Page 10 of Don't Trust Him

“Landing in five,” the pilot says through the intercom, and Juan and I buckle up, watching through the window as the green jungle under us seems to rise up to meet us. Five minutes later, on the dot, the plane is touching down on the tarmac of an airfield with nothing but a small brick house at the end. Probably something the Envigado cartel built just to have planes flying in and out of here on the daily. Thanks to the millions they funnel into all South American government agencies, I’m willing to bet this airfield has never popped up on any law enforcement’s report.

“Llegamos, hijos de puta,” I scream out as we step out of the plane, no one the

re to meet us. Five SUVs are parked near the brick building, but there’s not a soul in the tarmac.

“Is it wise to call them motherfuckers as a greeting?” Juan says.

“You gotta speak their language,” I say with a shrug. “Show them you mean business.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t seem to bothered by it,” Juan replies, and then he starts heading toward the building, scanning his surroundings like a cockroach expecting to be stepped on at any minute.

I follow after him. Even though I don’t get scared easily, I gotta say...this place looks eerie as shit. The team we were supposed to be working with should’ve been here by now. Their cars, but I don’t see any of the men. Where the fuck are these jackoffs?

The moment Juan pushes open the building’s door, the stench of blood hits me right away. I clench my jaw, doing my best not to retch, and then I look over Juan’s shoulder at what’s inside.

Bodies. And lots of them.

Whoever killed Envigado soldiers probably doesn’t give a fuck about living. It’s like attacking the policia. You only fucking do it when your back is to the wall. Because Envigado doesn’t forget. They’ll unite the cartels and wipe you out if they find out who did this shit.

I can still smell the gunpowder in the air. Which means that whoever smoked these guys must still be around.

“Fuck, they know, Eliza! Someone warned the Bonita Muerte cartel we we’re coming. We’re fucked, Eliza...we gotta get out of there, and we gotta get out of here right fucking now!”

“Calm your tits, Juan,” I whisper, trying to keep my wits about me. Truth be told, I don’t feel so confident right now. But panicking doesn’t help, does it?

We explore the smaller buildings and it’s the same story. Blood. Bodies. Death.

I go into the one of the last buildings. It’s a large holding warehouse but has corridors and offices.

We get through the first round of corridors when the skin on the back of my neck stands up.

“Eliza Lang,” I hear a voice say from the other side of the main room we passed by. I hear a door creak as it swings open, and then I see the man standing there.

Skull tattoos climb up one of his forearms, but both look just as menacing.

Grayson Teague.

Fuck.

Six

Grayson

“You’re not coming into Bonita Muerte Cartel territory and taking shit to make coke squared,” I say solemnly to Eliza.

It’s a fact that I’m not letting her do this. I know what this means and I’m not looking forward to fighting her in one sense because I know how it will end.

“Coke what?” she says, trying to play dumb.

I pull out my gun and point it at her.

“You heard what I said,” I say to her. “I know why you’re here.”

I take a few steps closer to her.

“Turn around and put your hands on your heads, putas,” I command. “I’m going to escort you off the grounds.”

“Envigado is gonna kill you, homeboy,” Eliza says as she turns around slowly.

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