Damn C-130s. Colonel Mack Grey wasn’t a fan of flying under the best of circumstances. Riding in one of these babies was like off-roading in the sky—every air pocket would shake the entire cargo hold like hitting a gigantic pothole in the sky.

He’d rather sit his tired ass in a smooth commercial jetliner any day.

But this wasn’t any day.

This was the day he would finally kill Jack Mankel, aka Mr. J.

Mack followed his team, Task Force Scorpion, all packing high-tech, top-security-clearance tactical gear, across the tarmac, the Cameroonian sun shining overhead hot enough to cook a damn egg on the cracked concrete under his boots. Secret CIA airports were all the same—in an attempt to make the tiny airport look like an unimportant shithole, they’d gone overboard to the point of nearly unusable.

Crumbling cracks spilling over with jungle weed fractured the discolored concrete, making the tarmac look more like a patchy stone field than a runway for airplanes. One giant rusted metal hangar held court at the end, pieces of tin peeled back by the latest monsoon and just enough locals working on the joint to keep it from completely falling down.

The whole place was a picture straight out of Dante’s Inferno, à la military style.

This location would make a Marine cringe and was the perfect setup to scare off any innocent civilians wandering around. But Mack had circled hell already and come out alive and kicking. He was more than ready to suffer through any hazard to take down Jack Mankel.

He hefted his HALO, High Altitude Low Opening, parachute pack on his shoulders with a grunt and ascended the grated metal steps leading into the belly of the idling C-130.

Stepping into the shade resulted in an instant ten-degree drop in temperature from 130 down to 120 degrees Fahrenheit.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and he wiped a hand over his face. Damn heat.

The rest of his team already stood in the cargo hold of the plane, not faring much better. Sweat had popped on every single one of their faces.

“Colonel, you need a walker to get up those steps a little faster?” called out Riser Malone, his medical sergeant and unconventional warfare specialist.

Although mid-forties wasn’t exactly old in Mack’s book, wisecracks about his age were common in this line of work. A lot of colonels would get their panties up in a bunch at such disrespect and insubordination, but Mack knew his men joked around to loosen up before a mission. And he didn’t need them kissing his ass to know they respected him. Which was probably why he felt comfortable enough to return fire with fire. “Pretty sure this old man was the one who pulled your ass out of that gunfight in the town square yesterday.”

Even though the team had arrived in country completely incognito, Cameroon wasn’t exactly a resort area. Gunfire was about as common as malaria and both were in high abundance.

The rest of the team chuckled. Riser’s blond brows dipped into a deep V and he scowled. “The guy was supposed to be selling Snickers bars.”

“That boy was selling Snickers bars. It was the thug on his heels who pulled the gun on you.” Mack took the three steps down into the plane’s belly, the corrugated metal floors clanking under his boots as he crossed the five feet to his men. They’d set up temporary headquarters around the netted crates of cargo running down the center of the plane. Someone had already laid out a topographic map on one of the crates. Mack set his HALO backpack on the floor next to his feet.

“Told you that sweet tooth was going to get you killed.” Hunter James, the massive black-haired team leader, typically wore a frown, but nobody could miss out on ribbing a teammate.

Riser crossed his arms. “Your brother was jonesing for that Snickers just as bad as me.”

Ranger shrugged good-naturedly. He and Hunter weren’t blood brothers, and they were a study in contrasts—Ranger’s hair as blond as Hunter’s was dark. Nearly the largest men on the team, they had been with Mack the longest, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d developed a special bond with them. It almost felt like they were his sons.

Especially since his own son couldn’t give two shits about him.

“Candy bar or not, it’s no excuse to lose your situational awareness. Everyone on this team needs to be operating at 100 percent if we are going to complete this mission and take Mr. J down,” Mack said.

The joking air in the cargo hold vanished and every face turned to their commander.

Mack leaned in and grabbed the corners of the waist-high crate in front of him. The rest of the team circled around, pulling in tight. There wasn’t a single man in this plane who hadn’t been personally attacked and nearly killed by Jack Mankel, aka Mr. J. Their ex-CIA liaison had turned traitor to his country and team over two years ago now. He’d been on the run ever since. After their last encounter with the villain, Task Force Scorpion had discovered that Mr. J’s treachery extended much longer and deeper than they’d realized.

