Hunt Them Down (Pierce Hunt Book 1)

by Simon Gervais

  Nicolás nodded. “It is. We’ve already set up the online accounts. We’ll route the video through so many different layers that it will be virtually impossible for anyone to find the original IP address.”

  “Good.”

  “There’s already over five thousand viewers waiting for the event.”

  “How interesting.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if we have over one hundred thousand viewers,” Nicolás said. “People love this kind of stuff.”

  “Go get dressed for the occasion, Nicolás.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Once Nicolás had walked out, she approached Sophia. The teenager was crying, either from anger, pain, or confusion—the Black Tosca didn’t know.

  “Where’s Leila? What have you done to her?” Sophia asked between sobs.

  The Black Tosca didn’t reply right away, surprised by the question.

  “So kind of you to worry about your friend, Sophia. You’re so very cute.”

  “Where’s my friend?”

  “She exchanged her life for yours, my dear.”

  Ouch! From the look on her face, Sophia was buying it. There were only a few things in life the Black Tosca enjoyed more than torturing people. It was funny, really. Some people loved to take care of abused puppies; she, on the other hand, loved to manipulate others to the point of great emotional pain. Sophia had started crying again, which warmed the Black Tosca’s heart.

  “She’s my best friend. She’d never do that,” Sophia moaned. But she didn’t sound convinced.

  “Oh, but she did,” the Black Tosca said. “She did.”

  Sophia’s tears were running freely down her cheek now. “Why would she do that?”

  “I offered the deal to her first. And she took it.”

  “What deal?”

  “Oh my, Nicolás didn’t tell you about tonight’s event? I am so, so sorry. How rude of him.”

  Sophia was afraid now; the Black Tosca could see she was trembling.

  “In a few minutes, we’ll pour some gasoline onto your legs, arms, and torso, and then we’ll set you on fire for the world to see. How does that sound?”

  From Sophia’s mouth came a weird, hideously inhuman shriek of pure emotional pain that caused every hair on the Black Tosca’s body to rise up in pleasure.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

  Impossible, Hector thought, recognizing Pierce Hunt as he rushed out of the house and into a waiting Toyota Land Cruiser.

  “Who are these people?” his driver asked.

  Hector’s eyes stopped on another man. Mr. Granger, you fucking traitor.

  A man jumped out of the driver’s seat of the Land Cruiser and opened fire. Several rounds ricocheted off the armored windshield, and Hector ignored the scratches as he scanned ahead, trying to figure out how many enemy combatants he and his three men were up against.

  For a moment, Hector considered ordering his men out of the vehicles but thought better of it. He grabbed the radio and calmly asked his men to disengage.

  “Sir?” his driver asked him.

  “This ain’t our business anymore. We sold the girl, remember? Turn around.”

  The driver continued straight down the driveway. “But this is Pierce Hunt, sir!”

  “I ordered you to disengage,” Hector screamed, as rounds continued to hit the Range Rover. “Do it now!” They were getting dangerously close. The Range Rovers were armored, but they weren’t built like tanks. The driver jerked the wheel to the left, but it was too late. Hector ducked behind the dashboard just as the windshield disintegrated and bullets peppered his driver’s chest.

  Hector felt the Range Rover accelerate, and he braced for impact.

  “Get down! Get down!” Hunt yelled as he pushed his daughter to the ground. He covered her body with his own as Egan and Carter joined their fire to Dante’s.

  Two seconds later, Carter screamed at him at the top of his lungs to move. He was waving Hunt off. Hunt didn’t understand why Carter wanted him to move. He and Leila were in the safest place, right in front of the Land Cruiser and using its engine block as cover. Then, amid the chaos, Hunt understood. He heard an engine revving.

  The Range Rovers.

  Hunt forced his daughter up and saw one of the Range Rovers racing toward them. Leila was screaming, immobilized by fear. Summoning all his strength, Hunt pushed his daughter away just as the Range Rover crashed into the Land Cruiser.

  Then something struck him hard in the back, throwing him from his feet and sending him sailing forward.

