That’s as good as instructions from God himself as far as I’m concerned. I don’t imagine getting stuck on the wrong side of the pearly gates because I put a bullet in some asshole’s head is going to happen, and if it does… worth it.
With a clear head and my focus where it should be, I don’t even jerk when an explosion is heard from the other side of the property.
“That’s our cue,” Snatch says into his mic. “Alpha Team has made their presence known at the front gates.”
With this news, the tank starts to roll forward, moving much quicker than one would expect from a twenty-six-ton vehicle.
We keep our distance as the distant firefight continues.
Stupidly, Cortez never imagined that someone would have the ability to breach his property from the back because the house is only thirty yards from the property line, and in a matter of minutes, we’re using the battering ram on the back door.
Bullets fly from the top of the compound, but the tank raises its main gun and blasts a hole the size of an SUV. Our Kevlar helmets protect our heads from falling debris, and on the third slam of the battering ram on the door, it swings open. We’re met with a hail of bullets, but a couple of flashbangs shut that shit down quickly.
We move in with the smoke, my own weapon firing at anything that moves, planting bullets in soft flesh until all movement stops. Strategically, according to the plans that were drilled into our heads at the command center, we move from room to room. They have more men than we do, but they aren’t nearly as prepared or experienced as we are.
“They’re all dead,” Grinch hisses into his mic.
“We haven’t even made it to the second floor,” Shadow responds. “There’s still more to neutralize.”
“The women,” Grinch specifies. “The basement is filled with dead bodies. They killed all the women before we got here.”
Rage fills my blood, but at the same time, I’m also hit with a sense of relief that this happened here and not in Miami. I couldn’t imagine what my life would be like without Mia in it.
“Stay focused,” Kincaid says. “We still have a job to do.”
I swallow the lump of emotion that is trying to form in my throat and move across the floor as planned. There isn’t a thing we can do for those women now except making every one of these fuckers pay with their lives.
Two more men drop in front of me, the triple burst of my weapon making it easy, and my feet shuffle me deeper inside. The acrid scent of gunpowder seeps into my system, and I remember why I love this job so much. These men dropping in front of me mean absolutely nothing. I don’t feel a thing other than unadulterated joy watching them crumple to the ground at my feet, but I’m not here for the hired guns. I want the three men running this ship.
Since we didn’t have enough intel to know where they’d be in the house, they couldn’t be targeted by any specific team, but I’m making it my personal mission to watch the light fade from Jiménez’s eyes, and a bonus for that deviant bitch he’s taken under his wing. The CIA won’t learn any more than they already know about her, and letting her walk out of this compound still breathing the South American air isn’t an option.
Like the tactical team we are, the first floor is cleared. Twelve men, six on each, split between the two staircases, each of us popping off rounds as targets present themselves. Part of the ceiling collapsed from the tank fire, but we manage to work our way around it easily enough.
The second floor is cleared in a matter of minutes, and still, no one has confirmed the elimination of any of the three main targets.
“Blackbridge confirms that Luis Cortez was neutralized across town,” Shadow says into his mic.
That’s one down, I think as I clear the closet in an extravagant bedroom. Personal items are on the dresser, including an expensive looking set of cufflinks, and there’s a discarded pair of high heels near the bed. This room is too nice for guests, so our targets can’t be far.
“Jinx, I need thermal in here.”
He was mere feet behind me when I entered the room, so it doesn’t take long until he’s by my side. Jinx scans the room, and he doesn’t find anything until a halo of color appears on his screen around the huge painting in the walk-in closet.
“Xavier Cortez is down,” Kincaid announces. “Panic room in the closet. It took an ounce of plastic to get to him.”
“Jiménez has to be in there,” Jinx says as he walks toward the painting.
I cover his back as he rips the priceless piece of shit from the wall.
Sure enough, there’s a door that has a keypad lock on it. In a matter of seconds, it’s rigged with the explosive, and Jinx and I take cover on the outside of the closet for detonation.
Smoke fills the closet, but it’s no more than what we’re used to. Jinx covers me while I swing the door open. We wait for a break in the gunfire before engaging.
Cursing and a woman sobbing can be heard, and then I realize that Jiménez and Gabriella Butler are in here alone. This fool thought a steel door controlled by an electric panel was going to be enough to keep him and his whore safe? Ignorant. He doesn’t have men guarding him or have an anteroom for added protection. Butler is cowering at his side while he tries to figure out why his weapon misfired. He’s spouting curse words in Spanish at such a rate it sounds like one long insult.
Without a word, I put three bullets in Butler. She doesn’t even have time to protest before she’s gone. I’m glad that Mia didn’t give me specifics about how Gabi helped the men hurt her. They wouldn’t even be able to identify the damn body if she had.
Jiménez wails as he’s racked with genuine sorrow. He jostles Butler’s body, pulling her to his lap, and it’s clear that he’s just lost the love of his life. He doesn’t have to worry though. Before long, he’ll be joining her in Hell.
“You fucked up,” I taunt him.
He rocks back and forth, begging in his native tongue for none of this to be true.
Jinx reloads beside me, but I hold my hand up to keep him from ending this before I have the chance to do it myself. The order was to kill them all, but my desire to string him up and torture him for days or weeks or months is stronger than I ever anticipated.
I can already hear the conversation about ethics coming from Shadow and Kincaid, so I know I’ll only have a few minutes before I spray him with bullets.
“Your days of hurting people are over,” I tell him, but I don’t think he can hear me over his own sobs.
Not having his undivided attention annoys me, so I unholster my Glock from my hip and shoot him in the leg, down low on his shin to avoid him bleeding out too quickly.
Jiménez yelps in pain, forgetting his dead woman as he grabs for the new injury.
“I fucking hate men like you.” I crouch low and look him in the eye.
“Scooter,” Jinx warns.
None of this is protocol. Protocol would’ve been shooting him without hurting the woman the second we entered the room. Right now, I’m a predator playing with the prey, and that’s frowned upon with Cerberus. Hell, it’s grounds for being released from my contract with the club, but at this moment, I’m fine with that outcome.
“You see—”
Funny that I’m saying those words when I don’t actually see Jiménez pull a pistol from his boot. This gun doesn’t backfire like his first one did. He gets off at least three rounds, screaming like a vigilante before Jinx lights his ass up. His body shakes and jerks like he’s being electrocuted, each bullet hitting center mass.