Page 35 of Kill Shot

Reckoning

Nico

There was really only one thing that Nico concluded after flying and driving with Pablo and his men for five days straight: Seb must have gotten his bubbly, talkative nature from someone else.

Because Pablo was an icy, silent man that brooded every step of the way, tapping his fingers as murderous intent overflowed from him.

The problem was that Nico was the exact same way, and with the two of them occupying the same space, it felt like they were just a hair away from exploding at any given moment.

It had taken two days for them to make arrangements for the journey to Mexico.

Nico, with some of the Altamirano men, had gone to pick up his own arsenal while Pablo prepared his private jet.

Within hours of wrapping up, the two of them were en route to an airfield just south of the Texas border, along with a dozen of Pablo’s best men.

They were, as far as Nico could tell, hardened veterans of the trade, and every single one of them seemed at ease with assault rifles, bulletproof vests, and high explosives.

Once they’d landed, they’d driven for three days the rest of the way, guided by the intelligence that Pablo had gathered years ago for his assault on the Red Fangs, then Nico’s personal familiarity when they got close enough.

The hideout of the Black Cobra was situated in a desert canyon, fortified in a sprawling complex of bunkers, watch posts, and subterranean storage rooms. It was Bolero’s headquarters, from which he organized distribution, protection money collection, and punitive violence.

The last, of course, had always been Bolero’s favorite, and he kept nothing less than a private army on hand to enforce his iron will across all his territories.

“There’s one thing that’s been bothering me,” Nico said as he looked out the window at the dusty wasteland they were traversing. “Where exactly did the Red Fangs operate?”

Pablo was silent for a time. They were the only two in the back of this particular truck.

“Where do you think?” he eventually asked. It was the first exchange of words the two men had had in many hours.

Nico didn’t know if he should pry too deeply here. Not because he was afraid of anything that Pablo might say, but because he didn’t know if he could handle the crushing revelation that he suspected.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that the Red Fangs used to operate in some of the territories that the Black Cobra now control. Probably the east coast and around the southern border, the ones that Bolero acquired when he expanded explosively two decades ago.”

“You hit the nail right on the head.”

That pretty much answered that. But almost knowing wasn’t quite the same thing as knowing.

“Did Bolero set my uncle up?” Nico asked quietly. “Did he push him to go to war with you? Did he cause his downfall so that he could swoop in after and devour the remnants of the Red Fangs?”

Pablo didn’t turn to look at him. He too was looking out the window, but in the reflection on the glass, Nico could make out squinting eyes and thin lips pressed tightly together.

But then he sighed and turned, facing Nico with an expression that could only be described as infinitely weary.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I’ve wondered about it for a long time, but I don’t know for sure.

I know that Bolero took over Mattias’s territory, but I don’t know if it was because he was an opportunistic vulture or if it may have been more calculated than that.

I don’t know if Mattias needed all that money because he had legitimate problems, but it may have been because Bolero was pressuring him to make bad investments, then poisoning his mind by telling him that he could get out of his repayment obligations by putting a bullet in my Roberta. I just don’t know.”

It was too much to ask for Pablo to sympathize with his uncle. There was no way he could juggle that along with the determination and focus necessary to save Seb.

But hatred for Bolero? That he could use, and so he let it course through his veins, festering in his heart and turning into a burning, violent need.

Yes, he was going to put a bullet in Bolero, and if a single hair on Seb’s head had been harmed, then he was gonna do so, so much worse.