Page 71 of Property of Bones

Tinted windows.

A second one pulls up behind it.

The line of Shadows at the gate is solid. Guns raised. Jawlines carved from stone.

The first door opens.

Max steps out, hands raised, face unreadable.

A collective growl rises around me.

Guns tighten.

Breaths hold.

All guns swing toward Max the second he’s in view.

“Fucking traitor,” someone shouts.

The man doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just stands there…expression flat, eyes empty, like he’s made of stone. He doesn’t look smug. Doesn’t look scared. He looks…hollow.

And somehow, that’s worse.

Before anyone can make a move, a figure rises from the roof of the second SUV.

“What the…” Tank starts.

“Is that a damn rocket launcher?” Crusher growls.

It is.

Sleek. Military grade. And aimed straight inside the compound.

At the houses behind us.

At the women.

At Sunny.

“That’ll level half the damn block,” Skip mutters.

Then the front SUV’s door swings open.

Muerte steps out like he owns the fucking world. Black suit. Silver rings. Gold tooth flashing when he smirks.

“Lower your weapons,” he calls, voice casual like we’re just chatting about the weather. “Or your precious little casas go boom.”

He lifts a finger and points toward the homes behind us.

None of us move.

“Muerte,” Spike says low, like naming the monster makes it more real. “What do you want?”

The cartel leader shrugs. “You think I came here to play? Lower your weapons, Presidente. Or I let mi niño press the button. He likes fire.”

There’s a beat.

Just one.

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