CHAPTER 19
DAMIáN
Silvio parks the SUV right in front of a white concrete Freeport on the outskirts of the city. The compound has reinforced windows, top-notch security, a fence topped with coiled razor wire, and armed men standing by the steel doors.
Damn!
Leif would love to infiltrate this place.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, check that my two guns are fully loaded, slide a knife into my boot holster, and turn to Oliver.
“Wait here.”
“Damián—”
“I told you to wait here, boss.” I lean closer to his ear and whisper, “Don’t make me tie you up in this van.”
I pull back just in time to see his cheeks redden, and I smile.
“I won’t be long.”
I step out of the passenger side and sweep the perimeter, taking mental notes of everything I see: from threats and surveillance to anything I could use in case we need a quick escape or have to fight our way out.
So far, I count four men on the roof with long rifles, two by the entrance with automatic weapons slung across their chests, and a dozen more moving around near the windows. Every single one of the men in here is marked with the same cartel’s tattoo: a crow’s skull and three red oleander flowers.
The only difference is the placement… Some have it on their arms or the backs of their hands, while others wear it on their necks.
I circle the SUV, pull Oliver’s door open, and my man steps out, glaring at me.
Madre de Dios, could he be any cuter?
Once outside, he adjusts his cuffs, smooths his shirt, and follows me to the entrance, where a well-dressed Latino man with the cartel’s tattoo on his neck is waiting for us.
“Welcome, Mr. West.”
I listen to them greet each other as the absolute absurdity of the situation hits me…
I’ve spent my entire life kicking down the doors of meetings just like this one, and it’s hilarious that today, instead of leading the raid, I’m walking through the front door with my name on the freaking guest list.
Ah!
I want to raid this place so bad!
“Will do, Mr. West. Please, follow me.” The Latino man finishes speaking, waves for the guards to close the doors, and leads us straight toward the meeting room.
I stick to Oliver’s right side as we step inside, my eyes constantly checking our surroundings. I memorize the layout and every security measure in place as our guide leads us through two lefts, up a flight of stairs, and finally through the third door on the left.
We walk into the main conference room, and it’s bigger than I thought it would be.
The space is wide open, surrounded by windows, with one long table on each side with chairs and couches scattered everywhere else.
It looks like the VIP lounge of a fancy airport, only this one is full of cartel members, guns, and drugs.
Dios mío…
I wish I had Alexios in my ear and my team by my side… especially my Earl Grey-co Malfoy and his beautiful sniper skills.
He would love this place.
Though whoever decided to make this their main meeting room should be fired, because wow… This room has the shittiest security I’ve ever seen.
That left window has a perfect line of sight directly to a twelve-story building three blocks away.
Law would just need to set up his beautiful M200 facing east, adjust three mils south for the crosswind, and bang…
half of these cartel assholes would be gone before their boss could even lift his gun.
And actually, I could easily add a—
?No, bad Damián! You are not in raid mode.
You are in “drug dealer’s right-hand” mode.
Stop trying to raid this place.
“Oliver, welcome. You look remarkably like your father,” says Don Aurelio, the boss of the Los Cuervos cartel.
I’ve seen pictures of him, but I feel like I’ve been catfished because he looks nothing like the photos the CIA used to have.
Let’s just say the years have not been kind to the boss.
Unlike the strong, buff, long-haired guy the agency used to look for, this man’s face is bloated, his nose is crooked, and his fake hair plugs are so stiff he looks like a burnt porcupine. I have absolutely no idea how his men can follow him without laughing every time they look at him.
“Let’s see if you can be like he was,” Aurelio adds.
Oliver sits down in the chair across from the boss, and I take my place, standing directly behind him.
“My father is the past, Don Aurelio. I am here to discuss the future. If that’s something you are not interested in, then tell me now so I can stop wasting my time on you.”
Two men next to Aurelio scowl at the way Oliver talks to their boss. They take a step forward, but the balding bastard laughs and waves them off.
“Alright, let’s play your game. But first, a gift…” He raises a hand and snaps his chubby fingers.
Two of his henchmen come in through the door on the left, dragging a man.
Or at least, what is left of one.
Whoever this man is, he has been beaten to an absolute pulp. His face is swollen, his lips are busted, and his hands are bound behind his back with thick black plastic zip-ties.
