by LP Lovell
“Stop. I don’t need protection, so you can leave.”
“Boss’ orders,” he says simply, clutching the rifle in his hand.
I pull a gun on him and point it at his knee. “I’m guessing boss’ orders don’t involve shooting or hurting me in any way, so leave before I put a bullet in your kneecap.” I’m aggravated by my sister’s comment, and the simple presence of this guy is making me feel suddenly suffocated and irritable. He scowls at me and the muscles in his jaw twitch. “I’ll tell him I gave you the slip,” I say, suddenly feeling just a little bit guilty when I think about what Rafael will do to this guy for letting me go.
He takes a slow step back, and I nod before turning away and striding down the corridor. Una is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, gun already in hand. I eye the weapon before meeting her gaze.
“What are you doing with that?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “We figure Rafael’s guys might not appreciate us leaving.”
“Where’s Rafe?”
“Not here.”
I nod. That makes this a little easier. Una jerks her head to the side, motioning for me to follow. We step out into the warehouse, and no one seems to notice us. That is until Lucas spots me and jogs over.
“You guys going somewhere?” he asks, glancing at the weapons covering me, and my sister.
“Out,” is Una’s curt response.
“We have to go and handle something.”
“Rafael will be back in half an hour. You should—”
Una’s palm slams against Lucas’ chest, and his eyes go wide as she stares at him. “I should what?”
“Um…uh, nothing.” Poor Lucas. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.
“That’s what I thought.” She shoves him away from her and keeps walking.
“I’ll see you later, Lucas,” I say, offering him a reassuring smile. Lucas triggers all my protective instincts, and I hate to see him hurt, even if it is just a shove.
I spot Carlos lingering in the office doorway, a frown on his face as he leans on his crutches. He says something into a radio, and I know we’re probably not getting out of here. When we reach the door that leads outside, three armed guys step into my sister’s path. I barely blink before one has a knife in his thigh and her fist is colliding with another’s temple. The last lifts his gun, but too late. The barrel of her gun is rammed against his temple. Damn, she’s fast.
“Drop it or die.”
He releases the gun, and it clatters to the floor. She kicks it away before bending down and yanking the blade from the other man’s thigh. He cries out in pain, and she wipes it off on his shirt, tucking it back in her thigh holster.
Then she simply steps over him and walks outside. I can do nothing but follow her into the already burning hot morning sun. We round the back of the warehouse, and she strides across the dusty tarmac of the airfield, heading for one of the helicopters. Yanking the door open, she gestures for me to get in. Sasha sits in the pilot’s seat, flipping various switches. We leave the ground before the door is even open.
“Does he actually know how to fly this?” I yell over the deafening sound of the engines.
“Of course.”
“Okay, and did we technically steal this?”
“Borrowed,” she clarifies.
Great. Rafael is going to be so mad…and then my sister is probably going to shoot him. Why do my family have to be so…aggressive?
The desert passes by beneath us before we climb higher into the sky. A little while later and we’re landing in yet another patch of desert.
Una shoves a rucksack at me. “You’ll need that. We have to walk a few miles to the site.”
I shoulder the rucksack and step out of the chopper. The heat is almost unbearable instantly. Walking several miles wouldn’t usually be an issue, but in this…
“There’s water in the pack,” she says, as though she can read my mind.
Sasha locks the helicopter, shoulders a pack and a rifle, and starts walking out into the apocalyptic-looking desert. Heat waves shimmer off the sand in front of me until the image of him is a blur.
By the time we climb up the final rocky hillside, my tank is soaked through, and dusty desert sand sticks to every inch of my damp skin. Una lies on her stomach, a pair of binoculars pressed to her face. Below us is a simple-looking ranch. There are several barns and a farmhouse, all of which back onto a dirty-looking lake. The ranch is surrounded on all sides by hills, not unlike mine and Rafael’s lake. It would be nearly impossible to find if you didn’t know it was here, and you certainly wouldn’t expect a cartel boss to be hiding out here.
