Chapter 18 #2
Levi was moving before Morales hit the ground and crossed the cell in three strides. He grabbed Morales, slammed him against the wall, weapon pressed against the cartel boss's head.
“Levi,” Willow gasped. “Levi, I'm okay. I'm—”
But he wasn't listening. His focus was entirely on Morales, and something in his stillness was more terrifying than rage would have been.
“Please,” Morales said, and now, the arrogance was gone, replaced by fear. Raw, honest fear. “Please, I can give you information. Networks, names, bank accounts. The CIA would want me alive for intelligence—”
“The CIA isn't here,” Levi said.
Morales stopped babbling. “You’re not CIA?”
Levi’s laugh was low and evil. Stepping back slightly, he lowered his weapon.
The angle was just right so that Willow could see both men.
She could see Morales, wounded and terrified, pressed against the wall.
She had no pity for the man. None. There was no moral compass telling her that this was wrong.
And maybe that was something she’d regret later.
But she doubted it. She truly doubted that regret would ever come in this situation.
She watched Levi, blood-soaked and cold, looking at Morales the way a surgeon looked at a tumor that needed excising.
He turned to look at her. “You deserve to watch,” he said quietly. “You deserve to see justice done.”
He turned back to Morales. His voice changed. Levi became formal, cold, almost ceremonial.
“Héctor Morales. You are a cancer on society. You operate in darkness, believing yourself beyond justice, beyond consequence, beyond the reach of law.” Levi's words echoed in the cell, heavy with finality. “But you are not beyond justice. You are not beyond judgment.”
“You're no judge—” Morales tried.
“You're right. I'm not a judge.” Levi's voice didn't rise, didn't change inflection.
He just stated facts. “The world has already judged you. Mass murder. Human trafficking. Terrorism. Crimes against humanity that span three continents and two decades. The evidence has been compiled. The verdict has been rendered.”
Willow's mind struggled through pain and blood loss, trying to understand what she was hearing. Verdict? Evidence? This wasn't just an assassination. This was something else. Something official.
“The Council convened,” Levi continued, and his voice held no emotion.
Just cold purpose. “Representatives from nine nations. Evidence presented included documentation of 342 confirmed murders, 1,800 victims of forced trafficking, complicity in seventeen terrorist attacks, and corruption that reaches into the highest levels of multiple governments.”
Morales was shaking now, the wound in his shoulder forgotten. “This isn't—you can't—”
“You were tried in absentia. The evidence was overwhelming. The verdict was unanimous.” Levi raised his weapon. “Guilty on all counts. Sentence: Death.”
“No—” Morales tried to move, but Levi's free hand caught his throat and held him against the wall.
“I'm not a judge, Morales. I'm your executioner.” Levi's eyes were cold as arctic ice. “This is your sentence.”
The shot was clean. Professional. Final.
Héctor Morales, who'd built an empire on suffering, who'd killed hundreds and enslaved thousands, who'd believed himself untouchable, dropped to the floor and didn't move again.
Silence filled the cell, broken only by Willow's ragged breathing and the distant sound of gunfire from the compound above.
Levi stood over the body for a moment, weapon lowered. Then he holstered it and turned to Willow.
The cold executioner disappeared. The man returned.
“It's done,” he said, kneeling beside her chair. His hands were gentle as they worked at the ties binding her wrists. “He's gone. You're safe.”
Willow stared at him, her mind struggling to process what she'd just seen. Conviction. Sentence. Execution. Not murder. Not assassination.
Justice.
“Levi …” she whispered, the word barely audible. “The world … convicted him …”
“Yes.” Levi freed her hands and moved to cut the ropes tying her ankles to the chair.
“There are people who fall through the cracks.
Who are too powerful, too connected, too protected for normal justice to reach.
We find them. Document their crimes. The cases are brought before the Council, and when they're found guilty—”
“You carry out the sentence.” Understanding bloomed through the pain. Hell, she knew he was here to kill the man. She was on board with that. He needed to be gone. “You're not just an assassin. You're … executioners. Of the guilty.”
“Yes.” He finished freeing her and carefully, so carefully, gathered her into his arms. “Does that change things? Between us?”
She thought about Morales. About the trafficking victims she'd seen during her months of surveillance. The villages burned. The people who'd disappeared. The empire of suffering he'd built and maintained because no government could—or would—stop him.
She shook her head, truly confused as to why he’d think that. “No. Why would it? He was a cancer. I don’t really give a shit that you do this for a living. Let’s just not bleed this much again, okay?” she said. Her voice was weak, and she tried to smile. “Tried” being the operative word.
He pulled her close, holding her like she was precious. Like she was everything.
“You came back,” she whispered against his chest. “I thought … When they shot me … I thought …”
“I will always come back for you.” His voice cracked slightly. “Always. Every time. No matter what.”
“Levi—”
Gunfire erupted in the corridor outside. Close. Getting closer.
Levi pulled back, all business again. “We need to move. Guards are regrouping, and we're trapped in the basement. Can you walk?”
“I can try.”
“Good enough.” He stood, pulled her up. She swayed, but his arm around her waist kept her upright. “Con says there’s a tunnel access over here. It leads into the mountain, away from the compound. We can hold out there until—”
“Until what?”
“Until my backup arrives.” He grabbed a rifle from one of the dead bodyguards, checked the magazine. “Phantom is in country. They're close.”
“Close.” Willow looked at the single doorway, at the blood on the floor, then at the body of Morales. “Can we last until they arrive?”
“We're going to try.” He helped her toward the door, moving slowly to match her pace. “Stay close to me. If I tell you to run, you run. Understand?”
“Not leaving you.”
“Willow—”
“Not. Leaving. You.” She met his eyes, and despite the pain, despite the blood loss, despite everything, she meant it. “We're partners. Partners don't leave each other.”
He stared at her for a moment. Then his expression softened, and he pulled her in for a kiss. It was quick, fierce, and tasted like blood.
“Partners,” he agreed. “Liars and partners.”
They moved into the corridor together, and behind them, justice lay finished on the cold stone floor.