The Truth About Mila | Mayans M.C.

| defeat and exhaust|

        "I'm going to kill you. I will fucking watch the life drain out of your eyes."

Miguel lowered his hand that pointed towards a still Mila. No one could stop him now. They were alone.  It'll only take a couple of seconds to wrap his hands around her tiny neck and end all of this right here, right now.

That's what he wanted—all of this heartache. Mila played with everyone as if they were playthings. Nothing more, nothing less. The more she stood before him, unmoved, Miguel's hatred grew larger.

Miguel rubbed his chin, sucking on his teeth as he stepped to his right. Mila watched him, placing her hand behind her back. Her fingers reach for the handle of a gun tucked under the waistband of her skirt. Miguel noticed, stopping to watch his sister stand her ground.

"Did your filthy biker boyfriend teach you how to lie?" Miguel hissed, "He was the rat, wasn't he? Hm? EZ, too, I bet? Probably the whole MC."

Mila nearly cracked her blank mask as the mention of EZ and Johnny slipped from Miguel's lips. As much as she wanted to pretend that no one else mattered, Mila tried to protect them. Keep them out of harm's way. Especially Johnny. He'd gone through enough. Leticia needed him. Mila needed him. Instead of answering or showing a glimpse of reflection, Mila kept her composure, gliding her eyes left and right to follow a pacing Miguel.

"How long have you been planning this shit?" Miguel questioned. Unmoving, Mila refused to answer.

"Fucking say something!" Miguel moved forward, stopping before the table to slam his fist into the metal. Mila quickly drew her gun, pointing it at Miguel's forehead. His face, once raged, shifted to surprise, then calm.

"It's been longer than you think," Mila tells him, "Months before Cristobal was kidnapped. Months before the Rebels came at you full force. Doing any of this, I knew it'd be the only way to gain your attention. To distract you. Meeting my biker boyfriend was planned; giving those Samoans the exact location on our cargo was because of me; I directed you to that nun, the fury you unleashed onto others, all of it I made sure happened. I was providing Adelita with more ammo. I was her spy. There is no rat. You were never in control."

Miguel studied Mila, attempting to find a motion of lies, but he couldn't read her expressions. She was good at pretending. Perhaps Dita taught her too well.

"Why?"

"Because I hate you," Mila tells him. "I hate everything about you. You don't deserve to be the leader of our cartel. I deserve it. You're a monster."

Miguel lowered his chin, then moved his forehead to press his skin against the gun barrel. If she hated him so much, she'd pull the trigger and get all this over. Did Mila need him? No. She could kill him and take over. Do everything Adelita wanted. But hesitation is there.

"Funny. Says the one who would do anything to get underneath my skin. Everyone's blood is on your hands, Mila. Every. Single. Person. You are the monster, regardless of what you think or say. It's you. You're the sociopathic psychopath. Dita was right to lock you away."

Mila clenched her jaw, feeling a pinch of hurt and bruised ego. The gun removes from his head, and she lowers her arm, watching Miguel. She wasn't expecting this meeting to go this way. Miguel's son was taken for Christ's sake, and she saw his initial response when the event occurred.

She half expected Miguel to attack her. Why wouldn't he? Mila deserved to be beaten to the pulp. Had she been anyone else, Miguel might have. However, even with his death threat, Miguel still saw his little sister. And she worked with Adilta. What if he harmed Mila? The leader of a silent organization could cause his foundation to crumble. There couldn't be any other way to end this interaction but find a discontented deadlock. Mila made her move, and Miguel would have to play.