Friday would still give Evan nine days to intercept Alison Siegler. Nine days was plenty of time. If he had any faith that René was in fact planning to let him go on his merry way.

René couldn’t release Evan. Not after he knew what Evan was capable of. Not after he’d taken $27 mil from him. Not after Evan had seen René’s face.

“Until then,” René continued, “your life can be as pleasant as you choose to make it.”

“And if I opt for unpleasant?” Evan asked.

“I’ve never sparked to torture,” René said. “Not like these fellows.” He rested a hand on the shoulder of the narco to his left and gave an affectionate squeeze.

Evan let his posture deflate, a show of defeat.

“Then we have an agreement?” René asked.

Evan extended a hand as if to shake.

The cartel men shouted in Spanish. Manny reared up, readying to fire. Feigning puzzlement, his arm still extended, Evan took a half step forward.

Then he whipped his hand up, knocking the shotgun back over Manny’s shoulder. It discharged at point-blank range into the face of the narco behind him, putting a hockey-puck-size dent in his forehead. The recoil kicked the shotgun from Manny’s grip. The third narco fired recklessly in front of Manny’s face. The round skimmed across Evan’s back, trailing friction heat.

Disoriented, Manny swung at Evan. His punch glanced off Evan’s chin and struck him square in the shoulder, and Evan spun with the impact, letting himself drop to the floor. He threw a leg sweep that caught the other narco behind the Achilles, launching his feet out from under him. The guy hit the floor flat on his back, his breath leaving him in a seal-like bark an instant before Evan hammered the heel of his foot into the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe.

Two dogs, six guards, and Dex.

Through Manny’s legs Evan could see the first narco seizing on the floorboards, saliva webbing from the corner of his mouth. Dex’s pillar legs were visible, too, rotating powerfully to the doorway, René clamped beneath his arm in a rag-doll dangle, his high-ticket loafers skimming the floor.

Manny kicked Evan in the stomach, knocking a clump of air from his lungs. Evan fought through the pain and clenched around the boot. Somehow he held on, Manny toppling over, his mouth stretched wide in a grimace, gold teeth flashing. Before Evan could get to him, the room seemed to darken.

Dex, blocking out the light, one massive arm drawn back. As he swung the pipe down, Evan rolled to the side. The metal end splintered the plank next to his cheek. Flipping over, he grabbed the pipe.

Too late he realized it was a cattle prod.