Page 220 of Salvatore

“Do it,” he croaks, ashen.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you,puta.” Alonso grabs my shoulder, yanking me backward.

“Do it,” Salvatore roars.

I gasp, unable to tear my gaze from his as I reach out, my hand coasting over the knife, my fingers tightening on the hilt.

I watch in horror as pain pinches Salvatore’s features, the devastation quickly replaced with soul-shattering pride.

“Live,” is his only command as I’m swung around to face my brother.

But living isn’t enough.

I scream my heartache, the war cry bubbling up from my lungs as I charge, rushing Alonso, my shoulder slamming into his chest while I plunge the knife into his stomach.

He stumbles backward, mouth agape.

We both take a beat to acclimatize to the gravity of my actions, but he’s faster to bounce back, his fist slamming into my face to send me toppling.

I see black for a second, my world re-righting in pain and confusion as his hands circle my neck, hauling me back to my feet.

“I should’ve killed you years ago.” He releases a hand, cocking another fist.

Then something blindsides my periphery.Someone. The flash of movement hits Alonso in the temple. He nose-dives to the floor, unconscious as I sway, only to be grounded by an arm around my waist.

“You good?” Hunter steadies me, his free hand holding a gun aimed at my brother’s head.

“Wait.” I scramble from his arm. “I need the key to Salvatore’s restraints.”

I collapse onto my knees and start searching Alonso’s pockets.

“Move back and I can assist.” Hunter jerks his chin for me to retreat, barely waiting a beat for me to inch away before he adjusts his aim and pulls the trigger, the sound deafening.

Alonso jackknifes back to consciousness with a wail.

“The key,” Hunter demands. “Where is it?”

Alonso rolls onto his side, clutching his leg as he howls.

“Thekey.” Hunter shoots again, nailing Alonso in the thigh. “Or I’ll stop asking nicely.”

Alonso screams, his body contorting. “My pocket. It’s in my fucking jeans pocket.”

Hunter swoops in, retrieving the glistening piece of metal as Decker jogs into the bunker.

“Handle him.” Hunter orders his tattooed counterpart and strides for Salvatore.

“No,” Alonso demands. “If you kill me the cartel will riot.”

Decker grins at me, aiming his gun between my brother’s eyes. “This is the fun part, but you should probably look away.”

I turn my head toward Salvatore, slapping my hands to my ears a second before the gunshot blasts through the room.

Salvatore winces with me, the weakest, saddest smile tilting his lips. “I’m proud of you, troublemaker.”

“What about me?” Hunter grates, inserting the key into one of the shackles.

I tense, anticipating Salvatore’s cry of pain as his dislocated arm flops to his side, but all he musters is a groan, his weight collapsing back into the wall.

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