A Jar of Hearts Read Online Free PDF Page A

him nothing except reveal his hidden identity. The men had ensured they hadn’t carried anything illegal on the bus. Not even their coveted drugs. Their guns would be delivered to them a mile after the Mexican border control checkpoint by their ally gang, the Arturo Brotherhood.
    He shifted his car into gear. He would have to trust Mark and play along with the Pachecos at the ranch. And he could only pray things wouldn’t get out of hand when they returned to home soil again.
     
     
     

     
     
     
    The men beat the sides of the bus, screaming with excitement as they entered the gates of the ranch. Dust from the road clouded the bus as it drove towards its destination, but the gangsters didn’t care as they dangled half their bodies out of their windows, waving at their equally excited allies in the distance.
    As soon as the bus stopped, the men jumped off it through both the door and the windows, eagerly racing over to their Mexican brothers and greeting them noisily. James parked his car alongside the bus. He stepped out of it but didn’t venture too far, preferring to lean against his car to watch them. Their affections lasted a while until a man walked into their circle. He stood apart from them, tall and muscularly built.
    “Alright, boys, enough with the touching hugs and kisses,” he boomed loudly. “It’s time we get on to business. My name is Brett Johnson. I am an ex-Navy Seal and I can pretty much adapt anything to use as a weapon. So don’t try and fuck with me or I might mistakenly shove a bullet up your bunghole. And trust me; you don’t want me doing that. Now… you’re all here because you want to master the art of using a proper gun. And I don’t mean a Glock 19 lady gun that you men carry at the moment. I’m talking about bad asses like the M11 or the P228. So if you think you can’t handle any of these, I suggest you excuse yourself politely. I don’t like people wasting my time. The rest of you follow me.”
     
     
     

     
     
     
    The sky had darkened and the air still reeked of gunpowder from their day long of shooting practice. Brett stepped around the corner of a shed and pulled onto a man’s collar, dragging him out as he clenched his teeth. The man pleaded and cried, begging for his life.
    “What do you think you’re doing?! I told you I don’t want any crackheads handling my guns!” Brett screamed with anger.
    “I’m sorry… I swear it was only a sniff,” the man wailed.
    Brett pulled out his handgun and pointed it at the man’s head. Another man scrambled up to him, trying to calm him down.
    “Come on, Brett,” he cajoled. “He said it was only a sniff.”
    Brett turned and pointed his gun at him instead. “I gave you strict instructions to avoid the addicts. Look at him, José! He’s a fucking beamer! He’s wasted!”
    “I know.” José licked his lips nervously.  “Let me talk to him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do it again.”
    “It’s too late,” Brett whispered. He aimed it back at the addict and pulled the trigger, shooting him blankly in his head. Pieces of his skull splattered onto the dirt floor as the man fell down face forwards.
    José cried, stomping his feet in rage. “What the fuck, ése ?! You just shattered the brains of one of our best pushers!”
    “At the rate he was going, he would have been dead soon anyway.” Brett tucked his gun back into his holster. “He seemed he was bagging more than he was pushing. Besides, he wouldn’t have been able to handle hardware like these. He was too fucked up in the head to use them right.”
    “Juan isn’t going to like this.” José shook his head in frustration.
    “Juan knows what my requirements entail. This is your fault, José. Next time screen the recruits carefully before you bring them to my camp,” Brett warned.
     
     
     
    James stuffed a piece of chicken into his mouth casually as he watched Brett’s fury unleash on the surprised and now dead addict. He shifted in his chair