THE SUN BLAZED OVER LOZANO’S head. Even early in the morning, his sunglasses didn’t block much of the rays, nor did his light suit dissipate the heat. Memo drained the bottle of Louis Tres in front of him, the helicopter blades behind him slowing to a stop.

Only Memo had returned. No one else.

Lozano flicked his cigarette into the grass beyond the concrete. Ricardo stood to the side, this time in a black suit and tie. Finally.

“Did the rest of the crew take a holiday on that yacht?”

Memo chucked the bottle, shattering on the private airstrip’s tarmac. Though his Tagalog thickened his accent, his English was fluent. “Nope. Napping with the fish.”

“Jesus,” Ricardo muttered.

Lozano’s prime rib from the night before churned in his stomach. “And your brother?”

“Shoved in a drawer.”

Memo’s slouch and nonchalant tone would have normally earned him a broken neck. For now, the cannibal was the least of Lozano’s worries.

He’d just lost his top enforcer, the man he almost considered a friend.

“Fuck.” Lozano popped his knuckles. Memo turned, keeping his side toward his boss. “That girlie was prepared for us. Bunch of guns on that thing, with people who knew how to use ’em.”

The engineer can squeeze a trigger.

Ricardo shifted behind him. No doubt keeping close in case he suffered another episode.

It was just the damned heat.

“Radio chatter picked up,” Memo continued. “The U.S. Navy was in bound to intercept. I hightailed out.”

“Was anyone still alive?” Ricardo asked.

“Julius. But that girlie was about to shoot his head off, so I didn’t stick around.”

Lozano gritted his teeth. Julius had been promising, the only asset in Ricardo’s entourage that could have eventually taken Tiburón’s place. Now, he was a liability. If the purple-loving kid somehow survived this epic failure, he’d have to shove him in a drawer too.

His hired assassin, Vasco, had never made it to their rendezvous point for this operation either. Nor had he returned any messages, which meant he’d pussied out. Or switched sides.

If that bastardo turned on us, I’ll personally rip off his testicles, tenderize them in his gut, and roast them in his brain.

Lozano’s fingers prickled with the urge to rip his gun from his waistband and imbed a slug in Memo’s head. In his hotheaded youth, he would’ve done it. But with age came wisdom. Control.

With Tiburón in a drawer, he needed the brother. As vicious as his kin, and as eager to satisfy a sadistic penchant.

His phone rang. Raul.

“How’s the Indonesian bar scene?” Lozano asked.

“Entertaining,” his youngest son answered, his higher pitched voice revealing his inebriated state.

“Good to know you’re enjoying yourself at my expense.”

“At least I have good news.” Music blared in the background.

I could use some good news, right now. “Out with it.”

“Those sleepers on Solana I told you about?”

Lozano grunted.

“They’re all tucked in, eyes open and ready.”

Good. “How is enlistment going?”

Raul laughed at a female voice in the background. “Promising.”

Lozano rolled his eyes and hung up. He turned to Memo. “If you’re not otherwise occupied for the foreseeable future, I could use your talents.”

He could feel Ricardo’s anxious stare behind him, clearly disapproving of their new potential recruit.

Memo spit through his teeth, landing a foot away from Lozano’s shoe. “Depends.”

“On?”

“The pay.”

Lozano cocked his head. “Double Tiburón’s price.”

Memo shook his head, and his crazy eyes dared to meet Lozano’s. “Your body armor has vanished. You need him replaced. Takes more than money.”

Dark fury filled Lozano’s chest. How dare this asshole threaten me! He tilted his head down, like a bull about to charge. “I earned my reputation long before you or your brother were born. I don’t need body armor. Just an enforcer.”

The corner of Memo’s lip lifted. “Triple.”

“Agreed. As long as you keep your hobbies out of my sight.”

He shrugged.

Ricardo swore under his breath, and retreated to the car at the edge of the tarmac.

Memo didn’t even acknowledge him. “Where to now, amo?”

Amo. Tagalog for boss. Lozano much preferred the more refined English.

“Recruiting. My former assassin has reneged on our deal. Find Vasco. Make him regret it.”

“A drawer for this one?”

Lozano sneered. “No. How delectable would a world-class assassin be? My new bulldog needs a meal.”

Memo’s eyes glittered.