Of Two The Devil 39-s Cartel Xenia | Army

But at the armory door, Salem grabbed her arm. “You’re not just here for the guns. What’s your real play?”

She had been waiting. The two American contractors—Salem and Rios—stormed in like bulls, rifles up, expecting a cartel lieutenant to be cowering behind a desk. Instead, they found her: a woman in her late thirties, black tactical vest over a gray shirt, short-cropped dark hair, and eyes that had stopped feeling anything years ago.

Xenia didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She disassembled her rifle, cleaned it in silence, and began planning. The mission with Salem and Rios was supposed to be a one-off: destroy El Diablo’s main weapons depot south of the border. Xenia guided them through sewer tunnels she’d mapped herself, past patrol routes she’d memorized, and into the heart of the compound.

“I want to watch him die knowing his own blood sold him out.” army of two the devil 39-s cartel xenia

“Your list is wrong,” she replied, voice flat as a dead sea. “El Diablo’s cartel doesn’t keep lieutenants. It keeps ghosts. And ghosts don’t have names on paper.”

She pulled the trigger. Outside, as the depot collapsed in a tower of fire and black smoke, Rios clapped her on the shoulder. “What now?”

She looked at his hand on her sleeve, then back at him. “El Diablo keeps a private vault beneath the depot. Inside: ledgers, CIA contacts, names of politicians he owns. You want to cripple the cartel? You burn the guns. I want to salt the earth.” But at the armory door, Salem grabbed her arm

Salem aimed at the old man’s head. “Say the word.”

He was old. Sixty, maybe. Silver hair, jade crucifix around his neck. He smiled when he saw her.

She didn’t answer. But as the sun rose over the burning border, she walked alongside them toward the extraction chopper—not as a contractor, not as a friend. She didn’t scream

Salem kept his bead on her. “Then why are we here?”

“Mateo was weak. You are strong. Come back. We burn these mercenaries together. The family forgives.”