Chapter 2
961words
Cedric and I sat in Victor's study. Everything remained untouched—the massive redwood desk, walls of leather-bound books, even the lingering scent of his favorite cigars mingled with aged paper. Only the person behind the desk had changed.
"Alan Rock must be our first target," Cedric said with cold precision. "His power base is weakest, he worships only money, and his greed blinds him completely."
I nodded. Alan was like a bloated hyena who'd caught the scent of blood—the most reckless of Victor's lieutenants.
"Victor strictly banned drug trafficking, which Alan always resented," Cedric fixed me with his razor-sharp gaze. "What he wants most now is to reopen that revenue stream. That's our hook."
His plan was elegantly lethal. We'd exploit Alan's hunger for the drug trade by dangling the prospect of direct deals with Mexican cartels. Then we'd orchestrate an "accident" at the exchange, burying Alan and his filthy ambitions in a hail of bullets.
"You're the key to making this work," Cedric said. "As Victor's woman, any 'secret connection' you mention will be beyond question. Tell him it was Victor's contingency plan, and that you need someone trustworthy to revive it. Promise him the lion's share of profits."
I studied Cedric's handsome face, which showed no more emotion than if we were discussing a business acquisition rather than a man's life. As a fellow undercover cop, I knew this clinical detachment was necessary, but his coldness sent shivers down my spine.
The plan unfolded flawlessly. When I "accidentally" mentioned the fictional Mexican connection to Alan, his piggy eyes lit up with such naked greed it almost made me recoil. Without a hint of suspicion, he immediately began gathering every dollar he could access, ready to make his big play.
The deal was set for three nights later at an abandoned drive-in theater on the outskirts of town.
En route to our destination, I sat silently watching neon lights blur past the window. Cedric drove with intense focus, the atmosphere between us charged with unspoken tension.
"Nervous?" he asked suddenly.
"That word isn't in my vocabulary," I replied coolly.
He chuckled softly and fell silent.
Unbidden, another man's face flashed through my mind. On a night just as dark as this one, Victor and I had stood on the villa's terrace. He'd pointed at the glittering tapestry of lights below, his expression more solemn than I'd ever seen.
It had happened after Victor publicly shut down Alan's latest pitch for entering the drug trade. I'd carefully asked why he so adamantly opposed it.
He'd been quiet for a long moment before drawing me into his arms, his voice deep but tender: "Sweetheart, there are countless ways to make money, but drugs are different. They ravage communities, destroy desperate souls, and eventually... they destroy us all. When that happens, all the money in the world won't matter. Once you lose your humanity, you're lower than the strays in the gutter."
His embrace had been warm, solid with quiet strength. In that moment, I'd almost forgotten he was a crime lord—I'd only seen a man with principles, awkwardly trying to protect something precious.
Strange—he was undeniably a criminal kingpin, yet after his death, only the good memories seemed to linger.
The car hitting a pothole yanked me back to reality. We'd arrived at the abandoned drive-in. The massive screen loomed like a tombstone against the night sky, surrounded by waist-high weeds. Alan was already there with his inner circle, two suitcases of cash at his feet, pacing nervously.
We exited the car. Cedric's men were already positioned in the darkness. Everything was set—the trap baited, waiting for our prey to take the final step.
Minutes later, two black SUVs rolled in, their headlights cutting through the darkness like predatory eyes. Several tall Mexicans emerged, led by a man with a fleshy face and a telltale bulge under his jacket.
Alan rushed forward, practically bowing and scraping.
They inspected the drugs, counted the money. Everything followed our script perfectly. Just as they were about to close the deal, police sirens wailed in the distance!
"Cops!" someone shouted, and all hell broke loose.
The Mexicans' faces hardened as they drew their weapons and opened fire. Alan's crew scrambled for cover, returning fire. In seconds, the night erupted with gunfire, bullets crisscrossing in deadly patterns. These weren't actual police, of course—just more of Cedric's men creating the perfect chaos.
Alan, terrified out of his mind, clutched the money case while scrambling for cover. A stray bullet—or perhaps not so stray—caught him in the leg, dropping him with a howl of pain.
In the mayhem, I was slipping away as planned when one of the wild-eyed Mexicans spotted me. Something clicked in his eyes, and he swung his gun toward me.
My world narrowed to the barrel of his gun. I tensed to dive for cover, but in that critical moment, a body slammed into me from the side.
Cedric.
We crashed to the ground as the bullet whistled past, grazing his arm. He covered me with his body, his warm blood dripping onto my cheek.
"Are you okay?" he whispered urgently against my ear, his breath ragged with adrenaline and fear.
I froze. Through our clothes, I felt his powerful heartbeat and the heat radiating from his wound. The way he looked at me had changed—no longer as a partner, but as... a woman.
The gunfire gradually died down. Alan lay sprawled in a widening pool of blood, his dead eyes fixed on the bullet-riddled money cases.
Cedric grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the carnage.
