Page 109 of Chris

The ranch was burning. From what he saw, a barn, three of the houses, part of the stables, and a good portion of the land. The Garcías came in hard, and they weren’t fucking around here. The whines of the horses echoed from where they were stuck in the stables, and unable to get out of their stalls. The loud smack of their hooves crashing against the wood walls told him the animals were panicking, and rightfully so.

Around the corner of one building, Chris caught sight of a man peeking around the side with a gun aimed across the property at one house that wasn’t burning. Gunfire lit up the sky, from several directions, although it all seemed aimed right at that house. With the windows blown out, he figured they’d been shooting at it for a while, now.

That’s where he needed to go.

“My horses,” Abril said, her tone growing frantic when she added, “they will die!”

Chris pulled his shirt high to cover his mouth and give him the ability to breathe cleaner air. Abril did the same when he nodded over at her. “Head for the stables, and get the animals out,” he said, “be fucking careful, and quick. That house they’re shooting at, I bet it’s where Jorge is, and the rest.”

His brother, too?

Maybe.

“How long?” she asked.

“Ten minutes,” Chris said, “because that’s how long the team estimated it would take for them to run in—what’s your plan now?”

“White flag it.”

He raised a brow. “Really?”

Abril shrugged. “I have to make it look good, don’t I?”

“You play a dangerous game.”

“I intend to win.”

Chris tipped his chin down, a silent agreement to her statement. “Ready, then?”

“So ready.”

She pressed her heels into the horse and took off. He did the same to Butter although he felt the animal’s hesitance to approach the chaos in front. No animal—none with any instinct—wanted to walk into a smoky blaze with this much noise. Still, the horse went as it’d been trained, it’s trot turning into a gallop with Chris’s encouragement.

He swung that gun at his back around to his hands, a tight grip on the reins with his other as his finger wrapped the trigger. All he needed to do was keep pulling back that trigger, fast and repeated, and a bullet would come out each time. It was his aim while on a horse that concerned him.

Apparently, for no reason.

Coming around the side of the building that one man was using as a shield, he caught the fucker in the side of his face when he turned to look at the approaching horse. Blood and matter sprayed the wood of the wall before the body hit the ground.

Chris snapped his heels into the horse, a heeyah coming through his clenched teeth to urge the animal closer to the gunfire around the west side of the property. Aiming that gun as the horse jumped over a six inch line of fire snaking along the dried grass on the pathway between the houses, his distraction stopped the sounds of whizzing bullets just long enough for attention to turn on him.

His finger pulled back on the trigger fast—pat, pat, pat, pat. Rapid fire, or rather, as fast as his finger pulled on the fucking trigger. He knew how many bullets were in his clip, and until the rest of the team came onto the property, he needed to be conservative with his ammo.

Although, by the time the men from the García cartel realized what was happening, Chris had already gotten his horse around the side of the house under attack. He rolled off the animal, hitting the ground with his feet, as bullets sprayed the corner of the home, sending wood splintering and flying past the horse’s hind end.

Abril would find the horse.

They wouldn’t go far.

Chris let his hand drift over the shuddering coat of the animal before he patted it. “Merci,” he told the horse. A quick slap and a shout to go from him, and the horse took off, hooves beating against the ground fast to get far away from the noise.

More bullets hit the side of the house.

Fuck.

Chris darted for the back porch, flinging himself over the railing and rolling to the back door that looked like someone kicked it open. The dead body in the hallway—a Lòpez guard he recognized—was a grisly sight he stepped over as he headed deeper into the back of the house. His gun was already back in his hands and aimed in front of him. He didn’t put on as much tactical gear as the rest of the team, like covering his face, because he had plans here.

He wanted Jorge to understand.