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The restaurant in question was deeper than it was wide, accommodating four columns of tables with approximately ten rows. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the cartel was likely keeping Vivian somewhere in the back, provided they hadn’t already moved her to a secondary location, of course.
The attack came as a rush. Cartel members shouted profanities, drawing their weapons just as the police behind me charged in. They were there for me, but their intended targets quickly changed when they clocked the bigger, more immediate threat.
Mayhem broke out. Officers and cartel members alike opened fire. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. I ducked out of the way, quickly overturning the nearest table to hide behind as a shield. This was going to get messy, but I had to push forward no matter what. I drew my own gun, a standard issue Beretta, waiting for the opportune moment to fire.
I was outnumbered and outgunned. I only had fifteen rounds, so I needed to make them count. There was no time to come up with a plan. No time to think. I was running on instinct alone.
This was nothing compared to my time at war. This was a simple gunfight, yet I was terrified. Not because I was afraid for my life, but for hers. She was all I could think about as I popped up from behind my barrier and shot a man in the gut. Her voice was the only thing I could hear as I hopped to the next table, slowly but surely pressing forward.
I didn’t know what I’d do if anything happened to Vivian. She was everything bright and sweet and good in my life. If they dared to lay a hand on her, if they’d harmed her in any way…
Nothing on Earth would be able to save them from my wrath.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a cartel member cowering behind a nearby table. They were out of bullets, pinned down by the hellfire the police were raining down on them. I waited for an opening and vaulted over the table, snatching him up by the collar and pinning him on his back.
“Where is she?” I shouted. “Where’s the girl?”
He was too stunned to speak, but I didn’t have the time nor patience to wait for an answer. I punched his jaw, hoping to jolt an answer out of him.
“¡No hablo ingles!” he sputtered, blood staining his teeth.
My nostrils flared. “¿Dónde la mujer?” I shook him hard.
The man put his hands up in surrender, fear clear in his eyes. He was too afraid to speak, so he merely pointed with a shaky finger toward the kitchen in the back. I threw one more punch to knock him out cold in thanks.
I ran for it, practically throwing myself at a cartel member who was foolish enough to try and block me. I lunged, knocking him to the ground. He was quick to get up on his feet, though, dashing at me with his fists swinging. There wasn’t enough room to dodge, so I had no choice but to absorb the hit, taking it straight to the gut, which was enough to knock the air from my lungs and make my eyes water.
But I wasn’t down for the count yet. Not by a long shot.
I fought until my knuckles were numb and my muscles were burning, and my bones vibrated with the impact of every blow, both given and received. The rest of the world faded, the need to get to Vivian my own personal pair of blinders. The gunshots were nothing but background music, the men in my way mere obstacles.
They were waiting for me in the kitchen, a whole swarm of them buzzing around me like vultures, waiting for the moment to strike. I counted five of them, though it very well could have been six. It was hard to tell past the adrenaline blinding me to my surroundings.
They surrounded me. Some of them had knives. Others were frantically reloading their guns. The last few ran at me with nothing but their clenched fists.
I sprang into action, but not with as much speed as I hoped. I wasn’t as young as I used to be. Back in my heyday, a fight like this would have been over in less than a minute. I needed to fight smart, not hard. I knew I couldn’t waste energy on needless haymakers and pointless defensive moves.
What I needed was to be accurate and consistent. What the cartel had in numbers I made up for in experience and skill.
A punch to the throat to paralyze vocal cords. A kick to the groin to send a man crying for his mother. A swift dislocation of his arm to render his trigger finger useless. A forceful chokehold to leave the last assailant unconscious.
When the dust settled, I was the only one standing.
I silently promised myself that when this was all over, I was taking a vacation. A nice and long one. I was clearly well overdue.
I looked around in dismay. Vivian was nowhere in sight.
Crash.
I heard movement coming from the walk-in freezer. I swiped a fresh gun from the belt of one of the unconscious men on the floor and approached slowly, silent like the night. I needed to get the drop on whoever was inside. It was them or me.
With a finger on the trigger and one hand on the latch, I moved in one smooth movement, pulling the door open swiftly before aiming inside. I was fully prepared to shoot when—
“Wait!” a woman screamed.
I dropped my gun instinctively, the sound of Vivian’s voice snapping me out of my trance. Her hands were up and trembling violently.
“Jesse? Jesse, thank God! I’m so happy to see you—”
