Espinal grabbed Zoe as she slammed into him. She was crying and nearly hysterical, flailing her fists against his chest. He drew back as much as he could to keep from getting hit in the face and waited a moment until she seemed to recognize him. She stopped fighting. “Zeb,” she said through her tears.
He understood immediately, and a new grief, a new source of anger entered his already overwhelmed heart. He fought the tears that threatened to spill, smoothed her hair and shushed her like one does a terrified child. Like he had once done for his step-son…
He heard Addison and the other officers coming up behind him and he passed Zoe over into the care of one of them. He didn’t take the time to see who it was, the entirety of his attention was focused on Seve Feria, who sat on his knees on the ground, cradling his severely mangled hand. He was bleeding from his nose and wrist, the latter most profusely.
The gun lay on the ground.
Rage and grief nearly blinding him, Espinal charged forward and picked up the gun, sweeping it up and pressing it to Seve’s skull.
“No! Put it down!” That was Detective Addison’s voice, he dimly perceived. “Hector! Don’t!”
He heard her draw her own weapon, but all he could see was the man who had killed his boy and Zeb, his friend. The man who had murdered Nico Milian and made Andres take part in covering it up. This filth, this disease of a man who poisoned everything and everyone he encountered.
Seve looked up at him, his ice blue eyes calmly and coldly watching the proceedings as if they were of no concern to him. “I told Andres I wasn’t going down without cleaning this mess up first,” he said quietly, just loudly enough for Espinal to hear. “At least I got to get one of the Martins before you kill me.”
A tear slipped free of Espinal’s lashes, splattering on the hand holding the gun. Movement behind Seve caught his eye and he looked up just long enough to verify what it was. Then he looked back down at him and smiled coldly. “I think I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.