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Forty-five minutes later, two male voices drifted through the air.
Coming closer. Joking in Spanish. A few beers in from the sound of it.
He got one piece of intel out of the exchange as they argued about who had the key—the kid’s name was Emilio.
Caleb rose silently and positioned himself behind the door.
Emilio sauntered in, Ortega a step behind.
Caleb’s arm clamped around the kid’s neck, ignoring the stab of pain from the wound on his shoulder. He pressed his Glock to Emilio’s temple and kicked the door shut.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
Ortega’s hand twitched against his thigh.
“You’ll be dead before you clear your weapon,” Caleb warned.
The older man’s hand fisted.
“You should have left town,pendejo,” Ortega spat. “Kept your nose outta someone else’s business.”
“Nosy’s my middle name.” Caleb gestured with his chin. “Sit on the bed. Hands in the air.”
He kicked the back of Emilio’s knee, sending him to the stained carpet with a grunt, then disarmed the kid.
“Up. Slow and easy. Go join your friend—hands where I can see them if you don’t want a bullet in your head.”
Caleb let the cold ruthlessness he’d honed as a Green Beret show on his face as he faced Ortega. “Been renewing old acquaintances in Gallup? On behalf of Espina Negra?”
Surprise flickered in Ortega’s eyes before he masked it with a sneer. “What fucking business is it of yours?”
Caleb gave a nonchalant shrug. “I heard Espina Negra’s peddling fentanyl through the Aztec Kings. And you’re the middleman.”
Ortega barked out a humorless laugh. “What, you looking to sample the goods? Smoke a blue?”
Rage detonated in Caleb’s chest.
Before Ortega finished the insult, Caleb pistol-whipped Emilio across the temple and shoved the barrel of his gun hard against Ortega’s skull.
“Someone important to me is dead because of that new shit.” He grabbed Ortega’s chin. Twisted the man’s head so their eyes met. “My old man was aHalcónfor Espina Negra. Bastard’s dead, so it wasn’t him. But whoever it was…”
His voice dropped to a deadly growl. “I’m going to end them.”
He cocked his head, narrowed his gaze. “Maybe it was you. You look familiar.”
Recognition widened Ortega’s eyes. “Varella. You’re his brat.”
Caleb tightened his grip on Ortega’s face. He’d been right about the connection to his father.
“Did you give my mother those pills?”
The question came out in a guttural snarl, fueled by rage and grief. The urge to put a bullet through Ortega’s brain was so strong he had to move his finger off the trigger.
Ortega tried to shake his head, but Caleb hadn’t loosened his grip.
“No man. I swear—I don’t know nothing about your mother!”
Liar.