Pablo crawled across the barricade on his elbows with blood wetting his mouth.
His eyes were too bright with hate for his own good, and if was expecting to survive the massacre in front of him, he needed to do better at hiding his emotions.
He got a hand around a pistol he'd saved just for a moment like this.
Elias tracked him past the blade of Lachlan's machete and let the shot go only when Lachlan's angle cleared.
Pablo's head snapped to the side and he laid his cheek against the concrete as if he'd decided to rest. The blood coming out of his head spoke volumes about how peaceful his rest was.
Anselmo never stopped talking on the radio.
His voice was calm, way too calm for the situation he had found himself in. His words were short, but he managed to convey everything he needed in those few words.
It was clear that he had the kind of tone that men trusted even when the world went sideways.
