by J. B. Havens
Tossing my pack onto the passenger seat, I jumped into the SUV and peeled out of the garage, leaving a trail of rubber and smoke behind me. I put the accelerator to the floor and headed to the airfield, hoping the fucking jet was still there getting re-fueled for its trip back to the compound.
I nearly put the SUV onto two wheels turning onto the airfield. The jet was still in sight, thank fucking Christ. The fuel truck was pulling away from it and the steps ascended as I watched. I nearly dropped the tranny by throwing the SUV into park before stopping all the way. I ran for the jet, screaming and waving my arms.
The steps lowered back down and the captain peered out at me. His look of confusion only increased as I got closer and he saw that I was alone. “What’s going on? I had orders to go back to the compound.”
“Orders changed. We’re going to Mexico. Right fucking now.” I climbed aboard, grateful beyond measure that I still had my rifle and gear with me.
“Copy that. You’re the boss.” He headed into the cabin as I raised the stairs. I loved that he didn’t question me or hesitate.
I stowed my gear and sat in my favorite chair. I found the silence deafening. Usually the guys were around me, bullshitting and screwing off. Once we were in the air, I needed to get to work. I had to pull up everything I could on Villahermosa. Going in alone was damn dangerous, but the faces in those photographs were haunting me; those innocent people, dead... because of me. I fingered the handle on the machete still strapped to my thigh. I had nearly forgotten it was there. I would bloody its blade again, and soon. I couldn’t let anyone else be slaughtered. Even if it meant my own life.
****
Jordon paced with the others in the war room; the photos and note on the table were all the evidence they needed to know where Mic had gone.
“Jones, get the fucking shit changed; we don’t have time to dick around,” Jackson growled from where he was wearing a hole in the carpet. Beatrice was sitting at the table, tears tracking down her face and falling softly onto her folded hands. Her lips were moving in a silent prayer.
“Master Sergeant, the jet just took off,” Jones calmly reported, his fingers flying across the keys.
“Fuck!” Jackson shouted, making Beatrice jump. She stood and took him by the arm.
“We’ll be in the hall,” she said, dragging the much larger man behind her like an errant toddler.
The door shut behind them. Flynn ran over and pressed his ear to the door. Pierce smacked him on the back of the head.
“Get the fuck away from there, you nosy bastard.” Pierce grabbed hold of Flynn, trying to drag him back.
The door opened suddenly, knocking them both onto their asses. Jackson’s head popped in quickly. “The adults are talking, children, be patient. Jones, track the jet.”
“On it,” Jones answered at the door shut again. The man was as focused as Jordon had ever seen him. Sweat was sliding down his temples, but his eyes never left the screen.
“What the fuck was she thinking?” Jordon was furious that she would do something so fucking stupid. Giving herself up to that monster, with no back-up and no plan. “When I get my hands on her, I’m going to beat some fucking sense into her.” Jordon repeatedly ran his hands over his head and down his face. His beard was thick now and it itched like a motherfucker.
“Obviously, she’s a fucking dumbass and we’re going to have to go back to motherfucking Mexico to bring her stupid fucking twat home.” Rook’s colorful language had them all staring.
“Well, Rook, don’t hold back, brother. Let her have it.” Pierce stopped his pacing long enough to say.
“I’m going to tell her you called her a stupid fucking twat,” Flynn added from where he was standing over Jones’s shoulder, trying and failing to make sense of the lines of numbers scrolling down the monitors.
“So fucking what? I’ll tell her to her fucking face after I save her stupid ass.” Rook was nearly foaming at the mouth. “Jones, hurry the fuck up, man.”
“Listen here, ass wipes, this isn’t easy. It’s a process and if you don’t stop your bitching and fucking off, it’s going to take me even longer. She knew I would get through, it just takes a little time. So unless you think you can sit here in this chair and get us the fuck out, shut your fucking traps.” Jones lifted one hand and gave them all the finger over his shoulder.
