Chapter 18

Lela was hauled into a low-riding car and lodged in the back seat between two big gorilla types. One kept his beefy arms around her, pinning her to his wall of a chest. She kicked, but couldn’t gain any leverage.

Her arms were pinned to her sides, and she couldn’t get air. Her captor had his hand over her mouth. She breathed through her nose, choking on the stench in the car. It smelled of sweaty bodies and urine. Trash was stuffed on the floorboards and between the seats, leftovers from their stakeout. She shuddered to think how long they’d been outside waiting.

As the car sped away, one gang member wrapped duct tape around her wrists then body so she was unable to move. She tried biting, but the behemoth only laughed. It was an evil, mirthless sound, confirmation of the kind of men these were.

The one on her right put tape over her mouth. “You’ll be doing some talking soon enough, chica.”

Lela’s pulse throbbed in her temples. She was in deep trouble. Interrogation by the cartel had such finality to it.

If she hoped to survive, she’d have to find an opportunity to escape. She was good at self-defense, but hadn’t expected to be in the company of a cartel army.

Rip would come for her if he could. Lela didn’t know what had happened to him. The cartel had nearly killed him already; maybe they’d finished the job.

She couldn’t allow thoughts of defeat. Her life depended on staying strong. This wasn’t over yet.

The driver spoke to the others in Spanish. He was taking her to the docks, which was bad news. The last thing she needed was to be transported by boat into cartel territory. Her future was draining away by the minute.

*****

Rip took a couple of hops back, then moved left in front of the gang member on the far end. The other three were a step back. He backhanded the first with the butt of his gun, so the metal impacted his temple rendering him unconscious.

The other three were in formation, but Rip couldn’t let them surround him. He attacked first, thrusting his shin up between one man’s legs so hard it crushed his balls. As he fell, Rip dodged the next one who lurched by, and Rip knifed the side of his palm across the back of the dude’s neck.

If it didn’t break his neck, it certainly did some serious damage, and he fell face first onto the concrete. Then number four pulled a gun, so Rip kicked it out of his hand. Before the attacker could react, Rip gave him a hard uppercut to the jaw.

The gangster’s head flew back and Rip leapt up, kicking both feet into the man’s gut. Then he sprinted away from them. He might have enjoyed finishing them off, but he had to get the hell out of there to rescue Lela.

Before his attackers stirred into action, Rip was long gone. He ran along the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians. Up ahead a man in a leather jacket was just getting off a motorcycle.

Rip came alongside of the vehicle then grabbed the guy’s jacket to pull him off the seat. He ignored the man’s shocked expression.

“Police business,” Rip said, then got on the bike and sped away. He didn’t look in the rearview mirror to see if the gangsters were following. He only looked ahead.

At first, he didn’t see any sign of the vehicle. Driving between cars and edging forward, Rip prayed he hadn’t lost the trail. With traffic as it was, speed was curtailed. That could work in his favor.

The gangsters couldn’t have gone too far, unless they’d hit the freeway. Since Rip had decked his attackers with expediency, little time had been lost.

He raced down the street as fast as traffic would allow, glancing down side streets. But there was no sign of Lela or her captors.

Then Rip spotted the black car several blocks up, tough to catch up to. So he swerved onto the sidewalk. He wove around the parking meters and the shoppers, paying no attention to the screams or a loud yell for him to stop.

At the freeway, the car soared up the onramp and Rip followed. He floored the motorcycle, then white-lined to catch up. A head emerged from the rear passenger window, and a round of shots were fired from an automatic.

Other cars slowed or changed lanes to get out of harm’s way. Rip got as close as he dared, and shot at the tires of the getaway car. But he missed. The vehicle was at a distance and moving too fast. It was dangerous to get closer.

Rip kept the car in sight, but stayed back. The vehicle merged onto Highway 225, heading toward the Port of Houston. He couldn’t lose them. If Lela was stowed aboard a ship and taken out of the country, Rip would have no hope of getting her back. Once Lela was secured in cartel territory, she’d be gone for good.