  Carter started firing at the first Range Rover, concentrating his rounds just above the steering wheel, knowing the windshield would eventually crack. Half a second later, his magazine almost empty, he realized his rounds were getting through. The driver’s body jerked as round after round hit him in the chest, neck, and face. But instead of slowing down, the Range Rover accelerated.

  He looked to his left where Hunt and Leila were. They were directly in the path of the incoming SUV.

  “Move, Pierce! Move!” he yelled at his friend. “Get up! Get up!”

  For Carter, it seemed to take an eternity for Hunt to actually stand up and realize what was going on. Carter sprinted to them, knowing he wasn’t going to make it in time, but he tried anyway. By the time Carter reached his friend, Hunt had already shoved his daughter out of the way. Carter crashed into Hunt, sending him flying off to the side, his momentum carrying him forward. The grinding metallic crunch of the collision between the Range Rover and the Land Cruiser came a millisecond before he felt a tremendous punch to his legs. The jolt of the impact launched him into the air like a crash test dummy. He landed on his back with a jarring thud that sent a tidal wave of pain up his spine. Then everything went black.

  Egan couldn’t believe what had just happened. Dante ran toward Hunt and Leila to render assistance, but Hunt waved him off. He was fine. Carter, though, wasn’t moving. His eyes were closed, and his legs were twisted at odd angles. Egan tried to move in his direction, but the second Range Rover came to a stop. Two men jumped out. They opened fire, and Egan scurried for cover behind the crashed vehicles. The bullets followed him, sending shards of asphalt through the air. The fact that the two SUVs could explode at any time wasn’t lost on him. He needed to get out of there. But where to? The two shooters had taken position behind their Range Rover. He tried to get a fix on them, but bullets whizzed past his head. Egan was growing more frustrated by the second. They were in a standoff.

  Simon Carter had saved his life. It was that simple. Now Hunt’s friend lay motionless, and Dante and Egan were pinned down. Leila looked startled but unhurt. Hunt crawled toward her.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Stay down, Leila. Okay?”

  She nodded. The tears he had seen earlier were gone, replaced by a glint of determination. “Can I help?” she asked.

  Brave girl. “Just stay where you are.”

  “Dad?” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. He looked at her. “Thanks for coming. I knew you would.”

  Right now, there was nothing he wanted more than to hold his daughter in his arms. He kissed her on the forehead and then went to work.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

  The smell of fuel woke Hector up. He flung his eyes open, and light flooded in. He remembered being violently thrown forward. And then nothing. He was bleeding and broken, and he cursed his driver for his stupidity. He looked around him. The Range Rover was upside down. All its windows had shattered on impact. He checked the driver, or what was left of him. There was nothing Hector could do for him.

  Sporadic gunfire drew his attention.

  MP5s. Not ours.

  And AR-15s. My guys.

  He looked around the interior of the smashed SUV for his own AR-15 but couldn’t find it. He pulled his pistol out and crept toward the shattered window. He felt pieces of glass bene
ath his hands and muffled a curse as they dug deep into his skin. He fought the weakness that swam through his limbs. His strength was sapped, but he managed to pull himself out of the Range Rover. He lay on the ground a moment, catching his breath. He got to one knee to orient himself and felt a presence behind him.

  He turned sharply, raising his pistol as he did so. But he was too late. Hunt had already fired twice. The two bullets slammed into Hector’s abdomen. His pistol slipped through his fingers. He moved his hands to his abdomen, clutching his wounds. The first round had hit no vital organs, so if Hunt had only fired once, he would have had a chance. But the second bullet had been awfully effective. It had mangled his intestines and kidneys. Never before in his life had he been in such agony. Hector yelped in pain as he forced himself into a sitting position. He supported himself with his left arm but kept his right hand pressed against the entry wounds. Bright red blood poured through his fingers. He chuckled but didn’t know why. He looked at Hunt. The expression on Hunt’s face was one of utter contempt. His eyes, cold and dark, showed no sympathy, no mercy whatsoever.

  “I hope it hurts,” Hunt told him.

  Hector looked down. The front of his shirt was a deep crimson and so was the top of his pants.

  “Sí, it does. Very much so.”

  “Where’s Sophia Garcia?”

