The Rebel: The new crime thriller that will have you gripped in 2018. Jaime Raven

took his hand and led him into the bedroom and as she started to slowly take off his clothes, his cock rose to the occasion.

      Sex with Jasmine was always good, and it was the only time he never used a condom. He didn’t have to because he’d had the snip years ago and he made sure she had regular check-ups at a private STD clinic.

      He didn’t try to drag it out because he had a lot on his mind and there was a risk he’d lose his erection. But it was no less enjoyable. He came inside her from behind and she did a pretty good job of faking her own orgasm.

      His timing, as it turned out, was perfect because he’d just got his breath back when his mobile rang. He’d placed it on the bedside table, and as he picked it up he told Jasmine to leave the room.

      ‘It is me, my friend,’ Carlos Cruz said when he answered. ‘Are you able to talk?’

      ‘Give me a second,’ Slack said as he pushed his back up against the headboard. His heart was still hammering and his face was drenched in sweat.

      Cruz was probably calling from one of several homes he owned on the west coast of Mexico. It was from there he ran the infamous Sinaloa cartel, the one that the US government had described as the most powerful drug trafficking organisation in the world.

      Cruz himself had approached Slack just over a year ago and offered to supply the firm with cocaine, crystal meth and heroin at a discount. He’d promised to undercut all other suppliers because they were eager to break into all the European markets. So far the guy had been true to his word and they’d both done well out of it.

      ‘So does this relate to the conversation we had yesterday, Carlos?’ Slack asked.

      ‘Indeed it does, my friend. You have helped me, and so now I am prepared to help you. But this is still a business arrangement and the sum of money you have offered needs to be increased from two million dollars to three million. And that is non-negotiable. For that price the trigger will stay with you for up to two weeks. If you want to extend the contract it will cost more.’

      Slack didn’t balk at the figure. In fact he’d been prepared to pay a lot more. After all this was a job that required expertise and experience, and since the world’s most experienced killers for hire were in Mexico it seemed like a sensible move.

      ‘Your price is acceptable,’ Slack said. ‘But don’t let me down, Carlos. If your operative doesn’t live up to my expectations then it could be very damaging to our relationship.’

      ‘Have no fear, my friend,’ Carlos said. ‘I have chosen well. The person I’m sending has been working exclusively for the cartel for about eight years, and in that time has carried out over fifty hits on our behalf.’

      ‘That’s mightily impressive,’ Slack said.

      ‘I’m glad you think so. You’ll need to make all the arrangements at your end including accommodation, transport and weapons.’

      ‘I’ll sort it. So how soon can your man be here?’

      ‘Late tomorrow should be possible.’

      ‘Then I’ll have him picked up at the airport.’

      ‘That’s great, but there’s one thing you need to be aware of.’

      ‘What’s that?’

      ‘The person whose services you are acquiring is a woman, not a man. She’s the best in the business and goes by the name of Rosa Lopez, but the Mexican media have labelled her La Asesina, which in English means The Slayer.’

       7

      Rosa

      Acapulco used to be one of Mexico’s most popular tourist destinations, with its spectacular beaches and bustling nightlife.

      Its heyday was in the 50s and 60s when it epitomised tropical glamour and became a playground for the rich and famous.

      But over the last decade or so the glitter had turned to blood and it had become one of the most violent towns on the planet.

      Rosa Lopez reflected on this as she prepared to leave her hotel room overlooking the bay.

      She’d first come here twenty-two years ago when she was just six. It was the last vacation she ever had with her parents before they were slaughtered in their sleep.

      The memories hadn’t faded, and she still remembered how busy the beaches were then and how rare it was to see police officers on the streets. These days the beaches were often empty and the tourist areas were patrolled by heavily armed cops and soldiers.

      But heightened levels of security had failed to stop the drug cartels from fighting each other for control of the smuggling routes along the Guerrero coast.

      And it was this conflict that had brought Rosa back to the Pacific town.

      She had arrived earlier by plane from Mexico City, and after checking in she’d had time for a short nap and a hot eucalyptus bubble bath.

      Now she was ready to go to work. But before leaving the room she checked herself in the full-length mirror and nodded approvingly.

      She was dressed to kill and that was deliberate because after the job was done she planned to visit one of the town’s famous nightclubs.

      She was wearing her tightest designer jeans, faded and low-slung on the hips, and a V-neck T-shirt that revealed most of her ample cleavage.

      Her lipstick was garishly red and her hair hung loose about her shoulders.

      Her aim, as always, was to stand out from the crowd, which required a degree of effort in venues that were loud and dark and filled with pussy.

      Killing always made her juices flow and she had no intention of spending the night alone. She’d discovered long ago that the best way to wind down and relax was to have sex with a beautiful stranger.

      ‘Time to hit the town,’ she said to herself, as she draped a little red purse over her shoulder.

      A few minutes later she was walking through the hotel’s luxurious reception area to the sound of Going Loco Down in Acapulco by the Four Tops. It made her smile because it had been her father’s favourite song and he’d played it constantly at their home in Culiacan. It was one of the reasons he’d been so keen to visit the place.

      As previously arranged there was a car waiting for her in front of the hotel, the driver standing next to it, waiting to open the door for her. He was tall and dark-skinned, and wearing a black shirt over jeans. He introduced himself as Miguel.

      The only thing she knew about him was that, like her, he worked for the Sinaloa cartel. Carlos Cruz, their boss, had given her his number and she’d called him from the hotel.

      His face broke into a wide grin as she approached.

      ‘I have heard many things about you, Miss Lopez,’ he said in Spanish as his eyes gave her the once-over. ‘And I can see that the tales of your beauty were not exaggerated.’

      She got this a lot from the men she encountered and it used to drive her crazy. Now she just ignored it.

      ‘There’s no time for small talk,’ she said sharply. ‘Just get me to where we’re going.’

      His smile vanished and he quickly opened the rear door for her to climb inside.

      As soon as they were on the move, she said, ‘So tell me what I need to know.’

      She already knew that there were two targets and they were top lieutenants in the Los Zetas cartel, which had been at war with the Sinaloa cartel for some time.

      Carlos wanted them taken out because a month ago they had given the order for a local politician and his entire family to be murdered. The man, his wife and their two teenage daughters