Page 29 of Don't Trust Him

“Yes, jefe. I’m ready, and I have eyes on the targets,” Miguel replies. He’s the only guy we’re paying that isn’t part of the local idiots parked next to us. A true freelancer, Miguel used to be a sniper during the Iraq War. When he returned to the States and saw that no one gave a shit about veterans, he decided to make his way through life the way he knew bast—by putting .50 caliber bullets through people’s skulls.

“Wait till the other guys are in sight, and then fire away. And don’t lose sight of that briefcase. Don’t let anyone escape with it.”

“Gotcha,” comes the simple reply, and then Grayson and I climb out from our SUV. The thugs follow us for a few feet, and then we press our backs against one of the thousands of containers littering the place.

I close my eyes, taking deep breaths as I wait for Miguel to take his shot.

When it comes, it’s like thunder.

I jump out from behind the container, guns blazing as I head straight toward the deal taking place. Two of the Russians are already down, and three more are hiding behind a black executive sedan. The chemist is already lying on the ground, as are his bodyguards, and they’re not moving. Judging by the massive pool of blood they’re lying on, I’ll take a wager and say they won’t be moving for a long time.

“Fuck!” One of the thugs groans as the Russians raise their semi-automatic rifles and unload everything they have on us, bullets ricocheting right over my head. Two of the thugs go down fast, one being hit right in the eye, and the remaining three run toward cover. And judging by how fast they’re running, I’m not sure if they’ll be of much use right now.

“I don’t have a line of sight,” I hear Miguel’s voice through Grayson’s transceiver, and I let out a frustrated sigh. I guess we’re going to have to do this the old way.

Holding two Beretta’s in my hand, my back firmly pressed against one of the containers, I look to the side. Grayson’s there, in the exact my position I’m in, and our eyes lock.

For a moment, I think he’s going to simply look away, but he gives me a slight nod. I nod back at him, and we jump into sight, raining down bullets on the two remaining Russians.

I’m not an expert shooter, but my quick-fire is enough to force the Russians to look for cover. As they scurry around, Grayson goes down on one knee. Taking aim with his rifle, he quickly dispatches the two of them, a thin mist of blood hanging in the air as they fall to the ground.

With my heart beating at a thousand miles per hour, I rush toward the eight bodies lying in front of us. I scan the ground, feeling momentarily nauseous as I can’t seem to find the briefcase, but then I spot it under the investor’s large frame.

Grabbing it, I open it with trembling folders and remove a simple notebook from the inside.

“Is it there?” I hear Grayson ask from behind me. Looking back at him, I flip through the pages and show him the final piece we needed to complete our puzzle.

The cypher.

Fifteen

Eliza

One Month Later

“I still can’t believe it,” I marvel, holding the handrails as I gaze down to the warehouse’s main floor. There, men holding rifles patrol the rows of tables as our head chemist barks orders at his dozen minions, all busy trying to process the coke. Not just any coke, mind you, but the fable coke squared.

“Me neither,” he agrees quietly.

It’s been a long month. With blessings from the cartel, we’ve opened up a secret location an hour south of San Diego. The one caveat both cartels requested was to keep the location secret from the other. Which means outwardly neither side knows where exactly we are. Even though they’re probably tracking us covertly, we haven’t seen any overt signs as of yet.

Standing by my side, Grayson perches his elbows on the handrail, scanning the whole of the warehouse. Even though he’s not one to show much emotion, I think I can see a hint of excitement under his hard expression. No wonder, though; what we just did together is going to be a complete game changer.

If coke heads all around the world can’t keep their noses out of the mythical white powder, willing to suffer through the comedown, just imagine what a miracle cocaine formula that will bypass the comedown will do. We’re going to make so much money with this that our cartels might have to buy a whole continent just to launder the money.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” I continue, waving one hand at the operation happening just a few feet under us. “Not just the coke but...the Bonita Muerte and my cartel, working together. How crazy is that?”

“I’ve seen crazier shit,” he shrugs. “But this is pretty impressive, I’ve gotta admit it. I’m actually surprised these guys haven’t started shooting each other yet. The power of money, huh?”

“Yup,” I agree with a curt nod. Setting up this base—a supposedly abandoned warehouse smack in the middle of New Mexico—was one of the most impressive things I’ve done. Not just because we’ve managed to import the raw materials here undetected, but because both our cartels agreed to a temporary truce.

Half of the crew comes from Grayson’s side, while I supplied the rest of the men. That way, both sides are forced to work together instead of going into war. I don’t know how long that’s going to last, but for the time being...I’m fucking proud of what we’ve achieved. Who knew that drug trafficking would afford me an outlet for my diplomatic skills?

“Do you think this is going to work?” I ask Grayson, curious to hear what lies behind those indecipherable eyes. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“It has to work.” Straightening his back, he rests both his hands on the rail. “We have the formula, the cypher, and the men. Now it’s only a matter of time. And we have that as well...all the time in the fucking world.”

“It’ll work,” I echo, realizing that my life is about to change for good. My work for the cartel has always ensured that I have the best things in life money can buy, but with this formula...oh, God, there’ll be so much flowing into the cartel that they’re going to drown me in untraceable one-hundred dollar bills.

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