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He watched a dark wet spot appear on Juan’s expensive pants. Deciding he had gotten his point across, he walked through the door.
Ignoring the workers and the millions of dollars of drugs before him, he moved down the stairs, his mind on his next destination. He slid into his SUV, pressed the ignition, and turned the air conditioning on full blast. The heat here was unbearable. He longed for the high hills and cool valleys of his homeland, but until this job was done, he’d be forced to be here for the foreseeable future.
Shifting into gear, he worked through the mission in his head. Contrary to what Juan Gonzalez thought, he was not a contract killer. Well, he was a killer, but he also oversaw multiple assassinations throughout the world.
This job was a bit more personal than the others. He could admit this to himself. Several of the players were well known to him. One in particular, well, she was more than that. And even though he had been given the honor of finding and destroying her, he planned to take special care with her. When the end came, his face would be the last one she saw. It was the least he could do.
After all, he owed her everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
OZ Headquarters
“Tell me something, brother, do you have a death wish?” Gideon asked.
Taking a long draw from his beer gave Hawke a few seconds to come up with a reply. He, Gideon, and Liam were sitting on the back porch of the OZ house, guzzling down excellent beer and reliving good times. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow.
“Not a death wish, but tell me how this is a bad plan. Tell me another way, and I’ll consider it.”
“We could still destroy Gonzalez without you putting a big-ass target on your back.”
“Maybe so, but it won’t be as easy or as efficient as this.” Still seeing the doubt, Hawke made his case. “Look, I’m sure they know I’m alive. I wasn’t exactly discreet when Olivia was attacked.”
He’d been too worried about her and too furious with himself for not seeing the attack on her coming. Staying low-key at that point had not been his priority.
“Which means their focus will be on me.”
“And that’s a good thing how?” Liam asked.
“With their attention on me and what I might do, OZ will have the cover we need. They’ll have no clue that a small army is going to descend on the Gonzalez cartel and blow it to pieces.”
“OZ already has a target on our backs,” Liam said. “Don’t forget they tried to kill Aubrey and me, as well as Ash. They also hacked our computers. They know we’re after them.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know we’re coming after Gonzalez.”
“Do you really see the kid coming after you himself?” Gideon asked. “He’s barely twenty, still wet behind the ears with pimples on his butt. He’s not gonna go gunslinger on you. He’ll call in the big guns, and they’re a helluva lot more competent than that little pipsqueak.”
No, Juan Gonzalez had no power, no control. He was being used, Hawke was betting his life on it. These people were too powerful, too full of themselves to allow a kid like Juan to have any kind of say-so or power. He might be the face of the Gonzalez cartel, but there was no way in hell he was making any decisions regarding the everyday aspects of the business.
That didn’t mean Hawke couldn’t use him to his advantage.
He took another swig of his beer. “Just over the last couple of months, Juan has purchased more toys than he’ll ever get to play with. He’s a little boy in a big man’s game. He doesn’t know he’s being used as a pawn. The minute he does something this organization doesn’t like, they’ll eliminate him and put someone else in his place.” He shrugged. “Kid’s in over his head.”
“So you’re going to save him from himself?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’ll end up in a coffin.”
“Or maybe you will,” Liam said quietly.
Hawke took another slug from his bottle. “Maybe.”
And maybe he was getting soft in his old age. When they’d taken Hector Gonzalez down, Juan had been in his mid-teens. Hawke remembered him well. He’d had a mouthful of braces and a cowlick. When he and his team had infiltrated Gonzalez’s stronghold, the kid had come running out of his dad’s office. Hawke remembered the shock and fear in his eyes when he’d seen his father on his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back. He’d run toward him and had fallen face first over the dead body of one of Gonzalez’s men. When he’d gotten back up, blood had been running down his face. Hawke had learned later that a jagged piece of glass had sliced his cheek.
A few months after that, his father had been found dead in his cell. Hawke had seen photos of the funeral. Priscilla Gonzalez had stood stoic and proud beside her husband’s coffin. Her son had been beside her, and though he had stood just as stoically as his mother, the tears running down his young face had tugged at Hawke.
Life was a cruel bitch, and loss of innocence was one of her most painful lessons.
“At twenty, most kids don’t know which way is up,” Hawke said.