A round of gunfire booms outside the window, the loud noise waking me from a restless sleep. I hit the floor before I reach for the gun on the nightstand. As I slowly stand and peek around the side of the window, I cock it. From here I have a clear view of the long drive leading to Gabe’s front gate. There’s a black Hummer idling right outside the wrought iron fence. Men are propped on the roof with rifles aimed at Gabe’s house. That's Jésus’ men—men that helped take Cayla and Tor.

Anger swells in my chest.

I hear the explosion before I see the slight glow from the end of the gun. I shift in front of the window, lift the gun, stare down the site, and pull the trigger. The window shatters. I pull the trigger again and again. One of the men fall to the ground. A guard on the roof shouts before a hailstorm of gunfire ensues. Bullets ping off the house. Men shout. Tires squeal.

Gabe wants to take back the city the Sinaloa stole from him, and Ronan's little stunt has helped push the Sinaloa back. The very thing that cost me everything has given Gabe the upper hand, and I can't help but feel bitter as fuck about it. All I want is Jésus dead, and by my own hands, so I'll start my own path to weakening that motherfucker. But I know I can't take down the cartel without a good plan, so I've spent the past two weeks plotting, planning, calling in favors. I’ve paid a few lowlifes for information on who Jésus' contacts are, and compiled a list. And at the top of my list is one of a dozen crooked ass cops that helps ensure their cocaine supply arrives without any issues, Jorge Hernandez. It’s the in-betweens like him that I plan to go after first, cutting most of the Sinaloa's ties that connect the illegal with the legal.

Marney sniffs before taking a sip from his mug. "Damn cartels make a show outta everything." He shakes his head just as the front door opens and slams shut.

"Putas," Gabe groans. He stops midstride when he sees me standing in the kitchen.

I go to the cabinet, grab a bottle of liquor, and yank the cork out before tipping the bottle back. When I glance down to the counter I see an envelope peeking out from a stack of mail. The writing is neat and across the center is the word: American. The handwriting is neat. Taking another quick swig, I grab the envelope from the counter and hold it up. Gabe stares blankly at me as I brush past him with the letter and bottle of whisky. I wait until I get back into my room to open it, and inside is a single piece of thick, crème paper.

My sincerest condolences. Such is the cost of War.

My pulse steadily picks up as I stare at that letter. My skin heats. This was not my fucking war. Tor and Cayla—they were not mere casualties. The arrogance of this piece of shit, sitting in his fucking Russian mansion, smoking his fucking cigars while every bit of me has died. He wants power, and he doesn't care who or what he destroys in his search for it. The paper crumples in my hold. He was the reason I got dragged into this shit show. He went behind my back and talked Tor into selling me out. I wouldn't doubt if he had a hand in Cayla being kidnapped… I toss the crumpled piece of paper to the floor and go to the closet, throwing open the door before I grab a rifle from inside the shelf because all this anger is about to be taken out on Jorge.

I load the rifle and head out of the room.

Gabe’s in the kitchen shouting into the phone, which is good because I don’t want to argue with him over this shit. I walk straight through the door and to the garage beside the driveway. I fling the door open and grab a box of grenades before I climb into one of the numerous cars parked in the drive.

I’ll bring fucking Jésus to his knees and then I’ll fucking kill him with a smile.

* * *

I’ve been sitting at this nasty bar on the outskirts of Juarez City for an hour downing whisky, but the buzz coursing through my body right now does little to relax me. Jorge is next to me, slamming back beers and groping women. Laughing, he whispers something into a young woman's ear. She smiles when he sweeps her hair from her face, but her gaze is locked on me. His hand snakes down her stomach. I watch as he discreetly slips some cash into the waist of her tight skirt. She grins at me before she shoves away from him, swaying her hips as she crosses the room and heads out the door. He grunts as he pushes his stool back and staggers to his feet. I take one last gulp from my glass and set it on the counter before standing myself and following him down the hallway to the Men’s room.

He goes to the urinal and whips out his dick. He may have had nothing to do with Tor and Cayla being taken, but he is a link that I have to sever. This—this is the cost of war.

