You were on the floor, the only sound the sickening thud-thud of flesh hitting flesh. A man stood over Frankie, his fist smashing repeatedly into Frankie's side. With every collision, you could hear Frankie wheeze, a desperate, broken sound.

Disoriented, you tried to push up, but a fiery spear of pain shot through your chest, forcing you to collapse back down. Your ribs screamed.

"Oh, look who's awake," the man drawled, finally pausing his brutal assault.

Your eyes locked as he walked toward you. You tried to scoot backward, but he dropped beside you, his grip instantly bruising as he clamped a hand on your chin, wrenching your face up to his.

"You and your little friends have been a pain in the ass these last few days," he huffed, his knuckles already slick and stained red.

Regret, cold and sharp, cut through your fear. You regretted accepting this mission with Frankie, Santiago, and the others. It had been a damnation from the start. You couldn't see the others, but you knew they were being hunted too.

"Don't fuckin' touch them," Frankie's voice rasped from behind the man.

A horrifying, guttural laugh ripped from the older man's chest. He released your chin and turned back to Frankie's beaten body, which was already struggling desperately for air.

"You and your little group killed most of my men," the man said, his gaze fixed on a stool. Your heart plummeted as you recognized the shapes resting there: tools. "So I'ma do whatever I fucking want, pendejo."

Frankie met the man's eyes, his expression rigid and unafraid. But you saw the truth beneath the defiant façade: a scared father who just wanted to go home to his kid.