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Chapter One

Tracker

Sitting in this musty night air, the last thing I expected was my phone to buzz. When I'm on a job, I usually leave it in the glove box, but for some reason, I had it in my pocket. I'm a death dealer. Which is, if you have a problem you need removed from your life, you hire me and I dispose of your issue.

I work for one of the largest cartels in the United States. Most believe that there aren't any cartels here, that they only exist in foreign countries. That makes it easier for us to exist— hiding in plain sight if you will.

I contemplated not looking at the phone, but something told me I should check the message. It was a gut punch. My brother and his wife were in an accident and had died. My niece, who was now my last living descendant, was letting me know. I sent her a quick message back that I would grab a plane the next day.

When I slide the phone in my pocket, I see my target. He's been running from me for weeks. I make sure he sees me before I put the bullet between his eyes .

Cait

My life has been a whirlwind since that fatal night. I walk around like a zombie, barely able to keep my emotions in check. Burying my mother and father on the same day was soul shattering. I had to identify the bodies, then the Chaplain of the hospital they were taken to sat down with me to discuss what my next steps were.

I never realized what it entailed when someone died. I had to go to the funeral home to set up viewing times and funeral date. That took five hours, and I left knowing I needed to bring back pictures and clothes for them to be buried in. Then I had to go to the cemetery and purchase plots. I never realized the funeral home didn't take that task on for grieving families. Except for me, I didn't have any family left except Uncle Tracker.

Going to the cemetery, seeing the stones that marked graves, made it all too real for me. I sat in my car and finally let the floodgates open. Once I started to cry, I couldn't stop. How could they both leave me? How would I go on without them? The more questions I asked myself, the more I cried. I knew I needed to dry my eyes, and go in. Our families motto was never let ‘em see you sweat. Which translated to - never lose your cool in public. My mother taught me it was okay to grieve, just not in front of people. She always said that's what all the extra pillows on my bed were for, so I could bury my head in them and scream or cry.

Finally, with my face swollen and nose sniffling, I walked into the office. A woman took one look at me and threw her arms around me. I was not a person who liked people who I didn't know touching me, but damn I needed that hug. She scooted me back to her office.

“I know how scary this is. I will guide you through the process,” Christine, the woman who hugged me, informed me.

I nodded, still not trusting myself to speak. I handed her the folder that the funeral home gave me. She opened it up and smiled softly.

“Oh, honey. You lost both parents?”

I nodded again, feeling the wetness all over my face. I just couldn't turn it off. I knew this wasn't how I was supposed to be. I was supposed to be strong, but damn it was so hard.