“We hit both today. No stalling. No mercy. We’ll wring answers out of them one way or another.”
He gave a curt nod, loaded a full mag into his Glock, pushing the slide with a quiet click.
After what we did to the last two cartel scumbags, it was apparent they all feared Hector. I'm sure they would have sung like birds if they had known where he was. I wasn't surprised. Fear is how these monsters built empires, terrorizing their men just as much as their victims.
We showered, cleaning off any traces of blood splatter, and layered on our bulletproof vests underneath plain black tees. We wore tactical pants and boots for the task ahead. As far as I'm concerned, we're just ghosts with a vendetta.
The weapons stayed stashed in the duffel. I wasn’t about to drag that bag in and out of every ratty hotel we stayed at. It was too risky.
We loaded up the truck and hit the road.
Three hours later-
We parked a mile out from the next location, a worn-down shingled adobe-style house off a dirt road, surrounded by brush and wired fencing. It looked abandoned, but I knew better. This was one of their filthy holding tanks.
A halfway house for human cargo. Just another track on the underground railroad to hell. We threw our aprons on and approached from the rear, separating the chain-link with bolt cutters. We moved like shadows, quiet and fast.
I peeked through the grimy back window.
Three men were inside. Two armed. One unarmed and nodding off in a chair. To the right stretched a hallway lined with three closed doors, most likely where they kept the girls locked away.
I motioned to Jacob. "Ready?"
He nodded, pulled the pin from a flashbang, and tossed it through the window.
BOOM.
All we heard were screams, glass shattering, and chaos.
We kicked in the back door, our guns raised.
The first guy didn’t even reach for his weapon. Jacob dropped him with a single shot to the kneecap, then pistol-whipped him to the ground.
The second ran for the hallway.
I tackled him into the wall, disarming him before slamming his head into the plaster, leaving a hole in the decaying structure. Blood splattered, and he collapsed like a defective folding chair.
The third was scrambling on the floor, his hands up in surrender, while babbling in Spanish and broken English.
I grabbed him by the collar and hurled him into the half-rotted kitchen table, snapping it in two beneath his weight.
His body sprawled out on the floor.
“Where is he?” I roared, slamming my boot into his ribs.
He coughed up blood, groaning, eyes wide with panic.
“WHERE THE FUCK IS HECTOR?” I yelled again.
“I…I don’t know! I have no idea where he is! Please, I am not lying. We have never even met him." He wheezed.
Jacob kicked over a chair, grabbed a butcher knife from the counter, and drove it through the guy’s hand, pinning it to the floor. He howled, blood painting the cruddy tile.
“I don’t give a shit what you don’t know,” Jacob snarled. “You will give us every name, address, andnumber tied to Hector’s supply chain, or you’ll leave here in pieces.”
Before he could answer, we heard a soft sob.
I turned.
