She knew her father was a treacherous coward. She’d never held her breath for his affection or approval. He’s sent her to do dangerous jobs before, but danger was just a part of the life they lived. However, she’d never thought he was capable of killing her outright in cold blood.
That absolute bastard. Fury washed away numbness and Sally’s rage filled her. She pumped her legs to run after Mateo and José.
As she ran through the jungle, she saw signs of the two men’s frantic chase—churned up mud, snapped twigs, trampled ferns—before catching a glimpse of color and movement ahead. She raced to catch up when she heard the loud bark of gunfire. Two shots, definitely from their direction, then silence. She burst from the underbrush, leapt over a fallen tree, and landed feet away from the two men struggling and wrestling in the mud and greenery.
José must have hid, waited for Mateo to get near, then jumped him.Her father would have fought to wrestle Mateo’s gun away. It must have gone off during the initial scuffle. Neither of them had the pistol now, both of them resorting to their fists, feet, and elbows. Sally saw the gun nestled in some underbrush only a few feet away from them.
José surged forward, moving with the speed of a man who’d spent his entire life committing violence. They collided—a mess of limbs and grunts and the wet sound of fists on flesh.
Sally watched them wrestle, two men rolling through mud and leaves, each trying to get leverage, to get on top, to get their hands around the other’s throat. José was older but had the advantages of experience and of being uninjured. Mateo was younger but had been mortally shot less than an hour ago andwas bleeding from a gaping wound somehow being held together by magical tape. It should have been obvious who would win.
It wasn’t.
Mateo was on his back with José’s knees on his chest. Her father used his girth to pin Mateo to the jungle floor as he hammered at Mateo’s face with his meaty fists. The younger man was limber enough to bring his legs up behind José, and he hooked them under her father’s arms to stop his assault.
There was a moment of a stalemate. José struggled against Mateo’s legs, not wanting to give up his dominant position on top, but not being able to punch the younger man anymore. Mateo wasn’t able to use his fists to effectively strike José’s face, but he was doing his best to wriggle out from under the large man. They cursed and spat and raged at each other while Sally watched …
Then she picked up the pistol.
The weight of it was familiar—José had started teaching her how to shoot when she was barely nine. He’d made her practice until she could hit a target from a dozen yards. “A woman in this business needs to know how to defend herself,” he’d told her. What he’d really meant was, “A woman in this business needs to be useful.”
She raised the gun and aimed it at her father.
“José,” she screamed.
Both men froze.
José looked over at her. Blood ran from his nose, dripped from his split lip. He smiled—that same smile he’d given her when she was seven and she asked if he loved her before revealing her mother had died tragically in an accident. It was a greasy and ingratiating smile. Now she questioned everything about this man.
“Put the gun down, Sally.”
“Let him go,” she ordered.
“He’s an operative. A spy. He’s been lying to all of us for years.” José’s voice was reasonable, patient, the voice of a father explaining something simple to his slow daughter. “He was never going to choose you. You know that don’t you? He was using you. Just like he used all of us.”
Mateo’s face flashed with surprise, but the revelation meant little to her.
“Let. Him. Go,” she gritted out.
“You’re not going to shoot me,” he said with a scoff. “You don’t have it in you. You’re too soft. Too weak. Just like your mother before she died.”
The words hit her like a slap.
Just like your mother.
Sally’s finger found the trigger.
“Sally—” José’s voice had lost its patience. Now it was sharp with warning. “Don’t make a mistake you can’t take back.”
“The only mistake I ever made was listening to you.” She took a breath. “You taught me to shoot. You taught me to be useful. You taught me that to succeed inthisbusiness, you have to do what needs to be done.” Another breath. “I’m doing what you have always wanted me to do. I am putting the man I choose in charge.”
“You stupid?—”
She pulled the trigger.
The shot cracked through the jungle, sent birds exploding from nearby trees, echoed off the canopy and came back hollow. José’s body jerked once then went still. He fell sideways into the mud and didn’t move again. Blood trailing down his face from the near perfect wound on his forehead.
Sally lowered the gun. Her hands were still steady.