There, hanging in the middle of the room from meat hooks, were Renaldo Romero and Reed Scott, each man stripped naked, bloody and bruised.
Looking from the soon-to-be-dead men to the bane of my existence, I sneered, “I still fucking hate you.”
“Aw, you love me, and you know it.” Reaper chuckled, walking over to a table and picking up a baseball bat. Slapping it against the palm of his hand a few times, he reached over and pressed play as the sounds of‘Have a Holly Jolly Christmas’by Burl Ives rang out throughout the room. Turning back to me, Reaper smiled. “Merry Christmas, Montana.”
And he was right.
It was shaping up to be a Merry Christmas after all.
Saltillo, Mexico.
Laying on the ground hidden in the brush a quarter mile away, I looked through my scope and watched as several cars pulled into the courtyard of a large mansion. Armed men jumped out of the vehicles, looking around the vast area for any danger. They were cautious, scanning the surroundings with trained eyes, their weapons ready for any threat. The mansion stood tall and intimidating, its grandeur contrasting sharply with the tense atmosphere unfolding before it.
The tension in the air seemed to dissipate slightly as the lead guard gave the all clear.
I adjusted the scope, watching Alejandro Vasquez step out of a large SUV along with his wife and two children. His presence confirmed the intelligence gathered. The family appeared calm, oblivious to the unseen eyes tracking their every movement from the concealed vantage point. Alejandro’s confident stride conveyed an air of authority, while his wife and children followed closely, their expressions serene yet vigilant.
My contract was clear.
No survivors.
Taking a deep breath, I steadied my aim, my finger hovering over the trigger. The weight of the rifle felt like a natural extension of my arm, each breath synchronizing with the rise and fall of the crosshairs. I took aim, fired, and watched the woman fall to the ground.
Guards rushed to protect Alejandro Vasquez, leaving his children unprotected. For that alone, I wanted to kill them all. The guards tried to rush Vasquez into the mansion, only to stop when I fired again in rapid succession.
The horror on Alejandro’s face was evident as he watched his two children fall to the ground next to their mother.
Now he fucking knew what genuine pain felt like.
Watching him break free from his guards, running to his dead family, he screamed out.
Yet, I felt nothing.
Not a twinge.
I should have felt something, even if it was redemption, yet I felt nothing while I watched the man who trafficked women and children cry for the ones he cared most about. His guards formed a protective barricade, their weapons at the ready as their boss screamed and howled into thin air.
The sun began to set, casting long shadows over the bloody scene. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the air thick with the stench of gunpowder and death. The guards, realizing the full extent of the massacre, began to retreat, their faces pale and stricken with fear.
Alejandro Vasquez’s cries echoed through the courtyard, a haunting symphony of anguish and despair when he reached into his coat and pulled out his own gun. He placed the barrel at his temple and pulled the trigger. His remaining guards, torn between their duty and their fear, hesitated, their eyes darting between their fallen employer and the darkening horizon.
Slipping away from my vantage point, I moved with practiced stealth, aware that the night would soon cloak the world in darkness. My contract was complete, yet the emptiness inside me remained a hollow void where vengeance should have thrived.
As the darkness enveloped the mansion, I slipped through the shadows, my footsteps silent against the warm ground. The echo of guards’ shouts faded into the distance as I made my way to my bike, but the emptiness within me gnawed at my soul, refusing to be filled by the act of revenge.
Sitting on my bike, my thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, struggling to find meaning in the hollow victory. The memory of Vasquez’s face, frozen in terror and pain, haunted my mind, yet I felt no remorse. It was at that moment I wondered if I had finally become the soulless monster that I feared.
Shaking off the inevitable, I reached for my phone and texted.
Contract completed. Alejandro Vasquez and family are dead.
December 26, 2024
Kansas
Diamondback MC clubhouse, Lawton, Oklahoma.
I should have been spending the day at the clubhouse with my wife and kids, recovering from all the Christmas chaos that ensued.
