Page 38 of Sinful Empire (Mount Trilogy 3)
Saxon tilts his head to the side. “True.”
Keira compared me to Michael the archangel—which is eerie for its own reasons, given my former name—but we’re not seeking any kind of divine justice here. Yes, I’m taking vengeance for every drop of blood of hers they dared to spill, but it’s also full-blown retaliation for the cartel going back on their deal. You don’t retain power in my position by making an example of one man.
No. You make an example of them all. Every. Last. One.
And when this faction is extinct in New Orleans, their rival will rise to power, but with a respect for my rules that’s forged in the blood of their enemies.
We’re making a statement, and it’s not pretty.
I’m dressed in black, just like Saxon, wearing body armor and weighed down with more ammo and better-quality weapons than a marine carries into a firefight. We’re perched on a rooftop over a half mile away from the cartel headquarters, doing our recon on these last four.
I’ve sent a clear message to Mexico that if they send one more man across the border, I will consider it an invitation to visit and bring an army. And when I say an army, I mean the best Uncle Sam has to offer from every alphabet-soup agency that I have in my pocket. This drug war could have been over years ago, but it’s too damn profitable for both sides.
Another form lands on the roof next to us, and both Saxon and I have our weapons trained on him within half a second.
Ransom holds up both hands. “Go ahead, fuckin’ shoot me. Then who’s gonna make ’em disappear when you’re done killin’ ’em? The press would lose their shit if they knew how many more bodies the cops weren’t findin’.”
Ransom’s words are the truth, and Saxon and I both turn our scopes back to the compound. We left only the few bodies necessary to show we were serious and to get the appropriate level of media attention.
“You’re getting paid. What do you care?”
“I’m not a fucking undertaker. I’m a smuggler. This is a waste of my skills. You better believe I’m upping my rate for body disposal after this shit.”
I shoot a glance over my shoulder at Ransom. “You want to grab a gun and join us to break the monotony?”
He pulls out a wicked-looking long knife. “I prefer to get a little more up close and personal. Which general was it who said not to fire until you see the whites of the enemy’s eyes? That’s more my speed. Not this long-distance shit.”
Saxon grunts, a clear fuck-you to Ransom. The two men might work together but aren’t exactly friends, and they never miss a chance to give each other hell.
“I got movement,” Saxon says, his finger sliding along the trigger of his sniper rifle.
“How the fuck can he see—”
Before Ransom can finish his sentence, Saxon has already pulled the trigger of the suppressed rifle. I watch through my scope and see a head burst into red mist.
“Nice shot,” I murmur drily, and Saxon gives me the side eye.
“They’re all nice shots.”
Saxon’s confidence is one of the reasons he’s my go-to for any job requiring sensitive handling. He’d prefer to never work for me again, saying it leaves too much of a trail, but I couldn’t give a fuck less.
I hire the best, and I pay him a fortune. He can deal.
One of these days, I know he’ll disappear and make it so I can’t find him, but it won’t happen before this job is done.
“So that leaves three?”
Saxon nods.
“I’m sending the team in. It’s time to make this even more personal.”
Mount
When I brought Keira into my world, it became my duty to protect her, including making sure she never knows certain threats exist. One of these assholes fucked up when he took a shot with her near me. Tonight, they pay and we end this.
How Ransom managed to get the gate combination to the cartel’s headquarters, I don’t know or care, but as we drive into the courtyard and under the portico, everything is still.
J speaks into the com. “Premises have been swept, boss. It’s all clear. Your target is in the living room. Turn right after you walk through the front foyer. You can’t miss it.”
