“Because he needs my help. His head isn’t clear—he doesn’t trust anyone—and he’s not safe. He’s going to get himself killed if he keeps going down that path.”
He gets closer to my face. “That man will never be safe. The best thing for him right now is to die. He’ll never be at peace, at the rate he’s going.”
I’m getting annoyed now. I know he has a way out. Our family always does. “Find me a way out,” I say through clenched teeth. “Get me back to Mexico and help me find him. If he hears I’m back, he’ll show up.”
“What makes you so sure?”
I take a step back. “I just know.”
I feel him looking at me. When I meet his eyes, I can see a million questions in them, but instead of asking them, he says, “We have a jet, but the men around here report everything to Big Jack, aka your Uncle Jack. If we take the jet, he’ll know, and he’ll send someone for us.”
“Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t find out right away.”
“How?” he asks, brows drawing together.
“Just take me to the pilot. I’ll convince him to take us.”
16
DRACO
We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.
The wheels of the SUV dip into potholes, running over large rocks and branches on the dirt road. I stare out of the window, a gun tucked in my waistband, a smaller one hidden under my jeans, strapped around my ankle.
The sun set a long time ago.
It’s dark now.
I got a lead from someone I know and trust. As soon as he sent me the location, I made a plan: catch her by surprise and kill her. My men have worked hard for this. I have worked hard for this.
My driver continues driving for nearly ten minutes before coming to a stop. I draw my gun as he shuts the headlights off.
“Ve allá,” I tell him, pointing to a darker area, surrounded by trees. Go over there.
It’s pitch black. About a mile ahead of me is a small brown house, the lights on inside. Two cars are parked in front of it, flashy. Expensive. They belong to her. I know it.
One of my men, Sebastien, looks back at me from the passenger seat for assurance.
I bob my head, and he and Guillermo open their doors, sliding out and shutting them quietly, their dark clothes blending into the shadows. We watch them hustle ahead with newly imported AK-47s in hand, searching the area.
My eyes shift from them to the house.
A figure walks by the window. I can’t make out who it is.
I look back at Patanza. “I’m going in. You wait here with Diego. If I take longer than ten minutes, you leave.”
“But Jefe—”
“Do you understand, Patanza?” I demand. I tell her in English. So she’ll know. I trust her the most, out of all my guards.
She narrows her brows, eyes intense, but sighs and says, “Sí, Jefe.”
“Good. Hand me an AK.”
She looks to her left, at the cart of guns, and picks one up to hand to me. I take it, turning the safety off while I look for the two guards I sent.
Sebastien is beside a tree, waving a hand, the signal that the area is clear.
I don’t glance back at Patanza, who I know is dying to come. She wants her revenge too, but I want mine more.
My black boots hit the ground, my gun held high. I shut the door behind me quietly, and then walk down the path that leads to the house. My boots crunch on the gravel, nostrils flared, back straight, eyes right on the fucking prize.
I want to lift my gun and blast the house with bullets. I don’t give a fuck who I hit or who dies. Anyone associated with her gets no mercy.
But I don’t.
If she was just a person who owed me money, maybe I would. If she’d stolen from me, then maybe I would make it that easy. But that isn’t the case.
She’s done much worse, and for that she will fucking pay. I want to watch that puta die—shoot her once then feel her blood running through my fingers as I choke the rest of the life out of her.
Sebastien and Guillermo trail close behind me, their guns aimed forward. I lift mine, aiming too, walking right up the stoop.
If they betray you: Move fast. Think quickly. Take them the fuck down.
My father’s motto. The Molina motto.
And it will be followed.
I rush up the stoop and kick the door in. A lamp falls over and someone screams. A naked woman is kneeling in front of two guards who are seated on the sofa. I raise my gun and shoot the girl, blood spraying the walls, some landing on the guards in front of her.
They shove her lifeless body away, scrambling for their guns, but my men put an end to them in a millisecond, blasting them several times. Their bodies hit the floor, crumpling over, blood leaking onto the dingy hardwood floor.