Hector looked, his mouth dropping wide open. “Holy shit. You just saved my life. I can’t fucking believe this. Are you sure they won’t come after me?”
I could just make out his face in the night. “I’m sure. The Russians are not the men to play with.”
“Okay,” he said mildly.
I watched through the lens. The last of it was over. We could all move forward now. I watched the Russians wait until the Las Balas crew left. I saw the walkie flash again.
“It’s over. Debt paid in full. We took care of it. With a few incentives for them not to try anything.”
“Thanks, Mikakov.”
“We owed you. Your loyalty has not gone unrecognized.”
“Roger that.”
“Tell Hector to stay the hell away from those fuckers.”
“Will do. Over and out.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. I want nothing to do with that life.”
I slapped him on the back. “Come on, let’s go.”
Erring on the side of caution, we hung in the tall blades of grass for another twenty minutes. Then we both rose. My muscles were cramped from lying in position. Over the top of the hill and over the other side, my vehicle was parked. Two open fields, nothing but dusty California dirt and sparse grass that never had a chance to grow, separated us from the car. There were no streetlights on this side, just the glistening sliver of the luminescent moonlight. I listened for even the faintest sound of footsteps or anything funky. Nothing. My heartbeat quickened for some reason, thundering through my ears. The wind picked up.
Hector was in the car. The ebony night brought something wicked. The sound of someone running in the darkness. Sharp intakes of breath, gaining.
I reached for my gun. Dammit! I took it off my waistband when we were all clear. Mikakov’s warning rang in my ears. Watch the fields.
I stepped into the slice of the moonlight.
I saw a snarling face, ten paces away.
Don’t get out of the car, Hector. Stay put.
I squatted to the ground, grabbing a handful of dusty brown dirt. I fisted it and threw it directly at the running target.
He stumbled back in shock, grunting. I caught the barrel of the pistol in his hand. Due to the shock, he stumbled to the ground. I kicked the gun away. I heard Hector get out of the car. On the rebound, so he didn’t have time to recover, I swung back and engaged from the hip, delivering a body blow. I watched him fly back a few feet as I knocked the wind out of him. I was twice his size.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded.
The man fell back, and I straddled his face. He had on his leathers with the Las Balas crew logo. Hector tried to come in while the guy was discombobulated.
“No! Back.”
The black van of the Russians came swerving into view. Mikakov swung out. “I told you to watch the perimeter. I knew it was too easy,” he said.
He pulled the gun and shot a clean shot straight at the man’s head. It all happened in a split-second flash. Hector faced away. Brain fragments soiled the dirt as the shiny, rich blood seeped from the hole in the man’s head. I looked closer and saw he was definitely of Spanish descent.
Mikakov signaled with his gun, waving us off. “You two, go now! We clean up this mess.” His angry Russian accent was enough to move us on from the site.
“Thanks.”
I got inside the car, and we drove away in silence.
“Don’t tell Amber. She doesn’t need to know, okay?” I heaved with a sudden sickening weariness resting on my shoulders. “You’re safe now.”
“Thanks, man, that shit was crazy.” Hector’s face was coming back to color. It had been white as a sheet earlier. It looked like it was the first time he’d seen a dead body.