The car exited at Barbour’s Cut and made a left. At a cross street, the gangsters didn’t stop for the signal, and nearly clipped another car coming through. There was not a second to waste, so Rip followed without slowing.

Buildings to the right blocked visibility, and as Rip cruised through the intersection at top speed, a truck approached. Leaning into the corner to avoid collision, the motorcycle skidded, dragging Rip with it for a short distance. Then he flew off and the bike continued on its trajectory.

On the other side of the intersection, the truck ran over the bike, but Rip didn’t stop to survey damage. He was only blocks from the port, so he took off running. He sprinted like he was going for the hundred-yard dash record. At a corner, he stopped and grabbed his side.

His injury had healed enough for normal activities. Apparently, running as hard as he could wasn’t one of them. To hell with it—that was a minor concern. Lela’s life was all that counted.

Panting hard, Rip made it to the docks and hid behind a container. He spotted the black car, but no one was inside.

He worked his way along the dock, looking for any sign of the cartel. There were plenty of dockworkers, but not the men he was after.

Near a boat, he spotted a couple of thugs with the same tattoos as the others. He made progress up the dock, staying out of sight until he was close to the two acting as sentries.

Rip came up behind one and chopped the back of his neck, knocking him to the ground. He’d be out for a while, maybe permanently. The other drew a gun, but Rip grabbed his wrist and twisted. The gun fell. A hard blow to the gut, followed by an elbow thrust to the temple, took him out of action.

Crouching down, Rip stepped aboard the boat, then made his way along the starboard side. The engine started up, the hum vibrating the hull. It was a propeller craft, so he guessed Lela would be transported out of the harbor then transferred to a larger ship.

Two gang members were dragging Lela, with her kicking and resisting. There was a beefy dude on her left and a taller one on her right. Each one had an arm. The tape over her mouth muffled her screams. She couldn’t fight, because her arms were taped to her sides. It was just as well, since Lela would have given them her worst.

But fighting those vipers, she’d likely be killed. Rip would take care of them for her.

Without a sound, Rip sneaked up behind and put a gun to the back of the beefy man’s head. “Let her go.”

The tall one pulled a knife, and Rip snatched it right out of his hand. The idiot lunged for it, but a stab to the gut stopped him cold.

The beefy thug swung at Rip, who ducked then shot the man in the knee. He sealed the deal with another shot to the shoulder.

With the gangsters out of commission, Rip scooped Lela into his arms and carried her to the back of the boat. Gunshots would have attracted unwanted attention. When out of sight, Rip removed the tape from Lela’s mouth.

“Rip…oh my God. They were going to kill me.”

After removing the tape from her body, Rip pulled her close. “I’m here, darling. You’re with me.”

Then a noise alerted Rip and he pulled his gun.

A cartel minion appeared from around the corner. “Well, isn’t this touching?” The gangster pointed a gun at Lela. “Throw your weapon overboard or I’ll shoot her.”

Rip hesitated, but then tossed his gun into the water.

The intruder wasn’t quite as big as the others had been, but his expression revealed a greater confidence. His dark eyes were like marbles, dull and devoid of life. His shirt was tight across his chest and rode up his arms, revealing the bulge of his biceps.

He had the type of tattoos the others had, but the art on his arms signified something more. Down one forearm were the letters D E A T H.

Over the bicep of his other arm was a long gold dagger with an elaborate etching on the hilt. “Are you the asshole who stabbed me?” Rip said.

An evil grin stretched his lips. “The name is Almanza, a name you’ll remember. I’m not done with you, SEAL.”

Rip was familiar with the gang and the tattoos, but this one was obviously elite. Judging by the body art and the assassination attempt, he was an enforcer.

“Your boyfriend isn’t going to live much longer,” Almanza said, waving the gun at Lela. “Then you’ll be ours.”

