When Jack Fleming, former agent for the United States Special Forces, finds himself in a Mexican prison, he faces the choice between certain death behind bars and starting the greatest adventure of his life - an adventure that will lead him in pursuit of cash, drug lords, and the truth.
With his options limited, Jack finds himself deep in the dangerous world of the Alacran Cartel. As his journey leads him across the landscape of Mexico, Jack learns that he may not be on the side of the law after all, and that "the law” itself may not be as straightforward as it seems.
In a story packed with intrigue, murder and beautiful women, a brilliant adventure brings to light the true depth of human depravity and the surprising goodness that can be found even in the darkest places.
Sales are relatively strong fluctuating from 4,000 to 300,000 ranking in Amazon Kindle Store
The Mexican heat is more tolerable when coupled with beer and tequila. As I sit at the bar and wait for her, I begin to wonder how some bare-assed Mayans decided to suck on an agave tree and therefore discovered tequila.
In all honesty, I don’t know if an agave is a tree, a bush, or a cactus. But really, how did they figure it out? If we really descended from apes, it’s truly fortunate that booze and other intoxicants evolved from something. If evolution was in fact created by the Democrats, as per my sixth grade teacher, then a big thank you to Alpha and Omega. I love tequila, especially the good kind, and when chased with a cerveza fria – ah, paradise. As I turn to order another round, I notice (or rather overhear) the bartender and the only other patron, an older, semi-toothless gentlemen, debating, in Spanish, whether my ancestry on my mother’s side is that of a prostitute or of a goat.
The little Mexican bartender is really pissing me off. Putting aside the insensitive jests about my saint of a mother, he is completely ignoring my request for another round. I would love to wipe that smug smile off his face by telling him that I understand Spanish, that he’s a dead man walking, and that the silenced nine millimeter Sig Sauer tucked into the small of my back will expel its projectile with less noise than the spittle flying out of the bartender oral orifice when he talks.
But all in due time.
The deal was simple. She would come in with a man, they would sit down, and I would kill everyone except for her.
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Italian
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Jennifer Ceconi
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Portuguese
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Robson Rodrigues
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Spanish
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Carmen Chalamanch
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