Page 44 of Buried in Blood
If Reese turns on me, I’ll kill him myself.
I pause.
There’s only one outcome where I win. One thread that leads to order instead of chaos.
And I’ve found it.
I circle it in my mind three times. But I don’t mark what it is. Not even on the page. Not even in ink.
Some victories require silence.
I sit back, eyes narrowing as I trace every inch of the plan one last time.
They think they know how this ends.
They don’t.
Because I’m not just one step ahead.
I’m already at the finish line.
And I’m the one holding the fucking knife.
* * *
A single knock.
The door creaks open, and Enrique steps inside like a storm cloud with a heartbeat—tall, broad, silent unless provoked. He doesn’t speak until I nod, and even then, it’s only one word.
“You called?”
I gesture toward the blueprint still stretched across the table. “I have a plan.”
He walks closer, his eyes scanning the red lines as if they hold more significance than just blood and control. Maybe to him, they do. He’s always been good at logistics. Precise. Loyal. Ruthless when needed.
“I need a secondary,” I say. “Someone I can trust to assist Reese with the decoy transport. Someone who knows how to follow orders without asking questions.”
His brow lifts. “You still trust Reese?”
“I trust his usefulness,” I reply flatly. “That’s not the same thing.”
Enrique gives a half-smile—more like a twitch of his scarred cheek. “And you trust me?”
“No,” I say. “But I trust that you fear me enough to follow through.”
That gets a low chuckle. “Fair enough.”
I tap two boxes on the blueprint—convoy markers. “You’ll take Truck Two. Reese will drive the first. The manifests are forged. Crates are empty. You’re headed north. You’ll be visible. Loud. On a timed route. I want you to act like you’re running scared.”
Hestudies the map a moment longer. “And the real play?”
I meet his eyes, cold and unreadable. “You don’t need to know the real play. You just need to do your job.”
