Saban will only get my retribution. Unlike Ezekiel-Jane, who was forced to marry Angel to save her life, not even knowing him, Saban’s ass knows better. We lived together for a damn decade. The fact she didn’t come to me — didn’t even give me a chance — shows me the utter lack of character she has. She deserves nothing but the raw, unvarnished monster her actions have given rise to.
Motioning towards the main entrance, I hold my hand up for the squad of men directly under my command to hold still. We have the compound surrounded. Each team at an access point.
Oz has a full contingent of men at the ready, all seasoned from the various conflicts throughout the continent. Many of them are former child soldiers he’s taken under his wing. Their loyalty is unshakable. None took the offer to switch sides and, being a man not known for his diplomacy, we knew eventually we would find ourselves here, ready to attack and take back what is ours.
Hearing the signal of Padre’s team — the last one to get in place because they had to navigate through the jungle of the animal preserve surrounding the western edge of the compound. Angel is taking the south since our intel said that’s the area the civilian staff and guests are located and where Easy will probably be.
Rocco on the north and me and my crew taking the east, since that is where he houses his militia.
Taking lives is nothing new to me, and I won’t hesitate now.
“Go.” Already in motion when the command is issued, I watch one of my men deploy the rocket launcher, taking out the secondary housing facility. It’s a quiet night, so there are no advance guards. Watching men spill from the barracks, many unarmed, only to fall as the flowing non-lethal gas hits them.
We follow, taking out Oz’s men as we go, aiming to incapacitate when we can, yet there are some a little toobloodthirsty, so I have no problem making the kill shots necessary to preserve my men’s life.
The doors are nearly impenetrable, but we expect that. I place four bricks of C-4 at the corners of the triple enforced double doors and set the charges.
“Hold. Fall back.” My men follow the command without a word. “Firing.” Pressing the remote, I detonate the explosives. The structure shakes mightily, but to the architect’s credit, the entire building doesn’t come down. Massive doors crash to the ground with a heavy thud. The mahogany overlay makes them look pretty, but they’re actually made of chromium, the hardest metal on Earth. Oz knew what he was doing when he made this impenetrable fortress, only he didn’t expect the lengths we would go the get Saban and Easy back nor the scorn of one of his former lovers who misunderstood his and Easy’s relationship and how angry she was thinking he threw her over for the curvy little woman.
“Go, go, go.” I hear each leader shout over the comms after each succeeding entrance gets blasted. Gunfire erupts around us as we cross the threshold of the mansion. A spray of blood mists beside me as Lawrence, one of my men, takes a hit to the side of his neck. His eyes are vacant before he slumps to the ground.
A bullet whizzes past me so close I can see it in my periphery. Quickly stepping back, I anticipate the next move, catapulting past the trajectory of the spray of bullets the sniper is letting off in quick succession.
The air holds the acrid scent of gunpowder, the iron of spilled and clotting blood. Oz’s and my men are falling around me. Still, I forge on, not hesitating or taking a moment to think of anything other than getting out of the sniper’s crosshairs and taking him out.
The pulse of silence is heavy as I track his movements. He hits one of my men in the thigh, nicking the artery. Claude hasmere seconds to staunch the flow or he will bleed out. I can’t stop to help him or give up my position. Getting this sniper is my primary focus.
Seeing the direction the bullet came from, I trek through a sea of bodies, unsheathing my knives. Taking my time, I move with swift efficiency, hoping he thinks I’m no longer a player on the broad rather than the one stalking his every move. I also don’t want him changing position before I finish hunting him.
Making it to the second level, I see a hidden alcove overlooking the entire first floor. The perfect place for a sniper. One probably built for its strategic position.
As if the god of war himself thought to bless me, the alcove takes fire from the left as I approach from the right. I have mere seconds on my approach, hoping I don’t get caught in a barrage of friendly fire on my advance.
Just as I see the merc reposition to take out the team coming from the northern edge of the compound, I pounce, knife raised. He raises his gun half a second too late. I nearly plunge the knife in his throat when I see the liquid silver, wolf gray of his eyes and bury the knife in the shoulder of Ozymandias Love-Savelle instead.
“Why can’t I kill him?” I snarl at Angel’s hard, unmovable countenance.
“You know why,” he snaps, ripping his hand through his hair, agitation clear on his face. He wants the motherfucker dead as much as I do. Maybe less now that he’s found Easy just as she was giving birth to their son, Judah, as we initiated our assault on the compound.
Dr. Mariam assured him she was already been in labor well before our attack. I don’t think he would have ever forgiven himself if he caused her to go into premature labor by what we had to do. The baby is full term and healthy, which makes the conception the first time they were together or soon after, if my calculations are correct.
“Fuck that. He’s your people — not mine.” Scoffing, I stare out into the room where we have the man who took out nearly a dozen of our men on his own. Not to mention, he caused complete havoc in our lives, harboring his fugitive cousin and my ward.
“You are also my people, and I need you to chill. I wanna kill that slick mouth bitch as much as you do.” Angel cuts a look Oz’s way. Instinctively, I know the truth of those words.
“He knows where she is,” I say to Angel, who nods, knowing there is nothing I won’t do to get back what’s mine.
“Do your thang,” he mutters, but his next words halt me in my tracks. “But don’t kill him. Ezekiel-Jane would never forgive us.”
Nodding without looking back. She probably won’t anyway if she ever finds out what I’m about to do.
“Tie him down — on his back.”
My masked commandos follow my instructions without complaint.
“Leave,” I tell them. There will be blowback regardless. I’m willing to take it all on myself.
“Where is Saban Toussaint?” The question is soft. My tone a mild inquiry as I set up my tools. Tasks like this take little effort. Interrogations like this are best done simply.
