Fast Vengeance

DEA FAST Series

By Kaylea Cross

Copyright © 2018 Kaylea Cross

Prologue

“Tía Victoria, do you want some more chicken?”

Seated in the last spot next to the kids’ table, Victoria handed off the platter of sautéed green beans and turned her head to smile down at her six-year-old nephew. “No thanks, sweetie, my plate’s so full I can’t fit another thing on it.”

He put the chicken platter down and went back to staring longingly at his own plate, knowing better than to so much as pick up his fork until they were all given the signal. Everyone knew the rules.

She leaned over to whisper to him. “Go ahead and sneak a bite. I’ll cover for you.”

He grinned and snatched up a bite of cucumber from his salad, doing his best to chew without drawing any notice.

Victoria smiled to herself. It had been a few months since she’d been able to come to Sunday dinner at her parents’ house, and she’d missed it. The usual suspects were present: her siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and their children. Her father’s side of the family, all living right here in Houston, filling the old dining room with life and noise in the way that only a big, extended family could. They always celebrated special occasions together. It was loud and chaotic, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

When all the dishes had been passed around the table and everyone had filled their plates, her father raised his wineglass for a toast to signal that the meal was about to commence. “To the cooks,” he said, indicating him and Victoria’s mother, his deep voice cutting through the room with ease.

Then he turned to his parents, seated as always side by side to his right. They’d been married for more than fifty years, had risked everything to leave Mexico as teenagers with only the clothes on their backs, and start a new life here in Houston. “And to my father, the patriarch of this family, on his eightieth birthday. This family exists and enjoys a wonderful life because of your bravery and sacrifice. I hope we’re all gathered around in this same room in twenty years for your hundredth.”

Smiling fondly at her grandfather, Victoria raised her glass in salute. “To Abuelito.” With a hearty cheers and clinking of glasses all along the two tables set end to end, everyone sipped and then dug in. Conversation and laughter flowed freely along with the wine.

She’d finished her first helping and was reaching for another serving of roasted veggies when tires squealed on the driveway. Victoria and several others turned around to look out the tall windows that overlooked the front of the house. From her vantage point she could just make out the back bumper of a minivan had pulled up behind her grandparents’ car.

“You expecting anyone?” she asked her father.

“No,” he said, putting down his napkin and pushing his chair back. “I’ll go see who it is. Back in a minute.”

He was halfway to the front door when something slammed against it. He jerked to a halt and everyone else went silent, all of them staring at the door, wondering what the hell was going on.

Before anyone could move or say anything, it burst open. Victoria jumped and smothered a gasp as her father stumbled back and three masked men stormed in. They all carried military-style rifles.

A wave of terror broke over her. Cries of alarm rang out from around the table but she couldn’t tear her eyes off the intruders. She instinctively grabbed her nephew and turned her body away from the men, shielding the boy while parents gathered up their frightened children and retreated to the rear of the room. She sat there staring at the men, frozen, her muscles rigid, heart hammering in her throat.

Her father hadn’t moved from his spot. He had a gun safe, but it was down in the basement. And even if they used all the guns in it, they didn’t have a prayer of fighting off three men armed with automatic rifles.

“Get the hell out of my house,” her father snarled, bravely blocking their way.

The masked man in the lead stepped forward and shoved him so hard he crashed into the wall. Then he turned to face them and it seemed to Victoria that his gaze landed on her.

“Victoria Gomez,” he said in a tone that sent chills racing down her spine. “My boss has been so looking forward to finally meeting you.”

She blanched as realization hit home. Carlos Ruiz. He’d come for her.

Her sister-in-law wrenched Victoria’s nephew from her arms and ran to her husband, her entire family now gathered against the far wall at the end of the dining room, the men standing in front of the women. They were trapped in here, the only way out past the armed intruders.

Victoria’s entire body was numb as she woodenly pushed to her feet, fear flooding her entire body. But when one of the other men stalked over to grab her father and wrench him to his feet, the anger snapped the band of fear wrapped around her ribcage. “Let him go,” she demanded, taking a step forward. They were here for her, for what she’d uncovered. Her family had nothing to do with it.

The man in front, clearly the one in charge, smiled. A cruel twist of his lips within the hole revealed by the mask. His black eyes glittered like a snake’s. “Come here.” He held his palm up, crooked his fingers at her. Like she was a dog he expected to come to heel when called.

One of her brothers grabbed her shoulder, tugged her backward. “Vic. Don’t,” he whispered, his voice tense.

