Dante

Waiting on the tarmac, I watched as the cartel’s plane landed at a small airport outside Kansas City. With my arms crossed, I leaned against my Aston Martin with a smirk on my face. A light jacket covered my holster and blocked the autumn chill in the air.

The seal on the plane released with a whoosh before the door opened, lowering the stairs. Aléjandro stepped out into the sunlight. Behind sunglasses, he scanned the tarmac, his gaze landing on me.

It had ...