“I count twenty-three guards. Could be more in the buildings,” Una says.
“He’s here,” Sasha says. “That’s too many men.”
“Too many for us?” I ask.
Sasha snorts, and a rare smile touches his lips. “Of course not.”
“We use the hills to approach. There’s a spot where there’s a steep incline up against the edge of the lake.” She points it out. “It’s unguarded.”
She hands me the binoculars, and I seek out the spot she’s talking about. The setting sun makes it hard to see, but I find it. “Yeah, because it’s impossible to get to.”
“Not impossible.” Taking the binoculars from me, she shoves them in her bag and pushes to her feet. She checks her watch. “Sunset is in forty minutes, let’s get moving.”
I quickly realize why these rocky cliff faces aren’t an issue for Una and Sasha. The packs are full of climbing gear…all of which I have no idea how to use, and Una’s two-minute explanation really wasn’t all that helpful. The pair of them literally slipped into the harnesses, fiddled with some ropes and dived off the edge. I ease my way down the cliff side, trying to breathe properly as I feed the rope inch by inch through the pulley. At one point it slips, tearing across the skin of my palm and burning my hand. When it jolts to a stop again, I’m on the verge of a meltdown.
“Come on, Anna,” Una hisses from somewhere below me.
“You’re not helping!” I snap. I daren’t look down, and as darkness encroaches, it’s very hard to make out how far I even am from the top anymore.
I move another few inches before hands land and on my waist. Whipping my head around, I come face to face with Sasha’s impatient expression. He plonks me on the floor and starts tugging the ropes and harness off me.
“We need to move,” he says when he’s done, leaving me to put it all in the rucksack. I shove the gear inside and jog to catch up with them. We have to wade through the edge of the lake, and the water is up to my waist. I try not to think of all the things living in here.
When we make it out of the water, we’re at the boundary fence of the property. Una makes quick work of cutting the chainlink fence, but stops and turns to me before going through.
“Don’t freeze,” she says. “It’ll cost you your life here.” And on that encouraging titbit of advice, she disappears through the fence. Don’t freeze. I won’t. I refuse to be the weak link, the useless one who may just get shot because of her misplaced sense of right and wrong. The fact is; right and wrong don’t exist out here. This is just bad men and worse men, nothing else. My error with the Sheriff was in thinking that a man with a badge must still have some good in him. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter. It’s not my job to pass judgment on a man, simply survive. Kill or be killed. I’m not sure if I want it to get easier or not. Part of me wishes that I could just kill a man and move on like Una does, whilst the other hopes that I never take the loss of any life lightly.
Death in itself has become common practice to me. I’ve watched slaves shot for escaping, strangled to death while they’re raped, or put down for contracting an STD. The brutality of death is no stranger to me, but when it’s on my hands…it is.
I remain close to Una as we move past the fence line and tuck into the side of an outbuilding. She glances at Sasha, and he nods before disappearing into the shadows. They don’t really
need words to communicate. They think in exactly the same way, both raised to think only of strategy and killing. In a way, I feel sorry for my sister, even as I’m in awe of her.
Una says nothing, checking her watch a couple of times as we wait anxiously. There’s a clearing in front of us between three buildings. Several men are gathered there, milling about with rifles clutched in their hands. They also have handguns strapped to them and what looks like bulletproof vests. They don’t look like cartel. Dominges must have hired mercenaries to protect him. It would seem he fears Rafael more than he lets on. Or maybe it’s the death of his brother that has him surrounding himself with a small army.
I’m distracted by the muted pop of a gun firing, followed by another and another. Men start to drop like puppets with their strings cut. The others start frantically looking for where the gunfire is coming from. Some fire in the direction of the roof of one of the barns. Others scatter, taking cover behind various outbuildings. Either way, their shots have now broken our element of surprise and they’re scattering like fleeing prey.
“Take the back of that building,” Una barks. “Stay sharp.”
