Atlas
It's been almost four weeks since Kitten had been abducted. We'd already hit over half a dozen of the shitty spots marked on the map. Every one of Hector's lackeys either doesn't know where he is, or was too terrified to talk. The violence we subjected them to tells me they have no idea where the bastard is.
Even my CIA contact had come up dry. We were deep in cartel territory, stuck in a country where we had very little jurisdiction. And the local police? Forget it. Half of them were on some cartel payroll, and the other half were too cowardly to cross the traffickers. Asking for help would only slow us down, or worse, expose us.
The frustration was eating me from the inside out. It gnawed at my chest, sharp and constant. In nearly every dump we raided, we found more victims. Young girls who lost their spark. Yara's new job was to handle extraditing them out of here. Once Jacob and I cleared the place, she'd escort the survivors back to my compound. If they were from Mexico, they were returned to their families. If they were from another country, Tony would fly them back and deliver them to their families.
I couldn't leave them behind. Not after what they'd gone through. Every rescue was one more soul ripped from Hector's grip, but none of them was Kit. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to push back the pounding headache that lived behind my eyes these days. I just needed one address. One fucking lead. If I had that, Zach could breach Hector's surveillance system, and we'd slip in and out of his compound like thieves in the night.
I even tapped into some old contacts, traffickers I'd worked for in the past. Useless. None of them ever heard the name Hector. We were holed up in another filthy excuse for a hotel, the kind where the walls were thin, the AC barely cranked, and the sheets smelled like old mothballs.
Jacob sat across from me at the scratch and dent table, eating a blueberry muffin, savoring every bite as if it were his last meal on earth.
Yara was munching on a bagel that looked like it had been lying around for days. She had joined us on the road at this point. I instructed her to follow in another vehiclebehind us because we were running into victims left and right.
She would take them back to my place and get them shipped back home, then meet us at the next hotel. It was time-consuming, but I couldn't have Tony just land my plane anywhere he felt like it in Mexico. That wouldn't work.
We were all living off bagels, muffins and shitty sandwiches. I'd kill for a decent steak right about now. Hell, even lukewarm soup would do. We didn't have time for fine dining and to shop at the local farmer's markets. This shit would have to do until Kit and Becca were found.
But honestly, my mind was far from food. It was on her….always her. Was he hurting her? Had he sold her? Was she cold? Starving? Was she even still alive? My palms started to sweat. The kind of cold sweat that came right before bloodshed. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears.
Babump.
Babump.
Babump.
I stood abruptly, shoving the chair back.
"Gear up," I growled. "We're hitting another facility tonight."
Two hours later-
The SUV bumped along the dirt path, headlights glaring through the darkness. This place was a wreck—another decaying outpost tucked behind a sugarcane field. Rusted gates hung off broken hinges. A single porch light flickered near the door, struggling to remain lit.
Jacob killed the engine. We slipped on our usual aprons and used gloves this time. The aftermath was taking too long to clean up.
"You want the front or the back?" He asked, his voice low.
"Front," I answered, already loading a round into my Magnum 357.
We moved like ghosts in the night. Yara sat in the car while we took care of the scumbags inside the houses. We didn't bring her in for this part of the job. She was busy with the girls we pulled out of this shitty mess. I kicked the door in. The rotted wood crumbled on impact. Screams erupted from inside. Three men scrambled to grab weapons.
Too fucking slow. The first one took a bullet to the throat before he could raise his pistol. I didn't want to kill him before I asked questions, but the weapon was in his hand. Too close for comfort. Blood splattered the wall in a wide circle, dripping onto the floor.
The second guy ducked behind the table. I flipped it over and stomped his skull into the floorboards. Bone crunched beneath my size fourteen triple-wide boot. Jacob slammed the third guy into the wall, holding a knife to his eye.
"Where's Hector?" He hissed.
The man whimpered, almost pissing his pants.
"I—I don't know! I swear! My job is to move the girls. I never met him. You have to believe me. I am telling the truth."
"You sure about that, maggot?"
Jacob dragged the blade down his cheek, slicing him open from eye socket to jaw. The man howled.
"I'll ask you again," Jacob said calmly. "Where the fuck is he?" The man started hyperventilating, blood spilling all over the front of his jeans, soaking them in crimson.
