Chapter 8 - The Three-Way Standoff
The deafening roar of the helicopter blades made it almost impossible to hear anything.
Trevor screamed wildly, demanding that the helicopter land immediately so he could escape to Mexico.
Mateo stood perfectly still, bleeding from a small cut on his cheek, but looking entirely unfazed by Trevor's gun.
"If you shoot me, my men will peel your skin off while you are still breathing," Mateo warned Trevor calmly.
Mateo then looked directly at me and offered a completely unexpected deal.
"If you kill your fake husband right now, Clara, the cartel will forgive the entire debt," the enforcer shouted.
I raised the bright red flare gun and aimed it squarely at Trevor's chest.
Trevor laughed maniacally, completely dismissing my threat.
"You don't have the guts to pull that trigger, Clara," he mocked, adjusting his grip on his pistol.
"You have always been too soft, too forgiving, and far too weak to do what is necessary."
I stared into the eyes of the man who had stolen four years of my life and tried to have me murdered.
I did not aim the flare gun directly at his chest.
Instead, I slightly shifted my aim toward the massive stack of highly flammable aviation fuel barrels stacked directly behind him.
I pulled the heavy trigger without a single ounce of hesitation.
The burning red projectile struck the metal barrels, igniting an absolutely massive explosion of orange flames.
The concussive blast violently threw Trevor right off the edge of the yacht and down into the freezing, dark ocean.
I rushed over to Leo and pressed my hands firmly against his bleeding shoulder to stop the hemorrhage.
Just as I thought we were finally safe, the sound of heavy boots echoed up the stairs.
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The two corrupt police officers from Vegas suddenly swarmed the deck with their weapons drawn.
They had been on Trevor's payroll the entire time, waiting to clean up his mess.
