Page 2 of Everest

A few yards away is another cartel member, his rifle hanging at his side, taking a piss. I pull my knife from the sheath strapped to my thigh, the blade gleaming in the moonlight. I move in, slow and steady. The bastard doesn’t sense me, oblivious to the fact that death is breathing down his neck. My finger tightens around the knife’s hilt, its weight familiar and comforting.

One step.

Then another.

I hold my breath.

And strike fast.

My hand clamps over his mouth, yanking his head back against my chest. He struggles and tries to scream, but all that comes out is a muffled grunt against my palm while fumbling for his rifle, which falls to the ground. Desperate, his fingers claw at my wrist, but I’ve got the strength. My blade slides deep across his throat, hot blood spilling over my hand. His body shudders, then goes slack in my grip. Careful not to make a sound, I lower him to the ground and hover over him. His eyes are wide, full of terror, but there’s no life left in the motherfucker, just a few last, wet gasps as he stares up at me before the light goes out. I exhale and stand, wiping the blade clean against my pants.

“Positions?” Riggs’ voice crackles through the earpiece.

“East side,” Preacher replies with a steadiness in his tone.

“West side,” Cowboy responds.

“South end,” I state, indicating my position.

“South,” Thor murmurs, confirming his location.

“I’ve got the front entrance secured,” Riggs asserts confidently, his voice steady and authoritative. After a brief pause, he continues, “Strike first. Strike hard and leave nothing standin’.”

“Do or die, no in-between,” Thor proclaims.

Cowboy chuckles low. “Let’s kick the dust off and light a fire.”

“Let God judge the man, but first we send them to meet him,” Preacher adds.

A heavy silence lingers for a heartbeat, each thump of my pulse echoing in my ears. “Let’s make the devil sweat,” I add.

“Hell yeah. Let’s move,” Riggs orders, and I raise my rifle, heading for one of the exit points at the back of the crumbling villa.

Thor steps up and, with small precision tools, starts working on the heavy, rusty padlock—a sharp click and then silence.

A voice drifts from inside. “Time’s up. Make the call and tell them we’re starting with one of the women.” His accent is thick.

Thor looks at me. “Ready?”

I nod.

Then raise my rifle, finger firm on the trigger, and without hesitation, enter.

The first man we encounter barely gets a breath before my bullet punches through his skull, slamming his body against the wall and leaving a smear of blood as his body slides down.

A second motherfucker reacts, his hands reaching for his weapon. Thor kills him with two rounds to the chest, his body jerking before crumbling to the floor.

All hell breaks loose, and the compound erupts in a mix of shouting and gunfire.

A bullet whizzes past my ear as we enter another room. Another burns as it rips a line across the top of my shoulder, but I press forward.

Across the room, Riggs meets a charging man head-on, deflecting a machete’s blade and then slamming the bastard’s head into the wall so hard it bursts like a dropped melon. He looks around. “Move.”

Thor, Riggs, and I step over the dead, exiting the room.

“We’ve located the hostages,” Preacher says into the earpiece, his voice steady.

“Where?” Riggs barks.

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