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“OYE, CABRÓN, those aguacates your mami gave me have been sitting in my oven for weeks, and they’re still hard as bricks.”
Here we go. Quinn shook his head in amusement as his teammates bickered. Why did every conversation his team had on the way to a scene involve avocados?
Their commander had already briefed them on the situation, one that they’d dealt with a hundred times over and that unfortunately seemed to be happening far too often lately: armed subjects barricaded inside a house. Quinn had been on SWAT seven years now, and in that time he’d watched his beloved city slowly sink into the swamps it was built on. He used to love Miami, loved the part he played in keeping it safe. It was once a beautiful city filled with people relieved to see him, thankful for the service he provided. Now they spit at his boots and cursed him out in several languages. Things had changed drastically in ten years, and lately he was having trouble keeping himself from getting caught up in its downward spiral.
Santana kicked at Javier’s boot. These two were going to drive him crazy.
“What do you want me to do about it, bro? Sit on them?”
“Fuck no,” Javier growled, and kicked back in retaliation. “Keep your stank ass away from my food.”…