Sweet Collateral

“Rafe, you need to keep it together,” Sam warns.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“You have to tread carefully. You can’t start a war over—”

“Over what?”

He eyes me carefully. “Over a girl.”

I laugh humorlessly. “A girl?”

“What is she then?”

“She’s my fucking woman,” I roar. “I will slaughter his entire cartel and bathe in their blood to get her back.” His brows hike up, and his mouth opens and then closes again. “They come onto my property. Again. They take her, they shoot my men.” I shake my head, grappling with the blinding rage that threatens to consume me. “Figure out where the fuck your loyalties lay, Samuel. If you’re not with me, you’re against me.”

“Was that a threat?” he snaps.

My hand flies to his throat in a heartbeat, squeezing hard. He stares straight at me—his brows pinched tightly and his face turning red. “It was a simple statement. Stand in my way, and I’ll go through you. Friend or not.” I force myself to release him and toss my head back against the seat. My vision is tinted red, my blood hammering through my veins like a runaway train.

Sam coughs slightly, dragging heavy breaths into his lungs. “You always have my loyalty, you prick. I just don’t want to see you get killed because you’re going off half-cocked.”

Guilt niggles at me, but all I can think of is her. “I love her.”

“Yeah, no shit, man.” He rubs a hand over his neck. “We’ll get her back.”

“What if I can’t?” Fuck, this is horrible. It feels like someone has reached inside my chest and wrapped their fingers around my heart. They could crush it at any minute, and I’m completely helpless to do a damn thing about it. I’ve never been so exposed or vulnerable. I’ve never felt so weak.

“We will. You’re Rafael D’Cruz. Pull your shit together, put your game face on, and destroy this motherfucker.” He slaps my shoulder, and I nod. He’s right. Anna doesn’t need me to be the guy who’s in love with her right now. I have to be every bit as awful as she once accused me of being. And for her, it’ll be no effort at all.

I lean against the front of the Hummer and wait. Sam stands beside me, a pair of binoculars pressed to his face.

“Any second now,” he says quietly. I count to fifteen in my head before the low rumble of an explosion ripples in the distance, vibrating the ground beneath my feet. Closing my eyes, I inhale the faint scent of burning and picture the chaos at my fingertips.

Sam is completely silent, watching everything unfold. Occasionally he mumbles something into the earpiece he’s wearing, guiding, ordering.

“Okay, we’re good,” he finally says.

I round the car and jump in the passenger seat. Samuel guides the car down the hillside between bedraggled buildings covered in graffiti and up to the compound. The chain link metal gates are wide open, the smoking bodies of two men sprawled a little way back from them. Samuel pulls the car inside, and we simply have to follow the trail of bodies and destruction to the main building.

Getting out of the car, I take out a cigar and place it between my lips, lighting it. As I inhale the thick smoke, I try to calm myself, to center this simmering rage that threatens to bubble over at the slightest provocation. Because Dominges will provoke me, and it will force my hand.

One of Samuel’s guys stands outside the door to the building, dressed head to toe in black combat gear. My cartel is not a gang of street thugs. It’s an army. One I only ever unleash when absolutely necessary. Dominges just pushed a big red button, and now he’s reeping the consequences.

I make my way inside what looks like a small office block. Another of my men holds the elevator, and we get in. I watch as the numbers tick up to the fourth floor. The doors glide open to reveal a mundane-looking lobby. Shitty artwork hangs on the walls, and I almost laugh. Why bother to make this look like some kind of legit office building when only a few feet away is the brothel where he forces his slaves to fuck men?

I open the door to what looks like the main office and find Dominges leaning against his desk, three of his men with their back to the wall, guns drawn and pointed at a handful of Samuel’s guys. I smirk and toss my cigar to the carpet. Dominges has a smug grin on his face as though he isn’t somehow backed into a corner.

“Rafael, you’re going to die for this.”

I laugh. “Really?” I glance at his men who are shifting uncomfortably. He may be full of false bravado, but they’re not.

“I’ve already contacted my brother. The second you stormed these gates, you were a dead man. The entire Sinaloa is going to hunt you like a dog.”