by Scott Bell
He folded the knife and slid it back into his pocket. He worked his boots off, standing awkwardly but never taking his eyes off her, then peeled down his socks. He grinned, showing his yellowed teeth again. “The way I see it, you can lay back and enjoy this and come out with all your parts… or I can start cuttin’ bits off and still get what I want.”
He unbuckled his jeans and let them fall to the floor. He wore no underwear. His uncircumcised penis was semi-rigid already, bloated with blood. “Well, what’s it gonna be? The easy way? Or the hard way?”
Her original plan, if it could be called a plan, had been to lure him in close, slash his eyes or throat, then rush past him and out the door. His sheer vicious, reptilian strength ruled that plan out.
Think, Charlie. You have to outwit this cracker bastard.
With shaking hands, she unsnapped the button on her shorts.
CHAPTER 31
Hacienda Del Norte
Northern Mexico
The problem wasn’t infiltrating past the guards in the dark. The problem was trying not to laugh. The dozen men running around with flashlights in the dark after a bunch of nervous, bleating sheep looked like a Laurel and Hardy, Three Stooges, and Charlie Chaplin flick rolled into a farce and served with a comedy.
Yeager and Victor belly-crawled through the scrub brush about a hundred yards to the east of the nearest guard. They kept low for a time, then alternately scrambled forward in bursts of speed, one covering the other.
After releasing the sheep, Yeager had slapped the boards back on the fence using a portable electric drill and some drywall screws. It wasn’t perfect, but it would stand up to a distant inspection in the dark. Then he’d hurried back to the truck and driven it off into the brush, out of sight of the fence line. Recovering it would be a problem for another day.
In the meantime, Victor had tried to shoo the milling flock in the direction of the ranch house. The sheep weren’t terribly inclined to run, and Victor’s hisses and waving arms didn’t excite them much. They seemed content to graze right there by the fence. He picked up pebbles and pegged them at one ewe after another. The ones he hit made a loud “Baaaaah” and trotted off a couple of steps, only to stop and graze again.
By the time Yeager came back from hiding the truck, he found a really pissed-off Victor dancing around in the dark like a madman, hissing “Shoo! Shoo!” Yeager hopped the fence at the exact same time that Victor fired a suppressed burst from his MP5, chewing and spraying dirt behind the sheep. The sheep didn’t like the patter of the machine gun and being pelted with sprayed grit; they ambled in fits and starts toward the ranch house.
“Oh, finally, you little cheep fuckers,” Victor whispered. “Now you run.” He ripped off a couple of more bursts and got them moving a tad faster.
Yeager and Victor then hunkered down, waiting to make sure their flock needed no more encouragement. When the animals were well on their way, Yeager tapped Victor on the shoulder, and they moved to the left, duck-walking to a shallow arroyo, where they dropped to the ground and waited for the show to start, which didn’t take long.
Flashlight beams probed the night like a laser show. Men ran about, tripped, and cursed, chasing wooly shapes that bleated and bounded away whenever someone came close.
Victor’s body shook, tears wetting his face, from holding in the laughter. He rolled over onto his back and snickered quietly as he turned off his NVGs to conserve the battery. “Oh, man,” he gasped. “I forgive you, big guy. That was better than the time you jacked up the back of Dixon’s squad car back in McAllen then blew past him at a hundred ’n’ ten.”
Yeager grinned. “That was pretty good, wasn’t it? Let’s hope them ol’ boys are all busy chasing sheep. Let’s go.”
They belly-crawled out of the arroyo. When all the activity was well behind them, they zipped forward in short bursts, angling for the building stuck onto the back of the big barn.
Yeager paused at twenty yards out, trying to become one with a clump of sage brush. Directly in front of him, a short sprint away, sodium vapor lights coated the red brick in a yellowish glow. The building had been grafted onto the side of the large barn, an obvious afterthought. No doors. The barn itself was no more than a plain steel building on steroids, big enough to hold anything from a fleet of tractors to a medium-sized aircraft. To his left, across a football field of open ground, were the adobe stables. His rig was parked between those two buildings, on a concrete apron.
