Alejandro made his way through the opening in the gate that the RPG had blown apart. He stepped past the bodies he’d killed after firing the RPG—taking out a half-dozen of them with the sniper rifle—and as more men ran around the house he took them out too, picking them off before any of them were able to get off a single shot.
He did not move as quickly as he would have liked. The pain in his side was becoming too much of a nuisance, and though he tried to fight past it, there was only so much he could do.
Alejandro dropped an empty magazine, loaded his rifle with another.
He already knew this would be the end of his revenge. More than likely he would die right after ending the lives of Morales’s wife and son. And if that was the case, so be it. As long as he killed each of them, his soul would find rest. It would be eternally damned, yes, but still it would find rest.
He had just reached the house, meaning to enter through the patio door, when the front gate burst open.
He turned and watched a car come speeding up the drive toward the house. It seemed to pause for a moment, its driver not sure where to go next, and then its engine growled as its driver accelerated and aimed right for him.
Alejandro raised the rifle and let off several bursts. The bullets dented the car’s grille and hood and shattered the windshield.
But still the car kept coming, even faster now, and Alejandro realized he wouldn’t be able to get out of the way in time. Still he turned and tried to dive to the side, but the car’s smashed grille struck him and sent him flying through the patio door.
The car skidded to a stop, and its engine sputtered and died. Both front doors opened, and Ramon and Carlos fell out.
Ramon had taken two bullets to his side, but neither were serious hits.
Carlos wasn’t so lucky. One of the bullets had got him in the stomach. He lay on the ground, groaning in pain, and then slowly climbed to his feet. He had dropped his gun when he fell from the car, and he looked around wildly for it, thinking at first it had somehow disappeared. Finally he spotted it underneath the car. Carlos reached for it, his fingers just grazing the metal, and then he managed to grab the gun and used the open door to pull himself upright.
Ramon was already on his feet. He held his side with his left hand as he gripped his gun with his right hand. He started toward the smashed patio door and the inert form of the Devil.
Carlos said, “We need to call this in.”
Ramon didn’t answer, just kept moving forward.
Carlos said, “I need an ambulance. You need an ambulance. Christ, what were you thinking charging at him like that?”
Ramon still didn’t answer. He kept his focus on the Devil. The door had been smashed open enough that he simply walked into the house. He stared hard at the Devil who slowly attempted to sit up.
“Stop.”
Ramon said it as he aimed his gun at the Devil. At least, he assumed it was the Devil. The man wore a mask covering his entire head. Only the eyes stared out.
Carlos stumbled into the house behind him. He leaned against the wall to stay upright. Like Ramon, he kept a hand against his wound while his other hand gripped his gun.
“Is that really him?”
Ramon didn’t answer. The Devil didn’t answer. The house was eerily silent.
Carlos said, “We need to call this in.”
Keeping his gun aimed at the Devil, Ramon said, “What if we didn’t?”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“The cartels will pay ten million dollars for him.”
“So? We don’t work for the cartels.”
Ramon turned and shot Carlos twice in the stomach. Carlos stumbled back, hit the wall, and slid down to the ground.
Ramon walked over to Carlos. He bent down and pulled the gun from Carlos’s grip and tossed the gun outside.
“Maybe you don’t work for the cartels, but I do.”
He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Devil hadn’t moved, and then turned his focus back on Carlos.
“I didn’t want it to be this way. I wanted to bring you in. I told you we could split the money. But you—”
Ramon’s side exploded in pain as two gunshots sounded out. He fell back, glancing toward the Devil again.
The Devil now had a gun in his hand, pointed right at him.
Alejandro intended to kill both men, but that was when he heard motion behind him. He turned quickly and saw a man standing there, a gun in his own hand. But the man looked drunk, unsteady on his feet, the gun in his hand shaking.
Alejandro twisted around and shot the man.
The man cried out as he fell to the ground. His gun clattered away.
Alejandro checked back on the two men—who were policía, they had to be policía—and saw that they were both out of commission. The older one had paled considerably in the past minute. It didn’t look like he had much longer to hold on. The younger one hadn’t paled as much, but he was writhing in pain on the ground.
It took more effort than he thought he had, but Alejandro managed to climb to his feet. He kept telling himself that it was almost over. That soon he would avenge his family. That soon he could close his eyes and never open them again.
Alejandro approached the new man on the floor. He didn’t look like a narco. It took Alejandro a moment, but then he realized who this man must be.
“You are Jose Luis, yes?”
The man didn’t answer, staring up at him in terror.
Alejandro said, “Where are they?”
The man gritted his teeth, attempted to spit at him.
Alejandro shot the man in his ankle.
The man howled.
Alejandro said, “Where are they?”
The man kept howling in pain.
Alejandro shot him in his other ankle.
The man sputtered, “Upstairs. They are upstairs.”
Alejandro had figured as much, but he still needed confirmation.
“Where are they upstairs?”
The man didn’t answer, shaking his head, but when Alejandro aimed his gun toward his balls, the man relented with a hoarse shout.
“The master bedroom.”
Alejandro looked back over his shoulder to check on the two cops. Both of them were still alive, but they wouldn’t be a problem.
He turned back to Jose Luis and aimed his gun at the man’s head.
“Were you there when your boss made the plan to come after me and my family?”
Jose Luis shook with pain. His eyes were shut tight again, his jaw clenched, but still he nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Alejandro shot Morales’s right-hand man in the face.
He turned back to the two policía, meaning to put them out of their misery too, when he heard a vehicle approaching outside.
Alejandro couldn’t waste any more time. He needed to end this now.
Gripping the gun in his hand, he started for the stairs.