Spy Hard

Of course they would. They were trained to fight each other. What the hell did the idiot expect? Jase didn’t have to be psychic to know how that turned out. Fury swept through him. “Where are they?”

“Up in packaging.”

He cut across the compound, breaking into a run once again.

Roberto stepped outside from the hacienda as Jase passed by.

“Everybody needs to get ready before nightfall. I want everyone to get some sleep before the battle starts in the morning. Make sure you have your weapons together and enough ammo. And no drinking tonight.”

Jase acknowledged the orders with a nod, but didn’t stop to talk.

He found the packaging building in chaos, holes dug in the floor, tightly wrapped bricks of cocaine being buried in every corner. The men resented the extra work, swearing deliberately, cursing Cristobal.

Jase ignored them. “Mochi?”

Someone nodded toward the west wall. Jase zigzagged through between the sweating men, careful not to knock anyone over. Tempers were running high. He didn’t have time to stop for a fistfight.

Mochi sat on the floor, his arm bleeding, shiny tear tracks marking his face that lit up with hope when he spotted Jase. He held a wiggling flour sack under one arm. Chico, presumably.

Alejandro was holding out his finger to the boy, with a dash of white powder on the tip. He, too, glanced up as Jase reached them.

“For the pain.” His expression was challenging and defensive at the same time, as if he hadn’t decided yet which one to go with.

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