Yeager flinched at the sharp crack of a rifle coming from the fields behind them. He heard another shot then another. The shooting escalated to a continuous crackle of small arms fire.
“Looks like somebody got tired of chasing sheep,” Yeager said.
Victor’s jaw fell open in horror. “Oh, man. That’s wrong.”
“See? I knew you liked her, too.”
“We gonna sit here all night, makin’ fun of my love life?” Victor got up on one knee, his MP5 tracking from left to right and back. “Or are we gonna move?”
“We’re moving.” Yeager dashed to the right corner of the brick building, weapons and gear slapping his body.
A guard appeared at the side of the building and caught Yeager flat-footed. The guard was all of nineteen or twenty years old, wearing a denim jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots. The kid held an AK47 against his shoulder. He ripped off a burst, a wide-eyed look of surprise reflected in the glow of the muzzle flash.
One round hit Yeager low on his left side, a glancing blow on his flak vest. The slug spun him a quarter-turn and knocked him to one knee. Another round burned his cheek. The rest sprayed skyward as the guard failed to control the muzzle’s climb.
A stutter of fire from Victor’s suppressed weapon drilled a three-round burst into the kid’s chest. The shots flung the guy against the wall, dead before he dropped. The AK47 battered the concrete where his lifeless fingers dropped it.
“You dead, man?” Victor called out of the darkness.
“No.” Yeager grunted and winced when he tried to take a deep breath. “Just stupid.”
“And slow, dude. I seen mannequins run faster.”
Yeager struggled to his feet and jogged to the corner of the brick building, where he took up position while Victor sprinted to join him. The smaller man checked the guard and then the far corner, covering their blindside.
Yeager squinted and peeked around the corner. “Clear. Nothing moving.”
“Same.”
The shooting from the fields had died out. If they were lucky, no one had noticed the burst from the late guard. With a little more luck, they had a few minutes before the remaining guards made it back from their sheep-killing mission.
“Luck,” Yeager muttered. So far, they’d had bucketloads of luck. But luck is a fickle bitch, bound to turn on you when you need her most.
Charlie stepped out of her panties, shaking so hard she had to brace herself by putting one hand against the wall. Her teeth chattered, and cold shivers racked her body. The temperature hadn’t fallen—it was like a hothouse inside the dead refrigeration unit—but fear had turned her hands to ice cubes.
Skeeter leered and stroked his stiffening penis. The more she shivered, the more he seemed to enjoy it. “That’s right, baby,” he crowed. “Git nekkid, and git ready.”
As if his voice had flipped a switch, the fear drained from her, and she knew what she had to do to survive. A rush of warmth replaced the chill and broke the paralysis that had seized her brain. Like an engine turning over on a cold morning, her mind cranked up and started moving again.
“Oh, honey,” she said. “I’m really ready.” She hardly recognized her own voice. The throaty, sexy quality came from a remote corner of her soul, one she hadn’t known existed, a ruthless, diamond-hard kernel of instinct.
She thought of Yeager and his First Law: Come home at the end of the day. Now she understood what that meant.
Charlie sank to her knees on the cardboard mattress. “You’re built like a horse. Come here and l
et me take care of that big boy.”
Skeeter grinned. “I knew you rich bitches was all alike. You like a little slumming, huh? Get a real man for a change.”
“Oh, yes.” She bit her lip and regarded him from under lowered eyelashes. “Please. I didn’t know how bad I needed it.”
She thought she might have overplayed her hand, but Skeeter was apparently oblivious to overacting. His erection stood out like a flagpole.
She glanced down at the edge of the cardboard, making sure her knees were positioned where they needed to be. When she looked up, he stood directly in front of her.
I see what needs to be done. And I will do it.
