Page 22 of The Twins

Vegas

QUITO, ECUADOR - FIVE YEARS AGO

My family believesI’m in Ibiza, fucking through girls and drinking my life away on drugs.

The truth is that I haven’t been more sober in years. This is a clean operation. In six bulletproof black vans filled with men and firearms, we head for the woods in Quito, Ecuador. There lies a massive estate that houses one of the country’s most influential men.

Máximo Martí.

Nobody knows his face, his name. He’s not that type of a celebrity.

He profits from the despair of his own people, encouraging corruption and chaos in his country and its neighbors. He’s not the first, nor is he the last man who has an affinity for crime.

Martí has been the target of numerous death threats and attacks. Somehow, the fucker always survives. Something inside of me grunts at the prospect of removing his life with my bare hands. If he’s alive by the time I get to him, I’ll give him the time of his life.

But then again, I’ve teamed up with my own personal dream team of criminals. Almost forty men are with me today, one more suspicious of me than the other. It took me months to assemble Martí’s enemies. I’ve had a plan for years, but his enemies are chaotic, a whirlwind of danger. I almost got myself killed on numerous occasions. But all of that doesn’t matter. My frenemies have a mission.

We’re the villains today.

We’re going in to kill.

Big Daddy believes I’ll stake a claim and stab our flag into Martí’s chest, but I won’t. I’ll see that my woman gets to where she needs to safely, and then I’ll make my way back home where I’ll expect her with open arms.

I don’t trust the men I’ve riled up to work with me. They don’t trust me either. We don’t know of each other’s plans. We have one common goal, and that’s to destroy Máximo Martí.

They want to take over his empire while I want to remove his wife from his hold.

It’s been months, far too long for me to stay hung up on anything. Yet, I can’t wipe the blood from my eyes. When I try to sleep, she’s right there.

She never ceases to remind me why I’m doing this. I’m late. Nineteen months late. I’ve been going back and forth, driving Big Daddy insane. Charles thinks I need rehab because I keep telling him that I’m off to Las Vegas, Miami, or some European shithole where the booze is cheap, and the women love money.

When I began this journey, I believed that I’d end up alone, stripped from Big Daddy’s support. I failed to weigh in that Big Daddy, AKA my government, has paid money to train me. This might be a venture of mine that grates the gray zone, but Big Daddy doesn’t want to let me go just yet.

I’m still working for Big Daddy. It just happens that my contract is unofficial, an oral understanding only.

If I perform my duties for them, I have their backing.

This translates to working part-time for Big Daddy and dedicating the rest of my time to Máximo Martí.

Big Daddy is like the men I’ve decided to collaborate with. My government wants Martí gone and replaced, preferably with fresh blood.

My government doesn’t know that I’d rather die than plan for what’s next for Martí’s empire. My only incentive going into this is Amira Romero and her safety. If chasing after Martí hasn’t gotten me fired, willingly paying a group of men to transport a group of women, some of whom are underage, past the U.S.-Mexican border shall be the last straw.

I’m fine with that.

The men I’ve paid to do the deed are money-hungry cunts. They’ll do as told to satisfy me because they think I’m a big shot. I’m trained, you see. I lie professionally. I could pretend to be right about anyone, and they’d believe me.

I adjust my talents, attuning them to what my opponent feels and thinks.

The trafficked women will be delivered to San Ricardo, one way or another.

And then Amira Romero will be free to begin her new life.

Ever since Katantia, when he lost a possible prosperous future with King Wraith, Máximo Martí has secluded himself from the world. His circle has become tighter. From the 150 men he once ran with, now, he barely employs fifty.

His trust is fading, and so is his life.

I’ve assembled the puzzle pieces, and the only one missing is Amira.

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