Page 123 of Devil's Claim

That alone was enough to keep the rage at the surface.

Jago walked beside me, heading to a second SUV, issuing orders to his own soldiers.

“Do you want a cleanup crew sent?” Benito asked.

I laughed softly as he fell into line beside me. I tipped my head, staring at the carnage one last time. The night was young and there was much to accomplish, but enjoying the moment of destruction was something I’d deemed acceptable. “Fuck, no. Let them know the Torres Empire will not stand for tyranny.”

Benito laughed as he jumped into the front passenger seat, the driver already in gear waiting until I’d closed the door. “I like you better when you’re pissed.”

I eased the rifle next to me, and pulled out my phone, rereading the text sent from Christine.

Christine:Remember, you have a family to return to.

Family.

She’d altered my way of thinking, but I wasn’t yet the man she wanted. Or needed. She’d altered her appearance, something that had taken me a full five minutes to comprehend because of my intense anger. No longer was long hair sweeping past her breasts, now only just past her shoulders. With bangs, she appeared even younger, yet the cut, color, and style were sophisticated.

To me, it wouldn’t matter how she wore her hair. She’d still be the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Yeah. So do I.”

The driver wasted no time, speeding through the city with four other vehicles. The list of targets was growing shorter by the hour.

Soon, there’d be nothing left of the cartel determined to make a name for themselves.

“How many inside the house?” I asked as my soldier slowed after making a turn.

“Six,” Benito answered. “Considered a flophouse.”

The term was now used for situations where enemy soldiers hunkered down for the night, awaiting a new set of orders. The group was the most likely to have initiated the attack on Christine and Genevieve.

I checked the ammunition in the rifle before yanking a favored hunting knife from the duffle I’d brought with me. While only a six-inch blade, the Meatcrafter was easy to use, lightweight, and the perfect weapon for working in close quarters.

Our brigade moved past the flophouse, parking on different streets. The building in question was shit, the exterior a broken-down representation of poverty. However, the location was a perfect hiding ground, a location few members of the police or even members of other cartels would bother to look.

With Jago’s rousing of our street informants, addresses had been obtained. Why they’d chosen to take up arms with Fassi didn’t matter. They’d fucked with the wrong people.

We didn’t skulk as we headed for the house, merely scattered to cover all sides of the building. I, on the other hand, had no intention of belaboring the event. Torture was a delicious option, but creating multiple body bags for the morgues was our goal; a warning for other cartels and a clear invitation for Fassi to come out and play.

At some point he’d need to. Jago had also been busy creating alliances, exporters of fine jewels who would wreck Fassi’s stronghold on the industry.

Jago and Navarro were right behind me, almost as eager to engage in a massacre.

As soon as I stepped onto the porch, I kicked in the door.

The element of surprise was still with us, the darkness inside hiding our advance until it was too late.

An enemy roused, stumbling from a bedroom with his hand on a gun. I reacted instantly, yanking the blade of my knife from one ear to the other. Even before the body had dropped to the floor, I took long strides into a bedroom as a shout filtered into the house. With a hard shove, I knocked the next contestant in my bloody gameshow onto the bed, grabbing him by the throat and driving the knife into his gut.

After jerking the blade up by at least a foot, I heard someone else approaching and threw my head to the side, forced to grab my gun. With two bullets permanently lodged in his brain, the bastard fell over.

There were no other gunshots as Jago and Navarro had laid claim to the other assholes before they’d had an opportunity to fire off a shot.

When the slaughter was completed, I wiped my face and moved from the building into the cool night air.

Jago joined me a few seconds later, wiping his knife on his pants.

Navarro and Benito headed toward us as the others were tasked to douse the interior and exterior with gasoline.

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