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Fucking-FUCK.
I turn my back on Sara and look out toward the dense forest.
No. I can’t focus on Priest or his pain. He has a family, the club.
He’ll be fine.
When I turn around to speak to Sara, she’s gone.
The pain of knowing that I failed Sara is all encompassing. But what hurts the most is how the world has moved on without her now that she’s gone.
I’ve been stuck in this state of purgatory since her death.
Devoured by Demons of hate and regret.
Tonight, I set my Demons free.
Creeping through the dense forest isn’t as easy as it seems. Every step is fraught with apprehension. One misstep and I could very well find myself stepping into a trap or coming face-to-face with one of Santos’ goons.
Diego’s map of the property surrounding the mansion was extensive. I wonder how many times he’d used this narrow, overgrown path to come and go from the compound without being followed.
Ahead, I can see the outline of the mansion coming into view. A single, bright spotlight shines down on a narrow road where a guard stands. Leaning against the eight-foot-high brick wall, he’s puffing on a cigarette. In his other hand, his phone.
According to Diego, there’s a ten-minute window at 4a.m. when no one is stationed at this gate. Checking my phone, I notice it’s almost 4. I duck down and hide behind the thick trunk of a tree while I wait for the guy to leave.
Time crawls by slowly until finally, the steel gate creaks, and the guy’s footsteps pace away and fade into the night.
Taking my chance, I run toward the gate, scanning the darkness with every step until I’m able to sneak into the compound. It feels too easy. Way too fuckin’ easy, and I freeze for a minute, wondering if Diego was somehow setting me up.
I shake my head to free myself from those thoughts, and instead, I focus on the task at hand. Hiding behind the small pool house, I pull the map of the mansion out of my pocket and study it, using my phone’s flashlight on its dimmest setting.
Once I get inside, it should be an easy path through the kitchen, up a narrow staircase, and along the hall to the end where Manuel Santos sleeps.
As I step over the threshold and into the commercial sized kitchen, I head left to where Diego’s map shows the staircase that leads up to the second floor.
I stay low, hand hovering over my gun, ready to end any motherfucker who gets in my way. When I make it to the stairs, I breathe out a sigh of relief, but freeze when the second step creaks.
The barrel of a gun is pressed to the back of my head. “Don’t fucking move,” the deep voice says.
My heart pounds against my chest. From my position on the second step, I can’t see anything except the stairs ahead of me. I don’t even know if the guy behind me is alone.
“Put the gun on the floor,” the gunman says.
With slow, tentative movements, I bend my knees then lean forward to place my gun on the step ahead of me.
“Now, turn around, slowly,” he demands.
Too bad I don’t answer to him. In one swift movement, I pull my knife from the sheath on my ankle and spin, shoving the entire length of the blade into his abdomen, right below the guy’s sternum.
He drops his head to look down, but I know all he sees is my fist clenched tight around the handle of the knife, the blade buried deep in his gut. When he opens his mouth, probably to shout for help, I tug on the handle and draw the knife downwards, slicing through his thick flesh.
Warm, blood and insides gush from the open wound and run over my fist. I pull the knife out, spin the blade in my hand, and stab the fucker in the eyeball before I kick him in the gut. He grunts, his hold on life slipping, until I kneel over him and slice across his throat.
I wipe my bloody hands over my pants, reach down for my gun, and quickly make my way upstairs before someone stumbles across the dead guy.
At the top of the stairs, a dim light shines down from the ceiling, lighting up the polished floors and the carved balustrade. Keeping close to the wall, I continue along the marble floor until I come to Isadora’s bedroom door. This part of the mansion, I have memorized. After Isadora’s room, there are two more rooms before I finally reach Manuel.
Whispered shouts from the first floor catch my attention so I quickly slip into Isadora’s bedroom, leaving the door open a crack. Peering out, I watch as two men with machine guns over their shoulders head up the wide staircase. One goes left, the other goes right. Closing the door completely, I lean against it, gun at the ready, heart pounding with nervous anticipation.
