Page 15 of Savage Assassin

I pull the trigger again, the bullet grazing the neck of the man next to me. Blood spurts out, spraying the wall, and as he pitches forward, I catch him, using him as a shield as another round of gunfire goes off, grabbing for his gun with my other hand.

The minute the bullets stop coming for a second, I whirl towards the other three, both guns aimed as I start to shoot, going towards them instead of away. They do exactly as I hoped, flinching momentarily at the realization that I’m walkingtowardtheir fire instead of running from it.

That moment is all I need. A pull of the triggers and two men drop. All that’s left is the one, and he gets a shot off before I can, the bullet grazing my arm as it goes wide.

White-hot pain shoots up my arm, and I feel the warm spill of blood down my skin, but I know without looking that I’ve taken worse. I’ll deal with it later, but at the moment, all I’m focused on is that last shot, the gun aimed at the man’s face as it goes slack, realizing with horror that he doesn’t have enough time.

That he’s fucking done.

He drops, and I bolt for the ladder.

I don’t know how many bullets are left, but I hope it's enough to get me out of here. I know before I’ve even reached the stairs of the wine cellar that Elena isn’t down here any longer, that she might not even still be in the house. I have to move fast, or history is going to repeat itself, and another Santiago daughter will be in Diego Gonzalez’s clutches.

I get to the top, pushing the door open a crack, and I’m instantly assaulted with the smell of smoke, the sound of further-off shouting, and the crackling of fire too close for comfort.

Fuck.

Going back through the house is too dangerous. The only real option I have is to go back the way I came, down the trapdoor and through the underground exit, and hope that Ricardo’s information about where it leads is correct–past the outer wall of the compound, so I can regroup without running into any more of Diego’s men.

I spin on my heel, rushing back down the stairs. There are no more footsteps, no sounds of more men coming towards the cellar door, and that tells me more than anything else that Elena is likely already gone. If they have what they’d come for, there’s no reason to stay.

Quickly, I go back down the ladder, past the bodies I’d left, further down the hall. Guilt swamps me, cramping my gut as I clench my teeth, forcing back the thought pounding in my head–that I’d failed. I’d failed at what should have been a simple task.

Get the Santiago girl out. Get her to safety. I’ve done harder jobs. More dangerous jobs. Jobs that should have gotten me killed and didn’t.

But this one has gone completely awry.

I keep going, all the way until I reach a dead end and another ladder, leading up to another trapdoor.

For fuck’s sake, don’t let this spit me out in the middle of the compound, surrounded by a dozen men.

That is precisely how my luck would turn out, based on how the night has gone so far.

To my relief, when I’m above ground again, I am about a hundred yards out from the outer wall of the Santiago compound. I can see black SUVs driving away from it, and I crouch down, watching them as the dust billows out from the tires, undoubtedly taking Elena with them.

Time to go.

If I’m going to follow them and try to find out what the hell Gonzalez’s next move is, now is the time. They won’t expect to be followed in the wake of the attack, and I’m relatively certain that they’re expecting me to be dead. I’m also almost sure that Gonzalez has no reason to know who I am. As far as the attackers are concerned, I’m just another of Santiago’s grunts. Meat to be put through the grinder on their way to Elena.

I have a motorcycle stashed a little ways out, and I head towards it, moving quick and low as I keep an eye out for anyone still patrolling the area, gun ready in my hand. My mind is already two steps ahead, thinking of what I will do after I reach the bike and how I will get the information I need. It comes as naturally as breathing after so long. It keeps me calm as I cross the distance, straddling it quickly as I do another quick sweep of the surrounding area and then turn the key.

The engine roars to life, and I put it into gear, pulling out onto the road in the direction that the SUVs went, giving enough space that there’s not any chance of coming into their view. I can see the tail end of the last one, and I keep my headlight off, relying on the faint light from the moon to get me where I need to go without crashing. It’s not safe by a long shot, but the likelihood of anyone else being out on these roads is low, and I’m more concerned with being spotted by Gonzalez’s men.

It’s a long drive to the compound. I hang back as far as I can without losing them, and when I see the SUVs start to approach the driveway leading to the gate, I turn off the road, stashing the motorcycle and grabbing my bag so I can sneak to the walls and hopefully get in.

Over the years, I’ve learned a simple rule when it comes to missions like this–ones that involve spying especially–plan for what could go wrong, but don’t think about it while you’re in the middle of it all.

It’s served me well, and I’m still alive, so I see no reason to change it up now.

I make it to the edge of the wall undetected and skirt along the side, looking for some way in that isn’t over. I don’t know Gonzalez’s patrols like I would if I’d been able to do reconnaissance, so going over is a last resort. It’s just as likely to leave me in the middle of a patrol squad as it is home-free.

I’m nearly all the way around the back of the compound when I find a thin gap, covered by a barred gate that is just barely wide enough for me to fit through. I have no idea what it’s fucking used for, but it’s the best shot I have at getting in.

I crouch down, peering through to see if there are any patrols nearby. No one is within my sightline for now, so I rummage in my bag, pulling out a torch and bolt cutters, and set to work.

It’s not the quickest method, but it works. Like the rest of this, it’s second nature. When the metal is hot enough, I cut through it with the bolt cutters, snapping it cleanly off and carefully removing the gate and setting it aside. They’ll know someone broke in, but it’s not as if things can get any hotter for the Santiago family.

Slowly, I slip through the opening, moving forward quickly and quietly as I approach the main house. I have no idea where Elena might be–or, once again, the layout–and I’m cursing myself inwardly for going along with the Kings’ and Santiago’s plans without giving any input of my own. I’ve been working with Viktor, who I trust implicitly, for too long. If I’d come sooner, I might have been able to do some recon in the event that things went pear-shaped–exactly as they have.

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