Page 164 of Damián

I pull back just in time to see his cheeks redden, and I smile.

“I won’t be long.”

I step out of the passenger side and sweep the perimeter, taking mental notes of everything I see: from threats and surveillance to anything I could use in case we need a quick escape or have to fight our way out.

So far, I count four men on the roof with long rifles, two by the entrance with automatic weapons slung across their chests, and a dozen more moving around near the windows. Every single one of the men in here is marked with the same cartel’s tattoo: a crow’s skull and three red oleander flowers.

The only difference is the placement… Some have it on their arms or the backs of their hands, while others wear it on their necks.

I circle the SUV, pull Oliver’s door open, and my man steps out, glaring at me.

Madre de Dios, could he be any cuter?

Once outside, he adjusts his cuffs, smooths his shirt, and follows me to the entrance, where a well-dressed Latino man with the cartel’s tattoo on his neck is waiting for us.

“Welcome, Mr. West.”

I listen to them greet each other as the absolute absurdity of the situation hits me… I’ve spent my entire life kicking down the doors of meetings just like this one, and it’s hilarious that today, instead of leading the raid, I’m walking through the front door with my name on the freaking guest list.

Ah!

I want to raid this place so bad!

“Will do, Mr. West. Please, follow me.” The Latino man finishes speaking, waves for the guards to close the doors, and leads us straight toward the meeting room.

I stick to Oliver’s right side as we step inside, my eyes constantly checking our surroundings. I memorize the layout and every security measure in place as our guide leads us through two lefts, up a flight of stairs, and finally through the third door on the left.

We walk into the main conference room, and it’s bigger than I thought it would be. The space is wide open, surrounded by windows, with one long table on each side with chairs and couches scattered everywhere else. It looks like the VIP lounge of a fancy airport, only this one is full of cartel members, guns, and drugs.

Dios mío…

I wish I had Alexios in my ear and my team by my side… especially my Earl Grey-co Malfoy and his beautiful sniper skills.

He would love this place.

Though whoever decided to make this their main meeting room should be fired, because wow… This room has the shittiest security I’ve ever seen.

That left window has a perfect line of sight directly to a twelve-story building three blocks away. Law would just need to set up his beautiful M200 facing east, adjust three mils south for the crosswind, and bang… half of these cartel assholes would be gone before their boss could even lift his gun.

And actually, I could easily add a—

¡No, bad Damián! You are not in raid mode.

You are in “drug dealer’s right-hand” mode.

Stop trying to raid this place.

“Oliver, welcome. You look remarkably like your father,” says Don Aurelio, the boss of the Los Cuervos cartel.

I’ve seen pictures of him, but I feel like I’ve been catfished because he looks nothing like the photos the CIA used to have.

Let’s just say the years have not been kind to the boss.

Unlike the strong, buff, long-haired guy the agency used to look for, this man’s face is bloated, his nose is crooked, and his fake hair plugs are so stiff he looks like a burnt porcupine. I have absolutely no idea how his men can follow him without laughing every time they look at him.

“Let’s see if you can be like he was,” Aurelio adds.

Oliver sits down in the chair across from the boss, and I take my place, standing directly behind him.