Gabe and I sit in his office, going through a list of contacts, maps of warehouses, and delivery routes. He's puffing away on a cigarette, still angry as fuck. There’s the constant sound of the cleaners on the roof tromping around, scraping off what's left of Gabe's dead dealers Jésus had dropped on the house. I glance out the window just in time to see a mangled arm fall to the ground. I must have snarled my lip because Gabe turns in his chair and looks out the window just as more shit comes toppling over the edge.

Sighing, he turns back around and jabs his cigarette out in the ashtray. "I just got those dealers a week ago. Took them right out from under Jésus...they still owed me one-hundred grand for the coke I supplied them." He shakes his head. "Puta," he mumbles before he swats everything from his desk. "To hell with a plan, ese. Fuck it." He angrily pushes up from the desk and paces. "The fucking Russian blew Jésus’ house up, then I can blow his house up. He thinks the Russian was scary, I'll shove a stick of dynamite so far up his asshole, he'll taste shit before I blow him to bits."

"Gabe..."

"I mean it, ese."

And this is my chance to put the nail in the coffin. "Ronan has a lot more reach than you do," I say.

He spits on the floor. "To hell with that pale fuck. I'll go over there and blow it all up, dig Jésus' mangled carcass out from the rubble and take a shit on his forehead."

He's on a tirade and that's exactly what I need. I need him unhinged. I just need to provoke him a little more... "Gabe, you're not the Russian. You don't have enough power to—"

"What are you trying to say?" He narrows one eye at me while the other one goes into a spasm. "You think that Russian is smarter than me?"

"I'm not saying—"

"I have more talent in one testicle than he has in his entire body." He slams his fist over the desk. "Doubt me." He arches a brow, his eye still twitching, and I simply shrug. That's enough, I guess because he yanks the phone from the desk and angrily punches in a number, staring me down as he waits. "Gustavo," he says. "I need a bomb." There's a pause. "A big bomb. I don't give a shit and I don't care how you get it." He slams the phone down and grins as he folds his hands on the desk and takes a seat. "Fuck the Russian..."

I lean back in my seat and pull a smoke from my pack, lighting it. Just as I take my first drag, Gabe's computer dings with an incoming video call. He glances at the open screen and then spits on the floor.

"The pale lord of Narnia is calling," he says as he presses a button.

"What do you want, you pale fuck?"

"Ah, my friends, how is the desert treating you?" Ronan says. "American, you know, you live with these Mexicans too long and you'll start to smell like shit and dust."

The vein on Gabe's forehead bulges as he turns the computer around so I can see the screen. "At least my balls aren't shriveled up inside my body from the cold," Gabe says. "What do you want?"

Ronan leans forward in his chair until all I can see is the black of his jacket as he rummages around on his desk. He comes back wearing a pair of glasses on and a mobile phone in his hand. "I am sending you an image." He pokes the screen with one finger. "I think it may interest you."

Mine and Gabe's phones buzz, and we cautiously look at each other as we dig our phones from our pockets. When the image loads, my chest goes tight. I stare at the picture of Tor in a bed hooked up to IVs. "What the fuck is this?" I say.

"Well, you were upset with me last we spoke." Ronan shrugs. "I hoped this might cheer you up, American." He smiles like the damn devil.

"What. The. Fuck..." My blood pressure skyrockets. "Is this?"

"You know what it is. Your woman did not die in the desert, although, she is still touch and go, so I am told."

My jaw clenches, my teeth grind together as I stare at that image, burning it into my mind. This fuck knew. All along. He fucking knew. "I want to kill you." I push up from the chair so hard it topples over. Gabe mumbles something under his breath.

Ronan leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "Ah, American, always so violent. I find out your woman is alive. I tell you, and now you want to kill me." He shakes his head. "So angry."

"Who has her?" I ask.

"Jésus of course. She is in his villa."

I blow a loud breath through my nose as I turn and head toward the door.

"Have fun with that, Colombian," Ronan says to Gabe.

"Where are you going?" Gabe shouts.

"Where the fuck do you think?"

He grabs onto my shoulder and I shake him off, turning to shove my finger in his face. "Do not try to stop me. I swear to god..."

I let that threat hang in the air as I make my way down the stairs and to the front door. I can hear Gabe yelling for his guards, but I keep going. I check the first car, but it's locked. I go to the next, and Gabe comes running out of the house with a rifle. There's a bang followed by a sharp prick in my neck. I swat at it, pull a fucking blow dart out, and toss it to the ground. I attempt to grab for the handle of the next car, but my vision blurs. My pulse pounds in my ears. My arms and legs grow heavy and before I know it, I'm falling forward and everything goes black.