Jordon sat at the table and laid his head on his arms. His gut was a twisted mess of anxiety and fear; adrenaline was pumping through his veins, making his heart race a marathon in his chest. If he didn’t get there in time, if he couldn’t save her... he didn’t allow himself to follow that train of thought any further. They would get there, they would save her, and he would make sure she knew what she meant to him. In that order.
****
Beatrice hauled Jackson behind her down the hallway until they got to the medical center. She wanted a little privacy for this conversation. Pushing the door open, she ignored his stuttering questions. She shoved him down onto a bed and stood in front of him. It was the only way to get him near to eye level.
“Listen to me, Fisher Jackson,” she began, stepping between his legs and taking his face into her hands. “You listen well, my Fisher king. You will go and you will find my niece; you will bring her back to me.” She kissed him softly and quickly. “Now go, go be with your men and find her. I will be here, waiting for you to return.”
He grabbed her face and pulled her into him, kissing her like he was breathing her, holding her tight against him. He slid a hand down to her lower back and buried the other in her hair, pulling her impossibly closer.
“Beatrice…,” he gasped against her lips before kissing her again, his tongue sliding against her own. His taste was intoxicating and exotic.
She pulled back, breaking his hold on her. “Fisher, stop.” Once again she cradled his face in her hands. “When you get back, we’ll finish what you just started.”
“Damn right, we will, woman,” he growled.
“You’re letting me distract you. Why?” She looked deep into his chocolate colored eyes, searching for an answer.
His giant shoulder rose and fell with a deep sigh. “It’s my fault she’s gone. I left the folder out on the table. I was so focused on seeing you, that I left it there.”
“Did you know she would find it? Did you leave it there on purpose?” Beatrice asked calmly.
“No, of course not.”
“Then shut up and go do your job.” She kissed him one last time and stepped back out of his reach.
“Roger that, ma’am.” He tugged her by the hand and towed her back to the war room.
****
The door crashed open against the wall, startling them all. Jordon’s head flew up in surprise. Jackson was standing there, holding hands with Beatrice who had a very self-satisfied smirk on her face.
“Jones. Update.” Jackson ordered.
“Almost there,” Jones snapped in return, his patience nearly gone.
“The rest of you clowns, get your shit together. We’re going to get her.” They jumped into action, tightening rifle slings and double-checking gear.
“Got it!” Jones shouted in victory, throwing his hands into the air. He stood so quickly the chair flew out from behind him and crashed to the floor.
They hurried past Jackson on the way to the elevator. “Go on up, I’ll be right there.”
Jordon glanced behind him and saw Jackson reaching out for Beatrice’s face. He shuffled into the elevator with the others. There wasn’t much room for Jackson anyway.
“Question. Since Mic took the jet, how are we getting to Mexico? I don’t think they’ll let us fly in coach,” Flynn piped up in his usual smart-ass manner.
“Don’t worry your pretty little face, flyboy. I got you a toy,” Jones replied.
“You think my face is pretty? Aww, Jones, I didn’t know you noticed.” Flynn winked at him.
“Flynn, do you ever shut your fucking mouth?” Rook fast losing patience.
&nb
sp; Jordon had enough of their crap. “All of you, cut the shit. We need to get Mic; that’s all we need to focus on right now. I get you’re stressed as fuck, but just shut it!” He was the first off the elevator and into the waiting Suburban. The elevator went back down as soon as the last man got off.
Pierce slid into the back beside him. “You’re right man, but that’s how they let off steam. We’re all scared for her; we’re all worried and anxious to kick some ass.”
“I know, I just need to do this. If she dies while we’re here dicking around, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
Jackson took the driver’s seat and the others piled into the Suburban around him. “Jordon, you have met Mic, right? No fucking way is she going to let that bastard have the upper hand. I’m not sure she’s capable of dying.”
“Let’s go get our girl, boys.” Jackson was chewing on an unlit cigar as he pulled out of the garage, driving one-handed. They were soon flying down the road, racing forward in the hope that they could reach Mexico in time.