Jack Mankel, along with one of the top four-star generals in the Pentagon, had been secretly funding the development of a serum to create super soldiers. The research was lost twenty-five years ago. Right around the same time, Senator Cotter’s daughter was kidnapped at birth—by Mankel. He’d held the girl, Nightshade, hostage, tricking her into believing she was his own daughter.

At first Mack had assumed the man’s motivation was a secret crush on the senator’s wife, who’d died giving birth to twin daughters. But that wasn’t even close to the truth. Before going into labor, Sarah Cotter, a scientist, had injected herself with the last dose of the super serum she’d helped create. She’d destroyed the recipe, too, so the only remaining traces of the serum existed in her daughters’ blood.

Mankel had kidnapped one of the girls so he could try to re-create the formula he’d lost. Nightshade was safe—she and Merc had fallen in love and married—but her twin sister, Caroline, had been kidnapped in her place. Mankel had her now, and Task Force Scorpion wouldn’t rest until she was safe.

The one man in the craft who was not part of Task Force Scorpion stood a few feet back, hanging in the shadows. Reaper was the result of Mankel’s first trial run, and from the way he stared at the rest of the group with flat eyes, it was obvious Mankel must’ve wiped the man’s emotional capacity clean. What other changes had he made to the serum?

The only reason Reaper was on this flight was because of Merc.

Merc, only on the team for a few years, had lost his memory after a blast overseas. No one on the team had known much about his past until Reaper showed up a few weeks ago. Turned out the two had been in the same unit before joining special operations, and Merc had vouched for Reaper. But that didn’t mean Mack trusted him as far as he could throw him. Not after what had been done to him.

Hoyt Crowe stepped out from behind his older brother Jared’s shoulder and rapped his knuckles on the crate, drawing everyone’s attention to his scarred face. “We’re with you, Mack. We want that son-of-a-bitch dead just as badly as you do.” There was a round of nods and agreements from the rest of the team.

“Yeah, let’s get this bird in the air so we can kill that motherfucker before he hurts anyone else,” said Ethan Slade, Mack’s number-one tech guy.

There was no question that every single member of the team was gunning for Jack Mankel’s head.

But Mack intended to be the one to pull the trigger. As commander of his team, he was responsible for his men’s lives—a precious and awe-inspiring duty he’d failed to uphold. He’d nearly lost his team twice because of Mankel. One of his men, Shane Carter, had been left behind on a disastrous raid to rescue Mr. J. before the traitor’s true nature came to light. Now Shane was dead.

Killing Mankel would be one step toward redemption.

“Listen up, it’s a four-hour flight over the Congo before we get to his compound outside of Tanzania. We’ll be cruising at 30,000 feet when we jump. Double-check your gear, and when you’re through checking your own, check the next guy’s. We can’t afford to lose anyone because the damn pull string broke, got it?”

Mack waited for the round of agreement before continuing with his brief. “Here’s the satellite image of the location,” he said, removing it from his bag and slapping the photo on another crate. “I’ll let Hunter fill you in on the details.”

Hunter leaned in and pointed to the bunker in the center of the aerial photograph. “We’ve got confirmed spotting of Jack Mankel at this residence, along with Caroline Cotter. Gonna go ahead and tell you that someone’s carrying her in each of the photographs.”

What Hunter didn’t have to say was that Caroline was probably unconscious, which meant she’d either been tortured to the point she could no longer walk or Mankel was keeping her drugged. Either way, it was highly unlikely the girl would be walking out on her own two feet.

Hunter continued, “Riser’s got the field kit on him. He’ll get her stable enough for carry out. It ain’t gonna be easy. On the north, east, and west sides of the bunker, there are thousand-foot straight drop-offs covered in slick vines and all kinds of critters you don’t want to hear about. Which means we will be inserting and evacuating from the south.”

