Holly Lin Box Set | Books 1-3

by Swartwood, Robert

  As the narco with the MP5 presents the most danger right now, he’s the one I target first.

  I look straight at him.

  “Raise that thing and you’re never going to walk right again.”

  The narco with the MP5 grins, clearly amused. The moment the barrel starts to lift, I shift my own gun just a bit and squeeze the trigger.

  My bullet shatters his left kneecap.

  The narco screams as he falls, dropping the MP5 to the floor. Both of his friends focus on him for an instant, shocked and confused, and I use the distraction to sprint forward and kick the first narco straight in the chest. He tumbles back, tripping over his own feet and falling to the floor. I turn to the last standing narco and plant a roundhouse kick right to his face. It doesn’t drop him, though, just stuns him, causing him to stumble, and then he’s turning toward me, raising his gun, so I shoot him in the foot and he screams just like his friend as he falls to the floor.

  The narco who first opened the door tries to scramble back up to his feet. Before he can get too far, I step over and kick him right in the face. He falls back, groaning, and starts to raise his gun at me.

  I aim my gun at him.

  “Go ahead and try it.”

  The narco pauses. He doesn’t keep raising the gun, but he doesn’t lower it either. He just sits there on the floor for a couple seconds, glaring back at me, and then the groans of his friends catch his attention and he glances at them before grunting his displeasure and setting the gun aside.

  I say, “Now here’s what you three assholes are going to do. You’re going to get in your cars and you’re going to get the fuck out of this town and you’re never going to come back.”

  The narco says, “But our stuff—”

  I cut him off.

  “Fuck your stuff. Did you let the family who you kicked out of here take their stuff with them?”

  He shrugs.

  “We let them take some of their stuff.”

  “Well, then you guys are much more generous than I am. You’re lucky we’re letting you keep your piece of shit cars.”

  I step back and motion with my gun at the door.

  “Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and shoot you all in the head.”

  The first narco slowly climbs to his feet. He wisely doesn’t reach for his gun. He glares at me again for just a beat, and then he starts to help his friends up from the floor.

  It takes several minutes—first the narco shot in the foot being helped outside by his friend, then the narco shot in the knee—but pretty soon they’re loaded up in just one car because only one of them is able to drive. For their credit, the townspeople stand their ground. They watch the narcos get in the car without a word, and they don’t make a sound as the car quickly accelerates down the dirt road. Once it’s clear the narcos are gone, though, everybody starts cheering.

  I glance over at Gabriela for the first time. She has her phone out, taking pictures. We discussed this earlier, how she wasn’t to take any pictures of me, and I’ll have to check her phone later to make sure she kept that promise. As it is, she might have a pretty good story on her hands.

  As a few of the townspeople hurry inside to collect the weapons and to search the house, Yolanda shuffles over to me. She leans heavily on her cane as she stares at me with renewed interest.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m nobody.”

  Antonio drifts over, a huge smile on his face.

  “Is that it? Do you think it’s over?”

  I turn to glance at Fernando Sanchez Morales’s large house on the hill a mile away. I shake my head and answer as bluntly as possible.

  “Not even close.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Fernando Sanchez Morales disconnected the call, set the cell phone aside, and then leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. He hadn’t slept much in the past couple days and it was starting to catch up with him. Or no—days wasn’t right. It was more like months. Over a year since he’d started having restless nights. And it didn’t help that last night Araceli had locked him out of their bedroom.

  Jose Luis said, “How bad is it?”

  Fernando ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at his right-hand man.

  “Very bad. They had a decoy convoy running through the Hot Lands this morning when it was attacked. Everybody was killed.”

  Jose Luis frowned.

  “Decoy convoy?”

  “They tried to trap him. They put the word out that they were transporting her and the children, and they drove around, hoping that he would attack. Which he did. Three fucking SUVs, all of them loaded with armed men. It’s unreal.”

  “And then?”

  Fernando released a heavy sigh, shaking his head slowly.

  “Then he managed to track down where they were hiding her and the children. They think he tortured one of the men from the convoy for the information.”

  “He took them, didn’t he.”

  Jose Luis didn’t bother making it a question.

  Fernando nodded.

  “Yes, he took them. Killed the five men they had guarding them. As of right now, they don’t know where he’s taken them.”

  Jose Luis started to say something but paused.

  Fernando said, “Go ahead and say it.”

  Jose Luis hesitated again before he swallowed and blurted it out.

  “You’re the only one left.”

  Fernando glared back at his right-hand man. It wasn’t anything Jose Luis had done that suddenly raised his ire, but simply the realization that it was true. He was the only one left. Or wait—not him so much as his wife and son.

  Fernando leaned back in his chair, tipping his face up to stare at the ceiling. Above them was the master bedroom, with Araceli and Ignacio locked somewhere inside. The last interaction Fernando had with them did not go well. He’d grabbed Araceli’s hair, had scared his son to the point that Ignacio had looked at him like he was a monster. God forbid, if something were to happen to them, he didn’t want that to be their last memory of him.