Chapter 22
I stepped off the plane and ran to the waiting Jeep. The advantage of being at the controls was that I could get the ride I wanted. I tossed my pack in and secured my rifle. It was an older model, but a Jeep was a Jeep. I didn’t have much time; dawn was an hour away. I prepared to retrace my steps from yesterday, only this time I would drive right into the village square.
I headed out into the desert, the cool evening about to give way to the warmth and heat of the day. My headlights bounced along the tire tracks from yesterday. I followed them at a steady pace, my nerves and adrenaline ratcheting up with every mile I drew closer to the village.
I quickly came upon the wrecked vehicles from the fire fight, their blackened remains pushed off of the road. Everywhere I looked, I saw flattened and useless poppies. That sight gave me great pleasure. Turning onto the road between the fields, I dodged the holes left from Pierce’s bombs and headed straight for the faint light on the horizon. The lights of the village drew me in as a light rain began to fall. I switched on the wipers and sped up.
I was rushing forward, more than likely to my death, but I hurried all the same. The way I saw it, as long as I got the chance to take Julio with me, I didn’t mind dying too much. I was a soldier, a warrior, and I was bred to sacrifice my life for others.
****
Julio sipped strong coffee from a delicate cup as he watched the rain begin to fall, impatiently waiting for his prize to arrive. He’d brushed and steamed his best suit before donning it. Slicking his already perfect hair back from his forehead, he spotted the approaching headlights. There wasn’t much traffic out here so she was easy enough to spot.
Looking at his Rolex, he noted that she was a tiny bit early. Dawn wasn’t for another fifteen minutes. Punctual... he liked that in a woman.
Sending those photos was the best idea he’d had in a very long time. Everyone had a price, be it money or motivation. Getting that bitch here was just a matter of the correct amount of motivation. She was a soldier, a leader; it was in her nature to sacrifice herself for the greater good. Killing the villagers was no issue for him; he viewed them as cattle anyway. They had their uses, but at the end of the day they were easily slaughtered to suit his needs.
There was only one vehicle approaching and he was positive that she was stupid enough to come alone as he had instructed. No doubt her team would follow, no matter what her orders were. He would have men ready to do deal with them; a few well-placed snipers should do the trick in delaying them. He planned to be otherwise... occupied.
Finishing his coffee, he let a smile stretch his face; anticipation gripped him, hardening his cock to the point he needed to adjust his pants. He couldn’t wait to show the puta what he did to little blondes like her.
****
I slowed as I drove into the dark town; the rain had picked up and was puddling all over, creating thick mud which I was careful to stay out of. Trying to escape with a stuck vehicle would not be a good start to the day. I was halfway through the village square when my escort arrived. Two trucks, similar to the ones from the other day, pulled up alongside me. Men in rain slickers kept AKs trained on me as I more or less ignored them.
They didn’t really worry me overly much, since their boss wanted me alive. They were just here to intimidate me, which of course wasn’t working. The fucktard in the back of the truck closest to me waved at me to pull over. I gave him the finger and kept driving.
I may have been surrendering myself, but I was going to do it on my terms, and that meant having this Jeep as close to the house as possible. Preferably within running distance. As I neared the brightly lit house, I pulled my pack closer to me. Digging around, I found what I was looking for and stashed it under the dash. They would no doubt take my pack and weapons, but when I got out of there, I wasn’t going to be weaponless if I could help it.
The guy in the truck kept waving his gun at me and shouting something in Spanish; I kept on ignoring him. I risked a glance and it looked like he was about to blow a blood vessel in his overly large forehead. The temptation to pull my M-9 and shoot him was strong, but now was not the time. Instead I followed the truck into the short circular driveway, making sure that the Jeep wasn’t blocked in and the front end was pointed directly out. Moving quickly, I took the spare key off the ring and stashed it under the seat. I was betting my life on the fact that they wouldn’t bother to search the Jeep. It was a risk I had to take. But, I didn’t come here without back-up. I tapped on my phone, activating the GPS. Waiting until now would give Jones my exact location. I sent a text to Jones, knowing that he would trace it and ping it back to my location. As long as the phone was on, he could track it. Switching it onto silent, I shoved it under the seat with the spare key and back-up pistol I’d stashed.