Hacienda Del Norte
Northern Mexico
Luis Cordoña did not follow Marco outside when he ran to take control of the sheep crisis. Instead, he remained behind, sulking and staring at the monitors.
The security room had one door that led outside and another that opened into the kitchen. The kitchen door was the one that held his attention.
Right behind that door, maybe not two dozen feet away, the rich and powerful cartel boss enjoyed the gift of Serena’s naked body. He was probably using her cruelly, the disgusting pig, taking her virginity with no more thought than blowing his nose.
Luis fumed. Various scenarios ran through his head, all centered around taking his weapon of choice, an AR 15, and shooting the old fucker in the balls. Then, he would grab Serena, who was nude in every situation his mind conceived, and race from the hacienda, the cartel forces hot on his trail. Fortunately, Luis was smart enough to know he would not get very far. Undoubtedly, he would die in a hideous and painful way once they caught up to him, and Serena would die with him.
ALERT – WAREHOUSE 3
At first, he thought a sheep had evaded the line of death and was running across the concrete lot between the barn and stables. Then his eyes focused, and he shot up straight in his chair as if he’d been zapped in the ass by a Taser.
An armed commando had broken cover from the corner of the dormitory and raced across the empty lot, headed for the truck in the center of the picture. While Luis watched, mouth open, another one broke away from the same spot and followed the first. Both were dressed in black and loaded down with weapons and equipment.
Delta Force! We’re being attacked by U.S. Special Forces. Luis jolted from his trance and followed protocol for an armed surprise attack. He flipped the cover from a red plastic button in the upper right of the security console. Big and flat and round, the button was meant to be pounded by an open hand. Luis slapped the alert button again and again, even though he knew once was enough.
Flood lights burst into life, turning the hacienda grounds as bright as a ball field during a night game. Klaxons wailed, screaming out a warbling cry. Emergency strobes and sirens activated in the barracks, waking the off-duty shift.
The two commandos on screen barely paused. They continued making for the truck. The lead man was almost at the cab.
Luis saw his duty very clearly. Marco and the ready reserve were out of position, scattered across the north fields. Six other guards were in various posts around the hacienda, none closer than he to the Special Forces troops attempting to steal cartel property. The off-duty force would take several minutes to respond, having to don clothes and sort out weapons.
It was up to Luis to save the day. He, and he alone, must make a stand and stop those sorry bastards who dared to invade his home, his property, his nation, and take what was not theirs.
Fumbling with a ring of keys he snatched from Marco’s desk, Luis shoved out of his chair and ran to a locked room. After three tries, he found the right key and jerked open the steel door. Stored inside was part of the hacienda’s selection of special weapons: claymore mines, hand grenades, M60 heavy machine guns. But most importantly, it held rocket-propelled grenade launchers.
Ignoring the shrieking alarm and the bright lights, Yeager opened the cab door and heaved himself inside. The bruise in his side reminded him he’d already been shot once tonight, and his body wasn’t happy. His cheek burned and throbbed from sweat invading the long scratch where the second bullet had nearly taken off his head.
He dug his key out of his pants pocket and stabbed for the ignition switch, only to find it dangling loose and trailing a tangle of multi-colored wires. “Shit.”
Victor climbed into the passenger seat. He grunted and flopped on the seat, rolled down his window and settled his M4 on the sill. The MP5 was strapped across his chest again. “Are we there yet?” Victor asked.
“Got a problem.”
“No, thanks. I have enough of my own.” Victor glanced at where Yeager was studying the spaghetti of loose wires. “Oh. That sucks.”
“Lucky for you, I am a mechanical genius,” Yeager said and bumped two wires together. The diesel cranked once then died. Yeager squeezed the wires together and twisted. The big engine started chugging. After a few revs, it fired up with a roar and a belch of black smoke from the twin exhausts over the cab. “Hah! See? No problem.”
“Can we go?”
“Have you been to the bathroom?”
“Twice. In my pants.”
