Page 65 of Echoes and Oaths
“Good,” Tomás said and nodded. “You’ll do what we agreed to do?”
“For you, I will do anything. I’ve told you this. Do you doubt me?”
“No.” Tomás drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re the only person I don’t doubt.”
Jinx smiled a mile-wide smile on the inside. Externally, he didn’t move except to ask, “Did you need anything else?”
“No,” Tomás said.
“Then I’ll go clean my weapons and ensure they’re in working order.” Jinx was going to do just that. He had two bullets with names on them, and he planned on delivering them tonight. But just in case bullets weren’t enough, he had a fail-safe option he’d bring along. A little help that would add a pop for the party, as it were.
Jinx heardthe first gunshots from the heart of the compound. They were sharp, controlled bursts that caused his instincts to kick in before his thoughts caught up. He spun toward the noise, hand snapping to his sidearm, already moving across the courtyard. Guards scrambled around him, shouting orders that made no sense, confusion splitting the night wide open.
He tapped his ear. “Brando!”
“Copy. Getting a satellite view. Z, what do you see?”
“Three SUVs are coming down the road. Do I take them out?”
The attack came from the inside. It was too clean. Happened too fast. This wasn’t a random attack. This was an execution. Esteban was coming for Tomás. “No, don’t stop them. It’s the Ghost.”
A body dropped to his left, the guard's mouth still open in a half-formed question, blood pooling across the stone. Jinx didn’t stop. He sprinted toward the main hall leading to Tomás’s office.
A figure loomed at the archway. He was a guard Jinx recognized, but something was wrong. The man’s rifle wasn’t aimed at the intruders.
It was aimed at Jinx. The traitor fired. Jinx threw himself sideways, the bullet grazing his ribs, the pain burning hot. “Motherfucker!” He hit the ground rolling and came up firing. Two rounds punched into the man’s chest, dropping him like a sack of sand.
More footsteps were heading his way. Louder and heavier now. The men were coordinated in action and closing in on him.
Jinx cursed under his breath and pushed forward,weaving through the open hallways, gun tight in his hand. Twice he had to fucking change course. The first time, a wall of gunfire pinned him down, forcing him to duck through a storage room thick with smoke. The second was when a locked gate sealed off the direct path to Tomás’s inner courtyard and small building. Son of a bitch. He had to get to Tomás, not to save his ass, but to reach Esteban.
But for some reason, they were herding him. Keeping him away. By the time he’d cut through the servants’ passage and emerged into the outer corridor of the main residence, the ground beneath his boots shook, and a deep, reverberating boom that rattled the walls.
The explosion ripped through the air like a thunderclap. Smoke and dust billowed through the compound. Jinx broke into a dead run, dropping his useless weapon. He’d fired all of his rounds and didn’t have any for a reload.
As he rounded the final corner, he saw Tomás’s heavy steel door blasted off its hinges, twisted metal hanging from shattered stone. Jinx sprinted to the empty doorway.
Inside the office, Tomás lay sprawled behind his wrecked desk, bleeding from a gash across his forehead, dazed and struggling to rise. And standingover him, calm as a man admiring a painting, was Esteban, with a pistol loose in his hand, a half-smile curving his lips.
Esteban turned slightly as if he’d been expecting Jinx all along.
"That didn’t take you long, hermano. My men were poor at keeping you delayed," he said. “I’d hoped to finish this unfortunate business before we met. If you’ll excuse me, this won’t take long.”
Jinx moved to position himself for the greatest access to Esteban. He glanced past the man to Tomás’s shattered office. Smoke still curling through the blown doorway. Blood smeared the marble floor.
Tomás coughed wetly, dragging himself up against the ruined remains of his desk. Blood matted his hair, smeared across his face in streaks. He looked small. Broken.
Esteban stepped closer, movements unhurried, almost gentle. The pistol dangled loose at his side, forgotten for now.
"You should have stayed in your place, Tomás," Esteban said, almost pitying. "You must know you were never meant to be more than the face. The name."
Tomás bared his broken teeth, a low growl tearing from his throat. "Imade this empire.” He spatblood at Esteban’s feet. "Withoutme, you'd be nothing."
Esteban smiled, a slow, indulgent smile, like a parent tolerating a child’s tantrum. “Oh sweet, hermano. No, no, no," he said softly. "You made noise.I made the empire.You were just the puppet. A useful diversion." He knelt in front of Tomás, lowering himself to eye level. "You thoughtyoucould summonmehere …?" Esteban shook his head. "You don’t have that power. You never understood, hermano. I've been holding your leash since the beginning."
Tomás lunged a weak, pitiful swipe at Esteban’s face. Without even flinching, Esteban raised his pistol and fired once.
Tomás’s body jerked, a single convulsion, and then he slumped sideways, lifeless. Blood pooled around his broken form, seeping into the cracked marble like ink staining paper.
