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“Hey, kid. Am I boring you?” The exasperated voice of the man behind him reminded him of his role. Juan didn’t have to turn to see him. He easily pictured him. Something about the man made his skin crawl. Cold, dark, almost lifeless eyes, a thin, cruel-looking mouth, and a bald head so shiny Juan wondered if he polished it every night. He would like to have laughed at the thought, but there was nothing funny about the man. He had arrived an hour ago, and the moment he’d stepped into the room, the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees. The man was coldness personified, the most terrifying man Juan had ever met.
When Juan asked for his name, he’d simply said to call him The Killer. The man had smirked and told him that should be easy enough to remember.
Revenge. That was what he was supposed to care about. The people who had originally brought his father down had been targeted for termination. The promise had been made to destroy them, and they intended to keep their word. In this world, retribution was almost as important as power. Without the promise of destruction for perceived wrongs, one looked weak. Threats of retribution and death were what made the world, or at least the drug cartel world, go around.
Forget the terror, a small voice reminded him. Play the part.
Making himself turn, Juan faced The Killer and spoke in his most forceful tone. “Four are still alive.”
Slouched in Juan’s eighteen-thousand-dollar leather chair, his large feet propped up on Juan’s ninety-five-thousand-dollar desk, The Killer didn’t bother to look up from the paper he was reading. He said in his soft, calm voice, “You’re a math genius, kid.”
Juan refused to flinch. If there was any kind of hierarchy, this man was a peon, wasn’t he? He was a hired killer, nothing more. But there was something not right about him. Something beyond sinister.
“I was told you were the best.”
The man did look up then, and Juan’s blood went cold. Eyes darker than midnight looked through him as if he didn’t exist. They didn’t have a glint in them like regular eyes. It was almost like they were the eyes of a dead man.
“I…I was simply pointing out what I was told.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
Swallowing down the fear, Juan asked, “What is the plan to take care of the others?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“But I—”
Juan broke off when The Killer tilted his head slightly. The man didn’t like to be questioned. He made his own agenda, his own timeline.
Stiffening his spine, Juan narrowed his eyes the way he’d seen his father do and growled, “You’ve had ample time to—”
The Killer dropped his feet onto the floor with a thud and rose slowly to his feet. Dressed in a black T-shirt and pants with a ridiculous amount of pockets, the man should have looked weak, even comical. But there was nothing funny about him. Juan was more than aware that he had poked a sleeping bear.
Despite his best efforts to stand still, Juan found himself backing away. Perhaps acting tough with this man was not the way to handle things. He was out of his element and could only offer his most humble apology. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
The Killer rarely felt amused by anything, but this little pipsqueak was becoming fun. Probably weighed twenty stone, if that, and when he stood ramrod straight, as he was trying to do right now, he came up to his chin. His thirty-thousand-dollar suit and three-thousand-dollar tie were impeccable, but he’d bet his last quid that the kid’s designer briefs were wet with sweat, and maybe more. Juan Gonzalez was way out of his league, and he was too stupid to know it. He was a naïve kid playing a tough man’s game.
When Juan backed up, his eyes wide with fear, he revised his assessment. Maybe he wasn’t completely stupid.
“I’ll say this once, and then we’ll put this to rest. Mack Johnson, Trevor Holden, and Deacon Marsh will be eliminated.”
“But…but…” Juan swallowed audibly and tried again. “But what about the other one?”
Oh, he had plans for Olivia. Big plans. She had gotten away from him a few days ago, but he had a new plan in place. One that guaranteed her compliance. And now that he knew Hawke was alive, it was going to be even sweeter.
Little Juan didn’t need to know that. His only concern was avenging his low-life father. The kid was too stupid to realize that if Hector Gonzalez were still alive, Juan wouldn’t be in the position he was in now. Papá’s death had paved the way for this idiot’s success. He was also too naïve to realize that Hector’s death in prison had been arranged. Hector had been stupid enough to get caught, which had played right into their hands. Little Juan and his mamá were much easier to control.
Pawns, all of them, and none of them was smart enough to figure it out.
The Killer gave the smile he’d once been told looked like a ravenous piranha. “You let me worry about that, Juan.”
The kid nodded nervously. “Yes, all right.”
The Killer headed for the door but stopped before opening it and looked back at the young man shaking in his shoes. “This will be the last time you’ll see me. You’ll receive notification when each person is dead.”
Juan nodded again.
“Oh, and if you do ever see me again, it’ll be the last thing you see. Got it?”
