Page 107 of Death

“I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“No, you’re not,” Pedro replies. “It’s just hits different when you have someone waiting at home for you.”

When we’re a few yards away, he stops the SUV, and we climb out just as Eladio and Miguel launch the SM-2 missiles from their truck.

I’m letting the two men hang back today.

The explosions send a blast of energy through the air, then all my men move in on the mansion.

Stepping over rubble, my heartbeat is steady until the first cartel soldier points his gun at us from where he’s hiding behind what’s left of the security booth.

I open fire, riddling the structure with bullets before sticking close to Pedro, who’s slightly ahead of me.

Every one of my senses is on high alert, and I’m aware of my men moving across the property as gunfire is exchanged.

We’ve carried out so many attacks we can do this shit blindfolded, but today’s hit is the motherload. If I can get my hands on Javier, it will set the cartel back and give us a few months of peace while they scramble to rebuild.

That’s if someone else takes over. After I killed the leader of the Mendoza cartel, the survivors scattered.

Pedro and I open fire on three men as we near the gaping hole in the side of the mansion where smoke is billowing into the air.

Pedro hits one of the soldiers in his leg, and as he goes down, another bullet slams into his chest.

As I take down the other two, Pedro staggers back. “Fuck.” His breaths turn heavy from the pain of a bullet hitting his vest and I kill the fucker who shot at him.

I move forward, taking the lead while asking, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Keep going.”

“I’m in,” Samuel's voice sounds up via the earpieces we’re all wearing.

“We’re coming in through the hole in the wall,” Pedro replies as we climb over the debris.

“The front door would’ve been so much easier,” Samuel chuckles.

The sound of gunfire increases suddenly, before it dies down completely. Silence falls heavy around us, and my eyes scan over every possible hiding place as we walk through what’s left of the dining room.

As we step into a hallway, Pedro pats my shoulder and indicates we should go left. We creep toward whatever’s at the end of the hallway, hearing sporadic gunfire somewhere in the house.

When we reach an open space where a lounge is situated with open sliding doors that lead to a patio, I feel Pedro’s hand on my shoulder. He’s ready to yank me out of harm’s way, the barrel of his gun visible in my peripheral vision.

We keep moving forward, then a fucker jumps up from behind a couch and makes a run for the open doors.

I open fire, the spray of bullets following him until three hit his back.

As I glance over the room again, another man pops up from behind the other couch, taking aim at Pedro. I pull the trigger as I shove Pedro to the side, and the bullet meant for his head slams into my upper arm.

Pain rips through the muscle, and I clench my jaw.

And then my second-in-command loses his everloving fucking mind, and he empties the magazine in the fucker who shot me.

I glance down at my arm, thinking Ciara’s not going to be happy.

Letting out a sigh, I wait for Pedro as he kicks the really, really fucking dead body, and when he stalks to me with rage tightening his features, I brace myself.

“You do not get in my fucking way and take a bullet for me!” he shouts right in my face. “Look at your fucking arm.” He takes the empty magazine out of his gun and slams another one in. “Jesus Christ, Santiago!” He rips my sleeve clean off and wraps it tightly around my arm to stop the bleeding, not being careful at all.

“It’s just my arm,” I mutter when he’s done and continue walking toward the other side of the lounge.

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