Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 170747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 683(@250wpm)___ 569(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 683(@250wpm)___ 569(@300wpm)
By the time we climb up the final rocky hillside, my tank is soaked through, and dusty desert sand sticks to every inch of my damp skin. Una lies on her stomach, a pair of binoculars pressed to her face. Below us is a simple-looking ranch. There are several barns and a farmhouse, all of which back onto a dirty-looking lake. The ranch is surrounded on all sides by hills, not unlike mine and Rafael’s lake. It would be nearly impossible to find if you didn’t know it was here, and you certainly wouldn’t expect a cartel boss to be hiding out here.
“I count twenty-three guards. Could be more in the buildings,” Una says.
“He’s here,” Sasha murmurs. “That’s too many men.”
“Too many for us?” I ask.
He snorts, and a rare smile touches his lips. “Of course not.”
“We use the hills to approach. There’s a spot where there’s a steep incline up against the edge of the lake.” She points it out. “It’s unguarded.”
Half an hour later and I’m dangling on a rocky cliff face by a rope. Una’s two-minute explanation on how to abseil really wasn’t all that helpful, and they’re long gone. I ease my way down the cliff side, trying to breathe properly as I feed the rope inch by inch through the pulley. At one point it slips, tearing across the skin of my palm and burning my hand.
“Come on, Anna,” Una says from somewhere below me.
“You’re not helping!” I daren’t look down, and as darkness encroaches, it’s very hard to make out how far I even am from the top anymore.
I move another few inches before hands land and on my waist. Whipping my head around, I come face to face with Sasha’s impatient expression. He plonks me on the floor and starts tugging the ropes and harness off me.
“We need to move,” he says when he’s done, leaving me to put it all in the rucksack. I shove the gear inside and jog to catch up with them. We have to wade through the edge of the lake, and the water is up to my waist. I try not to think of all the things living in here.
When we make it out of the water, we’re at the boundary fence of the property. Una makes quick work of cutting the chainlink fence, but stops and turns to me before going through.
“Don’t freeze. It’ll cost you your life here.” And on that encouraging titbit of advice, she disappears through the fence. Don’t freeze. I won’t. I refuse to be the weak link, the useless one who may just get shot because of her misplaced sense of right and wrong. The fact is; right and wrong don’t exist out here. This is just bad men and worse men, nothing else. My error with the Sheriff was in thinking that a man with a badge must still have some good in him. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter. It’s not my job to pass judgment on a man, simply survive. Kill or be killed. I’m not sure if I want it to get easier or not. Part of me wishes that I could just kill a man and move on like Una does, whilst the other hopes that I never take the loss of any life that lightly.
Death in itself has become common practice to me. I’ve watched slaves shot for escaping, strangled to death while they’re raped, or put down for contracting an STD. The brutality of death is no stranger to me, but when it’s on my hands…it is.
I remain close to Una as we move past the fence line and tuck into the side of an outbuilding. She glances at Sasha, and he nods before disappearing into the shadows. They don’t really need words to communicate. They think in exactly the same way, both raised to think only of strategy and killing. In a way, I feel sorry for my sister, even as I’m in awe of her.
Una checks her watch a couple of times as we wait. There’s a clearing in front of us between three buildings. Several men are gathered there, milling about with rifles clutched in their hands. They don’t look like cartel. Dominges must have hired mercenaries to protect him. It would seem he fears Rafael more than he lets on. Or maybe it’s the death of his brother that has him surrounding himself with a small army.
I’m distracted by the muted pop of a gun firing, followed by another and another. Men start to drop like puppets with their strings cut. The others start frantically looking for where the gunfire is coming from. Some fire in the direction of the roof of one of the barns. Others scatter, taking cover behind various outbuildings. Either way, their shots have now broken our element of surprise and they’re scattering like fleeing prey.