I just stood and held my arms against my chest, watching. It felt as though I’d cracked a rib when I hit the floor—the pain under my right breast was excruciating. But that wasn’t the only reason I held back. Something in me was at war with itself. Ever since we’d come to Aztlan, I’d been kidding myself, telling myself that Vargas was just another criminal, secretly hoping that there was still a chance I could gather enough evidence that somehow he would be brought to justice—diplomatic immunity be damned. I hadn’t allowed myself to consider any other options seriously—not even cashing in on the bounty offered in Dunkelzahn’s will. I just kept telling myself I’d make sure Vargas got what was coming to him. But now, as I watched Rafael kicking the priest, I felt exultation—a fierce anger that had no place in someone who prided herself on staying on the right side of the law. I wanted this fragger dead as much as Rafael did.