Hunter pointed at the large lake butted up to the north side of Mankel’s compound. Mack had never seen a setup better protected by natural barriers. Getting in there without being detected and shot would be a feat. Getting out without either being eaten alive by the piranhas in the lake or falling to their deaths from the sheer rock faces would be a miracle.

But it was also their only shot at catching Mankel off guard and this team could damn well handle the challenge. Mack had faith in his men. They’d carry out this mission or die trying.

“SWCC, Special Warfare Combat Crewmen, Team Bravo will insert here—” Hunter pointed at the far west shore of the lake, “—and meet us at extraction point A for carry out. From there we’ll travel a mile upriver and the Black Hawk team will be waiting to get us out of country.”

Mack said, “Any questions?”

“How many civilians are reported in the area?” Hoyt asked.

Mack indicated the areas just to the west and north of J’s compound. “There are local tribes in these two areas, and intel reports they will attack on sight. We’ll have to be careful to avoid them. Other than that, the place is pretty much uninhabitable.”

Which is part of the reason Task Force Scorpion had never directed their search in the area. Even if Mankel wanted to remain hidden, it was nearly impossible to survive for long periods of time in such an inhospitable environment, let alone set up a semi-permanent residence. He’d have to have twenty-four-hour surveillance and guards to protect his compound from the hostile tribes. Not to mention that the bordering Congo region was a breeding ground for murderous guerillas that hungered for wealth and weapons, something Mankel would have in abundance. And he’d need to have most of his supplies shipped in and out on a regular basis just to survive.

Jack Mankel didn’t just survive anything. One of his weaknesses was his insistence on luxury befitting a man of his stature and power.

But if he wanted to keep Caroline imprisoned, this was the place.

“Have we gathered any intelligence on the internal portion of the compound?” Riser asked.

Mack gave a nod to Reaper, casting the man a warning glance as he did so. “Reaper volunteered a detailed drawing of the compound, along with descriptions of all aboveground and subterranean levels.”

Reaper took one small step forward and every man in the cabin quieted. The air pressure in the cargo hold shrunk in his presence. This was a man who was used to killing, and it was a skill in which he was proficient.

Reaper unstrapped a long black cylinder from his backpack, took the cap off the end, and extracted a rolled piece of paper. He spread it out over the topographic map of the region. Mack gazed down at the surprisingly detailed drawing.

“There are three levels in Mankel’s compound—two aboveground, visible to your satellites, and one belowground. We like to call it the maze. Mankel resides on the first story in the southeast corner. Second story is for guests, mainly the local warlords or random terrorist cells seeking him out to broker a deal.” Reaper’s large calloused hand shifted from the first floor plan to the second. “On the first level, there are only two entrances. One here—” Reaper pointed to the front, “—and here.” He indicated a rear opening.

“Like I told you before, the entire compound is made of concrete and reinforced steel. Even the windows have automatic bulletproof shields that slide in place under Mankel’s command.”

“Paranoid bastard,” Riser muttered.

“Exactly how he’s survived so long. He’s surrounded by a three-man team at all times.” Reaper’s visage turned terrifying. “My teammates.”

Mack got a little tingle down the back of his legs, like the hairs were all standing on end from an invisible electric current. The same feeling he always got when something wasn’t quite right. It was an instinct he’d learned not to question. Reaper’s brainwashed teammates were Mankel’s bodyguards, which meant they’d be directly in the line of their attack. The likelihood of them surviving the assault was slim to none. So why would Reaper help them possibly harm or kill his team?

Mack studied the drawing more intently. Something about the last drawing, the one that supposedly showed the floor plan for the subterranean level, didn’t match with the other two. But what was it? For all intents and purposes the external elevations matched the first two floors to a T; there weren’t any areas that looked like they had been erased or altered.

The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. The interior setup was way too simple for a hidden level that supposedly housed an entire special team of cold-blooded mercenaries and a holding cell to detain prisoners.

Reaper’s hand slid over the paper, blocking the lower level from view. When Mack glanced up, Reaper was pinning him with the kind of stare that would make most grown men quake, but it just pissed Mack off. “I knew we couldn’t trust you.”

