¡Protégeme,Santa Muerte!Protect me, Santa Muerte!
Rifles raised, they surged inside, Arturo hanging back. If anyone were going to die today, it would not be him.
He’d expected them to walk in to find the two of them fucking, watching television, or eating food. Instead, the apartment was dark, silent, the only light coming from the big windows to their left, flashes of lightning giving the place a strange, ghostly feel. He squinted, his eyes unprepared for the darkness, his heart beating faster.
Something wasn’t right.
He took a step back, felt something jab him in the back.
“Move it, Grandpa,” a male voice hissed from behind him.
The boy Wulfe had placed in charge of them gave the hand signals for three of them to head to their right through the dark kitchen, while the rest were to follow him up the stairs. They fanned out—just as the room exploded in gunfire.
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat!
Grunts. The thud of bullets hitting flesh. Bodies falling.
Arturo dived behind the sofa, lay flat against the floor, heart slamming. How had thatpendejoMcBride known? How had he known they were coming?
Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat! Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-tat!
A woman’s scream. Groans. The coppery scent of blood.
Then came the bang and flare of a flash grenade, followed by the tromp of boots on the stairs as Wulfe’s men attempted to overrun McBride.
Arturo took advantage of the distraction to crawl to the other end of the couch, getting himself out of the line of fire.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Shots fired from a suppressed pistol. Grunts and gasps as men fought hand to hand. A choking sound.
And then . . .
Silence.
A flash of lightning. A peal of thunder. Rain pounding glass.
“Cárdenas, you sick son of a whore, I know you’re hiding down there.”
McBride!
Cárdenas felt his mouth go dry.
This man had survived six days of torture without breaking. He’d killed five of Cárdenas’s best men. He’d escaped every trap Cárdenas had set for him in Mexico. He’d just killed six of Wulfe’s CIA operatives in less than five minutes.
And now Cárdenas was alone with him.
CLUTCHING AN ASSAULT rifle to her side, Natalie lay on her belly on the slick rooftop, soaked through to her skin, strong gusts threatening to push her over the edge. She thought she’d heard gunshots, but it was hard to tell over the roar of the storm, lightning flashing just overhead, thunder seeming to make the building shake. Or maybe that was just her shivering.
Please be safe! Zach and Julian, please be safe!
The moment he’d gotten Julian’s horrifying text message, Zach had jerked open her window and helped her climb onto the roof, tossing a rifle, a spare magazine, and his cell phone up to her, and telling her to call for help, then going back inside to wait for Wulfe’s men alone. She’d called Marc and Gabe immediately, shouting over the storm, and they’d told her they were on their way together with SWAT and an ambulance for Julian. But that had been an eternity ago.
Where were they?
Hurry please! Julian and Zach need you!
She pushed wet hair and water out of her eyes, peering through the rain toward the rooftop patio, keeping an eye out for bad guys.