  Only no, he wasn’t going to let that happen. He wasn’t like the others. They had been stupid. Careless. Reckless to an extent. They hadn’t had what it took to keep their families safe. But he did. After all, his wife and son were still alive, weren’t they? The Devil hadn’t managed to get them yet. What was to say he would manage to get them at all?

  Jose Luis said, “Maybe you should take them out of the country.”

  Fernando thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.

  “No. I’m not going to show fear like that.”

  Jose Luis’s face tensed. It was clear his right-hand man didn’t approve of this line of thinking. But that didn’t matter to Fernando. There was a reason he was at the head of the family. There was a reason he had gotten this far. He knew when to take risks and he knew when to play it safe. He also knew, above all else, to never show fear. And it wasn’t just for the Devil’s benefit. It was for the benefit of the other cartels. He would be the last man standing. The one who hadn’t lost his wife and son to the Devil.

  Fernando pushed back from the table and stood up.

  “Get more men to patrol the perimeter. I want this place guarded to the hilt.”

  Jose Luis nodded and watched his boss start out of the room.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Up to see my wife and son. Now do as I say.”

  Seconds later he was upstairs and standing in front of the master bedroom door. Two of the bodyguards sat outside farther down the hallway. Fernando gave them a look, and they stood and shuffled downstairs to give him privacy.

  Fernando tried the doorknob. It was locked, just as he had expected. He knocked quietly and whispered to the door.

  “Araceli.”

  No answer.

  He knocked again, a bit louder now.

  “Araceli, open the door.”

  No answer, though he heard movement somewhere in the bedroom. He thoug
ht he sensed her standing right on the other side of the door.

  “Araceli, I’m sorry about yesterday. It was wrong of me. But sometimes I feel you don’t understand how serious the situation is. Just this morning, the Escalante family was attacked. A whole convoy was taken out. And Escalante’s wife and children—”

  He paused there, not bothering to say the rest. Besides, he had a feeling he didn’t need to say the rest. Araceli was a smart woman. She could fill in the blanks.

  A couple seconds passed, and then he heard the soft click of the bolt turning.

  The door opened just a bit, and Araceli peered out at him.

  “They’re dead?”

  Fernando nodded, though he didn’t know for certain whether or not they were dead. If they weren’t dead by now, they would be soon.

  “Yes. He killed over a dozen men to get to them. He’ll stop at nothing. That’s why it’s so important that you and Ignacio stay in this house. It’s for your protection. Do you understand me?”

  Araceli didn’t open the door any farther. She just stood there, staring out at him, and nodded.

  Fernando said, “Can I come in?”

  She seemed to think about it for a long moment, and then nodded again and stepped back, opening the door even wider.

  Fernando stepped inside. He saw Ignacio lying on the bed, hiding under the covers.

  “Ignacio, look at me.”

  Saying it in his soothing voice, the kind that promised he was not the monster his son had witnessed yesterday.

  The covers shifted, and his son peeked up at him.

  Fernando smiled and motioned Ignacio toward him.

  “Come give me a hug.”

  His son didn’t move at first, just stared at him from the bed. Then slowly he crawled out of the bed and made his way over to his father.

  Fernando kneeled down to hug his son first, then stood to embrace his wife. He hated how he sometimes acted with them, but sometimes anger came to him too easily. Something simple could set him off, and when it was around his men that was one thing, but not around his wife and son.

  In the hallway there were footsteps, and Jose Luis cleared his throat.

  “Sir? I need to see you immediately.”

  Fernando held his wife an extra couple of seconds. He smelled her hair, then kissed her on the forehead before he stepped away.

  “I’ll be back soon. Okay?”

  She nodded, her eyes starting to fill with tears.

  Fernando left the bedroom to find Jose Luis and the two bodyguards in the hallway.

  “What is it?”

  Jose Luis said, “There’s something you need to see.”

  The bodyguards stayed behind as Jose Luis led him down the steps and then out toward the front of the house. A car was parked there. Three men sat inside.

  Jose Luis filled him in as they approached the car.

  “They’re our men from La Miserias. They drove up to the gate minutes ago. Two of them are badly injured. Both need medical attention, but the driver knew better than to take them to a hospital. He thought one of our doctors might be able to help.”

  “What happened?”

  They had reached the car. Two of the men inside were writhing in pain. Both appeared to be clutching their legs. Fernando stepped even closer and saw that they’d been shot.

  The driver said, his voice tremulous, “Can I get out of the car now?”

  Fernando leaned down to look at the driver.

  “What happened?”

  The driver shook his head quickly, as if he was in shock.

  “They kicked us out.”

  “Who?”

  “The town.”

  “What do you mean, the town?”

  “I mean the town. They fucking kicked us out. Said that if we came back they’d kill us. Now what about a doctor? These guys need help.”

  Fernando stepped back from the car. He turned first to stare toward La Miserias. Then he turned back to Jose Luis.

