He’s a job, Travis.
Focus.
First and foremost, you’re a Guard.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me out of it. I pull it out, the screen glowing with a message from Cole. My gut tightens as I read:
COLE: Got intel on Knox & Rain. They’re neck-deep with a new cartel, a crazy organization risen from the ashes of Los Lobos. Shady as hell—money laundering, arms deals, murder by the bucketful. Miles is a target, bigger than we thought. Watch him close. Digging now, will update.
Los Lobos. The name hits like a punch, dragging me back five years to a mission that still haunts me. I grip the railing, the city blurring as the memory takes hold…
Five Years Ago
The jungle air’s thick, humid, clinging to my skin as we move through the underbrush, silent as ghosts. Los Lobos’ compound is a fortress—concrete walls, razor wire, armed guards patrolling with AKs. We’re deep in Central America, tasked with taking down their leadership, wiping the whole murderous gang out. They’re a cartel with a body count longer than my arm—drugs, trafficking, executions—and the Guard’s been hired to cut the head off the snake. Me, Cole, Max, and two others—Symon and Kent—are crouched in the shadows, our black tactical gear blending with the night. The plan’s simple: infiltrate, neutralize the boss, extract. But nothing’s ever simple.
“Eyes on the east gate,” Cole whispers through the comms, his scope trained from a ridge. “Two guards, sloppy. We move in five.”
I nod, checking my automatic, the suppressor screwed tight. Kent’s next to me, his jaw set, eyes sharp. Symon is on my other side, younger, eager, but steady. We’ve done this dance before, but Los Lobos is different.
They’re ruthless, and they know we’re coming.
Intel leaked—someone on the client’s side fucked us.
“Go,” Cole says, and we move, shadows slipping through the jungle.
Max breaches the gate with a silenced shot, dropping one guard, while I take the other, my bullet clean through his temple.
We’re inside, moving fast, the compound a maze of concrete and steel. The boss, Carlos “El Cuervo” Vargas, is in the main building, third floor. We reach it, stacking up by the door, when it goes to hell.
An explosion rips through the courtyard—RPG, from the west. The blast throws me against the wall, my ears ringing.
“Ambush!” Max shouts, and gunfire erupts, automatic rounds chewing up the concrete.
Kent is on his feet, returning fire, but a burst catches him in the chest. He drops, blood pooling, his eyes wide and unseeing. I curse, dragging Symon behind cover, my heart hammering. “Cole, sitrep!” I bark into the comms.
“Pinned down,” Cole growls. “They’ve got snipers. Move to the target, now!”
Symon and I sprint for the building, Max covering us with suppressive fire. Inside, it’s chaos—guards everywhere,shouting in Spanish, bullets flying. I take out two with quick shots, my training kicking in, but Symon is too eager, breaking cover to flank. A guard pops up, an AK blazing, and Symon goes down, a red mist where his face was.
I choke back a yell, my vision narrowing.
No time to mourn.
I reach the third floor, kicking in Vargas’ door. He’s there, a wiry bastard with cold eyes, reaching for a pistol. I don’t hesitate—two shots, chest and head, and he’s done.
But the compound’s a deathtrap now, guards swarming. Max and Cole link up with me, and we fight our way out, dragging Symon’s body, leaving Kent behind. We had no choice. There was no other way.
The jungle swallows us as we escape, the cartel’s screams fading.
Two Guards lost, a dozen enemies dead, and Vargas gone.
Victory, but it tastes like ash…
Back in the present day, I blink, the memory fading, the city’s glow snapping me back to the present. My knuckles are white on the railing, my whisky forgotten on the table beside me. Kent and Symon—good men, brothers—died because of bad intel, and now Los Lobos is back, or some version of it, tied to Knox & Rain.
Miles’ firm is in bed with a resurrected version of the cartel we bled to stop, and he’s caught in the crossfire. He doesn’t know, or if he does, he’s a better liar than I thought.
I glance back at him, asleep on the couch, Bean clutched tight.
