We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The wheels of the SUV dip into potholes, running over large rocks and branches on the dirt road. I stare out of the window, a gun tucked in my waistband, a smaller one hidden under my jeans, strapped around my ankle.

The sun set a long time ago.

It’s dark now.

I got a lead from someone I know and trust. As soon as he sent me the location, I made a plan: catch her by surprise and kill her. My men have worked hard for this. I have worked hard for this.

My driver continues driving for nearly ten minutes before coming to a stop. I draw my gun as he shuts the headlights off.

“Ve allá,” I tell him, pointing to a darker area, surrounded by trees. Go over there.

It’s pitch black. About a mile ahead of me is a small brown house, the lights on inside. Two cars are parked in front of it, flashy. Expensive. They belong to her. I know it.

One of my men, Sebastien, looks back at me from the passenger seat for assurance.

I bob my head, and he and Guillermo open their doors, sliding out and shutting them quietly, their dark clothes blending into the shadows. We watch them hustle ahead with newly imported AK-47s in hand, searching the area.

My eyes shift from them to the house.

A figure walks by the window. I can’t make out who it is.

I look back at Patanza. “I’m going in. You wait here with Diego. If I take longer than ten minutes, you leave.”

“But Jefe—”

“Do you understand, Patanza?” I demand. I tell her in English. So she’ll know. I trust her the most, out of all my guards.

She narrows her brows, eyes intense, but sighs and says, “Sí, Jefe.”

“Good. Hand me an AK.”

She looks to her left, at the cart of guns, and picks one up to hand to me. I take it, turning the safety off while I look for the two guards I sent.

Sebastien is beside a tree, waving a hand, the signal that the area is clear.

I don’t glance back at Patanza, who I know is dying to come. She wants her revenge too, but I want mine more.

My black boots hit the ground, my gun held high. I shut the door behind me quietly, and then walk down the path that leads to the house. My boots crunch on the gravel, nostrils flared, back straight, eyes right on the fucking prize.

I want to lift my gun and blast the house with bullets. I don’t give a fuck who I hit or who dies. Anyone associated with her gets no mercy.

But I don’t.

If she was just a person who owed me money, maybe I would. If she’d stolen from me, then maybe I would make it that easy. But that isn’t the case.

She’s done much worse, and for that she will fucking pay. I want to watch that puta die—shoot her once then feel her blood running through my fingers as I choke the rest of the life out of her.

Sebastien and Guillermo trail close behind me, their guns aimed forward. I lift mine, aiming too, walking right up the stoop.

If they betray you: Move fast. Think quickly. Take them the fuck down.

My father’s motto. The Molina motto.

And it will be followed.

I rush up the stoop and kick the door in. A lamp falls over and someone screams. A naked woman is kneeling in front of two guards who are seated on the sofa. I raise my gun and shoot the girl, blood spraying the walls, some landing on the guards in front of her.

They shove her lifeless body away, scrambling for their guns, but my men put an end to them in a millisecond, blasting them several times. Their bodies hit the floor, crumpling over, blood leaking onto the dingy hardwood floor.

“Search the house,” I command in Spanish.

I lift my gun higher in the air, pointing at every opening. A door creaks open to my right, and I shoot at it before anyone can step out. Something thuds to the ground, and I go for the door, rolling it open with one finger, my gun aimed inside. There is only one guard in this small room. Now he’s dead.

I walk back down the hallway, toward the dark kitchen, stepping around the corner with my finger on the trigger. It’s so quiet I can hear the faucet leaking. The floor creaks behind me, and I spin around, ready to pull the trigger.

“Just me, boss,” Guillermo says, holding one hand in the air.

I lower my gun.

“Searched the whole house and outside. This box was out there.”

I frown down at the box, looking it over. “Heavy?”

“No ticking. I don’t think it’s a bomb.”

I dig in my back pocket, pulling out my pocketknife and slicing through the tape on the center of the box. Pulling open the flaps, I carefully take out the crumpled newspapers. For all I know, it could be a bomb, triggered by the faintest touch.

But it’s not.

When I see what it is, my chest caves in.

This is something much worse than any bomb or set up.

It’s cold and hard, with dark stains of blood on it. Bitch couldn’t even clean it properly.

Jaw pulsing, heart racing, I clutch it in hand, my throat thickening as I flip it over and take the note out from between the teeth.

Thiago.

His skull.

THAT. BITCH!

My nostrils flare as I study the skull. My cousin’s skull. Her cursive handwriting. I remember it well, along with the many notes she’d leave behind, begging me to love her. Begging me to only be with her. Begging me to marry her.

She knew I was coming here.

She wanted me to find this.

“This lead was from a trusted source,” I growl.

“Well, maybe we can’t trust that motherfucker anymore,” Sebastien mutters, stepping around another corner, peering down at the skull. “This place was a decoy. Doesn’t even seem like they were here for more than a day. It was a set-up. I don’t know what the fuck she was planning, but we need to get the fuck out of here before more of them show up. Now, Jefe.”

I walk past Guillermo, back down the hallway, kicking the screen door off the hinges before getting back outside.

Just as we hop into the truck and the driver starts to pull off, a loud explosion catches us all by surprise. A bomb has just gone off, flames lighting the sky, the whole place on fire now.

My teeth grit at the sight of it.

She tried to kill me.

Enough of the fucking games.

This bitch is fucking with the wrong man.