14

Ramirez Gonzales.

I step into Miguel’s territory, my boots crunch against the gravel. It's not much to look at—just another rundown corner of Southeast, where the stink of motor oil and cheap tobacco fills the air. Mateo and Mark are already here, giving me a nod, eyes are locked on the space. From the looks of it, this place is a front. One building for selling tires and motor vehicle parts, probably more shady stuff in the back. Typical.

I kick the door open without so much as a second thought, and the men inside freeze. I take the last drag of my cigarette, letting the smoke sit in my lungs for a second before flicking it to the ground and crushing it beneath my boot. The room's silent except for the sound of Jonathan’s wheezy laugh dying the moment he sees me. His smug grin fades ……