Page 120 of Balls to the Walls

“Manuel,” I said in acknowledgment.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. I could hear movement all around us as his men moved in around us. This wouldn’t end well no matter what I did.

“FNG,” he finally said.

“We meet again.”

“It is a dangerous thing for you to be driving around out here. With my daughter, no less…especially after I specifically told you that you were to marry her.”

Yeah, that was a bit of a problem from his perspective.

“I appreciate you bringing her back to me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t bringing her back to you,” I corrected. “Just the opposite.”

A harsh laugh burst from his lips as he walked closer. “You, my friend, do not know who you’re messing with.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re a pretty big deal. You rose from nothing to lead this cartel. I get it. You’re a big deal.”

“Yet, you don’t sound impressed. Are you not afraid of dying?”

I shrugged. “Not really. I can’t be killed.”

He drew so fast that I almost didn’t see it. “My gun says differently.”

“Well, I would say you should give it a try, but I’m not really in the mood for a fight right now.”

“And when is a good time for you?”

I could hear the laughter in his voice, along with the chuckles from his men. But did I back down? Never. As much as this man wasn’t to be trifled with, I also could stand my ground, even if I was surrounded by a bunch of men who followed a psycho like him.

“And what is your plan, if not to fight me?”

“Escape, rescue the lady, and walk into the sunset while you rot in the ground.”

Another chuckle left his lips. “High ambitions.”

“Well, my mother always said I would either end up dead in the gutter or become president.”

“And you think you’re the latter.”

“Well, since I can’t be killed, I guess that’s my path in life.”

“How is it you think you’re going to walk away?”

I didn’t really have that many options. But there was a dead man in the trunk, and from what I saw, a small arsenal. I just hadn’t given it much thought since I was more worried about getting the hell out of there.

“I have something to show you.”

“And what is that?”

“You see this car,” I gestured beside me.

“A police car. You are a thief.”

Well, he might have a point there. “I’m also a murderer,” I said with as much menace as possible, which was really hard. I was a nice guy. I didn’t like lying or manipulating people. I was the happy guy who always had a positive outlook on life. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

“And who is it that you murdered?”

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