Chapter 145 Santa Rosa Bleeds
“...So you’re going to see your family?” Joy asked, staring at Revelation—who was now dressed in casual wear, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
Revelation shook her head.
“I don’t have any family,” she said flatly.
Silence fell over the kitchen.
“Oh.”
“Joy, you just had to open your big mouth,” Mia muttered, nudging her.
Joy immediately put on an apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind. Anyway, I’ll be going now.” Revelation cut her off, brushing it aside.
The girls nodded. Cady looked up from the apple she was slicing for Amelia.
“So your break is just for a week, right?”
Revelation nodded.
“Yes, but I’ll only be gone for two days. I’ll be back after that.”
“Why?” Katherine looked up from her phone.
“You’ve got a whole week off and you're only using two days? If I were you, I wouldn’t come back until the seventh day was over.”
Revelation just smiled but didn’t say anything.
Cady rounded the corner with the sliced apple.
“Anyway, be safe. And don’t forget to say goodbye to the Missus before you leave. You know she adores you.”
The smile slid off Revelation’s face, but she didn’t respond. She just nodded and turned, leaving the kitchen with Cady and stepping into the living room.
Her eyes flicked upstairs.
Then quickly away.
She headed for the front door.
“How long does it take to slice an apple?” Amelia screeched in that annoyingly shrill voice of hers.
Revelation’s hand tightened on the doorknob. Her eyes closed for a moment, and she pictured driving the apple knife straight into Amelia’s throat—pregnancy be damned.
But she held back.
“I wanna watch Paw Patrol!” Daisy shouted.
“Take this brat away from me—” Amelia began, but Revelation shut the door and didn’t hear the rest.
She stepped outside and walked toward the gate, her eyes scanning her surroundings like she was searching for someone.
“Get a grip, Rev,” she muttered under her breath.
The gate opened.
She stepped out.
And the moment she did, Damon emerged from the shadows, watching her leave.
Mexico — 3:47 PM
Santa Rosa, Jalisco
The sun hung high, casting a harsh glare over the cracked pavement and faded church walls. The bells of Iglesia del Espíritu Santo echoed across the town, a haunting melody that danced with the dust in the air.
Men gathered at the church steps—crisp suits, sunglasses, tense jaws. Jackets bulged from hidden weapons. A black SUV idled nearby, its engine rumbling like a growl.
And then he appeared.
Eladio Mendoza.
A cartel boss in his fifties. Belly heavy with power. Hands dirty with blood. A thick cigar clenched between his teeth. Gold rings glinting under the sun. Four guards flanked him—two in front, two behind.
Across the street, on the second floor of a crumbling apartment, a girl crouched behind a window.
Hidden.
Still.
Gloved fingers tightened on the rifle.
El Alacran's face was calm. Her breathing was shallow. One eye locked through the scope.
No world existed outside the crosshairs.
Only the target.
Only the monster.
The wind paused.
A pigeon fluttered off the church roof.
CRACK!
The shot rang out.
Eladio’s head snapped back. Blood sprayed the stone steps of the church like red paint on old marble.
Screams broke the air.
People ducked. Guards drew their weapons. Panic erupted.
“¡AL PISO!”
“¡Nos están disparando!”
The cigar slipped from Eladio’s lips.
Chaos bloomed.
But the shooter didn’t move.
She pulled back from the scope with mechanical calm. Eyes hard. Movements precise.
She pressed her earpiece.
“Eladio Mendoza. Down.”
No response came.
She was already gone.
Later that day...
El Alacrán stepped into the office, blood smeared across her face and hands. She walked to the center of the room and stopped a few feet from the towering chair, facing the back of a head crowned with bright red hair.
“It’s done,” she murmured, voice flat.
Red didn’t turn around immediately. Smoke drifted upward as she exhaled from a fat cigar, then finally spun in her chair with a slow smile curling her lips.
“Of course.”
They stared at each other for a long beat.
Then Red stood and stretched out her arms.
“Mama missed you.”
El Alacrán’s lips twitched upward.
“I missed you too, Mama.”
She stepped forward and the two women embraced tightly. Red didn’t flinch at the blood soaking into her clothes.
After a moment, they pulled apart.
Before either could speak, the door opened and a tall man stepped inside.
He stopped short.
A grin spread across his face.
“Well, of course. Who else leaves a massacre in her wake if not you, little Rev?”
“Emilio!”
She rushed into his arms, and he caught her easily, lifting her for a second.
“Someone missed me,” he laughed.
She pulled back and punched him in the chest.
“Ow—damn,” Emilio winced, rubbing the spot.
“Still hit like a pissed-off mule.”
Revelation smirked.
“You should’ve ducked.”
Red leaned against her desk, cigar back between her fingers, watching them with a twisted kind of pride.
Family, blood-soaked and bound.
After a few more exchanges, Emilio left, and Revelation turned to her mother with a soft sigh.
“Oh Mama, how I’ve missed this place.”
She walked over, took the cigar from Red’s lips, and drew a slow, deep drag. The familiar burn made her eyes flutter shut for a second. Red just smiled, watching her.
“You really hate the States that much?” Red asked, half amused.
Rev didn’t answer right away. A chiseled face—sharp jaw, colder eyes—flashed in her mind. She pushed it away.
“Yes. I do,” she said finally, her voice low.
Red nodded knowingly and glanced toward the large window. Rev followed her gaze. She knew that look.
She always knew that look.
“You can ask me about her, Mama,” Rev said quietly.
Red turned, raising an eyebrow. “Is it that obvious?”
Rev gave a small nod.
Red didn’t speak right away. She looked away again, the lines on her face softening. Her fingers tapped ash off the cigar, slower now. Something flickered in her eyes, something old. Worry, maybe. Or regret.
She finally spoke, voice gentler than usual.
“How fares your sister?”