strengthen their alliance. They knew that once my mom had kids, we would stay loyal to Guerrero."

It's like royalty. Marriages for power, uniting different factions.

"And they had you murder someone?" I ask.

She undoes her buns, letting her hair fall messily around her face, and starts pulling at the roots. "They recorded me blowing out this guy's head with a shotgun. Then his chest. He wasn't even Sinaloa, just some local narco who thought he could challenge the order. It was like a cartoon, a hole straight through his body. He didn't even scream before it happened. Just stayed still like a robot. I guess that made it easier." 

The food from the vegan restaurant earlier churns in my stomach, the nausea unbearable. She was ten. Ten-years-old and already a murderer. It makes chopping off Javier's fingers seem like nothing.

"That's so messed up," I whisper. "Why would they record it?"

"It's kind of tradition," she says with a shrug, not meeting my gaze. "You ever seen those cartel execution videos?"

Eris' words are far worse than seeing someone's guts through a screen.

"Why would your dad make you do that?" I ask.

"Girls don't get a lot of respect in the biz," she explains. "Half the time the most they can aspire to be is some kingpin's fuck toy. My dad wants me to be more than just a money launderer like him. He wants me to have real power someday. So I had to be twice as bad as the men. And I had to start young."

I suddenly loathe Iker more than I ever have before. What a selfish, disgusting, sorry excuse for a man.

"If he wants power, why doesn't he do it himself?" I ask, my head pounding, matching the pace of my quickening heart.

"He doesn't have the charisma," she says. "Or the balls. But really, it's because he has way too many businesses here to do anything more risky. And like it or not, our family is safer in San Diego. If he wanted to be a real drug lord, he'd have to move back to Mexico. I know I'll have to eventually, once I start moving real money. Sure, you're a thousand times more likely to get shot, but the government's a lot easier to bribe."

I can't believe it. Iker is flat out crazy, priming his teenage daughter for crime like a lamb to the slaughter.

"What did you feel?" I ask. "When you shot that guy."

She shrugs again. "Just happy I made my dad proud."

I have so many questions. Does she still think about it, the man's face permanently branded into her head? Does she feel guilty? Or was she already desensitized to the violence?

"Was that the only time?" I ask softly, hardly believing the words coming out of my mouth. 

Her eyes flicker back and forth. "The second time was during my quinceañera. I was wearing this red dress I hated, never felt so uncomfortable in my life. And in the back there were these men tied up. They'd already been tortured—it was up to me to finish the job. Five bullets. Boom, boom, boom—" she flicks up her golden gun, pretending to shoot "—all through the head. Like a fucking party game." 

I put my hand to my mouth, stifling a gag. "That's horrible, Eris."

She keeps talking like she can't stop. "And later on, when I was dancing with Iker, he told me—this is it. I'm in this for life, and the only way out is prison or death. He asked me if I was ready. I told him yes."

She was fifteen. I already knew her by then, and from the way she acted at school, arrogant and outgoing and reckless, I never would've fathomed that her father was forcing her to murder people behind the senes. I thought the extent of her involvement was selling drugs at school.

"You're too young to be under that kind of pressure," I say.

"If I tell myself that it's like giving up," Eris says, stopping the car at a red light. "I have to accept this is exactly who I'm meant to be."

"Is it who you want to be?"

She finally looks up to meet my gaze. "Don't ask me that."

We both stop talking. Our eyes lock. Everything goes blurry but her in the glow of the traffic lights, the pounding in my head subsiding. All our history fades, like we've only met each other today, like these conversations are the only ones that matter. It's not my responsibility to listen to her, to keep her company in this disturbed situation. But I can't help it. She looks more alone than I've ever been, the gun too big for her hands. She doesn't want to die young, and her fear grips me like it's mine.

"There," she says, straightening her posture. "Now you know. You're fucking welcome. Just another reason for you to think I'm a piece of shit. And if you tell anyone about this, I promise it won't be pretty."

"Maybe I should judge you for it," I tell her. "But I don't. I'm not sure why."

"You definitely should," she says. "Because part of me liked it. In the moment you feel unstoppable. A real chingona. You can almost forget that all those men had families, and half the time they didn't have the choice not to go into the life they did."

"You didn't have a choice, either," I point out. I felt so relieved telling her about my near death experience. Does she feel the same about this? How long has she kept it to herself?

"I'm going to hell, Ef."

"Or Mars. Doesn't seem like much of a difference."

She looks at me until the light goes green, one brow slightly raised. Without the cloud of our usual snarky insults and negativity, we're actually having a normal conversation.

Well, as normal as it gets given we're literally talking about murder here.

"Thanks," she mutters. "Most people would freak out. I sure as hell know my brothers would. But something tells me you're not the type that scares easily."

It's the William in me, I'm sure. But maybe a small part of me is actually capable of feeling empathy for her. Who would've thought we'd ever see the day.

We're dead silent until we get back to San Diego. My eyelids are growing heavy, but I don't dare sleep. The night vibrates at a different frequency; I find myself checking to see if anyone's following us other than the bodyguards. The sense of being on those gangsters' radar will follow me to my dreams, I'm sure. I keep thinking about Javier's severed fingers, the MS-13 tattoo on his father's chest.

"Wanna start painting on Monday after school?" Eris asks as she pulls up to my house. I didn't even have to remind her of the address.

"Sure," I say, stepping out of the car. School and the art competition feel so far-removed from the events of today. Only one thing remains the same—her.

It's late. The kitchen light is on, with William eating one of his usual midnight dinners standing up.

"You'll never guess what happened," I say.

And I tell him. Unlike with the Lugos, there aren't secrets in this family, and William listens intently, fork mid-air, absorbing every word. I only leave out the part about Eris being a murderer, unsure if I'm even going to tell Fitz.

"L.A. is the breeding ground for cartel activity," William says. "San Diego is busy, but L.A. is where the Sinaloans made their empire."

"Are you going to use this for one of your articles?" I ask.

"All you've done is give me a lead for something I can use," he says. "I'm going to L.A. next week for a story on MS-13. The president in El Salvador put all the criminals in prison, and I want to know if it means they've been moving shop here." He pauses. "Keep getting close to Eris. This kind of information is gold. But... let's not tell your dad." 

I don't like the idea of keeping anything from him. But he would have a panic attack if he knew where I'd really gone tonight. William isn't nearly as concerned for my safety. He's used to putting his life on the line for the sake of a good story, and now he wants me to be his informant.

I have to tread carefully—Eris would be pissed if she found out I snitched. But William getting his exclusive stories means food on the table. With the truth slowly coming out, it could lead to dents in Iker's armor.

And after everything that man has put us through, this could very well be revenge.

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a/n: who else can't wait for more eris x persephone scenes?!?! i know it's been a slow burn, but i promise it'll be worth it :)

this chapter is dedicated to justwrxtes for supporting this book and shouting it out on their IG story! thank you again <3