I grab the hilt of my knife as I start to pass behind him like I’m going to the other urinal. I stop, and before his mind can even register what I’m doing, I hook one arm around his neck and slice over his throat with the blade. Blood spurts from the open cut, spraying with each frantic pound of his heart. He grabs at his neck and I release him, watching as he falls to his knees on the floor. There’s a few gurgled grunts before he topples face first into the base of the urinal.

I tuck the knife into the waist of my jeans and walk out, straight through the bar and out to the car. I pull off and make my way along the desolate desert road. Lucky for me, there is no such thing as loyalty. For a hundred grand, some dealer for the Sinaloa gave me the location to one of Jésus' coke factories. He never asked my name. Never questioned me. I guess he didn't need to when he saw the duffel bag full of cash.

One fucker down. A warehouse to go.

There’s not a cloud in the sky as I travel out of Juarez. I watch the filthy city disappear in the rearview and eventually the tires bump over the uneven desert trails. It only takes thirty minutes before the warehouse appears in the distance, its silhouette wavering in the heat. There's a line of black Hummers along the perimeter, and I glance at the box of grenades, wondering how many it takes to blow a coke factory. As I approach, two men step out from behind a parked SUV, rifles propped on their hips while a group of men carry boxes to the back of a big rig.

I let off the accelerator, and the guards take several steps from their post, shielding their eyes from the sun. This is Gabe's car. And by no fucking mistake, I'm going to drag him right down with me because I know I can't do this alone. I just have to force his hand in the matter, and that's exactly what I am about to do. I watch one of the guards point before his hand goes to move, but I already have my gun aimed. And I shoot.

The first guy falls like a rock, but the second only staggers back a few steps. Bullets clang against the car. I fire another round and hit the guy right in the head. Blood splatters against the car behind him before he drops onto the sand. I roll the window down, and grab a grenade and pull the pin before tossing it out the window. I throw grenade after grenade, and they land against the exterior wall. When the last grenade is out the window, I floor the accelerator, because that motherfucker is going to blow any second.

Boom. Boom. Boom. The succinct explosions rock the car. Sand and metal go flying into the air, and huge ball of fire rolls into the sky, the heat uncomfortably close to the back of my head.

I watch in the rearview as a thick plume of smoke billows into the sky. I should feel something; I know I should. I just took out one of Jésus' factories...I just killed a handful of people who have no other means of survival but to cut coke for the cartel. Mothers, fathers, daughters...but I feel absolutely nothing. It's hard to feel pity for anyone when you've lost everything. And so I drive, emotionless, broken, only able to feel when it comes to revenge.

I glance down at the clock when I pull into Gabe's drive. It's been over an hour since I blew that factory up. Two hours since I slit that inbetweener's throat. I can hear him cursing in Spanish before I even open the side door that leads to the kitchen. Fucking good. You had a hand in this, Gabe. Part of me blames him for this shit show I'm now the ringleader of, even though I know I made my own damn bed.

The second the back door slams shut his gaze snaps to mine. He hangs up the call and glares at me with his nostrils flaring and face red. "What the fuck are you doing?" he grates as he steps toward me.

I shrug and open the fridge to grab a beer. The second I shut the fridge, Gabe's hand is on the back of my neck, and he slams me face first into it. I feel the crunch when my nose breaks. A metallic tang runs down the back of my throat as blood pours over my lip. I can't help but grin because I'm going to beat the fuck out of him.

When I turn around, I crack my neck, and he takes a step back, but I just step toward him.

"Don't fuck with me, ese." He drags in a heavy breath, his jaw tense as he points at me. "You may be my friend, but shit on my business and I will kill you."

I slap his finger away from my face and grab him by his throat, my fingers squeezing into his warm skin. Gabe may be strong, but he's small compared to me. I slam him against the wall hard, my grip growing tighter as I stare him down. "You. I blame you for this shit."

