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.”
Damian kept staring at the warehouse. Nothing had survived—not the men, not the drugs, not the decoy cans of smoked sardines.
“Shit, Damian,” said Rafael, as realization dawned on him. “We’re free of El Charro and the cartel. They’ll think we died in there, with everyone else. They’ll think it was a fight to the death between El Charro and Emilio Zamora. ‘C’ for cesado. Finished. Dismissed. You fucking charbroiled El Charro and everyone else.”
“We’re not in the clear yet, Rafael. They’ll find traces of explosives if they look closely.”