Page 10 of Tainted Blood
I can’t run fast enough. I’ll burn this city to the ground if she’s hurt. Throwing the stairwell door open, I run straight into the heavily armed chest of Rocco. Before I can demand answers, he’s jerking his chin over his shoulder.
“Shots came from the rear parking lot.”
With my gun drawn and finger wrapped tight around the trigger, I storm ahead, giving zero fucks about protocol or protection.
The rhythmic click of boots scatter across the asphalt as swarms of sicarios pour in from every direction. The ones I commanded to secure the perimeter have already arrived, forming a half-circle around a black sports car.
They’re silent.
Unmoving.
Guns lowered.
No.
Time slows, each second stretching long into the next. My throat tightens. My heart stutters.
“Move,” I order. My men glance up, their unreadable stares feeding the monster inside me. “I said ‘move’!”
As soon as they part, I take a step forward. Then another. I don’t stop until the soles of my Santoni dress shoes are submerged in the spreading pool of blood. I take in the crumpled body lying motionless on the asphalt—the two gunshot wounds turning his white shirt an angry red.
Thank God.
The pile of bricks crushing my chest lifts as RJ lets out a staggered breath.
“What the fuck? Is that Sam Sanders?”
“What’s left of him,” I say, not bothering to hide the elation in my voice. “Point blank range. Nice work, men.”
Grayson’s invasion never made it past the parking lot, although my men’s aim leaves a lot to be desired. One bullet tore through his abdomen, but the other barely hit his shoulder. I’ve trained them better than that. There’s no second-guessing a bullet aimed at the head. Always go for the kill shot.
“Boss, we didn’t do this.”
My head snaps up. “What do you mean?”
I don’t like the look in my sicario’s eyes. It’s one of caution. Like he’s tiptoeing around a hungry lion.
“Most of us were on the east side when the first shot rang out. By the time we got here, he was already down.”
“Did you do a sweep?”
He nods. “Every inch within a hundred-foot radius. The snipers at the front moved position to try and get a visual, but found nothing.”
“My wife?”
“Negative. Sanders was alone when he was hit.”
The relief flooding through me could drown out an ocean. But this is war, so a brief moment of solace is all I allow myself.
“Santiago wouldn’t take out one of his own, Santi.”
Bending down on his haunches, I watch RJ press two fingers against Sanders’s neck. “Well?”
“He’s only got two, maybe three minutes before Santa Muerte comes for him.” He rises to his feet. “Someone’s already fired the first two shots. It’s your call. What do you want to do?”
I glance down as the American starts gurgling incoherent nonsense, blood streaming from the corners of his mouth, and leaving red track marks down the sides of his face. Those smug dark eyes are barely open, but we still lock gazes. Even in his final moments, after all he’s done to my family, he doesn’t look away.
As for me?
