Exit Wound

The city burned.

Thick plumes of smoke curled into the night sky, mixing with the neon glow of shattered streetlights. Sirens wailed in the distance, barely audible over the gunfire rattling through the streets. The scent of gasoline and scorched metal filled the air, and somewhere nearby, a car alarm blared its dying scream.

Amid the chaos, Levi Santos ran.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his ribs aching from the last hit he’d taken. Blood slicked his temple, seeping into the collar of his jacket. His gun was empty—he’d thrown it away three blocks back.

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to win this fight.

He just needed to disappear.

---

Levi had been planning his escape for months.

He had spent years doing jobs for Hector Morales—smuggling, collections, the occasional enforcement gig when someone needed reminding of their debts. It wasn’t glamorous, but it had kept him fed, kept a roof over his head. He was good at what he did. Reliable. Smart enough to stay alive.

But he also knew that no one walked away from Morales.

So, he had been careful. Fake documents, offshore accounts, a one-way ticket to anywhere but here. It had all been coming together. Just one last job, one last payday, and then he was gone.

That’s when Elena showed up at his door.

She was standing in the hallway of his apartment building, her hoodie pulled tight over her head, shadows masking her face. But Levi had known it was her. He had known her since they were kids, back when she was just the Morales family’s hidden princess and he was the street kid her uncle let run errands.

“Elena,” he had said, more confused than anything. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She stepped inside without asking, locking the door behind her. When she pulled down her hood, he saw the bruises.

A deep purple mark bloomed across her cheek, another along her jaw.

His stomach turned. “Who did that?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pressed a burner phone into his hand. “I need your help.”

Levi glanced at the phone, then back at her. “You picked the wrong person, princess.”

“You’re the only one I *can* ask.”

He wanted to tell her no. That whatever mess she had gotten herself into, he wasn’t the one to get her out.

But then she looked at him—really looked at him—and he saw something he hadn’t seen since they were kids.

She was scared.

Not the kind of fear that came from getting caught sneaking out of the family compound. Not the kind of fear that came from breaking the rules.

This was the kind of fear that came when you knew you were about to die.

Levi exhaled, shaking his head.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

---

It was worse than he thought.

Elena hadn’t just gotten into trouble—she had uncovered something she wasn’t supposed to.

Hector had always kept his real business separate from his family. He made sure his nieces and nephews lived in mansions, went to private schools, had the kind of lives that made people forget the blood on his hands.

But Elena had been digging.

She had found records. Shipments. Payments. A list.

And then she had found a name.

A politician, one that Hector had on his payroll. A man who wasn’t just taking bribes—he was helping the cartel move people. Not drugs. Not guns.

People.

Elena had stolen the evidence. And now she was marked for death.

“They’ll kill me, Levi,” she had whispered. “And they’ll make it look like an accident.”

Levi had made a choice then. A stupid one.

He agreed to help.

They had planned to meet at a safe house, then get out of the city together. Levi called in a favor, set up fake passports. It was all supposed to be simple.

But the night of the escape, Elena never showed up.

Instead, Levi got a phone call.

And when he opened the duffel bag that was supposed to contain their exit money, he saw her inside.

Cold. Lifeless.

Framed.

The gunfire started before he could even think.

---

Levi ducked into an alley, heart pounding. He needed to get to the docks. If he could make it there, he still had a shot—a slim one, but a shot nonetheless.

He pressed himself against the graffiti-covered wall, sucking in a breath.

Then he heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow. Measured. Close.

A shadow stretched against the pavement, long and deliberate.

Then a voice. Low. Cold.

“You always were fast, Santos. But not fast enough.”

Levi closed his eyes.

Javier Ruiz.

Hector’s right hand. The kind of man who didn’t make threats—just promises.

Levi turned slowly, hands half-raised. “Javi,” he said, forcing a grin. “You look like hell.”

Javier stepped forward, the glow of the burning street behind him. He wore his usual dark coat, the edges still dusted with ash. In his right hand, a silenced pistol hung loose at his side.

“I warned you,” Javier said. His voice was almost disappointed. “Told you this life doesn’t let you just walk away.”

Levi exhaled, shaking his head. “I didn’t kill her.”

Javier tilted his head, considering. “Doesn’t matter.”

Levi took a step back. His heel scraped against broken glass.

Javier lifted the gun.

“You know how this ends.”

---

Levi moved.

He lunged, grabbing for the gun, slamming Javier’s wrist against the wall. The shot went wild, sparking off a metal dumpster. Levi drove a knee into Javier’s gut, twisting the weapon free.

He barely got his finger on the trigger before Javier caught him with an elbow to the jaw. Levi staggered, pain flashing through his skull.

Javier grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against the wall.

“Still think you can outrun this?” Javier growled.

Levi tried to lift the gun. Javier knocked it from his grip, sending it clattering to the ground.

A second later, cold steel pressed against Levi’s ribs.

A knife.

His breath caught.

Javier leaned in close. “You don’t get to choose your ending, hermano.”

Then he shoved the blade in deep.

---

Levi gasped.

The world blurred.

Javier let go, and Levi crumpled to his knees, hands clutching the growing stain on his shirt.

He looked up, vision swimming.

Javier just watched. Not smug. Not angry. Just… final.

“You were never getting out,” Javier murmured.

Levi’s fingers trembled. His breath came in short, ragged bursts.

Somewhere in the distance, the sirens were getting louder.

He’d been so sure he could change his fate. That he could rewrite the ending.

But in the end, it was always going to be like this.

Javier took a step back, tucking the knife away.

Then he turned and walked into the fire-lit streets.

Levi slumped against the wall, the city burning around him.

And finally, he stopped running.

By morning, the city would forget him.

Elena’s name would never be spoken again.

Hector Morales would still rule.

And fate, as always, would win.