She was afraid to move, but more terrified of what would happen if she didn’t. “If I do, you’ll let him go?” she said to the man, surprised her voice was working.

The man dropped his hand. Shrugged. “Sure.”

Indecision warred inside her. But what choice did she have? She had to protect her family.

“Vic, no,” her brother warned.

I have to.

Twisting away from her his restraining grip, she ignored the frightened cries behind her and forced her feet to carry her toward the man. Her belly was clamped tight, nausea churning in waves, each step a small eternity. Some of her siblings or their significant others would have their phones in their pockets. One of them would have dialed 911 already. Maybe the dispatcher would figure out something was wrong and send the cops.

They won’t get here in time.

When she came within reach, the leader snaked out a hand and grabbed her by the hair. She stifled a cry and stiffened as he hauled her up against him, grabbing his wrist to try and pull free. It was no use. He was too strong. She shuddered at the unforgiving outline of his rifle digging into her right hip.

With a jerk on her hair he wrenched her around to face her family, all huddled around the children against the far wall behind the table, some of them crying, others staring at her with stricken expressions. Victoria stared back at them and met her mother’s eyes, panic flooding her system.

The leader spoke to the one holding her father. “Let him go.”

Her father immediately rushed over to gather Victoria’s mother into his arms and stood with the others, trying to shield his wife. His parents cowered behind him, clinging to one another, their lined faces wet with tears.

Victoria swallowed hard and stood rooted to the spot, her hand wrapped around the powerful wrist holding her hair, not daring to move. Then the man who had been holding her father crossed over to grab her wrists, wrench them behind her and bind them with something tight and hard that bit into her skin. Zip tie.

“Don’t hurt them,” she blurted, her voice husky as she fought not to cry and beg. She’d spent more than three years tracking the rise of the Veneno cartel, and the past nine months using all her contacts to research Carlos Ruiz. She knew what he did to his enemies. And she also knew all the horrific things he did to his female captives.

“We’ve got to go now,” the man said, his mouth right beside her ear, making her cringe. “Say goodbye, Victoria.”

Mind working frantically, she swept her gaze over her beloved family. The sight of those frightened faces staring back at her broke her heart. There was nothing she could do to escape. This was the last time she would see them. Ruiz’s men would take her to a hideout somewhere off the grid, torture her for days or maybe even weeks before killing her or selling her off, like they had with the other female captives.

Tears flooded her eyes. She couldn’t control it. Couldn’t stop it. “I love you all,” she said hoarsely. “Goodbye.”

“No. Victoria, no!” her mother cried, her face twisting with grief as she tried to push away from her husband.

Victoria expected the men to haul her away. Instead, the hand in her hair tightened, arching her neck back at a painful angle. Holding her fast there in front of her family. “Do it,” he commanded.

The other two men stepped in front of him, raised their weapons, and opened fire.

“No! Oh my God, no!” Victoria’s screams of horror were drowned out beneath the thunder of automatic gunfire as it ripped through the room. Her family fell like a field of hay to the sweep of a scythe.

She shut her eyes and tried to twist away but it didn’t block out the screams and cries of agony above the noise, the thud of the bullets hitting home.

She kept screaming and fought her captor, trying to wrench free, to stop this somehow. She screamed until her throat was raw, was still screaming after the gunfire had stopped.

The silence finally registered over the roar of blood in her ears. And when she opened her eyes to face the carnage at last, her entire family lay dead or dying on the dining room floor. They lay on top of one another like cordwood stacked at the far end of the room, parents collapsed on top of their children, having desperately tried to shield them with their own bodies.

A high-pitched sound of grief tore from her. From beneath her brother’s body protruded her nephew’s little leg. It twitched in the rapidly spreading pool of blood staining the tile floor.

He was still alive, but not for long.

Soul-shattering grief slammed into her. She was shaking all over. The pain was unbearable. Searing her lungs, ripping her heart apart. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t bear the agony.

A hood plunged roughly over her head, hurtling her into darkness as the man holding her dragged her from the house. But even in the blackness, all she could see was that horrific tableau of her dead family burned into the backs of her eyelids.

It’s my fault. They had been murdered because of her. For however long she had left on this earth, she would have to live with that.

Her captor shoved her onto a seat as an engine roared to life. Doors slammed shut and the tires squealed as the vehicle raced off.

And through the crushing pain of guilt and loss, she was well aware that her suffering had only begun.