Chapter 12 - Blood on the MarbleBANG.
The deafening roar of the 9mm in the enclosed space was catastrophic.
The heavy bullet struck the Sombras mercenary dead center in the neck. The man didn't even have time to scream. He dropped his rifle and collapsed onto the marble floor, violently choking on his own blood.
Total chaos erupted.
"Sniper!" one of the mercenaries screamed, dropping to the floor and aiming his weapon wildly toward the windows.
El Verdugo flinched, pulling his gun away from Alejandro’s head to search for the shooter.
That single split-second of distraction was all Alejandro needed.
With a terrifying roar, Alejandro threw his body weight backward, sweeping his long legs and shattering El Verdugo’s knee. The massive executioner howled in pain, collapsing awkwardly to the floor, his silver gun sliding across the slick marble.
Valeria didn't freeze. The recoil had slammed the gun back into her wrists, stinging like fire, but the adrenaline had completely hijacked her nervous system.
She stood up from behind the bar.
BANG. BANG.
She fired twice more, not aiming precisely, but forcing three of the mercenaries to dive behind a flipped sofa for cover.
"Valeria, get down!" Alejandro roared.
Still zip-tied, Alejandro launched himself across the floor. He didn't go for a gun; his hands were bound. Instead, he tackled a distracted mercenary, sinking his teeth directly into the man’s throat. It was brutal, feral, and absolutely terrifying. The cartel boss ripped the man's jugular, completely neutralizing him in seconds.
Valeria ducked behind the heavy oak bar just as a hail of bullets shattered the bottles above her head. Glass and high-proof alcohol rained down on her.
"Flank her!" a mercenary shouted.
Valeria heard heavy boots rushing toward the side of the bar. She didn't peek out. She shoved the gun around the corner and pulled the trigger until the slide locked back.
Click, click, click.
Empty.
A massive hand reached over the bar, grabbing her by her hair. Valeria screamed as she was violently yanked to her feet. The mercenary shoved the barrel of his assault rifle directly into her chest.
"Got the bitch!" the man yelled.
Before he could pull the trigger, a shadow descended upon him.
Alejandro had freed his hands using a knife dropped by the man he just killed. He drove the six-inch combat blade directly into the base of the mercenary's skull.
The man’s eyes rolled back, and he dropped like a stone.
Alejandro grabbed the falling assault rifle out of the dead man’s hands before it hit the floor. In one fluid, devastating motion, he racked the charging handle and turned toward the remaining men in the room.
What followed wasn't a gunfight. It was an execution.
Alejandro moved with the terrifying, robotic precision of a man who had spent his entire life bathing in violence. He fired in short, controlled bursts. Two to the chest, one to the head. Over and over again.
Within ten seconds, the living room was dead silent.
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Seven mercenaries lay dead.
The only sound was the jagged, desperate breathing of El Verdugo, who was crawling toward the shattered glass doors, dragging his shattered knee behind him.
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