  Hector wanted to answer. He wanted Hunt to stop Valentina, but he felt himself drifting away. He was losing too much blood too fast.

  Pain brought him back. He opened his eyes. Hunt’s face was inches away from his, and he was holding Hector’s injured ear with his left hand. A searing ache filled Hector’s senses as Hunt twisted. He screamed. Hunt let go of his ear.

  “Where’s Sophia Garcia?” he repeated.

  “She’s in San Miguel,” he said weakly. Another wave of pain racked his entire body. He waited for it to subside and then said, “At the Black Tosca’s house. And Hunt?”

  Hunt’s eyes had turned murderous. “Careful, Hector.”

  Suddenly, the pain was gone, leaving behind exhaustion and numbness. His left arm buckled, and Hector slowly slid to the ground, panting.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry. This . . . should have never happened.”

  “No, it shouldn’t have,” Hunt confirmed. The last thing Hector saw was a flash of light. He never felt the first bullet enter just below his nose, or the second one, which pierced his heart.

  Hunt scanned his surroundings to make sure he wasn’t being flanked. He caught a glimpse of Egan, who had taken position behind what was left of the Land Cruiser. Dante was in a prone position next to Leila. Hunt rushed to Egan’s side just as bullets pinged off the metal behind him. Egan returned fire with his MP5.

  “I’m down to one mag,” Egan told him, firing a couple of shots. Then he added, “I had to keep their heads down while you were having your little chat with Hector.”

  Hunt gave Egan one of his magazines. “We need to haul ass, Cole. Abigail will pick us up, but we need to take these two bozos out.”

  “Agreed,” Egan said. “But these guys aren’t dumb. They know how to shoot, and the angle is all wrong from here. I can’t hit anything.”

  “But you can keep their heads down, right?”

  Egan frowned. “What are you thinking?”

  “Change your mag.”

  Egan obeyed and inserted the magazine Hunt had given him into his MP5.

  “On three, you pin them down with a full mag. Copy?”

  Egan nodded, and Hunt counted, “One, two, three.”

  Egan inched out of cover and sent rounds toward the Range Rover at a rapid rate. Hunt waited until Egan had fired a dozen rounds before he sprinted the sixty feet of open ground separating him from the front door. He reached the front door just as Egan fired his last round. Hunt moved inside and to the west side of the house. He hunched over, keeping low to the floor to stay below the windows. There were no blinds on the windows, so Hunt was extra vigilant when he peeked outside, leaving only a tiny part of his head exposed.

  From there, he had a nice angle on the two cartel members. Since Egan had returned to his normal rate of fire—one round every ten or fifteen seconds—the two men were taking more chances and were swapping turns at risking a lucky shot. Hunt didn’t dare open the window to engage his targets, so he moved his MP5’s firing selector from single shot to three-round bursts. He aligned his sights on where he thought the closest man would appear—at the front of the Range Rover, just over the engine block. Hunt estimated the distance at two hundred feet. Not impossible, but not an easy shot either, especially as he had to shoot through a window. Hunt would have only one chance to hit his target. If he missed, his target would know exactly where Hunt had fired from, and he would lose the element of surprise.

  There! The man appeared, just right of where Hunt had bet he’d be. Hunt adjusted his aim and slowly pulled the trigger. His three-round burst shattered the window, showering the porch with broken glass. Hunt’s target was hit, and he fell forward, out of cover. He tried to get up but only managed to get on one knee before falling again. Hunt was about to send him the gift of another three-round burst, but remembered what Egan had told him.

  These guys aren’t dumb. They know how to shoot. Maybe they were ex-military, like their dead boss Hector? If so, the man’s partner would try to bring him back to safety. And three seconds later, that’s exactly what happened.

  The second man fired two long bursts toward Egan and then stepped out of cover to help his fallen comrade. Hunt was ready, and he didn’t miss. His three-round burst punched holes in the man’s chest, and he pitched backward. Hunt fired an extra burst into each body to make sure they would pose no further threat.

