Page 19 of Ravaged Hearts
“I won’t hand you over to the enemy!”
Left stunned by my outburst, Hope remained silent beside me.
“I won’t do it. You hear me? They’ll have to pry you from my cold, dead hands before I’ll give you up.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Her voice trembled along with her lower lip. “I can’t lose you, too.”
Within Hope’s terrified stare lay the ghost of every tragic death she blamed herself for. And if anything happened to me, guilt would only weigh her down further. Whatever happened today, it would never be her fault, but no amount of arguing would make her see otherwise.
“Don’t ask me to do this. I only just found you.” I took hold of her hand again and squeezed. “Give me a chance to fight for you, Hope. Give me a chance to fight forus.”
She pinched her lids shut, and a fat tear rolled down her cheek. When her amber gaze returned to mine, it was filled with fear. “What if it all goes wrong?”
“It won’t.” I gave her a meaningful look. “We do this my way, okay?” And by my way, I meant stealthy, swift delivery of death. These sons of bitches had no idea who they’d messed with. “I’ve got this, Gatita. I’ve trained with my team for years for situations just like this. I need you to trust me.”
Granted, I’d always had the backup of my brothers, so this wouldn’t be a cakewalk, but I wasn’t about to mention that and put doubt into Hope’s mind. With my girl’s life at stake, I’d never been more motivated to eliminate an enemy.
“I do trust you.” She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “Okay. We do it your way. We fight.”
“That’s my girl.” I smacked a kiss on the back of her hand. “We don’t have much time to prepare. I need you to get the pistols from the bag.”
She did as I asked, checking over my Glocks to make sure they were loaded. “You know they won’t let us keep these.”
“Correct. And when they take them from me, they’ll think they’re safe.” I ground my molars together. “They won’t be.”
She passed me the two pistols. I would give Hope the spare one in the glove compartment, but there was nowhere to hide it under the red sundress she wore.
Hope made a hurried call to Javier, who was at home following the birth of his first child two days ago. She alerted him to the hostage situation and what the caller had said about Mari. There’d barely been time to explain why the cartel had demanded our presence. Javi was furious Hope hadn’t told him about the trouble at the restaurant that had caused all of this, but he quickly recovered his composure and promised to assemble a few capable locals and meet us in town.
8
VAUGHN
We pulled up across the road from Javi’s. Parked out front was a narco pickup—a modified Ranger with a roll cage, bench seating in the bed, and an M60 mounted up top on a swivel frame.
The streets were quiet. Too quiet for midmorning. The town wasn’t busy this time of year, but there were always people going about their business.
Hope and I exited the car, and I tucked my pistols into the back of my jeans. A short, sharp whistle drew my attention to a figure in an alleyway. The man wore a cowboy hat and held a shotgun.
“That’s Javi,” Hope said.
He took one hand from his weapon, pointed to the door of the restaurant, then made the symbols for five and one.
Six narcos inside, then.
I nodded and scanned the surrounding area. There were an additional four townspeople, armed and taking cover in nearby alcoves and behind parked cars. Good. Having backup outside would be helpful in case trouble spilled onto the sidewalk.
We strode across the street toward the restaurant. “The revolver stowed behind the bar. Is it loaded?” I asked.
“Yeah. Assuming these assholes haven’t found it already.”
She had a point.
“Let’s hope not. If bullets start flying, get behind the counter and see if you can find it. Stay down, and if anyone comes for you that isn’t me, shoot them.”
I checked my watch. Nine minutes and thirty-two seconds since the phone call had ended. We were early.
I walked through the door and immediately clocked six Tangos. Three standing near a couple of hostages in the corner, one by the bar, another blocking the beach exit, and one smug-as-fuck asshole sitting casually at a table in the back of the restaurant.Myfucking table. He sipped beer from a bottle while a lit cigarette rested in an ashtray.