“Are you kidding? That was worth a raise.” I wink at her, then open the door. “Go on. Have a good night, firefly.”
She looks like she wants to say something, but she just offers me a smile and walks away. As she gets to the end of the hallway, I hear her mutter, “Holy fucking shit,” and it makes me chuckle as I leave the door open and return to my desk.
Three texts are waiting for me from Luke that I ignored while I was getting my little firefly off.
Totally worth it.
L: Ten minutes.
L: Need you down here, boss.
L: We have a problem.
I shove my gun in its holster, grab my suit coat, and hurry down to the loading dock. It’s a ten-minute walk from my office, and when I get there, I snarl.
“Oh, good. You finally fucking showed up.” That’s not Luke.
My second watches me with rage-filled eyes. He has three semi-automatic weapons trained on him. Three of my men are dead. The others are also held at gunpoint.
“What. The. FUCK!”
Mendoza, the new head of the cartel since his father died last month, grins, showing off a gold tooth.
What a fucking tool.
“We’re going to change our terms.”
“I’ve done business with your family for a long fucking time, Mendoza,” I reply, ignoring the snick of more guns being cocked and turned my way as I casually walk toward the man. “The terms have been mutually beneficial.”
“I’m the head now,” he sneers. “And I’ve decided that it’snotbeneficialfor me.”
Fuck you.
But I keep my face bland. “What would you like the new terms to be?”
His eyes gleam. He’s such a greedy fuck. “I’m raising the price by one hundred percent.”
I simply tip up an eyebrow and let the statement hang in the air for a moment.
“Let me get this straight. You delivered my product, but rather than make the transaction as agreed upon and then setting up a meeting with me at a later time to discuss further business dealings like a respectful head would do, you came tomydock, killedmymen, and have changed the terms.”
Mendoza tips his head to the side as if he’s thinking about it.
“That’s right.”
I shake my head and walk to Luke, staring him in the eyes, and have a silent conversation.
There are eight of Mendoza’s men here, all with weapons drawn. I have myself, Luke, and four other men.
The odds are excellent, given that my men are highly trained in hand-to-hand, but I don’t like that they’re not armed.
“I want you to toss your gun aside,” Mendoza thinks to add, and I smile at him, knowing that the look on my face makes most men piss themselves.
Mendoza’s men shift, share a look, and we use that moment to strike.
I draw my weapon and kill four of his men immediately, while Luke snaps the neck of one, and the other four of my men wipe out the rest.
Mendoza’s eyes are wide. The whole altercation took less than ten seconds.
