"Hell, yes."
"Ranger, house on the left?"
"Got it."
"Hoyt, Jared, clear a path up the middle. We're coming out—going left."
"Roger."
Hunter threw his M-18 grenade through the open door, and within seconds, violet smoke filled the area, concealing their movements.
Hunter radioed to their over-watch in the towers. "Moving."
Hunter and his team rushed through the door and headed left, picking off targets as the opportunity arose. Combatants swarmed from the surrounding buildings like ants. Gunfire erupted like a Chinese fireworks show. The sharp gunshots transformed into sick thumps as the bullets sank into flesh.
The tat-tat-tat of an AK registered right before searing pain drilled into Hunter's thigh. "Argh." Hunter hit the sand only a foot from the cover of the nearest house and grabbed his leg, blood soaking his hands.
Shane dragged him the rest of the way to the compound wall before stopping to inspect the wound. "Through and through." Without missing a beat, he ripped open Hunter's first-aid pouch and applied a pressure dressing.
Fuck.
Ranger backed towards them, providing cover fire. Militants continued to swarm the compound, seeming to come from every direction.
“Top, you gotta move now. I see headlights on the horizon, maybe a click out.” Jared said.
“Team two, we need early evac. Extraction point A. Will be coming in hot,” Hoyt said.
“Roger.”
Someone set them up. Hunter's hands shook. Pain screamed through his leg. Blood had already saturated his BDUs. Breathe. Think. Hunter forced his body to go still.
"You okay?" Ranger pulled him back from the brink. Focus on the mission. Get my team out.
"You think some puny bullet is gonna stop me? Remember Sudan?" Hunter forced laughter into his voice.
"Why you gotta bring up Africa?" Ranger asked, clearly offended.
"You think I'm going to let you forget that?" Hunter knew Ranger was trying to distract him from the pain, and he appreciated the effort.
"Are we gonna sit around reminiscing or are we going to get the hell out of here?" Shane cut through their conversation.
Ranger pulled Hunter’s arm over his shoulders and got him to his feet. Hunter gritted his teeth as the pain shot through him. "Dammit."
"I thought you said Africa was worse," Ranger said.
"You know I'm full of shit."
Men shouted behind them. They didn't have more than ten seconds to get to the west tower or they'd all be dead. "Ranger, drop me. Get out of here, now."
"Hell no. Shane, cover me. I'm gonna get Hunter up that ladder."
"Roger."
Ranger pushed Hunter above him, giving him no chance to argue, while Shane stayed at the ready, gun in hand. He had fired off two more shots by the time Ranger called down for him to follow.
Hoyt helped lift Hunter into the tower. "Come on, Top, I'll carry your fat ass down."
"Better watch it, he's pretty sensitive about his weight," Ranger said.
"Move." Hunter dropped to the floor, his bad leg taking the brunt. His vision darkened for a minute. Warm blood trickled down his calf and into his boot.
"Shane, get your ass up here," Ranger yelled again over the gunfire. The shots grew louder. Ranger fired his weapon in short bursts to provide cover for their friend.
Someone screamed. Hunter heard a thump.
"Shane!" Ranger shouted over the gunfire and yelling.
"He's not moving." Jared's harsh voice ripped through the com, along with more gunshots. We gotta evac.
"Ranger, get the hell out of there now or we’re all dead." Hunter said. Ranger just continued firing.
Hoyt helped Hunter over the wall, his leg useless. Hunter grabbed the rope and dove, his body swinging wildly from side-to-side as he descended the rope, ignoring his burning palms. He slammed into a corpse on the way down and found himself face-to-face with a once beautiful young woman, her eyes frozen in horror. His stomach knotted, and he froze for a moment, lost in a haze of pain and rage.
"We gotta go, Top." Hoyt was right above him, waiting on him to move.
Hunter slid the rest of the way down, pulling his bad leg back at the last minute so he fell on his good side. A second later Hoyt was beside him, scooping a shoulder beneath his arm and dragging him toward the river.
Hunter looked back once to see Jared and Ranger bringing up the rear.
There was no sign of Shane.
