I almost break my cover and murder him before the door opens. Almost. Just the thought of him touching either of the women holding my heart is enough for my rage to burn through my cool, collected surface.Not yet.
He slips out the door as the pilot kills the engine, clearly comfortable in Jonathan’s domain. Two men stride forward to greet him, but no one I recognize. Good. I need them to give me some space to work. Two others march forward. One stands at the front of the helicopter, facing away from us, his hands loosely folded behind his back, his feet shoulder width apart. He’s trained, which could be an issue. I stretch in my seat, using the side mirror to check my six. The other guy standing at the back is also facing away, but he’s restless as he surveys the ocean, shifting his weight between his feet as if he’s already bored of his task less than sixty seconds into it. A smirk loosens the muscles of my jaw. He’s an idiot.
“Is that normal?” I ask Mike.
“Yup. They make sure we don’t get any stowaways.”
“You wearing the vest Fox sent you?”
He pats his chest like he’s forgotten, his face gaunt. “I am.”
I watch the path the buyer takes out of the corner of my eye, trailing him into the first container. A viewing room? Or do sex traffickers sit down and share a scotch and cigar first while they congratulate each other on being the worst of humanity?
“Does he always take the full two hours?”
“This one? Yes. I think he samples them.” Mike pales at his own words.
“What does he have on you?” It’s clear he’s not doing this willingly.
He squints at the guard in front, his body eerily still. “My wife and daughter.”
“He has them?” The blood drains from my face. Eleanor and Steph have only been missing a few hours. I can’t even imagine knowing Jonathan had them permanently.
“No,” he breathes, his eyes closing in exhaustion and pain. “He has their names, addresses, their routine, where they get their nails done. The route my daughter runs every other day.”
That’s terrifying, and a classic example of reconciling doing something terrible in order to save the few you love. “When this is over, I’ll make sure you are relocated, safe, and well looked after.”
Mike turns to me, his hazel eyes hard as he slides a photograph from a pocket in the ceiling. His thumb rubs over their faces. “Kill him, end this,” he jerks his head toward the floating slice of hell we’ve landed on, “and there will be no need.” He points at the pair of smiling women, his hand shaking. The youngest has his eyes. “If you fail, I’ll be dead, and they will wish they were. So don’t fucking fail.”
Now I have two more lives to fight for. I bob my head in acknowledgement before slipping free onto the tarmac. I slink to the rear and snap the neck of the first guard with ridiculous ease before moving around to the side of the helicopter. He’s barely moved an inch. Observant. Precise. Deadly. All traits I recognize, because they’re the same ones I honed over years. I wonder if our paths ever crossed; there aren’t many men like us. I wonder how he lost his way from protecting and serving the innocent, to hurting and looking the other way as monsters kill them.
I do, however, have the advantage. He doesn’t know I’m here. He has no reason to believe they’d be an attack from his blind side—not with the pain and suffering he’s surrounded with. The best chance of success would be to shoot him from here. I wouldn’t miss—I never have—but I don’t know if it will create a swarm of men, and I am only an army of one. The clock is ticking, and I don’t have any more time to waste on indecision.
I slide my knife from its sheath, the whisper of metal lost on the breeze as I sneak up on silent feet. My heart pounds in my chest, the same rush I experienced countless times on the battlefield falling over me like a familiar blanket. I still hate it. I never enjoyed this part of my life. The killing. The pain. I’m damn good at it, but it ate away at pieces of myself until I hid fully behind my cover, reveling in the chance to be someone else.
Then Steph was attacked, her pain hidden, and I found a new purpose for my rage and guilt.
Lunging forward, my blade slides along his arm as he spins, impossibly fast, and catches my wrist in an iron grip. His eyes spark with excitement and recognition while my stomach clenches at my own stupidity.
I should’ve recognized him.
We were paired together overseas, and when I was pulled home, he was left behind. I’d heard stories of how our mission ended, but never got the full details. Gone is the warmth always present in the eyes of the man I used to call a brother. I don’t know this man. Not anymore.
Supporting my arm, I fight against his strength as he tries to dislodge my fingers. With a growl, I kick him in the chest, forcing distance between us and giving me a chance to reassess. So much for the element of surprise.
“You’ve changed, King,” he taunts, pulling his knife from his gear. “Hopefully, you haven’t gone soft.”
Our attacks are fast and brutal, filled with glancing blows brimming with power and leaving behind a shower of sparks. The tip of his blade catches my cheek, my block a fraction too late. Sinister glee lights his eyes, and I know.I see the demon in him craving blood and pain. I see him, and I know there’s no saving him.
Another flurry of fists and blades sends a knife skidding across the deck and under the helicopter, the two of us staring in shock as blood blooms along the deep cut along his throat. His eyes widen as he clutches the wound, dark ichor oozing between his fingers as he collapses to his knees. We stare at each other in a tense standoff, the light draining from his eyes as a pool grows beneath him. He slumps over, the sound of his body hitting the deck drowned out with the low rumble of thunder on the horizon.
I wipe my knife on his shirt with a pang of sadness to see such skill wasted because of greed. After casting a surreptitious glance around, I pick up his feet and drag him toward the edge, pushing his body into the ocean before doing the same with his partner. I can’t take the chance of someone tripping over them and raising the alarm.
Mike gives me a thumbs-up from the chopper, and I hurry across the landing pad, keeping my head down. When I reach the first container, I inch my head around the corner, finding the walkway empty. Gritting my teeth, I press my ear against the metal door, hoping to glean some indication of what waits for me inside. But between the noise of the engine and the power of the ocean pressing against the ship, I can’t hear shit. I pull my gun from its holster and slip the safety off. My best tactic is surprise. I won’t get caught again; in that moment where the enemy tries to understand what the fuck is happening, they will have already taken their last breath.
My hand presses the handle down slowly, inching open the door to reveal an inner set of walkways, one straight in front, the other looping to the side. Straight ahead gets me to the other side of the ship, but my gut tugs me to the left the second I step forward. Guess we’re going around then.
My footsteps are silent as I poke my head into open containers, finding them all empty. Where are they? My brow lowers as I check each and every space, finding nothing. It’s as if the ship is abandoned. This next one feels different. Ominous. I step inside the open door, and my gaze zeroes in on the naked figure lying on the floor. Dark long hair, matted with blood, sticks to the ground, and my heart thrashes in my chest. The buyer we flew in leans heavily against the wall, a look of bliss on his face as he struggles to catch his breath. No. I don’t accept it. Without looking away, I shoot the bastard in the chest, no longer caring if I give my presence away. I step closer and gently move the hair from her face. Guilt mixes with relief at the unfamiliar face. I thank the stars it’s not Eleanor or Steph lying dead before me.