I nod and back away, moving around the back of the small building we were taking cover behind. There’s an alleyway to cross before I’ll reach the back of a barn. Peeking around the corner, I check that it’s clear before dashing across the gap. I suddenly realize that I’m alone, in Dominges’ heavily-fortified ranch. If he catches me... I glance at the gun in my hand, remembering the conversation that Rafael and I had. He won’t take me alive.
Gritting my teeth, I focus on killing as many of his men as I can. These guys protect a man who traffics hundreds if not thousands of women each year. They’re scum, only concerned with lining their pockets.
When I creep around the back of the barn, I see two men pressed up against the wall, but their attention is on the shots still being fired into the clearing. Sasha is merely the distraction.
I lift my gun and shoot both of them in quick succession. Headshots—bulletproof vests won’t save them here. I go back the way I came and move to the next building, but when I get there, the men are already down, and Una is crouched beside them, taking their ammunition.
“Okay?” she whispers.
I nod, and she jumps up, jogging across the now empty clearing. Sasha joins us a few seconds later. “They know we’re here. There are at least ten in the first barn. More in the house,” he says.
Una takes her backpack off and rummages inside before pulling out several grenades.
“Lazy,” Sasha drawls.
She pushes to her feet, and then all hell breaks loose. There’s a low rumble in the distance and the ground beneath my feet trembles.
“What was that?” I ask.
“That is an explosion,” she says through gritted teeth. She grabs my wrist and tugs me down to a crouch just as several men sprint past the alleyway we’re now tucked into. “Shit.” The gunfire starts, and it’s not the simple pop, pop, pop of a handgun. The rhythmic rainfall of a machine gun filters through the night until it’s all I can hear. “Nothing changes. We go after Dominges,” Una hisses. I can almost see her brain firing through all the possibilities and strategies she needs.
I nod and follow her as she starts for the house. The front of the ranch is like a war zone. Bullets fly, and men fall. The front gate is on fire, hanging off its hinge and several Hummers are now inside the boundary, heavy guns mounted on them. Those are Rafael’s vehicles. Or at least I think they are.
Despite the chaos, I keep going because I want Dominges, and I know Sasha and Una are my absolute best shot at getting to him. The farmhouse itself sits in darkness, eerily unaffected by the violence so far. Una and Sasha take up positions beside both the front windows, counting to three before smashing the windows and tossing the grenades inside. She slams me against the siding of the house just as the explosion sends the remaining windows scattering across the porch. The drab-looking curtains catch fire, and the flames creep up the wooden window frames, billowing black smoke out into the night air.
“Stay here, Anna,” Una orders. “If he’s in there, I’ll bring him to you.” I know better than to argue with Una. They both dive through the front door, and I hear the sound of gunshots. I stay there, listening intently, though I can barely hear anything over the now roaring flames.
A hand slams over my mouth, and I’m hauled backward down the porch steps. It takes a few seconds for my mind to stop panicking, and then I bite down. Hard. A man growls, and his hand disappears. I slide my gun beneath my left arm and let off two shots without turning to face him. When I do turn around, he’s on the ground, winded. The bulletproof vest saved him from death but not for long. Pointing the gun at his head, I pull the trigger, and he falls still.
It takes me a moment to notice that I’m standing right in the middle of the war zone. Men lay dead or dying, some I recognize, meaning they’re Rafael’s. It’s utter chaos. Bullets fly everywhere, and I can’t even take cover because I have no idea where the enemy fire is coming from.
I spot Una as she leaps down the steps of the porch and runs towards me. The house behind her erupts into flames, reaching high into the night sky. The wooden structure groans under the strain. The brightness temporarily blinds me, and I blink away black spots. When I can see again, I spot Una now taking cover behind a steel trough. She’s shouting at me, but her voice is lost in the hail of bullets raining against every available object. I spot a man hunkered down behind a motorbike, firing towards some of Rafael’s men. Lifting my gun, I fire, and he falls like a rag doll. Movement registers in my periphery, and I turn just as a gun is pointed at my head. I swerve to the side, and there’s a crack beside my ear as the bullet splits the air beside me.
