Makarov lifted his chin slightly, searching for something on my face.
“Fine,” Makarov finally replied. “If we catch him alive, he’s yours. No promises.”
It was the best I could ask for under the conditions of a firefight in a New York City apartment. We pushed our way inside the building to find a long hallway with stairs at the end of it.
“What floor does she live on?” I asked.
“Fourth,” Makarov responded. Working together as a team, we cleared each space before making our way up the stairs. It was eerily quiet, but thankfully, we didn’t run into any other civilians. Guess they were all smart enough to stay inside.
“Why does Zoya live in this shithole, anyway?” Ryu grunted.
“Fuck me, I don’t want to talk about it,” Konstantin responded. “That girl is too damn headstrong.”
“Reminds me of someone,” Ryu snickered.
I held back my smile, but yeah. Leona and Zoya seemed like they’d get along.
We went floor by floor. On the second floor, a man leapt at us from a hidden alcove in the stairwell, knife in hand, and screaming in Spanish. In a blur, I wrapped my garrote around his neck, twisting it while he kicked against my body. Strangled sounds fell from his lips, but all else was silent. The metal bit into the skin of his neck, slicing through it until he went limp. I dropped his bloodied corpse to the ground.
“Damn,” Ryu said, rubbing his neck. “That thing scares me.”
I rolled my eyes, wiping my garrote down to wrap it around my hand again. “Don’t cross me then.”
He chuckled while we continued our way up the stairs until we finally made it to the fourth floor. Makarov’s head poked over the top of the stairs. A gunshot sliced through the air. I yanked Makarov back in time for the bullet to slam into the wall behind us.
“Surrender right fucking now!” Makarov shouted. “Get the fuck out of my city!”
No response.
“Flashbang?” I asked. “Then we charge.”
The longer we drew this shit out, the more collateral damage we’d run into—and the more likely we’d have a mess with law enforcement on our hands.
Ryu pulled the small concussive grenade from the pocket of his pants.
“Zoya’s apartment is the third on the right,” Makarov whispered.
We all nodded that we were ready before Ryu tossed the flashbang.
I ducked, eyes closed, as it detonated. My ears rang, but I surged up the rest of the stairs first, with Ryu right at my heels.
I lined up two shots and the two cartel members waiting outside her door dropped to the ground. Neither of their faces matched the pictures I had of Arboleda.
The remaining members must be inside the apartment. If they tried to run, Obi and Wynn, plus Makarov’s men, would be ready to intercept.
“Drop your weapons,” someone shouted in Spanish from inside Zoya’s apartment. “We’ll kill you!”
I froze outside the door. My heartbeat roared in my ears, so loud I thought it might drown out the very proof in front of me.
It was him. I knew it.
All the memories of that night rushed back.
It was the same fucking voice. That voice had screamed at them to surrender, to get on their knees, and to face the wall. That voice had chuckled after their bodies collapsed to the ground and their blood leaked through the floorboards to drip on my pajamas. The voice that laughed and joked about their deaths for over an hour while I cowered and bit my hand to keep from sobbing.
I had to kill him. For my parents. For me.
“I vote we storm the apartment,” Ryu offered, shoulder to the wall.