The henchmen drop him a few feet from us and stand guard next to him.
“And this is?” Oliver asks, his tone completely emotionless.
“A boring family man who didn’t let us use his shipping business to deliver our next cargo. His ‘morals and family values’ cost us millions.”
One of the guards steps forward, hands Oliver a golden revolver, and steps back.
Oliver stares at the golden revolver in his hand as if he’s bored, but I can tell by the way his jaw tenses that he is not okay.
I look around, trying to find a way to understand what is happening, but everything about this setup feels off. The men here look either angry or extremely nervous, even more than usual.
They keep glancing at Aurelio like they’re waiting for him to react, and that’s very out of character for a group that’s used to running meetings like this.
Also, the “family man” isn’t crying. Instead, he looks defiant, almost angry.
His body is too still to be scared. It’s as if he is used to this, or as if he prepared for it. No ordinary family man would ever act this way in this situation.
I scan his body, checking his posture, his clothes, or anything that can tell me who this man really is.
There is blood on the cuff of his shirt. It could be from when he was kidnapped or beaten, but upon closer inspection, whenever he moves, the sleeve lifts enough to show a gash over a tattoo.
If I invert the image of that tattoo, it would be the same crow’s skull with three oleander flowers. That, plus the way the men are looking at him… some with hate, others with anger, and others smiling as if they’re about to get retribution.
This man is one of them.
Or rather, he used to be.
They slashed his cartel tattoo, expelling him from their group.
“As you must know,” Aurelio continues, “in this organization, we give the one who lost the most money the privilege to… well, kill the vermin who is in our way. I believe you have the honor.”
Mierda…
They’re using Ollie to execute a man who betrayed them.
But this makes no sense…
Why would they lie to Oliver about who this guy is?
Why would they say he is a family man with values and morals?
They are lying and asking Ollie to kill one of their own men when the execution should have been handled internally.
Oh fuck… This is not good.
If they’re going this far to force Oliver to kill someone, it can only mean one thing: Rafael knows.
Either he knows Oliver has never killed before, or he wants him to see if he’s capable of killing an innocent man. Either way, I’m one hundred percent sure the pinche asshole is toying with us.
“Need help working the gun?” Aurelio asks, grinning.
Oliver lifts the golden gun.
Damn it!
No matter how evil this man is, or how many innocents he has tortured and killed, Oliver cannot take his life.
It would destroy him.
Oliver aims at the man’s head, but the moment he clocks the gun, I grab his wrist, force his weapon down, and shoot the man myself.
The man falls, and I feel Oliver’s hand trembling. I squeeze his wrist, trying to ground him in a safer place, and his tremors slowly ease.
Yes, that’s it.
Keep it down, mi amor, don’t let them notice…
I look up and see that the cartel boss is glaring at me, his face twisted in rage.
He is either furious that I messed up his plans, or he’s terrified of what Rafael will do to him now… and my money is on the second one.
Especially because thanks to my interference, Rafael will never know if Oliver would have pulled the trigger to kill a “family man,” or if he would have failed and exposed himself.
“Sorry!” I lower my gun and grin. “I’ve been told I lack patience.”
“You dare speak to me without permission?” Aurelio screams, and the man on my left takes out a knife.
I holster my gun and turn around, clamping my hand around his wrist and halting his momentum instantly. With a twist, I snap his arm downward, forcing his grip to loosen as the knife slips from his fingers.
I catch the knife midair with my left hand and drive my right elbow straight into his jaw, sending him crashing unconscious to the floor.
Suddenly, two more Cuervos lunge at me from across the room.
The first one swings, aiming a fist at my face, but I duck under the punch, slipping behind him to drive the back of the stolen knife directly into his kidney.
As he doubles over, gasping for air, I grab him by the collar of his shirt and throw him directly into the path of the other Cuervo.
Like a fucking bowling ball.
The other Cuervo recovers quickly, so I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, pull him up, leverage all my weight, and slam his face hard onto the wooden conference table.
SPLAT!
His nose breaks, splashing blood all over the table. I hold his face, pressing it against the wood, and stab the knife into the table right in front of his eyes.
“Stay down,” I warn him, and the puppy obeys.