My door was jerked open and I allowed myself to be pulled out by the arm. A sicario was screaming in my face, spit landing on my cheek with each word. I wiped it off and flung it in his general direction. He raised his hand to slap me, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.
“No. Girl is for Julio. No marks,” the man said, flinging sir-spits-a-lot away. He turned to me and efficiently stripped me of my rifle and side-arm. He reached for my belt, but I slapped his hands away.
“Must have machete. Take off or I cut off.” He pulled a long knife from his belt and pointed at my waist.
“Fine, you fucker.” Jerking the ties off my thigh, I slipped off my leather belt and pulled the sheath from it. I dropped the sheath carelessly at his feet and rethreaded the belt onto my pants. “I’ll be taking my weapons and that machete back, just so ya know.”
“Come. Now.” His broken English was easy enough to understand even with his thick accent. The others stood around my Jeep, rapid fire Spanish pouring from their mouths. When I didn’t immediately obey, the man grabbed me by my upper arm and dragged me.
“Let the fuck go.” I planted my feet and pivoted my weight, throwing him off balance and making him lose his grip on my arm. “I’ll walk on my own. Keep your fucking hands off me.” I snapped. He nodded his understanding.
He spared me a last glance before leading the way into the mansion. The sound of my boots striking against marble echoed back to me. It was eerily similar to the mansion in Colombia.
Maybe cartel drug lords all had the same decorator?
Thick carpeted hallways led off to wings on my right and left; directly ahead was a grand staircase, sweeping upward in a curve of white and black marble. It wasn’t the architecture that caught my eye, but the man standing at the base of the stairs. Though to call him a man was to insult true men everywhere. This fucker was a monster in a suit.
“Ah, Miss Michaels, you’ve made it. Welcome!” He clapped his soft manicured hands and walked toward me, one meticulously graceful step at a time. He was impeccably groomed from his Italian kid-skin shoes, to his grey Armani suit with fine black pinstripes. His appearance might have been G.Q, but the madness in his eyes was obvious
even from this distance.
This fucker is looney tunes…
“My name is Mic, but you can call me Staff Sergeant Michaels.” He was within arms-reach and before I had a second to react his thug behind me grabbed my arms and twisted them up and back.
“Now, now, Luis, don’t hurt her. She is, after all, a guest in my home.” He swept his hand wide, encompassing the gilded space around us.
“I’m no guest. Cut the crap, fuck-face. What do you want from me?”
Anger tightened his face for a brief second before he schooled his features back into a polite mask.
So... he gets pissed when I’m rude. Well he’s just going to love me…
“Rudeness is unbecoming in a woman so beautiful.” He reached a hand past my face and stroked my hair. A near blissful look appeared across his features.
“Touch me again; I dare you.” I growled in his face. He was really starting to piss me off. “Get your dancing monkey off me, right now.” I jerked on my arms suddenly with no regard for my joints. The sicario lost his balance and stumbled into me slightly, but didn’t release my arms.
“Oh I think not, my dear Staff Sergeant. Your reputation precedes you, I’m afraid. You won’t be released, now or ever, in fact. It’s going to be a joy to break someone so strong…” He circled me slowly, trailing his hand down my arm, fingering my tattoos, “…someone so brave and selfless... you’re going to be my finest work yet,” he finished, as he faced me once more.
My stomach balled up in fear. His eyes were filled with something I could not name. I’d never seen such lust and hate mingled together into one look before. He wanted me... his tented pants were proof of that, but this wasn’t about sex. This was about power…
“Good luck with that. Many a man has tried, and yet... here I am. Bring it.” I ducked my chin and spat on his fine Italian shoes. I saw the back-hand coming, but had no way to dodge it. The crack of his palm against my cheek was nearly as shocking as the pain of it. I saw him move again and tried to dodge the next hit, but couldn’t, and ended up taking most of the vicious hit on my temple. My face was numb from the blows and my head was swimming.