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Fuck. We were on the damn ground; we couldn’t see that high up.
I blew out a breath and rolled my shoulders. We were running on too little sleep, and the general discomfort was fucking with my concentration. All I heard was the cacophony from the guests and the constant splats of waterdrops hitting leaves. Rainforests were never quiet.
Shay had been joined by more men, one of whom was speaking to the crowd.
Welcome to tonight’s entertainment!
You got a preview last night. Everyone excited?
Goddamn monsters.
They were done murdering. From now on, they served as my target practice.
Enzo and Marco Blanco were off-limits because of the intel they sat on, but that was it. The rest were going down. Not counting women and children, of course.
“I think that’s Enzo,” River reported. “The man walking up onstage now.”
I catalogued the old man’s features. He walked with a slight limp, not from an injury but possibly a bad hip. He looked to be around seventy. He soaked up the applause he received and spoke to their guests about the “American boy.”
Then the motherfucker announced another “warm-up,” and he fucking asked for volunteers. That sick son of a bitch. From what I’d heard, Shay didn’t lose. Enzo was sending young, inexperienced punks to a certain death.
“Motherfucker,” Reese whispered. “We need to—”
“Don’t even.” Danny cut in. “There’re too many children around, man.”
I checked my watch quickly. It was past midnight. According to Crew, most of the younger children were usually escorted to the village of villas past the entertainment area right around now. But that was more a guess than data. Crew and Mercier had been here twenty-four hours longer than us. We just didn’t have enough to go on.
Four young men took the stage, ready to challenge Shay in the warm-up, and everyone applauded.
Enzo Blanco left the stage, and I followed him through my scope until he disappeared up on the third patio.
“Suspected Enzo is on the third patio,” I said.
“Crew and Mercier still on second,” Elliott added. “Get ready, everyone. Emerson?”
“Joel will take the first shot,” Emerson responded. “Does anyone have eyes on the third platform? That’s where the family is, according to Crew.”
“Zero,” I answered. The others filled in with their own negatives. “Second-best option the middle patio?” I asked. “I don’t know who they are, but they look more important than the rest—”
“River, duck low—you have a sicario heading toward you,” Reese ordered.
“Wilco,” River replied.
Emerson spoke again. “Middle patio, it is. Once Danny gives you the signal, start taking out guards. We want the higher-ups unprotected. River and Coach, you take out guards around the theater and cover Danny—”
“Fight’s starting.” Reese rushed out the words, and our attention returned to Shay and the center platform.
As the first of the four guys volunteering to fight Shay stepped forward, I looked behind me quickly to make sure I didn’t have anyone coming toward me. Greer and Cullen were somewhere in the thicket, keeping watch, but they were about to take off. Emerson had Greer on two frequencies, ours and another that he shared with Cullen and Mathis. They were on C-4 duty.
“I’m gonna need therapy after this.” There was only dread in Reese’s voice. “May Shay forgive us—”
“Don’t fucking go there, buddy,” Elliott said firmly.
I swallowed hard and watched Shay completely own the other guy. Shay was a technical fighter, fast as hell, and ruthless. When he dragged the semi-conscious cartel guy closer to the edge of the stage and literally punched the teeth out of him, I peered up into the stands, past the first patio—there. I could see Enzo now that he was standing so close to the edge of the third patio. I hoped it really was him.
I tensed up. “Danny, get ready,” I said quietly. “I think Enzo’s gonna sic the rest of the guys on Shay at once.”
River and Reese cursed.