They dove into the river and swam with the current, back to their meeting point. Hunter half-swam, half-floated, drifting in and out of consciousness, his body cold from too much blood loss. He vaguely heard the roar of an approaching boat.
“What happened?” Riser, TF-S’s medical staff sergeant, hooked his arms under Hunter and drug him into the boat.
“Trap. Mr. J is dead.” Hunter coughed, the cold metal floor of the boat stealing what little warmth remained in his body.
"I'm with you," Ranger shouted over the roar of the engine. Though his vision had gone hazy, Hunter’s leg screamed with pain as Ranger tied a belt around his thigh and applied a new field dressing to the wound.
Hoyt leaned over him, the worried look on his face stark enough to penetrate his fuzzy vision.
"Shane?" Hunter got his lips to move, his voice thin.
Hoyt shook his head. The sky faded, and the roar of the motor grew distant. Just before he blacked out, an image of laughing blue eyes and long, blonde hair flashed through his mind.
Then nothing.
Chapter 2
Evangeline Videl placed her hands on the large hand-carved meeting table and stood. She met every gaze in the room. She didn’t blink. She didn’t cringe. She didn’t back down. As a member of the Mississippi Revolutionary Group, MRG, she knew she couldn’t show weakness. After all, the citizens depended on them for protection from the corrupt local government and money-under-the-table law enforcement. “My vote is no.”
Lee Brown, Sherriff of Mercy and all around douche bag, stood at the other end of the heavy wood table. “You’d be stupid not to take this deal. He’s offering more cash than your little group can make in a year.”
Evie eyed the man who’d taken her father’s place as sheriff with disgust. Her father, Tom Videl, would never have done business with criminals. Then again, if her father were still alive, Evie wouldn’t be involved with a semi-illegal revolutionary group. “I don't care how much money that bastard is paying.”
Dale Hendricks, a long-standing MRG member, coughed. “If we don't accept this deal, the money will go to the Lobellos.”
The Lobellos were one step down from a cartel, but no less deadly.
Evie’s open palms clenched into fists and she straightened. Do business with her abusive ex-fiancé or give up more territory to trash… Decisions, decisions. But as much as she wanted to tell Dale to shut his trap, she couldn't. She wasn’t president. "We don't need Marcus. My cousins…"
"Have been promising a deal for six months and have yet to deliver." Dale finished the sentence for her. Evie clenched her jaw tight enough to crack a tooth.
It was true, her cousins, Greer and Raylan Wilde, had yet to deliver the goods. But she'd be damned if she or any member of her group got tied up with Marcus Carvant. “This group has never dealt in drugs. Ever. His money is blood money. And everyone at this table knows that anyone who does business with him ends up dead.”
Dale held her gaze, unflinching. Uncaring. Challenging her barely-held position of control. Willing to deal with the devil even if it meant selling what little soul he still possessed.
Evie's grandfather, C.W., founding member of the MRG sat to her left. At seventy years old, the Cajun mountain man was no sweet and coddling Grandpa. He’d taught her to shoot to kill, a skill he’d learned in Vietnam. His black eyes narrowed behind the glasses riding low on his nose. “I side with my granddaughter.”
Pride surged through her veins, but she kept her face carefully blan
k. She couldn’t afford to show that weakness.
“I agree.” Evie’s mother, Maxine Videl, President of the MRG, sat to her right. Her expression was about as readable as a rock and just as hard.
"Are you really going to let this puny little nothing order you around?" Brown turned to Dale, so far his loudest supporter. Another man moving further and further up Evie's shit list.
Evie went cold. Her fingers, already leached of warmth, turned full-on numb. She never envisioned being in this position. Bartering drugs and money laundering with the only law enforcement in town. If only she’d been smart and went to college, but she’d made decisions on a broken heart and half a prayer. A prayer that went unanswered.
She could barely force herself to leave her house some nights, let alone go to work at The Wharf, her bar, and be so close to so many people. Knowing Marcus was out there and that he could walk in at any moment and finish what he’d started two years ago… Well, it was a wonder she could leave her house at all.
