Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(60)

From my spot across the street, I can’t hear what they’re saying, but there seems to be a lot of gesturing with breadsticks. Who the fuck knows what point the cartel guy is trying to make.

Time ticks by slowly as I wait for my moment. I need them all to be relaxed, close to thinking the deal will be done, gone off without a hitch.

I pull out my rifle and line it up, sighting down the scope to get the perfect shot.

Just seeing Ivan’s face makes my stomach turn, and the thought of putting a bullet in his brain makes me so damn happy.

I can see his stupid forehead, clear in my sights, and I narrow my focus, letting out a slow, controlled breath. There’s a place of inner peace I tap into, finger curling on the trigger. This is it. With one shot, the list will be all crossed off. My sister will be avenged. Everyone who thought they could fuck with me and get away with it will be dead.

One more breath. In. Out.

As I finish the exhale, I take my shot, pulling the trigger.

There’s always a moment whenever I snipe someone where time seems to slow down. I feel the kickback of the bullet leaving the gun, and even though it happens in a split second, it feels like I can watch the path as it streaks through the air.

In my mind, I’ve pictured it a thousand times since I picked this spot. The bullet whizzing through the air and slamming into Ivan’s skull, dropping him in an instant. Then I disappear, and no one will ever know it was me who did it.

That isn’t what happens.

In the split second after I pull the trigger, Ivan moves. A fly or something flies into his face, causing him to knock over his water glass. He leans back from the table, and the cartel guy leans forward, putting him right in my line of fire.

Instead of the bullet dropping Ivan, it hits the side of the other guy’s head, killing him instantly.

He slumps over the table, bleeding from the wound, and time seems to freeze and then kick into overdrive.

My heart slams against my ribs, and Ivan and all the men gathered around react immediately, realizing they’re under fire.

I scramble to pull myself together, trying to get a clear shot of Ivan so I can at least do what I came here for, but he runs for the cover of the restaurant, and I miss my chance completely. There won’t be another shot.

Dammit. Fucking goddamn.

I was so fucking close.

The cartel guy’s men have been scrambling around, going to their leader to check his pulse, to keep people from getting too close. Before I can duck down and hide myself and the gun, one of them looks up, right at me.

Fuck!

I hear a shout and he points at me, directing the others. They take off, pelting across the street, and I scramble to get off the roof before they get here. All my escape routes won’t mean shit if they catch me.

I throw my sniper rifle back into the bag and run down the fire escape, nearly tripping over the metal stairs in my hurry. I can hear them shouting in Spanish, and when I get low enough that I can think about jumping down, I see that they’ve fucking boxed me in. They’ll catch me in a second.

There’s no time to think or be careful. I just jump for it, and as soon as I do, I know it’s too high. I land poorly, hitting the pavement at a bad angle and twisting the shit out of my ankle as I roll.

There’s no time to care about that either. I pop back up as fast as I can and take off running down the alley, shoving aside the pain and trying to put distance between us so I can try to slip away into a crowd or a shop or something. It doesn’t even matter. I just have to get out of there.

Running hurts on my twisted ankle, and my bag jostles against my back, but I don’t slow down as I break left down a side street and then into another alley, searching frantically for another fire escape or something I can climb up. Maybe if I can get up onto another roof or something, I can lose them.

The sound of furious footsteps catches up with me faster than I’d have liked, and it only takes another few seconds before the goons are too close for comfort, shouting at each other and probably at me.

I skid into another alley, my ankle throbbing with pain. I grit my teeth, chest heaving and lungs burning. Before I can choose a direction to go, those footsteps come thundering into the alley behind me, and the jig is fucking up.

“There you are, you little bitch,” one of them says, his accent thick. He has a gun in his hand, aimed right at me. “You killed Diego. Who the fuck are you?”

For once, I don’t have a smart, snappy comeback for someone threatening me. My body is exhausted, my heart is hammering in my chest, and every nerve in my body is wired for escape.

There are three of them and only one of me, and the rifle in my bag won’t be any help. I don’t have anything but the knife I keep on me at all times to try to defend myself against these fuckers.

I hear the sound of metal on metal, and my gaze darts sideways to see that one of the others has flicked open a switchblade. He advances on me, murder in his eyes, and I back up slowly, not taking my gaze off him. It would be smarter to look for an exit, to find some way out, but then the first guy would probably just shoot me in the back. I’m sure the only reason he hasn’t popped me off already is because he wants answers before I die.

No more running.

I’ll have to fight my way out of this.

Adrenaline is crashing through me, making me feel hopped up on something. Switchblade guy lunges, and I dodge out of the way, tripping him up and sending him sprawling as I move.