The night air in Los Angeles had never felt so cold.
James and Dean moved fast as they stepped out of Olive Street.
"Let's get outta here," James said.
"We should have finished that bastard off," Dean stressed, feeling disgruntled.
"We lost all our men... good men because of him, and we let 'em go?
Think about it, James. For the sake of our men, he doesn't deserve to still be breathing..."
"He will probably bleed to death," James said, scratching his head a little bit.
"Probably... can you hear yourself?"
"I think Malik was right," Dean muttered to himself.
Immediately, James held Dean's hoodie tightly.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" James asked furiously.
"I'm sorry, Jammie, but are we fighting ourselves now?" Dean asked softly.
"I'm sorry too, Homie. We good?" James asked, feeling a little guilt and seeking validation.
"Yeah, we are," Dean answered nonchalantly.
As they continued their walk, Dean handed James the bloodstained drive back.
"We need to check what's on it,"
"if what he said is accurate, then this situation is more serious than we realized, and we must also locate Jazmin," James remarked.
Dean nodded slowly, still looking somewhat displeased.
As they were heading towards the bus stop, the sound of screeching tires caught their attention. They turned just in time to see a black SUV pull up so fast and suddenly, gun shots in the air followed, causing nearby pedestrians to run for cover.
James and Dean attempted to run but were quickly surrounded, at that moment they still couldn't understand what was going on.
They were caught off guard, as the Iron Teeth cartel attack without any prior warning. Heavily armed, they found themselves cornered with no way to escape.
James slowly raised his hands in surrender and Dean followed him.
"What are we going to do?" Dean asked.
"We'll figure something out; we just need to think strategically," James whispered, leaning closer to Dean's ear.
One of the men opened the back door of the SUV in the middle and out stepped a man with thick broad shoulders and belly pushing the belly button of his suit.
Even in the dark James could recognize him,
"El-Chapo" James muttered under his breath.
"We are screwed" Dean added.
El-Chapo, wasn't joking around, burning with rage for what his men had suffered in the hands of the devils and the adoption of his son Leo.
"Where is my son, James?" His voice was calm, too calm but you can feel the rage in his heart.
James raised his hands high, breathing heavily, "He's still alive; we need to talk."
El-Chapo interrupted him, "Do you really think I can trust you?"
At this point Dean's eyes was frantically shifting in all directions, searching for an escape route while secretly hoping for a miracle.
"I demand to know where my son is, right now!" "Calm down; tell your men to lower their guns, and we can resolve this,"
James pleaded with El-Chapo. "Kidnapping my son is equivalent to declaring war," El-Chapo replied.
Suddenly, the distant sound of sirens pierced the air. The hotel management had called the Cops.
The shootings and blood letting had thrown staff members and guests into a state of panic.
The sirens grew louder. "We don't have much time," one of the cartel members whispered to their leader.
"We'll deal with this later," El-Chapo said, gesturing toward Dean. "Take him."
"What?" Dean shouted, stepping back as if trying to run but a cartel member struck him from behind with the butt of his rifle.
Dean dropped to his knees, groaning in pain. James yelled, "No!" Ashe tried to help Dean to get my on his feet.
Gunfire struck him repeatedly as he ran with all his might towards the nearby bushes, about fifty meters away from the spot he was shot he collapsed facedown, struggled and got up again, took a few unsteady steps, and then fell again, this time lying in a pool of his own blood.
"We need to leave now, Sir," a cartel member urged El Chapo, recognizing that it was wiser to depart immediately rather than risk an encounter with the police. They were convinced that James was dead.
They hurried back to their SUVs, hastily throwing the half conscious Dean into the backseat. The cartel sped away, narrowly escaping the cops.
In just ten seconds, red and blue lights illuminated the area. The sight of the police brought a wave of relief to those in the hotel and nearby buildings. Officers rushed the scene with their weapons drawn, positioning themselves behind their vehicles. A voice over a loudspeaker announced, "Suspect down!"
James attempted to lift his head, but excruciating pain overwhelmed him, and blood flowed freely from his leg and arm, though his vest had managed to stop the bullets from hitting his chest and stomach.
He ripped a strip from his clothing, wrapped it around the drive, and with his hands, he dug up some soil and buried the drive, covering it back up with dirt and dried leaves.
Meanwhile, as the police cordoned off the area, some focused their attention on James.
Bryan, still hidden in the bushes, had regained some strength and carefully crawled across the neighboring street, still stained with blood. He clutched his leg just below the knee and limped away unnoticed by the officers.
James, still on the ground, was drifting in and out of consciousness while the medics attended to him.
"Stay with me!" one paramedic urged, applying pressure to his wounds. Another medic assessed his condition, noting, "He has gunshot wounds to the arm, leg, and shoulder, and his pulse is going down.
"A third medic insisted, "We need to get him to the trauma center immediately."
Everything around James soon became a blur. The sirens, flashing lights, and voices faded into a dull, distant echo as time passed.
Moments later, darkness beclouded him. The medics placed James onto a gurney and rushed him away in an Ambulance with Police escort straight to the Hospital.
James in Hospital
James regained consciousness, managed to blink his eyes open to bright lights, beeping machines.
He had already undergone multiple surgeries to repair shattered cricoid ligament without him knowing it.
The EKG monitor showed his heartbeat slowly climbing. He was happy to still be alive.
He tried to move but his body but couldn't, his body was full of bandages, tubes were hooked into him.
He couldn't move, not even turn his head. But still, he felt so glad.
A few moments later he heard voices and tried again, this time he was able to lift his head up, he saw two officers stood guard.
His heart skipped a beat.
He dropped his head back down so hard in anger and disappointment.
"It's just getting harder everyday" he thought to himself
"Somewhere out there, Bryan was probably walking free.
Dean is currently in the hands of the Iron teeth cartel.
And El-Chapo was still waiting to strike.
James stared up at the ceiling, with anger boiling in his heart."