  “How many men did you call to protect the perimeter?”

  “Ten additional men are coming. They should be here within a half hour.”

  Fernando nodded, calculating the number in his head. The men who were already guarding the house and the additional men and how many more men they would need.

  “See if you can get ten more.”

  Jose Luis stared at him while the driver from the car kept asking for help.

  “May I ask why?”

  Fernando felt that anger bubbling inside him. Usually it spiked in situations like these, but this was a low boil. He knew that eventually it would explode, but he needed to wait for it to happen at the right time.

  “You know exactly why. Get the additional men here as soon as possible. The people in that town thought yesterday was bad? They haven’t even begun to understand true misery.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Pork sizzles in the frying pan.

  The sound alone makes my stomach grumble with pleasure.

  Yolanda stands over the stove with a pair of tongs, turning each cubed piece of pork over so that all sides become browned. She already has the spices set aside, ready to add when the time is right.

  Gabriela and I stand in the kitchen watching her. We offered to help, but she kept waving us away, saying that she was fine, despite the fact she moves slowly around the kitchen with her cane.

  Dorado sits in the doorway, his tail flicking back and forth, watching patiently.

  It’s been two hours since we kicked the narcos out of town. Two hours since the realization of what the townspeople had done began to sink in. I could tell from some of their faces that a few were already beginning to regret it, but others hadn’t. They’d looked proud. Relieved. Triumphant.

  At the same time, they knew that this wasn’t the end of it. That eventually more narcos would come, seeking revenge. The townspeople needed to work on burying their loved ones from yesterday, but at the same time they needed to ensure that the town remained safe. So while a few worked on burial plans, the others were waiting with every weapon they had. We’d found several guns and rifles the narcos had stashed in their house, but it wasn’t an arsenal. There was a chance that when more narcos came, the townspeople would be outgunned and outnumbered. They acknowledged this, and they still wanted to fight.

  As Yolanda browns the pork, she glances at us over her shoulder.

  “How do you two know each other?”

  Gabriela and I trade glances. We stare at each other for a long moment, and then I shrug.

  “It’s a long story.”

  Yolanda laughs, gestures at the stove.

  “We have time.”

  Neither one of us speaks.

  Yolanda chuckles to herself, shaking her head as she keeps browning the pork.

  “You can keep your secrets. Gabriela, are you really a journalist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who do you write for?”

  Gabriela hesitates, then says, “La Baliza.”

  “That is noble work, I imagine. Also dangerous. What do your parents think of it?”

  “They’re dead.”

  Yolanda sighs, shaking her head.

  “Much too young. Much, much too young.”

  She peers at me.

  “What about your parents?”

  “I’d rather not talk about my parents.”

  Yolanda nods, focusing again on the frying pan.

  “Very well. Then we will not talk about anything. We will stay silent here in the kitchen while our food cooks.”

  Dorado moves from his spot in the doorway. He slinks over to me and starts rubbing his face up against my leg. When I don’t give him any attention, he drifts over to Gabriela, who bends down and strokes his back.

  I ask Yolanda, “What about you?”

  She doesn’t bother to look back at me when she answers.

  “What about me?”

  “Tell us about your family.”

  She stares down at the frying pan, moving the cubes o
f pork around as they sizzle.

  “My parents, as you can imagine, have long since left this earth. As for children … I only ever had one child. A son. He grew up a good boy. Always listened. Always followed the rules. He was ambitious. He wanted to go to Mexico City and become a lawyer. I never understood why he wanted to become a lawyer. One day I asked him, and he said it was because lawyers made a lot of money. He said that was his goal—to make a lot of money. He always told me that one day he would make enough money so that he could buy me a place to live along the ocean. He was a sweet boy who meant well, but …”

  She lets it hang there and doesn’t complete the thought.

  I say, “Was a sweet boy. Does that mean he passed away, too?”

  “Yes, but not in the way you might think. All his talk about becoming a lawyer was when he was just a boy. My son meant well, but he was not smart. At least not smart enough to become a lawyer. To get into the right schools. I think he realized this as he got older. When he became a teenager, he realized that if he wanted to make money, he would need to find something else to do. He did not want to become a farmer and work in the fields all day. He did not want to leave me by myself either, so he decided to stay in town, but …”

  She pauses again, turning to look at us.

  “Fernando Sanchez Morales did not always own that house up on the hill. His father lived there before him. His father also worked for the cartel, but he wasn’t so awful.”

  Another pause. Yolanda shakes her head again, wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “I know that sounds strange, but he was good to the people here. Morales would never have allowed those narcos to terrorize the town. He understood that towns like ours were just part of life. We were here to stay. When he became older, I worried something might happen to him. I worried somebody worse would take his place. As they say, better the devil you know than the devil you do not. I suppose Fernando could be even worse than he is, but he is bad. He is ruthless. And he was just a boy at the time, too, and my son knew this, and somehow he managed to meet Fernando somewhere and convinced Fernando to let him work for the cartel.”