Maxine cut her a gaze that could have sliced titanium. Her mother, the housewife turned gangster. She’d managed to step up and take control of her life after Tom died. But not Evie. Evie had been all but forced into this crazy scheme by her less-than-sane grandpa. Maxine turned her attention to Brown. “Better to take orders from a woman than from a filthy pig."
The sheriff tensed. His hand fell to the pistol in his snapped gun holster.
"I guess you’re lookin’ to lose your hand." C.W. uncrossed his fingers, and in one swift movement, yanked his Colt .44 six-shooter from his hip holster and aimed it directly at Brown. “Maybe you should talk to Marcus about what happens to people who threaten my family."
Evie jerked and clutched the table for support, fighting to keep a neutral expression even though the mere mention of his name sent chills down her spine. The last time Marcus ran into her grandpa, he met the wrong end of a shotgun. He’d escaped without any personal injuries, but his Mercedes had acquired multiple bullet holes.
Of course, gripping the table wasn’t exactly normal behavior. She looked around, not taking a breath until she saw everyone’s focus was on her gun-toting grandpa.
Brown paled, his overly large Adam’s apple bobbing in his long, skinny neck. His hand rose from his holster, empty and shaking. "If you don't do this, you know he'll make you regret it. Every last one of you."
And she did know it. Marcus had already made her regret so much. He’d taken her innocence and used it like an addict used crack, destroying her before she’d realized the damage.
Speak. Open your mouth. Tell him to screw off.
Dale’s gaze cut to her, and the knowledge Evie saw in their depths caused her to quake. She wasn't strong enough to stand up to the sheriff. Why was she even here?
Dale’s upper lip raised in disgust. But instead of calling her out, he whipped around to face Brown. Before Evie could force her frozen lips to move, Dale pulled back and threw a meaty fist straight into the sheriff’s face. The crack of knuckles on flesh boomed. Brown crumpled like a bicycle under a semi truck.
"No one threatens the MRG. Tell Marcus we’ll be in touch after the vote." Dale didn’t even shake out his fist.
Evie, still immobilized, managed to nod at Dale. He didn’t return the gesture, just grabbed Brown by the shirt and dragged him out of the room.
Everyone at the table, all ten members of the MRG, turned to look at Evie. She closed her eyes and gathered what little inner strength she possessed. What would her father say to them?
No one in this room would've dared speak out against Tom Videl. But then again, poor little Evangeline would never be able to live up to the Videl family name.
But she had to try. Wasn’t that why she’d finally agreed to C.W.’s idea to re-instate the MRG? It was her last-ditch attempt to recover the part of her spirit that hadn’t been permanently crushed by Marcus.
Evie lifted her chin and curled her fingers into her palms. “The MRG was founded on honor and justice. Justice from the exact men who just offered us a deal. Are you all so scared that you’d consider selling out at the first flash of cash?”
C.W. gave her a wink and tucked his pistol back into its holster. Cheri, Evie’s best friend and co-bartender at the Wharf, nodded, reminding Evie she wasn’t the only one in the room who’d been shit on by Marcus Carvant.
"You realize you could have just kicked a hundred grand out the door." Leftie, their resident white-trash grease-head, had probably needed to bite his tongue to keep silent for so long. If Evie were in complete control, she would have kicked him out long ago, but Leftie was Dale’s best friend, and Dale was a founding member of the original MRG in the 70s.
“You do realize he would have killed us once he was finished with us. Even you.” Maxine’s long red nails clicked slowly, methodically, on the table top, reminding Evie of a cat before it pounced on its prey.
Leftie spat a wad of chewing tobacco on the floor. “You think just ’cause C.W. started this group means you get to make all the decisions. Don’t forget. We get a vote. And I vote to take the goddamn money.”
Dale re-entered the room and resumed his seat beside Leftie, his look calculating. “I say we take the offer. So we deliver some pot down river, so what? Think of what we could do with the money.” He took his time before continuing, looking at each of the people gathered around the table. “I’m hurting for cash. Our group is hurtin’ for it too. Evie’s been promising her cousins have this big plan, this big deal that’s gonna save us, but so far they’ve produced zero.”
Evie swallowed, sinking back into her seat. No matter how much she wanted to call Dale a liar, he was telling the truth.
