Prologue
Five Years Ago
Trevor
The abandoned officebuilding on the outskirts of downtown Caracas is missing half of its windows. A hint of the sea carried on the winds tempers the stench of piss and death. One day, I’d like to be sent on a mission to a nice resort. Or a golf course. Hell, even a college locker room would smell better than this place.
Moving silently through the fifteenth floor, I scan for hostiles. Half a dozen desks are turned on their sides, but most of the building has been trashed. My targets are two floors below me, and by the heat signatures, I’m looking at two guerrillas and three hostages. Any other time, I’d call those good odds. Especially since one of the hostages is Air Force Lieutenant Commander Austin Pritchard. The man’s a legend. He has more combat medals than anyone I know, which is saying something. But he’s been held for almost a week now, and I have no idea what they’ve done to him.
This mission has been fucked from the start. By rights, I shouldn’t be here. My handler tried to keep me out of this, but I told him I didn’t give a fuck what he—or anyone else up the chain—wanted. I was doing this. Sanctioned or not.
I’m the only one who can. And after this job, I’m out. For good.
As I reach the edge of the building, the wind picks up. Fuck. If there’s anyone hiding on this floor, even the slight sound of my pants whipping around my legs could get me killed. They’re made for stealth and flexibility—like the rest of my clothing—but that means they’re not skin-tight. Dropping to my knees, I pull out my rappelling gear.
Two floors. Eight meters. A little under twenty-seven feet.
One last check on the thermals. Same three hostages. Kneeling, by the looks of it. Hands probably bound.
Two hostiles. One leaning against the wall three meters from the hostages, another circling them. I don’t give a fuck about the one moving. He’ll be dead before my feet touch the ground.
The other one…he’s the reason I’m here.
The rope knots around one of the window supports, and I check that it’s secure enough for my weight. One breath. Two. Three.
Bring him in. This is what you were trained to do.
If there weren’t two men with very lethal guns waiting to kill me as soon as I breach the thirteenth floor, I’d laugh. No one’s trained for this. Not when one of the hostiles is your best fucking friend. Or was.
Gripping the rappelling release in one hand and my gun in the other, I balance my arches on the edge of the window.
Do it.
I push off and let myself fall, squeezing the control handle so I slide down the rope until physics takes over, and I swing back towards the window.
My first bullet shatters the window, and I burst through in a shower of broken glass, releasing the rope, tucking, and rolling forward until I come to my feet again. The second shot takes out the guerrilla circling the hostages, and then it’s just them, me…and Gil. The man I’m supposed toretrieve.
“I should have known they’d send you,” Gil says as he springs for Pritchard. Hauling his hostage up by his bound arms, Gil presses a knife to Austin’s throat. One of the man’s eyes is swollen shut, blood trickles from his split lip, and he groans as his feet scramble for purchase on the dusty floor.
“They didn’t. I demanded to be the one to bring you in.” I don’t take my eyes off of Gil as I sidestep one of the other hostages, a man a good fifty pounds overweight who’s breathing heavily. One of Venezuela’s richest bankers, and one of the most vocal opposers ofEl Presidente,Marcos Farías.
“Not happening. Walk away, Trev.” He presses the serrated blade harder against Pritchard’s throat, and a trickle of blood wells on the dark steel. “Walk away and I might even let big brother here live.”
“Gil,” Pritchard rasps, “think of Dani.”
At the mention of his sister, Gil’s brown eyes turn cold. “Dani turned away from me the day she started calling your parents mom and dad.”
“We…welcomed you…into our family,” Austin manages as the knife digs deeper.
“Gil, you’re going to kill him. There’s no coming back from that.” I take a single step closer, my gun steady. “Let him go, or I end you.”
“And fail your mission? That’s not the man I know. The one who follows orders blindly. Without question. Without giving a singleshitwho you destroy along the way.” Gil shifts his hold on the knife. “Last warning, Trev. Drop the gun.”
Blood flows freely down Austin’s neck. The blade is less than a centimeter from his carotid artery, and if I don’t stop the bastard now, he’ll kill the man who saved me from myself after I broke Dani’s heart all those years ago. Meeting Austin’s gaze, I wait for understanding to dawn in his hazel eyes.
“Okay. Okay.” I raise my hands, taking my finger off the trigger. The moment of shock registers on Gil’s face for a split second before Pritchard draws in a breath and slams his head back against Gil’s nose.
Blood spurts, and I fire a single shot, hitting Gil in the right arm. The knife clatters to the ground, and I tackle him as Austin collapses.
