Page 52 of Devil's Claim

Either that or he’d been warned at what time to leave the residence.

Sadly, his luck or good fortune wouldn’t last.

While I certainly wouldn’t consider myself a humanitarian under the best of circumstances, I wasn’t desensitized to death and the meaning of taking a life. I’d done so with care over the years, unlike the majority of cartel members who killed indiscriminately.

In my line of work, this was entirely too personal.

I’d always been extremely focused when entering any situation. Without full concentration, I’d be rotting in the ground somewhere if not burned at the stake. I was good at what I did because it had never been done with emotions.

Until now.

If I could spend the time making him suffer the way he’d done with Christine, that would make me the happiest man in the world. But I couldn’t. I’d be forced to settle for his death by my hands.

I moved toward the interior door, both my soldiers following behind me. As anticipated, the door was unlocked, allowing us inside the house with no difficulties.

If only all nighttime maneuvers could be this easy.

There were two doors in the large kitchen, a single light on over the stove. I moved toward the sink, glancing at the few dishes inside. As soon as I did, my muscles tensed. There was a plastic cup with a lip and straw along with a small plate inside.

The boy was here.

Yet another complication.

I motioned Benito and Carlos off to one side while I took the other. It didn’t take long to determine where the bastard was holed up for the night.

Using a single finger, I pushed open the door, taking a good look at the interior of the room. Some might call it a man cave with dark wood and a dartboard on one side, and leather furniture than had seen better days. There was also a makeshift bar, although it was not something I’d allow inside my home.

And as almost every red-blooded male in the States, he had a huge big-screen television against one wall. How the hell could he even see anything given the furniture was so fucking close? Maybe he was nearsighted.

The sound was also so loud there was no chance he heard our approach. If the child was in the house, that also meant he couldn’t hear if the boy was in distress. Or even just experiencing a nightmare.

That fucking made me hate him that much more. Every child needed to be comforted after a terrible dream.

I walked closer, still holding the weapon in both hands, but keeping it lowered. The man wasn’t any threat at this point.

Benito grinned when I glanced in his direction and both my soldiers moved against the opposite walls, mostly for the show. I could handle one man easily on my own. Maybe I’d make it interesting and use my knife. The thought perked me up more than before.

What the hell was he watching? It looked like some stupid movie where only the dumbest people on Earth embraced the comedy.

Perhaps he’d yet to hear the news. Maybe it was time to break it to him.

With his feet propped up on an old coffee table, a beer in his hand and leaning back against the sofa’s cushions, he paid no attention to me when I walked toward the plug, yanking the cord for the television.

“What the fuck?”

As soon as he jerked forward, I tilted my head, shaking it a few times. “You should be watching the news.”

He swallowed visibly and slowly placed his beer on the table. At least his feet were off. What would his mama think about his actions? “What news?”

Interesting. He was already squawking instead of snarling like he’d done before. My guess was that he’d had an eye opening as to who I was. That was good since I loathed being forced to explain myself to idiots.

That usually took too much time.

“Your girlfriend is dead, killed by soldiers in an attack on her home.” I’d be damned if he didn’t have a confused look on his face. “Ms. Cordello?”

He certainly didn’t act like the news hit him too hard. “Sorry to hear that.” He grabbed and took a long pull on his beer.

I sighed and glanced from Carlos to Benito. This was what the Americans called a man who thought his shit didn’t stink. Typically, things were so much easier. I’d go into a business or home, wipe out the soldiers guarding the place with a spray of bullets, and find the asshole I was really looking for hiding under a cabinet or in some useless panic room he’d believed would protect him. Then I’d enjoy making the choice of how to end his life.