“Before you vote, think about how much good we can do the community with that kind of cash,” Dale said.
Leftie all but rubbed his palms together. The other members started shifting in their seats, looking anywhere but at Evie. It felt like there was a drought in her mouth. “No matter how much money is at the end of the rainbow, delivering drugs, even if it’s pot, is not what we are about.”
Chairs creaked, more shifting.
“You’re talking about one-hundred thousand dollars for our club,” Leftie said.
"You mean lining your pockets, don't you?" C.W. said.
Leftie’s face turned red, but he held his temper in check. "Lining all our pockets, old man. Think about it."
Evie felt another thread of control snap. She knew she wasn't strong enough to stand up to her people and make them do right.
Mercy, Mississippi was now run by criminals—criminals who wore badges and were led by a corrupt mayor. Marcus Carvant, her ex. As Marcus’s former punching bag, Evie had been kept under lock and key, never allowed to bear witness to his ‘business’ dealings. She’d suspected, though, plenty of times, but never managed to get any proof. Now he wanted drug transport and to launder his dirty money through her bar?
“Anyone else have something to add before we vote?” Maxine stood and Evie sat down. If they voted to accept the deal, she’d have no choice but to work with Marcus. Or step down and give up.
And deep down she knew giving up the MRG would mean giving up on herself.
Chapter 3
Marcus Carvant sat up straight in his Italian leather chair, tapping his engraved pen in precise two-second intervals. He allowed this one small action as his agitation with Sheriff Lee Brown grew. He tapped faster the more excuses the sheriff made for his failure.
"So you didn’t get the job done." Marcus kept his tone calm and controlled, denying his mounting desire to hang up on Brown. He wouldn’t allow that lapse in control for anyone. Not the man on the phone. Not the mercenary sitting on the other side of his desk. Not himself.
His father had taught him early in life to keep things in order. Not one blond hair on Marcus’s head strayed from its combed perfection. Not one hint of a wrinkle dared crease his perfectly tailored trousers. Not one of his employees dared disrupt his carefully laid plans.
Not if they w
anted to live, anyway.
“I'm telling you, I did everything you asked. They forced me out at gunpoint. That traitor Dale Hendricks sucker-punched me." Marcus heard the sound of something opening on the other end of the phone line, followed by a crunch and Brown's sigh. He was probably pressing a bag of frozen peas against his face. Something Marcus’s ex-fiancée had done on numerous occasions.
"So you not only failed to acquire transportation, but you lost my inside man?"
"No. No, sir. I can get the deal done.” Brown’s voice waivered, as thin and weak as the man himself. “I'll get that little bitch alone and take care of business. Just like you used to do."
Marcus stopped tapping his pen and laid it parallel with the pad of paper on his desk. Yes, he’d lost control once. One girl he’d never quite managed to subdue., but he planned to reacquire soon.
Evangeline Videl would belong to him again, only this time she wouldn’t be at his side. She would be beneath his foot.
When and how Marcus punished her was totally and completely up to him, however, not a bought and paid for Dollar-Store sheriff with a plastic badge.
“I'm not a fan of giving second chances, and I need to decide if you deserve one,” Marcus said.
"Listen, I can do it. I’ve never failed you before. Never. I'll take care of it, right now," Brown said.
"No. I will take care of it. You just do your job and try not to screw up my plans.” Marcus snapped the cell phone shut and set it on the rich mahogany table directly beside and in line with the discarded pen.
Nothing in his office or on his person was out of order.
Marcus leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, and steepled his fingers. His chair was dark leather, tall and heavy. A throne. It was only appropriate, for he ruled his business with the power and might of a great king.
And he was just as dangerous when pissed off.
The MRG, now led by Marcus’s ex-fiancée, would make the perfect scapegoat for his weapons deal. He already had the guns, thanks to a little money and a now-dead guard at Camp Renier stupid enough to steal from the government. He had the contact with a zealous terrorist in Pakistan, thanks to a greedy soldier willing to sell out his country. And he’d figured out a way to get his shipment out of the country without getting his hands dirty, and in the same move, get revenge on Evangeline.
Men of Mercy: The Complete Story Page 3