Blood pulses through my temples and all I can think about is killing him. But I can't...I loosen my grip and the minute I do, he's swinging at me. His fist collides with the side of my face, dazing me. He drives several blows into my gut and sides, and I laugh as I gasp for breath.

He paces, cursing in Spanish. "You want to die? That's it?"

I punch him in the jaw, then grab the sides of his face and ram it down over my knee. Blood goes everywhere. Groaning he grabs at his nose when he stands, and blood drips between his fingers. I go to walk off, but he jumps onto my back. As soon as I throw him off, he's on me again, swinging. He gets in two good shots at my eye before I jab my finger into the base of his windpipe and send him sprawling onto the kitchen floor. I stand over him, panting. "Don't make me fucking kill you, Gabe," I say. I go to walk away and there's an audible click of a gun being cocked.

Glancing over my shoulder at him, I smirk. "Go ahead. Do me a favor." He won't. He knows it and I know it. I walk out of the room, passing Marney as I leave Gabe swearing in the kitchen.

"He's gonna be angrier than a hornet at you," Marney calls, but I ignore him.

My head's already throbbing by the time I make it to the foyer. I can feel my cheek swelling from the punches Gabe got in. I go up the stairs and into the room, grab my duffel bag, and begin cramming my clothes inside. He's not going to help me, and I sure as shit don't need to stay here. I hear Gabe shouting and seconds later the door flies open.

"You do not mess with my fucking business—"

"Gabe!" Marney shouts, panting when he appears in the doorway. "Just a minute, now." Gabe's staring at me, anger swirling in his eyes. "He's just lost his woman and daughter." Marney rests his hand on Gabe's shoulder. "That does things to a man."

Gabe's gaze drops to the floor on a heavy sigh. He scrubs a hand over his face and shakes his head. My heart thumps angrily in my chest.

He lifts his head and his expression has softened. "Do not think that I have not lost people. Camilla... He still has Camilla." He shrugs. "Or maybe the pale fuck has killed her, I don't know, but one thing is for sure, ese, in this business, you can't think with your emotions. This is a war I've—"

“This is not a war for me, Gabe. It's revenge. For Tor and Cayla.”

He holds my stare for a moment, then sighs and crosses his chest. “I must be going soft, ese. Five years ago, I would have just killed you.”

There's a loud bang downstairs, men shouting. Gabe cocks a brow and steps out into the hall. "¿Que?" he groans. Seconds later one of the guards comes running up the stairs and stops at the door completely out of breath. There's a cardboard box wrapped in duct tape tucked under his arm. "This was thrown over the gate." He holds out the box and Gabe reluctantly takes it. He tugs at the tape and tears it off with one hard pull.

When he looks inside, he groans. "One of my dealer's fucking cabeza." He snorts before handing the box back to the guard and pacing the hall, mumbling in Spanish.

Marney walks to the guard and pulls the cardboard flap back, peeking inside and wrinkling his nose. "Sloppy ass work, if you ask me."

Gabe heads down the stairs and into the kitchen, and I follow him. He grabs a bottle of brandy from the counter, takes off the top, and brings the bottle to his lips, taking gulp after gulp. "You've gotten me into a load of shit, ese."

"I guess we're even now," I say, staring at him. I can see him thinking, fighting his urge to fly off the handle at me.

"What in the hell..." Marney mumbles when he comes into the kitchen. He stops and glances up at the ceiling. "You hear that?"

I can barely make out a faint humming sound. Gabe runs to the window and leans down, straining his neck to look up at the sky. "This is a load of shit," he mumbles.

The humming grows louder, now the distinct noise of a low flying helicopter. Suddenly, there's a loud thud on the roof, followed by another, then another. A crimson wave of blood comes gushing over the gutter in front of the window. "That's it!" Gabe runs to the door, opens it, and steps outside, shouting. And then there's gunfire.

Marney and I stand in the kitchen staring through the window as a piece of intestine falls from the overhang. "Well," Marney says, "don't see that shit every day."

Gabe comes storming back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him as he glares at me. "You want him dead, ese?" His jaw tenses and he spreads his arms wide. "Welcome to the war."