𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 | 𝟏𝟖+

37

The entire sky is lit up like the Fourth of July, explosions going off left and right. I can't tell if it's our guys or Ramirez's. All I know is that each blast sends another jolt of fear straight to my core, because Damien's still out there somewhere.

I walk around the perimeter of the burning warehouse, my eyes straining to see anything through the smoke and flames. Out of nowhere, I slam into a wall of solid muscle, my rifle clattering to the ground. I look up, when I see the face looming over me... I know this man. Not one of the ones who laid hands on me, no... but the fucker who whispered poison in my ear, who promised to make me watch as they tore Damien apart piece by piece.

His words come flooding back, echoing in my head. Taunting me, mocking me.

He raises his gun, a grin splitting his face like a gash. But he's too slow, and too fucking cocky. I move out of the way a split second before he fires, the bullet whizzing past my head close enough to ruffle my hair.

I launch myself at his knees. We go down, his gun dropping out of his hand. We grapple like wild dogs. My fingers close around my knife, yanking it free from its sheath. But before I can plunge it into his neck, he bucks me off, sending me sprawling. his boot's slam into my ribs, once, twice, a cry echoing through the night.

Pain explodes through me, so intense it steals the breath from my lungs. But I don't have time to dwell on it, because he's reaching for his fallen gun, murder in his eyes.

Fuck. That.

I whip out the pistol strapped to my thigh, my arm swinging up in a wide arc. The first shot takes him high in the chest, punching through like tissue paper. He staggers back, his mouth falling open in shock as blood spreads across his chest.

But I'm not done, nowhere near fucking done. I stand up, and pull the trigger again and again, and again the gun bucking in my hand as I paint the ground with his blood.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" I hiss, my boot coming down on his rib cage.

One more shot between the eyes for good measure.

Fourteen down. A whole cartel left to go.

But first, I have to find Damien. I turn my back on the corpse, my boots squelching in the spreading pool of blood. My phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I snatch it up with shaking hands, my heart in my throat as I pray for Damien's name on the caller ID.

It's not him. It's Rome, sounding panicked. "Cat, where the fuck are you? We're pulling out, we gotta get out of here!"

"I'm not leaving without Damien," I grit out. "There was an explosion, we got separated. I don't... I don't know where he is."

Rome's cursing up a storm on the other end of the line, his voice rising with each word. "Fuck, fuck! Okay. Just tell me where you are, Cat. I'm coming to get you, we'll find him together."

I give him my location, my eyes never leaving the burning warehouse. The flames are climbing higher now, devouring everything in their path. And Damien... he's trapped in that inferno.

I don't even think, I just run into the blaze.

The smoke hits me, thick and suffocating as it claws its way down my throat. The heat is almost unbearable, searing my skin as I stumble blindly through the smoke.

"Damien!" I scream, my voice swallowed up by the roar of the flames. "Damien, where are you?!"

But there's no answer. Just the crackling of the fire and the groaning of metal as parts of the warehouse begin to collapse in front of me. My lungs are screaming for air. It's like breathing in razor blades.