Jaxon

“The fuck you say?”

We had only landed in Brazil twenty minutes ago when Zane called with the news that Violet was MIA.

“Who the fuck was watching her?”

When I woke up this morning Violet was safely tucked against my side. She was so exhausted from last night’s activities she didn’t even stir when I kissed her forehead goodbye. Now fifteen goddamn hours later she’d been taken from the one place I promised her she’d be safe.

“Nightstalker.”

“Status?” I asked.

“Five by five.”

Thank fuck Jasmin was safe but my blood was boiling. How could this have happened.

“How the fuck did they get in?”

“They didn’t. She walked out with her goddamned hands in the air and surrendered. Last footage is of her getting in a helicopter traveling east.”

“Where the fuck was Nightstalker?”

“Loose Lips locked her in the closet.”

I was going to tan Violet’s ass for that stunt. As soon as I found her I was going to bend her over my knee and… do nothing. Because God knows what those animals will have done to her.

“Tex thinks he’s got a lock on a location where the exchange is supposed to take place. I’ve called in a marker. All she has to do is hold tight until the Calvary gets there.”

“Hold tight? You know as well as I do, there will be no holding tight,” I growled.

“Get your ass in check, Blue. That’s not a request. If you lose your shit you’re no good to her. If we don’t get there in time…”

“I will kill every motherfucker who touched her.” I cut him off.

“And after that, she’ll need you. Keep your shit wired tight.”

That was easy for him to say. The woman he cared for wasn’t in the hands of a lunatic who was planning on selling her.

“Tex is following up on a lead and getting his man in place. Use Declan to scout out any known locations Ortega uses. No sense in you coming back here if they’re headed your way.”

“The mission?” I asked, needing clarification.

“It’s been approved. Extreme prejudice,” he answered.

“Out.”

Zane had given me the confirmation I needed that this was a fully sanctioned op by the government and deadly force had been approved. Not that it would’ve stopped me, but my plan of action would’ve been different. There was no way I would’ve allowed Declan and Eric to follow me down a path that would’ve been considered criminal. The government tends to frown upon killing sprees in foreign countries, even by the very men they hire to do just that.

I briefed Eric and Declan and after more than a few colorful expletives, Declan got himself under control. Much like me, he was hanging on by a thread. We all knew how this worked. We had less than twenty-four hours to find Violet or she’d be lost in the underground world of trafficking. It could take years before she’d resurface again. If she ever did.

Working against a clock lit a fire under a man’s ass. Not wasting any time, Declan had taken us to two of Ortega’s known hideouts and both were empty.

“Goddamn it,” he shouted in frustration.

“Forget Violet,” Eric said and both Declan and I turned to him. He held his hands up before either of us could speak. “Christ. Think. Both of you step away from thoughts of her. This is not personal. A simple hostage rescue.”

That was easier said than done. I couldn’t separate the two. The longer she was gone, the more my mind conjured up images of my beautiful girl being violated and touched.

“Blue!” I startled at Eric saying my name. “Think, brother. Simple and stupid. No different than the hundreds of other missions. First step of the kill chain, we need to track. Two places were a bust. Where to next?”

“He’s been staying on the coast, near the waterways. Easy in and out for him by boat,” Declan said. “Less heat there from the locals.”

If one has never been through the favelas of Rio de Janeiro, it is an unimaginable sight to see, the hodgepodge of what could loosely be called buildings as far as the eye could see. Roughly six million people packed into one thousand shanty-towns that were no more than the worst shit-hole slums you could ever imagine. The smell was horrific, the crime was astronomical, and a woman’s survival rate on these streets was nil. They were inundated with prostitution, drugs, and housed the world’s largest sex trade. A person could buy whatever they wanted. The thought made me want to throw up.

Three large white men walking the streets didn’t go unnoticed and we hoped it wouldn’t. The men gave us sidelong glances but so far had kept their distance. Old Brazilian women tried to push whatever goods they could our way, hoping to make a few American cents.

We were almost out of one area when a boy stepped out of a building. He was filthy dirty, ill-fitting clothes, and no shoes. He pulled a young girl out of the door with him. She was equally unwashed, and her hair was in tangles.

“Hey mister,” the boy called out. “You have any money?” The boy’s English was broken but still understandable. “My sister. We have no food.”

