I know that she saw what I did. I know that she’s never going to forget it. This wasn’t a side of my life I wanted to drag Catalina into, but it’s too late for that now. My two worlds have collided, and if we’re going to survive, it’s going to have to be together.
“What did he say?” Catalina waits for me in between the two bullet-riddled cars. There’s no way we’re getting out of here in either of them. Luckily, I brought something else.
“Nothing,” I grumble.
“I saw you two talking...” Catalina follows me behind my busted range rover. I kick open the trunk.
“His words were empty.”
My bike slides out easily enough. It’s still in one piece.
“Angel, what’s going on? What happened?” Catalina doesn’t sound as sick with worry as I expected, but there’s a plea in her tone that worms its way through the chill of my cold act. There’s also a calculating curiosity behind her voice, like she just wants to know what she has to brace herself for.
“Someone’s infiltrated my organization, from top to bottom. They’ve taken control of my buildings in Cali. Apparently, a chunk of them are on fire right now. I’ve been told not to step back inside the city, or else...”
I can see the sickness working its way up through Catalina’s gut. She’s been through a lot, and I don’t want to put her through anymore—it’s the only reason I’m not willing to risk it all in a blaze of glory right now. She needs me... I need her.
“We’re not going back?” she asks.
“... Not yet,” I growl. The thought of running, of giving in to those who seek to destroy me, is almost enough to make me implode, but right now it’s the only smart thing to do. Thank god for Catalina. If she wasn’t around, I might be willing to do something stupid, something I’d surely regret if I lived long enough to, but even through my anger, I know the right answer is to go somewhere safe and regroup.
But where can a man like me find safety?
Not in Colombia.
“Get on,” I order.
Catalina obeys.
“Where are we going?”
I send off a quick text before I kick down on the ignition.
“To the airport.”
“This isn’t an airport.” Catalina’s not wrong. It’s more like a private runway. My organization uses it to smuggle weaponry and other illegal items into the country. We have a dozen others, but this was the closest to the chaos we just escaped from.
“It will do,” I mumble.
“Boss!” a familiar voice calls jovially from across the makeshift tarmac. Santiago always seems to be in a good mood. Part of the reason I once chose him to be my lead pilot was because of how happy flying made him. He’s working his dream job, and it makes him one of my most effective men, but I’m in no mood for his cheer.
“Is the plane ready?” I ask, clasping the young man’s hand. He’s a few years older than me, but looks younger. He’s not a fighter or a warrior, he has no scars or missing fingers; he’s just a transporter who enjoys the finer things in life. Parties, food, women, he tastes them all before he flies out from wherever we send him. I gave him this life that he loves so much, and he’s never forgotten it. The playboy pilot is one of the last people in my organization I would even consider trusting right now.
“Of course,” Santiago says, clasping my shoulder. He takes a peak at Catalina and I grip his hand just a little stronger. “Eyes on the road,” I growl.
“Yes, sir.” The pilot seems to sober up a bit. “The beauty’s all ready to fly,” he says, waving towards the re-modeled jumbo jet idling on the dirt runway behind us. “Where are we going?”
When I’d first texted him, I hadn’t been so sure of our destination. There are a lot of places I could hide out while I gather myself enough to figure out a plan of action, but most are too close to Colombia. Plus, I don’t trust a single criminal on this continent right now. Any one of them could be behind this coup; there’s no way this insurgency has been organized by one of the local gangs, they just don’t have the firepower. At best, they’re being supplied by an outside force, but that dead cowboy didn’t talk—although, his American accent did give something away...
“Can this hunk of junk get us over the Atlantic Ocean?” I ask Santiago, gesturing at the giant jet. It’d better be able to, I didn’t pay all that money for it to fail me now.
“Of course,” Santiago assures me. “With me as her pilot, I could fly this little girl anywhere on earth. You just tell me the coordinates.”
Pulling out my cell phone, I make my final decision. I may not trust any of the criminals on this continent, but I’m going to have to trust some criminal or another to harbor me and Catalina. No straight edge do-gooder who’s rich enough to provide me with the resources I need is going to want anything to do with me, especially while my empire crumbles in real time.
I draft a quick precise email and send it off to my intended target. If I’m going to survive this mess, I’m going to have to reach far back into my past. A criminal, sure, but one who I can trust. Someone I’ve known since I was a teenager. Someone who’s just as powerful as me in his country, but who’s far enough away that he’s almost certainly not embroiled in whatever conspiracy is trying to bring me down.
I know just the guy, and just the country.