“Fuck no.” Gael snarled. “I’m not letting El Fucking Pastor win. I owe that bastard for what he did to me.”
Welllll shit. Joel is gonna murder me in my sleep. Hell, he might not even wait for me to sleep. He’ll just straight-up strangle me the second he lays eyes on me.
He could already tell there was going to be no talking him out of it. “Theo is calling the guys up here. We’ve got planning to do, and you’ve gotta figure out what to do with that cat, because it ain’t coming with us.”
“We’re staging out of Dreamland, right?”
“Nope. Probably a safe house somewhere in Colombia.”
“Then Poppy is coming that far at least.” Gael decided. “Maybe Rock and Grif’s wife—why are you shaking your head? Rock needs a kitten for his kids.”
Poppy?
He fucked named the cat Poppy.
“Not one that can’t feed itself or wipe its own butt, he doesn’t.” Rock would lose his dang mind. “We need to grab a crate of Oreos from the store for Rock. Bring the kitten to the vet’soffice if you think Hal can’t manage her at the bunkhouse. Least that way you know she’ll be in the best place if something goes wrong.”
“You’re willing to pay a vet to babysit this kitten?” Gael shot him a look of disbelief. “Who are you and tell your mothership to send me back my twin.”
Rowan rolled his eyes. There was nothing wrong with trying to keep bills to a minimum when you had a ranch to run. “I need to clear some shit before we get to mission planning. You call Joel to tell him where the fuck we’re going, and take that cat to town with you.” Gael lifted one shoulder but didn’t answer.
Fucking fabulous.
I’m going to end up in shit.
I just know it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
24 HOURS LATER – RIVERA, COLOMBIA
The dirt roadjust outside Rivera was narrower than he remembered from the last time he’d stayed here when they’d rescued Gael from El Pastor. Rowan recognized the turnoff for the property between two eucalyptus trees and tapped the brakes on the beat-up Hilux that had been waiting as their rental in Neiva. They rolled to a stop in front of a tall black gate with chipped paint and a sturdy lock.
Gael punched a number into his phone and put it to his ear. “Yo, SHR at the door.”
“Be there in a minute,” the accented voice immediately rasped in reply.
“You recognize the voice?”
Gael shook his head, “Nope, but that means nothing when it comes to Rock’s people. I’m not getting out until we see who it is, though.”
“Agreed.” He hated having to fly commercial. Flying commercial meant they had no weapons. But without sanctioned mission orders from someone so far up the chain of command that theywere untouchable, it was impossible to travel with the gear and weapons they needed.
“He’s coming.” Gael nudged him with his elbow, “It’s St. Clare.”
Rowan stepped out first and grimaced when hot, swampy air hit him square in the face. “Jesus, Kentucky humidity ain’t got shit on this.”
Gael smirked as he came around the hood. “Cry harder. Might cool yourself off.”
“Jerk.” He stepped up to the gate and reached his hand through it to greet former Delta Force Team Panther and the current co-commander of a black ops team, Griffin St. Clare, “Grif, good to see you, man.”
Grif shook his hand and scanned the men in the trucks behind him. “Good to see you boys.” He rolled the numbers on the gate padlock and unhooked it. “Go on up to the house. Rock’s waiting on you. I’ll get the gate when you are through.”
“Thanks, man.”
They got back into the vehicle and Rowan eased it through the gates and up the winding drive. He glanced at Gael, “That’s one hell of a safe house.”
“Yeah, I thought we were rocking it with our place,” Gael agreed, “but this is one hell of a villa.” He nodded to the steps, “There’s Rock.”