I raise my gun, pull the trigger, and it’s only when I really look at the man standing in front of me with a bullet hole in his head that I realize; he’s not a man at all. He’s a boy, a teenager. His wide, unseeing eyes stare at me, condemning me before he collapses to the ground. Something dark and ugly instantly grips me, squeezing until I feel like I can’t catch a full breath. I stare at his body, my hand trembling around the gun. Everything around me fades into the background as the heavy pounding of my pulse fills my ears. The ground rumbles again, and then there’s a bang, permeated by a rush of heat that feels as though it’s searing the skin on the left hand side of my body. And then silence. I hear absolutely nothing but a dull ringing in my ears.
Someone grabs my arm and drags me to the floor. I’m aware of the ground shaking, of the ringing and pain in my ears. I can feel warm liquid trailing down my face from my ear. But I don’t focus on any of it, because now, the boy I killed is barely inches away and he’s staring at me, his glassy eyes promising torturous retribution. Reaching out, I close his eyes, tears tracking down my cheeks as I wonder if he has a mother who will miss him. War…it seems heroic, poetic even, a fight for a righteous cause, but how righteous can this be?
Something slides under my stomach, and I’m wrenched from the ground. My back slams against something hard, and I’m hauled off my feet and away from the dead boy. Fire and smoke and dead bodies are everywhere. Only when I’m shoved in the back seat of a car, do I blink and see Rafael’s face. He cups my cheeks, staring at me with a worried expression. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. He tilts my head to the side and touches a finger to my ear, making me wince.
He starts checking me over, patting down my arms and body, his brows drawing tighter together with each passing second. His mouth is moving as he talks to someone else, but I look away, glancing out of the window. Something in me is cracking, and ugly black ooze is pouring out. Guilt locks around my throat in a chokehold, a lead weight pulling me into cold, ruthless waters. Tears pour down my face uncontrollably, and my hands shake, so I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together.
Run-down buildings pass us by as we speed through Juarez. I close my eyes, and all I see are someone else’s—
dead, the ghostly mist creeping over the pupils.
I barely register the drive back to the airfield, or the flight back to the warehouse. As soon as we land, Rafael picks me up, tucking me against his chest as though I weigh nothing. I don’t fight him for once. Resting my cheek against his shoulder, I inhale the scent of citrus and cigar smoke that clings to his shirt, but it’s laced with the distinctive hint of smoke and burning. Death and destruction.
He finally puts me down in his bathroom, the lines of concern written all over his face. He places a wet cloth to my ear, and I catch a brief glimpse of myself in the small bathroom mirror. My face is covered in a fine layer of soot, tear tracks cutting lines through the black. My hair is streaked with dirt and blood, and bruises are beginning to blossom over my jaw. A trail of crusted blood is coming from my left ear, and a high-pitched ringing is all I can hear.
He continues to wipe the blood from my ear, inspecting it before he grabs my tank and slowly pulls it over my head. I allow him to strip me out of my clothes, and watch him remove his own before he pulls me into the shower. The hot water washes over me, hiding the tears that I can’t seem to stop. The water turns a filthy brown before dragging the night’s events down the drain with it. Or at least I wish it would. Rafael washes my hair, scrubbing the shampoo into my scalp carefully and rinsing it. I stand there in a numb state of shock as he cleans my bruised body before washing the dirt and blood from his own. When he’s done, he wraps me in a towel and even dries my hair, finally dressing me in one of his over-sized shirts. He guides me to the edge of the bed before going to the door and allowing someone into the room. I frown at the doctor. I don’t like him. I haven’t since the very first time I met him, and he drugged me.
I move to stand up, and Rafael smirks, placing a hand on my shoulder and pushing me back down. I stare at him as the doctor grabs my face, tilting my head to the side. He puts something in my ear, and I wince away as sharp pain radiates through my head. He exchanges words with Rafael and hands him some pill bottles, then he’s gone.