Reaper shook his head slowly, but he did not lift his hand. “You can trust me. I’ll tell you everything you need to know. But only after you promise not to kill my team.”

All eyes in the plane turned to Mack.

Motherfucker.

Mack’s blood turned from boiling to ice, the way it always did when someone threatened him and his team. Because that was exactly what Reaper was doing. There was no way in hell Mack could make that promise and keep it. “You know I can’t do that. If one of your men levels a weapon at one of mine, I’ll have to order my guy to take him out.”

Reaper shook his head slowly. “Then I can’t help you. My duty is to my men first, yours second.”

Mack glanced at Hunter, who stood catty corner to Reaper, and gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. If they had to restrain Reaper, it would definitely put a kink in their plans, but in this instance a kink was better than a death sentence. Hunter hadn’t even inched his foot in Reaper’s direction when Merc stepped between the two men, his giant body blocking them completely from each other’s line of sight. “Wait a minute. There’s got to be another solution. Reaper is obligated to protect his team, just like you, Mack.”

Mack let his lip curl into the snarl that had been itching to break free from the moment he realized Reaper may have double-crossed them. “Exactly, which is why there’s no way in hell I’m letting this man walk into a trap, however heroic his intentions may be, if it results in your death. It’s not happening under my watch.”

Tension coiled in the small space, spiraling so tightly that it risked taking every man down when it broke. Hunter shifted onto the balls of his feet, as did his brother Ranger, standing right next to him. It was a stance that would allow them to launch into an attack easily and quickly. With the exception of Merc, the rest of the team also shifted into attack mode—and so did Reaper.

Merc lifted up his hands and begged, “What if we let Reaper go in first? I managed to break Reaper’s programming and convince him that Mankel was bad, so maybe he can convince his team of the same thing. There’s still a chance we can come out of this with everyone alive.”

“Merc, I understand you don’t want to lose this piece of the past you’ve just found, but if I let him go in first, and he warns his team about our approach. We might as well put our guns to our heads and pull the triggers.”

Reaper straightened, his height reaching a full inch over Merc’s towering six-foot-five frame. “I swear on my own life I won’t betray you.”

Mack immediately scoffed. “You couldn’t give a shit about your own life, just like I couldn’t give a shit about mine. If you want to have any chance of convincing me that’s true, you’ll swear it on your team’s lives.”

Reaper’s blink was just as mechanical as everything else the man did. “I never bet on my men’s lives.”

Mack leaned forward, splaying his palms flat on the cargo crates. “Then you’re not going on this mission.”

A long pause followed Mack’s statement while Reaper deliberated his words. All Mack had to do was give the command, and whether Merc liked it or not, he’d allow the others to restrain Reaper. They all lived and died by the team.

Seconds stretched out to a full minute, and Mack, impatient to get this show on the road, indicated for his men to move.

They closed in on Reaper like a tightening net. To his credit, the man didn’t flinch.

Merc stepped out of the way, unwilling to participate and unwilling to stop his brothers.

“You win. I swear on my teammates’ lives I will not seek to betray you or turn them against you. My only purpose on this mission is to protect them and get them out of Mankel’s reach so I can save them before they self-destruct. You have my word.”

Mack’s hand shot up and everyone stopped in their tracks. “And you recognize that if I sense any hint of a threat to my men, I’ll order the death of each and every person on your team.”

Reaper nodded. “I do.”

Mack waited a moment longer, turning over all the possibilities in his mind. With the plane still on the ground, all he had to do was cable tie the man’s hands behind his back and toss him out. It would be a quick and clean break. It might sever any hope of Merc finding out more about his past, but it would guarantee Reaper would not have the opportunity to betray them.

It would also guarantee they would be going into the sublevel of Mankel’s compound completely blind, which would put his men at further risk of death and ambush.

Mack shut his eyes and let his senses take over. His warning alarms didn’t sound. The hairs on the backs of his legs stayed down.

His instincts never failed him.

Mack opened his eyes and stared at Reaper. “You can come. I’ll do my best to ensure your team’s safety, but not at the expense of my own. Now, fill us in on the subterranean level. I want to know every entrance, every room, every man, woman, and child who works there.”