Other men stepped out of the six or so huge trucks lined up around the broken down courtyard, the place we'd always used as a graveyard for traitors and enemies. They were all Mexicans, packing automatics and shotguns, and they looked pissed.
I looked at the three guys next to me, one by one. Brass had no fear. Asphalt looked pissed. Blackjack wore the same freakish calm he always showed in situations like this.
I had to hand it to him – his guts never wavered one bit. Even when we were about to walk out into an ambush, outgunned and underprepared, vulnerable to every fucking double cross in the book if the cartel wanted to end this war right here.
As for me, I had faith. The bear owned our fates now, and we were already dead men, or else the biggest goddamned underdogs who'd ever worn this patch.
Blackjack looked at us and nodded. “Lets go.”
“Right behind you, Prez,” I growled, stepping in front of him and pounding the door open.
More than a dozen cartel bastards waited, their weapons drawn. Blackjack walked out, holding out an arm to keep us back. When the fucker with the gold teeth saw him, staring through his oversized shades, he ducked down into the SUV and slid out the passenger door a couple seconds later, smoothing his suit as he stood up.
He looked like a fucking lounge lizard, but the large silver crest on his lapel told us exactly what we were looking at. His emblem had the same eagle swooping down on the desert snake I'd seen before. But the only dudes who got these fancy medals were cartel bosses, and now there was one in front of us, a general on a mission.
“Ah, Blackjack,” the Mexican said with a grin, his thick accent more noticeable out here. “You're even older than I've been told. If you hadn't killed legions of my men, I'd shake your hand.”
“Shut the fuck up and get on with it,” the Prez snapped. “What're your terms? I know when my balls are in a vise.”
The cartel boss' grin melted. “I believe in fighting fair. I'll offer you the same thing you've given my soldiers – a quick, clean, easy death like men.”
Asphalt snorted. He reached for his nine millimeter, and suddenly a dozen men jerked like one machine, readying their guns and aiming them in our direction.
“Don't. I know you're a smart man, and a reasonable man. You have lost, old man.” The don's gold teeth reappeared, this time like a vicious wolf. “It's completely up to you whether you want your MC to die in agony. Perhaps we'll spare your life for a few hours to talk about the big picture after every last one of your brothers here is dead. Step out of the way.”
“No,” the Prez growled, digging his boots into the concrete. His old wound must've scorched like fuck. “You want to talk terms, then you'll do it with the rest of my boys, and you'll kill me first. Go, collect your rat inside, and get on with it.”
The boss looked at one of his guys, muttered something in Spanish, and sent him behind us, into the warehouse. The grunt returned a couple seconds later, marching out Stryker, his hands still bound behind his back.
When I saw the big Mexican return to his leader, leaving Stryker behind with the rest of us, my fucking heart sank. They were either enormous bastards who'd butcher their own informants...or Sally was right.
“There's nothing to collect except your bodies,” Gold Teeth said. “We've already got our insider, and he's going to be rewarded quite handsomely.”
Shit. She was right.
Stryker couldn't be our rat, unless this was all a sick joke. Not out of the question for these fucking demons from across the border.
But I knew it wasn't that easy. I knew we'd just spent our last couple hours on earth torturing a fellow brother, an innocent man. That shit alone made me want to walk right into the gorilla holding the shotgun, and feel the hellfire cut through my chest.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is this how my old man felt before he lost his mind and got himself killed?
The whole world condensed into a tight black ball. The Prez's mouth was moving, but my ears wouldn't work, and I had to grip my gun tight to keep from passing out.
An SUV's door slamming brought me back to life. I saw the devil himself walking toward us, through the cartel ranks, Beam, complete with his fucked up hair.
“You sick, fucked up sonofabitch,” I growled, getting in front of Blackjack.
All the guns were trained on me. The asshole kept coming, slithering past the evil bastard who'd offered him his pieces of silver.
“Easy, big boy. Your old lady wouldn't like you going out in a hail of rage and bullets – not that she's got much choice at this point. I'd love a shot at giving you the same treatment I gave Norm. Go ahead and give me a good reason.”
My fists had never been so damned hungry in my whole life. It took every ounce of strength I had to fight the urge to pop this fucker's brains out his skull.