The asshole’s threat enraged Rip. He’d had enough. He hadn’t made it this far rescuing Lela just to let this creep take her.

Almanza swaggered over, a smirk on his ugly mug. He pointed the gun at Rip. “It’s going to be such a pleasure ending your life. You’ve been a pain in the ass, SEAL.”

In a flash, Rip whipped his arm at the assailant. The gun flew up, out of his hand, and skidded out of reach. From that point, it was hand-to-hand combat, Rip’s specialty.

He threw the first punch, and Almanza reeled. But he recovered fast, and laughed at his challenger. It was a mocking sound, further infuriating Rip and making him want to take the bastard’s head off.

Launching into battle, Rip got in several kicks and heavy blows to the man’s head. But Almanza was a worthy opponent. It seemed that he’d been trained for street fighting. The fight was brutal, and one of Rip’s eyes was swollen nearly shut.

The fighting continued, one hard blow after the other. Several times, Rip had him, but the evil son of a bitch kept fighting. Then he got in a heavy punch to Rip’s side, and another.

A groan from Rip garnered a smile from Almanza. Through heavy breathing, the assassin said, “I see my dagger did some damage. I’m here to finish the job.”

Rip put his hand on his side and came away with blood. The stitches must have opened up.

“Fuck you, asshole,” Rip said, and, with a growl, went for him.

But Almanza fought back harder, using a combination of wrestling tactics and street fighting. Rip punched repeatedly at the man’s face, his gut, any available body part.

Then, in one swift move, the gangster was on top of Rip with a knee on his wound, pressing hard.

Rip felt lightheaded, looking into the gangster’s beady eyes. A dagger held to his throat succeeded in keeping him still.

“What a surprise,” Almanza said through rancid breaths. “I have you where I want you.” He glanced at Lela. “Don’t make a move, or I’ll slit his throat.”

Rip saw the glint of the assassin’s gun on the deck to his right. Lela was to the left, so had no hope of grabbing the weapon.

The assassin held the dagger to Rip’s jugular, appearing to savor the moment before the kill. The situation had gone from bad to worse.

Rip’s side hurt like hell, and he was losing blood. He was Lela’s only savior.

Almanza laughed, one short huff. “I know you,” he said. “I recognize you now, SEAL.” He chuckled. “It’s been a long time.”

Rip stared at the slimy creep. “What are you talking about?”

“Third Ward Bar…I still remember,” Almanza said. “I hadn’t been with the organization long then, needed to prove my worth. And your little sweetheart helped that along.” He chuckled. “Ripley McConnell…I didn’t think I’d cross paths with you again.”

A light bulb went off in Rip’s head. The past loomed up and offered a memory he’d sooner forget. But this asshole was staring him in the face. Then it became clear what he’d referred to. It had to be.

“Almanza…you’re Villareal?” The assassin gloated, and Rip knew for certain. Fucking Almanza Villareal. “You’re still alive?”

Rip seethed with the urge to wring the creep’s neck. “You goddamn heartless animal. You killed Isabel. You were the one her brother came to. And you killed her…just for the thrill, am I right?”

“I don’t remember the names of victims,” Almanza said. “But if you’re referring to that little Mexican bitch, then yes, I was the one. She was one of my first kills, a casualty of war.”

Almanza had killed an innocent woman. That had been the start of a long career. And he’d been killing ever since. Rip had searched for him, bribed sources to get information on where Villareal was hiding. But it had been fruitless. He hadn’t been able to get retribution for the murder of Isabel, a woman as kind as Villareal was evil.

Fury surged in Rip’s heart and tore at his tortured soul. After all this time, the murderer was still thriving, tending to business as usual—killing for profit. The man was a predator. His menacing face hovered inches from Rip’s, his sour breath suffocating.

“And now I’m going to kill you,” Almanza said, pressing the knife to Rip’s throat.

Lela gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Once the assassin slit Rip’s throat, Lela would have no chance at all.