The French cartel boss didn't waste another second. With a guttural snarl, he raised his own weapon, aiming the barrel directly at the center of Damien's forehead. His finger tightened on the trigger.
But then...
The Frenchman froze, his breath catching painfully in his throat.
He didn't lower his gun, but he slowly looked left. He looked right. The men he had brought with him, weren't aiming at Damien anymore.
Their guns were now aimed at him, their eyes cold and dead.
A loud crack of thunder shattered the sky above them.
The oppressive mid-afternoon humidity finally broke. The sky opened up, and a downpour of rain began to crash down onto the hot asphalt.
The heavy rain beat against the metal of the vehicles and soaked the clothes of the men standing on the highway.
The boss stared at the man standing closest to him. As the freezing rain battered the man's neck, the dark, coiled ink of the sinister snake tattoo began to blur.
