The shorter man stared him straight in the eye.“It was kill or be killed, boss.”
Enrique battled back his anger and stomped forward.“All right, Officer Sanchez.Why did you turn against us?”
The shuddering man lifted his head and spat a mouthful of blood at Enrique’s feet, which barely missed him.“F-fuck you.”
Sighing, Enrique shrugged off his suit jacket, handed it to Muniz, and rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows.“Answer my questions, and I won’t hurt you.Not more than you already are.”
The cop pursed his lips and slammed his eyelids shut.
“Stubbornness will only cause you more pain.”Enrique withdrew his serrated knife from the holster and turned it from side to side so that the spotless blade and the onyx gemstone in the black hilt gleamed in the overhead light.“Look at me, Sanchez.”He waited until the man obeyed.“Do you know who I am?”
A quick nod.“I know you.Seen your pictures online.”
“They call me El Tajador because I’m good with knives.Cutting, slicing, stabbing, holding a man on the edge of death to draw out his agony.Do you want to feel my blade?”
Sanchez trembled harder, his teeth chattering.
Mierda.He didn’t have much time before the man keeled over.“Talk.”He fisted Sanchez’s sweat-slicked hair, yanked his head to the side, and scraped the razor-sharp blade against his throat.A thin sliver of blood leaked from the cut.“Why did you betray us?”
“I-I b-be-betrayed no one.”Red spittle leaked down his chin.
“So you didn’t accept my money and then shoot my men?”
“M-money?”
Enrique paused.The muscle in his jaw ticked.“Explain.”
Sanchez sealed his chapped lips.
He trailed the knife lightly across Sanchez’s right cheek and the bridge of his pudgy nose to his left cheekbone.The skin peeled open just enough to release a trickle of blood and a shitload of fear.If allowed to heal, the wound wouldn’t even scar.Only Sanchez would never know that.The fool should’ve realized that neither of his fellow officers were going to back his heroic play.Some sense of misplaced duty or honor had driven him to put his nose where it didn’t belong—right in cartel business.
Enrique sliced the man’s ruined shirt in two and let it gape over his poorly bandaged gut.
“You’re on my payroll, Sanchez.Did you have a change of heart at the worst possible moment?”He pressed the flat of the blade onto the cop’s nipple.
“Ahh!”Choking on a startled gasp, he jerked and swung from the chains.“N-never.Not on payroll.W-would never t-take cartel blood money.”
An alarm blared.Red lights flashed from the corners.
Enrique flipped around as his enforcers grabbed their weapons.
“I’ll check the cameras.”Rascón raced down the hall toward the surveillance room.
Something wasn’t right.Enrique cocked his head at the cop.The man was too young, too inexperienced.Unless he had connections or a secret skill, no one from the cartel would’ve approached him with a business proposal.
The noise and lights cut off simultaneously.
Rascón returned.“Boss, your wife tripped the south wing perimeter alarm.”
“Goddamn it.Bring her in.”Enrique braced his fist against his forehead as the enforcer headed off.If Muniz hadn’t advised him to get to the Warehouse sooner rather than later, he would’ve taken Lourdes home first.But the cop was dying.Time was fading.Fast.He met his lieutenant’s frustrated gaze.“Days like this, I wish I smoked.”
Muniz snorted as the other guys chuckled.The lieutenant snatched his pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket.“Want one?”he rasped.
Shaking his head, Enrique pursed his lips as Muniz lit up and blew a noxious smoke ring.He’d rather eat glass than suck that nastiness into his lungs.Cigars were his preference.A sharp, classy vice.Something that didn’t smell as though it belonged in a toxic waste dump.
He cleaned his blade on the dying man’s shirtsleeve before he holstered it.“Jacket.”Once Muniz handed over the garment, Enrique pulled out his phone and tossed him back the jacket.He scrolled through his contacts and smashed the button for Detective Ibarra.
Two sets of footsteps—one heavy, one light—thudded on the concrete floor.