  Hunt hurried outside. Egan was already next to Carter. He saw Abigail’s SUV racing down the driveway and assumed either Egan or Dante had called her in. Leila ran to him, jumped up—almost knocking him over—and wrapped her arms around his neck. His daughter buried her face in his neck, and he felt her warm tears. His own eyes welled up. His mind whirled. So much had happened in the past two days. Hunt was exhausted, but he was afraid to move, unwilling to break the spell; but a second later, she did.

  “We need to get Sophia, Dad,” Leila said. “She’s in a big house.”

  “I know where she is,” Hunt said, letting his daughter down. “I’ll get her.”

  Egan called out for him. “Pierce, get over here.”

  Carter had regained consciousness, but he was in pain. Dante gave him a shot of morphine from the trauma kit in Abigail’s car. Abigail whispered in Hunt’s ear, “He can’t feel his legs.”

  Oh shit.

  Hunt knelt next to Carter and took the man’s hand. “You saved my life, Simon,” he said, his voice breaking. “I . . . I . . .”

  Carter smiled. “It’s okay, brother. I’ll be fine. Don’t get that choked up.”

  “We’ll get you some help, Simon. We’re leaving.”

  Carter nodded weakly, and, with that, his eyes rolled up in their sockets as he passed out.

  Hunt helped Dante and Egan carry Carter into the back seat of the Range Rover. Apart from a few scratches and dents where Egan’s and Hunt’s bullets had ricocheted off, the SUV was fine and wouldn’t draw unwanted attention.

  “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Hunt started. “Abigail, you and Dante will take the Range Rover and drive straight to the airport with Leila and Simon.”

  “Got it,” Abigail replied.

  “I’ll call Anna to let her know you’re coming,” Hunt said. Then he turned to Egan. “You and I, Cole, we have unfinished business to attend to.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

  Egan didn’t remember the last time he was so nervous. Hunt’s plan was sound but extremely dangerous. It could work, but the chances were they’d both be dead within the next five minutes. Egan wasn’t afraid of dying, but he was frightened to leave Katherine behind and to never see the baby that was growing inside her. Still,
like Hunt, he had to see this through.

  “Here we go,” he said, loud enough for Hunt to hear him. “We’re there.”

  Egan made a left into the Black Tosca’s driveway and stopped at the front gate. Two uniformed guards came out of the guardhouse. These two were poorly trained rent-a-cops. Egan wasn’t even sure they knew who they were working for. The Black Tosca had hired them simply to keep the appearance of normality. Her real security detail was inside the gates, albeit a bit smaller since they’d killed a bunch of them at Óliver Sáez’s house. One of the security guards gestured for Egan to pop open the hood. He did. The other guard, equipped with a long-handled mirror, swept the underside of the SUV in search of explosives. Egan was then asked to open the trunk. That he couldn’t do, since it was where Hunt was hidden under a large tarp. The security guard approached. Egan pressed a button, and his window came down.

  “I’m here to see the Black Tosca,” he said.

  “Wrong address,” the guard said.

  “Tell her Mr. Granger is here with a special package.”

  Clearly, the name didn’t ring a bell with him. He was definitely not a cartel member. “I need to see the interior of the vehicle,” the guard said.

  “No, you don’t,” Egan replied. “Your employer will feed you to the fish if you open this trunk.”

  The guard looked confused but retreated inside the guardhouse. When he came back a minute later, his attitude had changed drastically. He was much more deferential toward Egan, and he apologized profusely.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Granger. Mr. Nicolás will be down shortly to escort you to the residence.”

  Egan closed the window. “You got that, Pierce?”

  “I did. I want a clean and quick in-and-out.”

  “Any special rules of engagement you’d like to share before we start?”

  “Yeah, don’t shoot Sophia. Everybody else is fair play.”

  Show time.

  Hunt stretched his legs, trying to work the cramps out of them. He adjusted the tarp Egan had thrown over him to prevent him from being seen through the side windows of the Honda CR-V. He kept his Glock 22—to which he had added an Osprey suppressor—close to his chest, with his right hand wrapped around its grip and his finger on the frame. Hunt wanted to be ready for any surprises. He didn’t know much about Nicolás, but Egan had told him the guy was a former Mexican navy commando, the Black Tosca’s bodyguard, and a certified psycho.