I raise a finger for him to wait a moment and then crouch back down in front of Morales.
“You asked if I’m going to kill you? I’m not going to kill you. You and your men didn’t attack my town. You didn’t kill my people.”
I jerk my thumb back at the crowd behind me.
“You attacked their town. You killed their people. They’re the ones who will get to decide what to do with you. And something tells me it’s not going to be pleasant.”
I start to stand back up when Morales grabs my arm. His face is suddenly full of fear. Not for him, I realize, but for his family.
He says, “Will you save them?”
I pull my arm from his grip.
“Yes. But not for you.”
Before Morales can say anything else, I turn and start through the crowd toward Nova. I only pause when I see Yolanda leaning on her cane. Her face is filled with so much pain and sorrow that it nearly breaks me. We stare at each for just a moment, and then I hurry past her and climb into the SUV.
Nova says, “Time to dance with the devil.”
He throws the SUV in gear and punches the gas.
Fifty-One
Alejandro made his way through the opening in the gate that the RPG had blown apart. He stepped past the bodies he’d killed after firing the RPG—taking out a half-dozen of them with the sniper rifle—and as more men ran around the house he took them out too, picking them off before any of them were able to get off a single shot.
He did not move as quickly as he would have liked. The pain in his side was becoming too much of a nuisance, and though he tried to fight past it, there was only so much he could do.
Alejandro dropped an empty magazine, loaded his rifle with another.
He already knew this would be the end of his revenge. More than likely he would die right after ending the lives of Morales’s wife and son. And if that was the case, so be it. As long as he killed each of them, his soul would find rest. It would be eternally damned, yes, but still it would find rest.
He had just reached the house, meaning to enter through the patio door, when the front gate burst open.
He turned and watched a car come speeding up the drive toward the house. It seemed to pause for a moment, its driver not sure where to go next, and then its engine growled as its driver accelerated and aimed right for him.
Alejandro raised the rifle and let off several bursts. The bullets dented the car’s grille and hood and shattered the windshield.
But still the car kept coming, even faster now, and Alejandro realized he wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time. Still he turned and tried to dive to the side, but the car’s smashed grille struck him and sent him flying through the patio door.
The car skidded to a stop, and its engine sputtered and died. Both front doors opened, and Ramon and Carlos fell out.
Ramon had taken two bullets to his side, but neither were serious hits.
Carlos wasn’t so lucky. One of the bullets had got him in the stomach. He lay on the ground, groaning in pain, and then slowly climbed to his feet. He had dropped his gun when he fell from the car, and he looked around wildly for it, thinking at first it had somehow disappeared. Finally he spotted it underneath the car. Carlos reached for it, his fingers just grazing the metal, and then he managed to grab the gun and used the open door to pull himself upright.
Ramon was already on his feet. He held his side with his left hand as he gripped his gun with his right hand. He started toward the smashed patio door and the inert form of the Devil.
Carlos said, “We need to call this in.”
Ramon didn’t answer, just kept moving forward.
Carlos said, “I need an ambulance. You need an ambulance. Christ, what were you thinking charging at him like that?”
Ramon still didn’t answer. He kept his focus on the Devil. The door had been smashed open enough that he simply walked into the house. He stared hard at the Devil who slowly attempted to sit up.
“Stop.”
Ramon said it as he aimed his gun at the Devil. At least, he assumed it was the Devil. The man wore a mask covering his entire head. Only the eyes stared out.
Carlos stumbled into the house behind him. He leaned against the wall to stay upright. Like Ramon, he kept a hand against his wound while his other hand gripped his gun.
“Is that really him?”
Ramon didn’t answer. The Devil didn’t answer. The house was eerily silent.
Carlos said, “We need to call this in.”
Keeping his gun aimed at the Devil, Ramon said, “What if we didn’t?”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“The cartels will pay ten million dollars for him.”
“So? We don’t work for the cartels.”
Ramon turned and shot Carlos twice in the stomach. Carlos stumbled back, hit the wall, and slid down to the ground.
Ramon walked over to Carlos. He bent down and pulled the gun from Carlos’s grip and tossed the gun outside.
“Maybe you don’t work for the cartels, but I do.”
He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Devil hadn’t moved, and then turned his focus back on Carlos.
“I didn’t want it to be this way. I wanted to bring you in. I told you we could split the money. But you—”
Ramon’s side exploded in pain as two gunshots sounded out. He fell back, glancing toward the Devil again.
The Devil now had a gun in his hand, pointed right at him.
Alejandro intended to kill both men, but that was when he heard motion behind him. He turned quickly and saw a man standing there, a gun in his own hand. But the man looked
