East Los Angeles
She was dead. He could see her everywhere, places they'd been, her beautiful image smiling down from the billboards. She was dead. Traitorous bitch.
Rafe Borgia had always intended to stay, to save the city, to fight till the end, but without her, knowing she'd given away the locations of the courts homes, their kids, their mothers, he was more than blue. He was dangerous.
He'd agreed immediately to protect East Los Angeles. He knew it would be hard. There was a good chance he'd die. War would take his mind off of her.
He spread the wad of cash in his pocket out among the people, got his men together. The mob could be called a lot of things, but they were red blooded patriots. Armed patriots. He had a couple of places in the area that he'd stored stuff. A restaurant, full of food, a flop house for his men, in case they had to go on the lam.
He was ready. He met with his lieutenants, set down plans and sent out some kids who'd been runners to scout out their neighborhoods. No one knew where they would strike. Police were their enemy and he could hear the sirens. He hoped it was fires. Then he remembered Will Bell would be gone by now, up in the mountains.
They would be blind to the threat with out intel. He saw Dr. Rob Daka coming out of the darkness, the shrink. The scary shrink. The man liked death, was ready to plunge his head into a barrel of sharks to get over his fear if he had to. It was a bad sign. Rob wouldn't have come to a place he didn't think was likely to test his fear of death. He rubbed his shoulder where his arm had been. They were as prepared as they were going to be. He was pretty sure he was going to die. The old otter was a harbinger of bad things.
Rafe Borgia had always intended to stay, to save the city, to fight till the end, but without her, knowing she'd given away the locations of the courts homes, their kids, their mothers, he was more than blue. He was dangerous.
He'd agreed immediately to protect East Los Angeles. He knew it would be hard. There was a good chance he'd die. War would take his mind off of her.
He spread the wad of cash in his pocket out among the people, got his men together. The mob could be called a lot of things, but they were red blooded patriots. Armed patriots. He had a couple of places in the area that he'd stored stuff. A restaurant, full of food, a flop house for his men, in case they had to go on the lam.
He was ready. He met with his lieutenants, set down plans and sent out some kids who'd been runners to scout out their neighborhoods. No one knew where they would strike. Police were their enemy and he could hear the sirens. He hoped it was fires. Then he remembered Will Bell would be gone by now, up in the mountains.
They would be blind to the threat with out intel. He saw Dr. Rob Daka coming out of the darkness, the shrink. The scary shrink. The man liked death, was ready to plunge his head into a barrel of sharks to get over his fear if he had to. It was a bad sign. Rob wouldn't have come to a place he didn't think was likely to test his fear of death. He rubbed his shoulder where his arm had been. They were as prepared as they were going to be. He was pretty sure he was going to die. The old otter was a harbinger of bad things.