Page 60 of Brutal Monster
I nod mechanically. "Good."
We turn onto Avenida Reforma, accelerating through a yellow light. I lean forward, willing the car to speed up. Six more blocks to the turn that leads to my family's compound.
The first bullet shatters our windshield.
"Down!" Vanya shoves me to the floor as our driver slumps, blood spraying across the dashboard.
More shots, the pop-pop-pop of automatic weapons. Our security detail returns fire—the sounds are deafening in the enclosed space. The car swerves wildly, then slams to a stop.
"Stay down," Vanya orders, gun already in hand. He reaches for the radio. "Situation?"
"Ambush," comes the crackling reply. "At least fifteen shooters. It’s the Romero cartel."
My blood runs cold. The Romero. They want Adan. They've come for the traitor and plan to use me or Vanya as collateral.
"We need to move," I say, drawing my own weapon from my holster. "We're sitting targets here."
Vanya assesses me with a single glance—not as his wife but as a fellow soldier. "On three."
The back door nearest me explodes outward as Vanya kicks it open. We emerge firing, using the armored door as cover. Three men drop immediately. The street has emptied of civilians, leaving only our convoy and the attackers, who've positioned vehicles to block us front and back.
I spot a flash of movement to my right and pivot, squeezing the trigger twice. Another man falls, clutching his throat. The copper scent of blood mixes with the smell of vehicle exhaust and gunpowder.
"There!" Vanya points to a narrow alley between buildings. "We can cut through to Calle Durango."
I nod, calculating angles, covering fire. "On my mark."
We move in perfect synchronicity, each covering the other's blind spots as we sprint toward the alley. Bullets ping off concrete around us. One grazes my arm, leaving a trail of fire across my skin. I ignore it.
A voice rings out, amplified through a megaphone. "Stop! We only want Adan!"
I recognize that voice. Hector Sanchez, a Romero lieutenant. Adan's contact.
"Keep moving," I hiss to Vanya, but he's already slowing, turning to face the street.
"What are you doing?" I grab his arm.
"Creating a diversion." His eyes meet mine, cold with calculation. "Get to your father. I'll handle this."
"No." The word tears from my throat. "We stay together."
"Your father is dying, Inez." His voice softens fractionally. "I'll be right behind you."
Before I can argue further, he shoves me toward the alley, then turns and fires three precise shots. Men scream. Glass shatters.
I hesitate for one agonizing second, torn between duty and—what? This is more than love. It’s equally powerful and dangerous.
"Go!" Vanya roars, dropping to one knee as he reloads.
I run.
The alley is narrow, dark, and reeks of garbage and urine. I navigate it at full speed, listening to the gunfire behind me grow more distant. My arm throbs, blood soaking my sleeve. Irrelevant. Keep moving.
I emerge onto Calle Durango, startling a group of tourists who scatter like pigeons. Ignoring their stares, I flag down a taxi, flashing enough cash to silence any questions about my bloodied appearance.
"Lomas de Chapultepec," I tell the driver. "Fast."
He nods, wide-eyed, and pulls into traffic. I keep my gun hand hidden beneath my jacket, watching out the back window for pursuit. Nothing yet. My phone remains ominously silent.
