Prologue
“Wait!” Salvador’s heart thudded with fear as he stared down the barrel of the gun. “Please, Emilio. I have a plan! We can still make this work!”
He couldn’t die. Not like this. Not in this musty-smelling forgotten hole where no one would ever find him.
I don’t want to die.
The thought was naïve…and pointless. What he wanted didn’t matter. Not anymore. And deep down, Sal knew this was exactly what he deserved.
After all, how many times had he heard others beg for their own lives? How many times had he, himself, turned a blind eye while their desperate pleas went unanswered?
But still, he wasn’t ready to meet his maker. Not yet. Not when he had a plan to finally be free.
The thought of his impending death impaled Sal to his very core, filling his pores with such terror and anguish he was willing to sell his soul—and anyone else’s—in order to survive.
All he had to do was make the most powerful man in the country reconsider his decision to kill him.
With his knees digging into the cool dirt floor and his insides burning with fear, he silently prayed to a god who’d long ago forgotten him. Sal prayed for mercy. That his ruthless boss would find it in his cold, emotionless heart to show mercy and spare him.
And finally, after what felt like a torturous eternity, the man in charge gave the silent order to stand down. Felix—the mass of muscle holding the weapon—paused. His trigger finger easing only slightly as he awaited further instructions.
Sal’s shoulders sank, his chest heaving with relief. The sound of his rugged breaths echoed through the dank cellar as a rush of saliva filled his mouth.
A sure sign that his stomach was seconds away from emptying its contents all over the dirt in front of him.
Knowing his boss loathed signs of weakness, Sal pushed back the need to vomit, somehow managing to keep his trembling under control.
“Thank you.” The rushed words were directed at the man standing a few feet behind Felix.
Positioned close enough to get a front-row seat to the show while also keeping a safe distance from any blood splatter that may occur, Emilio Garcia stared back at Sal with an unreadable expression.
It was because of this man that life as Sal knew it had completely changed.
No. Your life is fucked up because you chose to crawl into bed with the Devil.
Like he’d had much of a choice.
When Emilio first approached him, Sal had been begging on the streets. Money, food, pussy…if he wanted it, he had to beg, borrow, and steal to get it.
In the beginning, accepting a job working for the El Sur cartel had been like a dream come true. In less than two years’ time, Sal went from struggling to survive to living a life of luxury.
He’d purchased a lavish home. Paid cash for the sports car he’d admired from afar. And for the first time in his pathetic existence, he had women falling over themselves just for the chance to share his bed.
Yes, for Sal, becoming an intricate part of the El Sur cartel meant having everything he’d ever desired…and then some.
But in this very moment, with his life weighing in the balance of Emilio’s hands, more thananything, Sal wished he’d never met the murdering son of a bitch.
“Do not thank me, Mr. Cruz,” his boss spoke for the first time since entering the dingy cellar. “I’ve only delayed the inevitable.”
Despite their seedy location, Emilio looked every bit the politician he pretended to be.
Tall. Dark. Handsome and well-groomed. Hell, the shoes on the man’s feet and the shiny watch on his wrist combined cost more than most people in this country made in an entire year.
Yet Emilio Garcia claimed to be a man of the people.
More like destroyer of the people.
“There’s another way,” Sal rushed to offer Emilio—and himself—a way out of the mess he’d made. “Please. I’m begging you, just hear me out.”