But Almanza fought back harder, using a combination of wrestling tactics and street fighting. Rip punched repeatedly at the man’s face, his gut, any available body part.
Then, in one swift move, the gangster was on top of Rip with a knee on his wound, pressing hard.
Rip felt lightheaded, looking into the gangster’s beady eyes. A dagger held to his throat succeeded in keeping him still.
“What a surprise,” Almanza said through rancid breaths. “I have you where I want you.” He glanced at Lela. “Don’t make a move, or I’ll slit his throat.”
Rip saw the glint of the assassin’s gun on the deck to his right. Lela was to the left, so had no hope of grabbing the weapon.
The assassin held the dagger to Rip’s jugular, appearing to savor the moment before the kill. The situation had gone from bad to worse.
Rip’s side hurt like hell, and he was losing blood. He was Lela’s only savior.
Almanza laughed, one short huff. “I know you,” he said. “I recognize you now, SEAL.” He chuckled. “It’s been a long time.”
Rip stared at the slimy creep. “What are you talking about?”
“Third Ward Bar…I still remember,” Almanza said. “I hadn’t been with the organization long then, needed to prove my worth. And your little sweetheart helped that along.” He chuckled. “Ripley McConnell…I didn’t think I’d cross paths with you again.”
A light bulb went off in Rip’s head. The past loomed up and offered a memory he’d sooner forget. But this asshole was staring him in the face. Then it became clear what he’d referred to. It had to be.
“Almanza…you’re Villareal?” The assassin gloated, and Rip knew for certain. Fucking Almanza Villareal. “You’re still alive?”
Rip seethed with the urge to wring the creep’s neck. “You goddamn heartless animal. You killed Isabel. You were the one her brother came to. And you killed her…just for the thrill, am I right?”
“I don’t remember the names of victims,” Almanza said. “But if you’re referring to that little Mexican bitch, then yes, I was the one. She was one of my first kills, a casualty of war.”
Almanza had killed an innocent woman. That had been the start of a long career. And he’d been killing ever since. Rip had searched for him, bribed sources to get information on where Villareal was hiding. But it had been fruitless. He hadn’t been able to get retribution for the murder of Isabel, a woman as kind as Villareal was evil.
Fury surged in Rip’s heart and tore at his tortured soul. After all this time, the murderer was still thriving, tending to business as usual—killing for profit. The man was a predator. His menacing face hovered inches from Rip’s, his sour breath suffocating.
“And now I’m going to kill you,” Almanza said, pressing the knife to Rip’s throat.
Lela gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Once the assassin slit Rip’s throat, Lela would have no chance at all.