Of course, things didn’t go as planned. El Charro’s men started shooting when they realized what was happening, but they didn’t stand a chance. Emilio Zamora did not trust anonymous tips received over the phone. He had his moles look into it, and then he brought a veritable army with him. It was paying off. They overwhelmed the guards outside and stormed into the warehouse, guns blazing.
Damian crawled to the back door, over the bodies of the dead guards. Going back inside was a fool’s mission, but he had to get Rafael out. The only thing that kept him moving forward was his combat training, and the rush of adrenaline that jolted through his system. He ignored the zing of bullets, the splinters flying in the air, the steady stream of spent brass casings as they clanged on the floor. Half the lights were gone, bulbs shattered, and bodies lay around him—some lifeless, some screaming in agony. The warehouse was hazy with gunpowder and the grit of boxes spewing drugs into the air. It was hard to breathe, hard to see, but Damian kept crawling until he was under the table. Rafael was crouched at the other end. His hands were over his ears and he was rocking back and forth on his heels.
Damian had almost reached him when two men fell to the floor, toppling over the chairs. They rolled around, one trying to snatch the gun away from the other. Shoe-polish black hair glistened in the semi-darkness. El Charro was wrestling with Emilio Zamora.
“Damian!” El Charro spotted him under the table. They both saw the other gun, lying discarded by Damian’s foot. “Give it to me.” El Charro held out his hand.
Their eyes met for a fraction. Damian wanted to pick up the gun and pump El Charro’s body full of lead, but he knew that would ruin his plan. At the same time, he couldn’t let El Charro kill Emilio until he and Rafael were safely out of the building.
Damian kicked the gun out of El Charro’s reach. “Maria Luisa Alavarez,” he said. “Remember my mother’s name when you meet your maker.”
El Charro’s face registered shock and disbelief, not because he had a clue what Damian was talking about, but because of the betrayal. It was momentary, because Emilio pulled El Charro up by the collar, and El Charro had more important things on the line. Like his life.
Damian continued making his way to Rafael. There was no turning back for him now. He had spoken his truth, let El Charro see the hate in his eyes. If El Charro survived, it would mean the end for Damian. But Damian needed him to survive just a little bit longer.
“Rafael.” He shook him.
But Rafael was in shock, like he’d been when he’d peered through the bathroom door and witnessed his parents die. Gunfire was his biggest phobia.
“Rafael.” Damian slapped him twice. It was enough to rouse him out of his personal hell.
“I hid under the table. Like you said.” Rafael still had Damian’s note scrunched up in his fist.
“Good. Now listen to me,” said Damian. “Keep your head down, keep crawling until you get to the door.” He pointed to the exit in the back.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you. Don’t look back. Just keep going. When you make it to the door, run for the trees. You got that?”
Rafael flinched as a spray of bullets riddled the crates behind them.
“Rafael? You got that?”
Rafael nodded and started making his way under the table.
Damian spotted Comandante 21 lying on the floor. His eyes were open, but he was gone. Damian felt for the strap around his ankle. He removed the knife that Comandante 21 always carried with him. El Charro and Emilio Zamora were still struggling like giants in the arena. Crawling back under the table, Damian waited until their legs were inches from him. Then he reached out and slashed the back of Emilio Zamora legs, severing the tendons that held him up. Emilio Zamora fell to his knees.
“What did you do that for?” Rafael looked at Damian with his mouth open.
“I told you to keep going.”
“But Emilio was just about to kill El—”
“Move, Rafael!”
Rafael didn’t argue. The two boys made it out and dashed for the trees. Behind them, the carnage continued. When they got to the top of the hill, Damian turned around.
“I don’t get it.” Rafael was bent over, trying to catch his breath. “Why didn’t you go after El Charro?”
“I needed him alive,” said Damian.
“But—”
Just then, a fireball erupted in the warehouse, a thunderous explosion of heat and smoke. All they could hear through muffled ears was a highpitched ‘eeeeee’, as a second sun spewed glass and debris into the air. One side of the warehouse stood, quaking unsteadily, before collapsing in a cloud of dust and ash. Everything stopped—the wind in the trees, the birds, the animals. It was a strange silence, filled with the blaring of car alarms.
“What did you do?” asked Rafael, through the haze-filled heat.
“I rigged the place with explosives and placed the trigger in El Charro’s cane. The moment he brought down the retractable blade . . . KABOOM.”
“That’s why you stopped Emilio from gaining the upper hand. You wanted El Charro to kill him. You knew El Charro wouldn’t be able to resist marking him, just like he had marked his brother.”