Page 105 of The Perfect Stranger

He shrugged his shoulders, indifferent. “All this is over La Balsa? That cesspit of a place?”

“It was a hidden paradise that you and your men raped and pillaged. Two hundred people lost their lives. Their homes were burnt down all because you wanted the coca.”

“Best coca in the whole of Colombia.”

“I know,” I agreed. “My father owned every crop in the La Balsa region.”

Although his face was paling by the second, a slow smiled formed. “Your father was from La Balsa?”

“Indeed he was.”

I took two steps forward, and he moved back maintaining the distance.

“He dead?”

“As a matter of fact, he was beaten to death by the rebel army you employed.”

He did what I expected him to do. Luis threw his head back and laughed.

“My, my, my, the plot thickens. So for two years you worked for us waiting for the right time to exact your revenge.”

“That’s right. Two years of waiting for you to show your face.” I took another step forward and he another back. “You were supposed to die in Mexico, but I’ll settle for now.” I swung hard, too fast for him to protect himself. The nails once again pierced his skin, his head ricocheting to the side. He lost his balance, the heel of his boot catching on the edge of the broken floorboard. The sense had been knocked clean from him, the damage to the other side of the face more horrific than the first. In what appeared to be slow motion, Luis fell backward into the black hole.

He didn’t scream, he didn’t make any noise. The only noise came from the weight of his body smashing onto and through the floor beneath. Looking over the edge, I watched his lifeless body. His limbs were placed at unnatural angles, a sharp metal pole impaling him through his gut.

In that moment a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I had never cried over my father’s death, and as I single tear slipped down my cheek I could now mourn for the loss of a great man who never deserved the death he endured.

Two years.

Two long years.

Luis Santos was finally dead.

Gabriel groaned. I stood above him, his Glock in my hand pointed at his head. He was holding onto life but he would shortly die. I wasn’t about to leave and let him somehow survive.

“You win,” he barely breathed. “You win.”

“Not just me. Everyone wins with you gone.”

“I loved you like a brother you know.” Blood bubbled from his mouth. I ignored his endearment.

“I’m not your brother and I never was.”

His eyelids fluttered as he dealt with a wave of pain. “Los Santos are everywhere,” he continued. “There’s no point in running. They’ll find you.”

I shook my head. “There’s no cartel without any Santos blood running through it. Los Santos cartel ends tonight.”

He smiled, and I pulled the trigger. His head jolted back slightly, his eyes wide, lifeless, staring at the roof. He didn’t deserve to die so easily. Not after all the grief he had caused to so many.

I heard the footsteps but I was too slow. They were already upon me. My right shoulder blade exploded with a searing pain, then my lower abdomen. I fell, the Glock slipping from my fingers and hitting the floor moments before I did.

I landed on the wooden floor boards, inhaling the dust each time I took a shallow breath. There was yelling, assertive male voices demanding I didn’t move. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. The room had erupted into chaos, bodies swarming everywhere. It was a sea of black and the glimmering of rifles.

It wasn’t Los Santos men. It was S.W.A.T.

My own countrymen had found me. Their enemy of the state. I couldn’t feel my limbs, my breathing fading in and out.

“Antonio!” I heard Nina’s agonized voice over the others. “Stop, don’t shoot! Stop shooting.”

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