Bile rose at the condition these children lived in. I quickly swallowed and shook my head. This was not my first time in the slums of Rio, but It was in times like these a man realized how impotent he was. Fury and shame mixed together as I handed the boy what cash I had in my pocket and walked away. There was nothing I could do to save those children.

“I motherfucking hate this goddamn place,” Eric seethed as we turned the corner,.

“Keep walking,” Declan advised. “Movement at our nine o’clock. I count three. Didn’t see what they were packin’.”

I quickly slipped into an alleyway where trash littered the ground and a few fifty-five-gallon metal drums were stacked against a wall. There was nothing that would provide cover. The pedestrian alley broke right, and I found what we needed - trash stacked what looked to be a mile high. Old wooden crates, mattresses, bags of the foulest trash I’d ever smelled, broken furniture, you name it - it was piled. I motioned for Eric and Declan to duck in the space between the junk and a chain-link fence and I stepped in beside them.

We didn’t need to cause a gang riot on the streets. Three white boys tussling with the locals would cause unwanted attention. We were not trying to hide our location from Ortega, the sooner he knew we were here the better. He’d send his men after us and we’d be able to use them to find him, but the local street gangs we didn’t want to fuck with. We’d quickly be outnumbered.

I lifted my left arm and made a ninety-degree angle and a fist, signaling the two men behind me to halt their movements. The three men that Declan had caught sight of could be heard, their heavy footfalls not far away. When they stopped, one said to look behind the trash pile. I opened my fist pointed one finger up and made a circle motion.

It was go time.

I stepped out from behind the trash barricade, brought my Sig P226 up and pulled the trigger. At 1,300 feet per second the man didn’t have time to react before a 115-grain supersonic round penetrated his skull. He crumpled to the ground and his two friends followed as Declan and Eric took their shots.

“We’ve got lookie loos. Second story third row,” I called out.

“Copy that,” Eric said, now standing behind me.

“Hop the fence. Hundred yards up there’s an intersection in the alley that will take us back to the main road,” Declan told us.

We followed his directions and thankfully the alleyway wasn’t blocked as they sometimes were in shanty-towns. People would set up camp wherever they could, or the gangs would block an alley to keep the flow of drugs and girls in the areas they wanted. We made it back to the main road and followed it another mile until we came to the expressway. The craziest part about Rio and the favelas was when the slums stopped, normally at an expressway or a wall, what was on the other side was paradise.

We made our way to the graffiti-filled underpass where there were men milling about. Some drinking, some standing next to the street selling produce, others sat in seats that had been ripped out of cars or trucks. Declan knew who he was looking for, so Eric and I let him take the lead, both of us steadily scanning the area. We approached a group of five men standing in a circle, three were looking at us while two had their backs to us. One of the men facing us lifted his chin to alert his friends of our presence. Both men turned to look at us. The smaller of the two men’s eyes widened before he tried to run. Declan’s much larger frame blocked his hasty retreat.

“Why so fast, amigo?” Declan’s hand on the man’s shoulder kept him in place.

“Hawk, homem. I heard you were dead,” the man answered.

“No such luck. Where’s jefe?” Declan asked. I knew enough Portuguese to understand he was asking about the man’s boss.

“Eh. Here and there. You know how he his.” Declan moved, and the man went to his knees “Filho da puta.”

“Don’t make me ask you again.”

Two of the man’s friends moved; however, before Eric and I could move into position Declan pinned them with a stare and wisely they stepped back.

“Providência,” he answered. We had just come from the favela known as Morro de Providência. If the man was there, we’d have to wait to go back.

“Try again.” Declan added pressure to the pressure point in his shoulder.

“Bairros africanus,” the man whined.

“Tell him I’m looking for him. I’ll be around his way tonight.” He shoved the man and he landed on his ass.

“Vai toma no cú.” The man hocked a loogie, the wad of mucus landing near Declan’s foot. In a swift manner of action, Declan picked up his foot and with the heel of his boot smashed the man’s face.

“Do I look like I like to take it up the ass?” The man didn’t answer Declan. Instead, he held his now bleeding face. “Which one of you have heard about an American woman being delivered tonight?” he asked the other men standing around. No one spoke but all gestured in the negative. “I find out one of you motherfuckers knew where she was being delivered I’ll be back.”

Still no one spoke. He turned his back to the men and started walking back the way we came. Fuck this could not be good.

Nothing like walking into the hornet’s nest.