30
Joseph
Gomez is whining like a bitch. Since Fernandez declared war on us last night, the Costavo’s green and black viper has sunk its poisonous fangs into Los Cinco Grandes. The order has fallen. The National Police Special Operations Command took out two of the cartels—Perez in Medellín and Hurtados in Bogotá—in dawn raids a couple of hours ago, citing a load of bullshit charges. Unfortunately for them, that kind of crap sticks when you don't have the connections to make it go away. It comes as no surprise to anyone in this room that their processing plants were being looted at the same time that their asses were getting thrown in jail. Insider trading is alive and well in any business.
The fifth cartel, Luis Ossa’s organization, has retreated back to the relative safety of Puerto Carreño. Word on the street is he’s already formed an allegiance with Fernandez, a detail that Gomez seems super pissed about this morning.
“We should have cut a deal with him too,” he says sulkily, shifting in his seat. As if an ass that size can ever get comfortable. “We could have given him the two bitches as a goodwill gesture. They’re the ones who murdered his son and started all of this.” He leans back with a self-satisfied huff, as if he’s just unveiled the mother of all solutions to us.
Spineless asshole.
Dead asshole.
Anna’s not going anywhere, and I’ll happily prove it to him now. My hand strays toward my gun, but Dante catches my eye and gives me a brief shake of his head. I can tell he’s about two minutes away from blowing a hole in the Colombian himself.
“I’m more interested in why Fernandez chose to disband Los Cinco Grandes now,” muses Dante, knocking back his third bourbon of the morning. “This isn’t just about his dead son. Someone’s playing the old man from behind the scenes.”
I nod in agreement. “Russians?”
“Too subtle,” he says. “Bratva aren’t known for their refinement. They would have taken Perez and Hurtados out themselves, and not involved the cops. We’re dealing with an organization with a bigger picture for us to burn.”
“Any ideas?” I drain my drink too, and pour another. I’m self-medicating. The morphine’s wearing off again, and the pain’s even worse since I pounded Anna’s sweet pussy into oblivion an hour ago. She’s the worst and the best kind of influence on my dick, and another who doesn’t advocate subtlety. But if it makes her feel the way she needs to feel, then who the fuck am I to deny her?
“Who cares!” shrieks Gomez, rising to his feet as panic makes another weak man look even more foolish. “Unless you’re planning on leaving your army here permanently, Señor Santiago, I will forever be looking over my shoulder for Fernandez. He’s too powerful now… Perhaps we need to rethink our distribution agreement.”
“Sit down,” Dante replies coldly, flashing that fucking smile of his, and I start the countdown to Gomez’s demise in my head.
“I’ll talk to Fernandez myself,” Gomez blusters, refusing to acquiesce. “Maybe we can come to some arrangement once he accepts that I had nothing to do with his son’s death.”
Five…
Dante laughs. “Would you like another limp to go with the one I’ve already given you, Gomez, or shall I remove the leg completely this time?”
Four…
Three…
Gomez face swells up like a bullfrog. “You’ve grown weak and stubborn in the last few years, Señor,” he accuses, moving his chess pieces from ‘foolish’ to ‘suicidal’. “Your pretty new wife has turned your head.” Heaving his trousers over his gut, he turns to leave as Dante and I both lift our guns in unison.
“Señor Santiago! Señor Santiago!”
Gabriela bursts into the room, making all of us spin around. She’s left her usual composure somewhere in the hallway outside, and her eyes are streaming with fear. Her forehead is bleeding, and the collar of her black shirt is torn.
“What the hell happened?” demands Dante, striding up to her.
“They attacked me! They took Viviana!”
“Who did?”
“Three men,” she cries, clutching at her chest. “I’ve never seen them before.”
“Fernandez,” Dante rumbles, his expression failing to hide his rage. “How the hell did they get in here? We have a hundred men patrolling this estate.”
But I’m already halfway out of the door. I take the stairs at a run, ignoring the blistering jolts in my shoulder. “Anna!” I shout as I reach the bedroom door. “Anna?”
No answer.
The room is empty. White curtains flutter at the open windows as all kinds of hell explode in the pit of my stomach. She’s gone. She’s fucking gone—
A gunshot rings out and I’m retracing my steps quicker than I made them. Gomez is sprawled out at the foot of the staircase with that prophesied hole in the back of his head.
“Caught him trying to sneak out while I was dealing with Gabriela,” says Dante, holstering his gun. “I think it’s safe to assume we found the leak. His petulance should have been the first clue.”
“Anna’s gone too,” I announce bleakly, watching his expression plunge even deeper into darkness. “I won't rest until I find her, even if I have to rip this whole fucking country apart.”
“Fuck!” he roars. “Fuck!” He stops pacing for a moment and runs his hand across his jaw. “Radio Reece outside. See if any of our men were harmed in this attack, and then get Gomez’s guys in here. Let’s see if he was working alone. Tell them the newly resurrected Santiago cartel just took control of their organization.” He takes a breath and catches my eyes again. He knows I don't give a shit about any of this. He knows my thoughts are fully focused on one thing, and one thing only. “We’ll get her back, Grayson.”
His cell beeps and he glances at the message.
Without a word, he chucks the cell to me. My world turns an even darker shade of black when I see the message. It’s Anna. Bound and gagged. Staring directly into the camera with the kind of fear I never wanted to see reflected in those river-deep eyes again.
My fingers clench around the device. Dante’s devil is raging through my veins just as much as his today. My resolve is cold steel and ice. It’s napalm and gasoline.
I was there to save her the first time.
I’ll be there to save her again.
The cell starts ringing, and I answer it right away.
“My terms are simple,” comes Fernandez’s harsh rasp. “I want Gomez’s entire operation and you out of the picture in exchange for one of the girls. I’ll let you decide which.”
Motherfucker.
“When?” I demand, switching the call to loudspeaker so Dante can hear.
“We keep the round table meeting tomorrow as planned, but there’ll be three seats instead of five. I’m sure you’re already aware of what’s happened to Perez and Hurtados. You can take the place of Gomez. Do what you like with him. He’s outlived his usefulness.” I glance at the dead body on the floor. We already got the memo. “My estate in Cartagena, tomorrow at sunset. No guns. No men. No nasty surprises. Once your assurances have been given, you can take the girl and go. I want you gone from Colombia, never to return.”