Army Of Two The Devil 39-s Cartel - Xenia

A wall slid open.

“I want to watch him die knowing his own blood sold him out.”

“Your list is wrong,” she replied, voice flat as a dead sea. “El Diablo’s cartel doesn’t keep lieutenants. It keeps ghosts. And ghosts don’t have names on paper.” army of two the devil 39-s cartel xenia

He was old. Sixty, maybe. Silver hair, jade crucifix around his neck. He smiled when he saw her.

“Xenia… mi hija,” he rasped. “You brought friends.” A wall slid open

But three months ago, El Diablo made an example of her younger brother, Mateo. He was seventeen. He’d tried to leave the cartel. They hung him from a bridge outside Ciudad Acuña with a note pinned to his chest: “La Familia nunca se va.” (The Family never leaves.)

She had been waiting. The two American contractors—Salem and Rios—stormed in like bulls, rifles up, expecting a cartel lieutenant to be cowering behind a desk. Instead, they found her: a woman in her late thirties, black tactical vest over a gray shirt, short-cropped dark hair, and eyes that had stopped feeling anything years ago. It keeps ghosts

Behind it, strapped to a chair, was El Diablo himself.