Page 96 of Boulder's Weight

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Just keepin’ it real," he says, his choice of words make me laugh.

Boulder watches me laugh with an expression I can't quite figure out.

His eyes linger on my face like he's memorizing it, or maybe seeing something I'm not aware of.

"What?" I ask self-consciously.

"Nothing," he says, then reconsiders. "Just thinking, I like the sound of your laugh. Don't hear it often enough."

His words catch me off guard, warming something within me. "Not much to laugh about lately."

"We'll have to change that," he says, and there's a promise in his voice that makes me believe him.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Boulder

I kick down the door to Andrés's stash house, ready for anything.

Behind me, Python and Axel go forward, guns drawn, my brothers moving like we’re in some sort of military unit.

I shout, sweeping left while Python takes right. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first guard barely has time to reach for his piece before I'm on him, the butt of my gun connecting with his jaw.

Bone cracks under the impact, a spray of blood and teeth painting the wall behind him.

He drops like a sack of rocks, gurgling and choking on his own blood.

Across the room, Python slams another guard face-first into a table, the man's nose exploding on impact.

The guard screams, a high-pitched sound cut short when Python grabs a handful of his hair and smashes his face down a second time.

Axel calls from the back room, his voice tight with adrenaline. "Clear!"

The main floor secured, we push deeper into the building.

The stash house is smaller than we expected, just a run-down building on the outskirts of Chihuahua.

Perfect for Andrés to move product without drawing too much attention.

Razor appears at the top of the stairs, nodding to indicate the second floor is clear. "No one up here. Just product, and lots of it."

"Start loading what we can carry," Zorro instructs. "Torch the rest."

We work quickly, grabbing samples of Andrés's merchandise—mostly coke and heroin, packaged for street distribution.

Intel like this is valuable, gives us leverage against other dealers in the area.

I'm dumping gasoline over a stack of boxes when the back door crashes open.

Three of Andrés' men rush in, guns already spitting fire.

"Down!" I yell, diving behind a stack of crates as bullets tear chunks out of the wall above me.

Python returns fire, catching one guy in the shoulder, spinning him around.

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