Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“Excuse me?”
Miguel stiffened when the question was asked a second time. He looked down at a tanned young woman with a small yet fat backpack. “Are you local, by any chance?” Her accent, while not American, was definitely not local, and she had no point of reference as to what Miguel’s tattoos might mean. Nor seen the gun he was discreetly holding at the ready. “We’re assuming that, since you have no luggage,” her male companion added and flashed them a broad smile.
“Colombian, but not local,” Nero said, but his eyes remained on the shore. Miguel’s brain flashed with the image of the green head exploding, and brains scattering over the young tourists.
But if Cano wanted us dead, he’d have shot already, he reminded himself to calm down.
“Oh, we just wanted to know if there’s any local beverages and dishes we sh—”
“Now,” Nero whispered and grabbed Miguel’s hand, lowering his head as he cut in line and dashed onto the gangplank, shoving aside the people languidly drifting to the pier with their belongings.
A man stepped in their way, opening his mouth with a furious expression, but the butt of Nero’s gun sent him where he came from, and the remaining passengers congregated on one side, making room for the two crazy men on the run.
Miguel followed despite not knowing what the plan was. His only goal was to make sure Nero’s head stayed on his neck, so he shoved someone with his elbow, uncaring whether the person deserved it or not. They weren’t the ones with a target on their forehead.
One of the Caimans fired. Miguel was pretty sure the bullet darted into the sky, but chaos erupted around him regardless. People scattered, some trying to get back on the ship, others hiding behind the shop stands. Someone even fell into the river with a loud splash as panic overcame the prey, prompting them to run amok. Miguel aimed at the Caiman, but he didn’t have a clean shot, and Nero was already pulling him along across the pier, toward a small boat moored there. A gray-haired man, the likely owner, lay next to it, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, but Nero didn’t bother addressing him and leapt into the vessel.
“Get in,” he shouted and sat in the back, right next to the motor while more gunshots erupted, sending civilians in all directions. The margin they had for error was running very thin.
Miguel didn’t need to be told twice and jumped into the rickety thing. He sat and pointed the gun at the pier where the Caimans pushed their way through the dispersing crowd. To his dread, they were already joined by another two, possibly smarter, goons who forced a different man off his motorboat.
“Full speed!” Miguel yelled to Nero, who didn’t even bother looking back.
The engine came to life, propelling the boat forward and away from the pier before making a rapid turn to continue along the river.
“You better shoot them before they blast my head off. It’s rather high-visibility,” Nero roared as the small boat cut through the water. On the shore, men ran toward their mean, black vehicles, but it was the other boat that might prove harder to evade.
Miguel was surprised they weren’t already being shot at. Yet more proof that their deaths would not satisfy the Caiman hunger for retaliation, and he wasn’t about to let either of them die a slow, torturous death.
The boat swayed from side to side, rolling Miguel inside as if he were liquid in a drunk man’s cup, but he needed to take his stand now, perhaps even stop the goons from following them. With his heart pumping madly, he pushed his feet against the wooden bench in front of him to steady himself and aimed, painfully aware of how limited his ammo supply was.
Ready to shoot, Miguel squared his shoulders, aiming past Nero as they sped along the river. The rush of air cooled his sweaty back until it felt like leaning against a block of ice, yet when not one but two motorboats sped after them, no amount of spraying water could keep his brain from overheating.
Miguel took a deep breath, focused and shot. Sink or swim. Literally.
The green trees on either side of the river melted into a blur as he focused on the one point above Nero’s shoulder—the single man driving the boat that proved faster than its sister and gained on them at a frightening rate. That damn thing could just raze their small dinghy, but it wouldn’t, because Miguel’s bullet went in the middle of its driver’s forehead.
“One down,” he shouted so Nero could hear him over the buzz of the motor as the now-driverless vessel careened to the side and grazed its sister vessel, slowing it down.
“Remember to save bullets,” Nero said, squinting as the sun illuminated the green surface of the river.