Yeager revved the engine, praying for it to warm up faster than it liked. He slapped the shifter into first and babied the accelerator. As he slid out the clutch, the big truck jolted forward. The engine tried to stall but didn’t. Then they were rolling.
Yeager slapped the wheel. “Next stop Texas.”
CHAPTER 32
Austin, Texas
John Stone leaned back on the sofa and considered Nita Lutz. Partnership. That was what she’d asked for. Stone didn’t have much need for a partner, but she’d promised him a share of the three million dollars Buchanan had hidden in offshore accounts. For three mil, Stone could see his way to at least keeping her alive. Hell, her tits alone were worth a million or so.
“What you got to offer,” he asked, “besides money? I mean, what else you bring to this here partnership?”
Damned if the woman didn’t lick those full lips and make them look even puffier and more sexy. It was as if she could flip a damn switch.
“Well,” she murmured, “Steven enjoyed the fringe benefits.”
“All right then. Let’s get to fringing.”
Skeeter felt the power thrumming through his cock as he stared down at the red-haired women on her knees in front of him. Smiling and licking her lips, she had a face like a model on a magazine cover. Her apple-sized tits sported the pinkest nipples he’d ever seen. She took him in her hand and stroked his dick with an up-and-down motion.
Man, that feels good. I knew it. One look and she can’t get enough. It’s all about the dick, when you got right down to it. “Yeah, baby!” he groaned. “That’s what you know you want. Make Daddy Skeeter feel real good now, y’hear?”
“Hmmmmm.”
The bitch was nearly purring, she wanted it so bad. She raised her head and licked her lips again. Skeeter grinned. All alike. Down deep, they all wanted the dick.
Hacienda Del Norte
Northern Mexico
The truck faced the exact opposite direction they needed it to go. Yeager cranked the wheel left, turning the rig in a big circle, which took him to the far north edge of the parking area.
So far, there had been no reaction to the alarm signal wailing into the night. His luck still held. Law Number Seven: Never count on luck. Yeager gunned the diesel through the last of the turn and lined it up on the gate at the far side of the compound. He speed-shifted and hit the accelerator, making the rig jump forward.
A lone figure dashed out of the house. The guard carried a tubular, awkward-looking weapon.
Yeager squinted. “What the hell?”
The guy stopped at fifty yards out and brought the weapon to his shoulder.
“RPG!” Victor screamed.
“Duck!” Yeager jerked to the left, but time—and luck—had run out.
A white flare and the projectile vomited a trail of smok
e and burned a line straight at their front grill. With a shuddering bang, the grenade hit the right front quarter panel on the Peterbilt and exploded in a blossom of heat and pressure. The big truck jumped sideways, and the engine screamed as if mortally wounded. A chunk of the hood peeled back and smashed the already shattered windshield. The right front tire disintegrated in a shower of flaming rubber.
Yeager fought for control as the rig tried to jackknife and tip over at the same time. He fishtailed back and forth, blinded by the smoke and flame trailing over the hood. “I can’t fuckin’ see!” he shouted.
“This thing’s done, man. Park it and let’s bail.”
A surge of panic hit Yeager in the gut. If he couldn’t get the rig out of there with its load of cash, then he wouldn’t have anything to trade for Charlie. Without the money, he would have to bluff and pray it worked.
He slammed his hands on the wheel, gunning the straining engine and trying to see through the black plumes of smoke billowing up from the engine compartment.
Too late, he saw the front doors of the big barn looming straight ahead.
Enrique DaSilva jerked awake at the sound of the alarm siren shrieking. An attack! Oscar Cruz? Or a new player? The shadowy figures behind the recent plague of attacks on the Sinaloa cartel’s cash-smuggling operation?
He threw off the covers and dressed in slacks and shoes, not bothering with socks. Grabbing his shirt off the back of a chair, he ran for the door. He paused only to retrieve his pistol from the dresser and tuck it in his waistband.