AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If Shay had gone all out in the first round, chances were they would give him a stronger opponent quicker too.
I squeezed River’s hand and returned my attention to Coach.
“…with Marco Blanco,” he was saying. “He’s the one with intel that Mercier’s after—and, therefore, us too. He knows where Luiz Gajero is hiding out with Blake and Marisa, which leads Crew and Mercier to believe Gajero has a direct line of communication besides Carillo Mesa. It’s a minor detail but interesting, nonetheless. With Jorge Gomez flipping, half of California in shambles, and Luiz Gajero in the wind, Carillo’s rogue launch out of the Blanco Family is lookin’ less stable and organized by the minute.”
Could be both good and bad. When desperate people made mistakes, they were as easy to take down as they were unpredictable and dangerous.
“Why do they think Gajero talks to a higher-up other than Carillo?” Elliott asked.
“Because of how Mercier ended up here,” Coach replied. “He’s here on Carillo’s behalf to strike a deal. Mercier didn’t know anything about Gajero—that’s all Marco. He’s the one who had intel on Gajero.”
Like Coach had said, minor detail but interesting.
“For the record, Mercier being here on Carillo’s behalf was just the ticket,” Emerson clarified. “His mission is to assassinate the Blancos.”
I didn’t have the mental capacity to process such a gig. Not to say I didn’t believe it was possible, but did the man have a death wish? How was he getting out? Did he have backup we didn’t know about?
“Just the old man, or the sons too?” Joel frowned in confusion.
“I assume it’s all of them,” Danny replied. “Taking out a ninety-something-plus old man won’t shake the foundation.”
“That’s not entirely correct,” Emerson said carefully. “We dealt with the same shit in Medellín in the early nineties. When a cartel gains too much power, the US steps in. This is a sanctioned hit. Someone at the top thinks Blanco’s grown too strong—and the old man is the glue. When he dies, his sons will fight to take control.”
Yeah, that sounded like us. We thought it was better that the cartel collapsed in an in-house war that killed people in the thousands on Colombian turf rather than the Blancos controlling the market. To me, it didn’t fucking matter. A strong cartel was obviously not good, but it came with fewer casualties.
“Are we gonna stumble across federal agents closer to the premises?” Greer asked.
Most of us shook our heads.
“We think it’s a small operation,” I said. “They can’t risk anyone finding out.”
“Crew says Mercier has a single agent in the country,” Coach revealed. “He’s waiting in Pasto to escort a civilian woman to the US. Other than that, Mercier’s on his own. With Crew.”
“And us,” Elliott murmured.
And us.
“With all this said, it’s highly possible Adrien has plans for the sons too,” Emerson added. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
Coach cleared his throat. “Considering the length Crew is goin’ to in this profiling, it would surprise me if they’re not including the sons. They’ve spent all day observing them, primarily Enzo and Marco. But they’re all here.”
“In other words, that’s tomorrow’s problem,” I said. “Does he say anything about when we’ll hear from him again?”
“Yeah, down here.” Coach read from the screen. “After breakfast, they’re meeting with a woman who cooks for the Blancos. She’s an assistant to the old man’s personal chef, and she’s in charge of every ingredient that comes into the kitchen. Mercier hopes he can smuggle three of us in during a delivery tomorrow. It’s apparently something they’ve done before—but we’re not sure yet. He’s mentioning it, though, in case we’re far away—and we fucking are. The town where they pick up food and supplies is almost four hours away.”
Elliott and I locked eyes over the fire. A three-man crew? He would count himself out; I was definitely going, and—
“That’s close combat,” Danny stated, clapping his hands together. “I’m in.”
Danny, ever the quick thinker, was right. The three men we sent in the Mercier way had to be ready for close combat—all while refraining till the absolute last second.
Emerson sighed. “Do you remember when we agreed we were done in the field?”
“No, because I was hooked up to a morphine drip.” Danny didn’t miss a beat. “It doesn’t matter. That’s our boy in there—my junior. If I hadn’t been so young and cool, I would’ve asked him to call me Gramps.”
I coughed on a laugh, unable to stop the images. Shay calling Danny Gramps? Fucking hell. Danny might refer to himself as on the wrong side of fifty these days, but he had too much in common with Shay to pull off that label. They were both punchy submissives to their significant others—in his case, Emerson.
“Danny’s probably our strongest fighter,” River admitted.
