The Rules Of Revenge

RN | THREE (pt. 1)

Through my binoculars it was easy to see the private boats setting up shop right in the line of action. Switching to thermal vision, I counted roughly a dozen people—mostly men—running around in their fancy boats, prepping themselves to light up the sky with their fireworks. Smirking, I left them to do as they pleased and brought my attention back to my targets. I was going to watch a different kind of fireworks tonight.

The sounds of a heated argument rose up into the air and the winds, who had sworn a blood-oath to me, carried them directly into my awaiting ears. Leaning over the rooftop, I gripped my binoculars with one hand. Clutching my stomach, I took in a few deep breaths. There were a million of butterflies swarming around in my stomach, provoking me to push the hand of Fate, but I remained put. I had already made my move. It was their turn, now.

"Where is she?" Santiago frantically exclaimed as he unlocked the garage shutters—the only entrance to his hideout and, to my surprise, the only escape.

"How the hell did you get roped into this bullshit, Iago? She's a child..." a man I had only heard about exclaimed.

Removing the binoculars, I scrunched my eyebrows as my heart rate sped up. I looked again. No matter how many times I checked, however, the man below me did not fade into the thin air. He stood there, his beer-gut toppling over the buckled belt of his low-hung jeans, surrounded by a few of his own men. The leader of Crystal Pistols, Jessie Hunter—a notorious man whose body-hiding creativity put him on multiple wanted lists. That, and the million-dollar drug trade he singlehandedly started.

I bit my lip, contemplating my next move. This was good and bad news: if Santiago brought Jessie with him, it meant I got him spooked. He was rattling in his boots, and that's exactly what I wanted. It also meant, however, that he had enough on the line to pull out the big guns. I didn't even want to picture the kind of deal he must have made with Jessie to lure him out to a death trap.

I shuddered, my eyes lingering on his face. He hadn't aged since I had last seen him. Even through the lens of the binoculars, I could feel pure rage consuming his charcoal eyes as he scoped out his surroundings. It was clear even from the distance that he had never been bothered before to pay the Blue Vulture's hideout a visit. Which only meant one thing—he was here for me.

Think, Angie. Think. What would dad do? What would Uncle Sam say? I flipped through my options. Jessie put a crater-sized dent in my plan, but I would rather fall to a certain death than let him win.

Pacing back and forth on the roof while chaos ensued below me, only one thing came to mind. I had to provoke Santiago; and, drive him up a wall so high that no one, not even Jessie, could save him from. Walking back to the edge of the rooftop, I peered into the moon-lit street below.

Judging by the shade of Santiago's face, he was on an exploding trajectory. His men, pacing back and forth as I had, were antsy, and this only fueled Santiago's anger. His own men seemed to have no faith in him, certain that tonight was going to end with bloodshed. I could hear their silent prayers, anyone but me. Please. Anyone. But, that was the core of their problem. When a man flipped on his instinctual switch, team skills and compassion flew out the window. Naturally, their defensive wall cracked, and for someone like me, who was waiting eagerly for an opportunity, the game became a tad easier.

Jessie, having realized this as well, glanced at his own miserly men, clearly outnumbered. Each man on his side was highly-trained and skilled, but this mattered least when the opposing team was larger and fueled by the will to live. As my dad used to say to his partners, when they would talk about the cases they were working on in hushed whispers, "Never underestimate the fear of death, John. When the shadowy man stands in front of you with his sharpened scythe, and you can hear your clock ticking, nothing remains impossible. A man who knows he's going to die is a man deadlier than a thousand men combined. Do you know why? He has nothing to lose. He's dead, either way."