Текст книги "Last Breath"

Автор книги: Jessica Clare

Соавторы: Jen Frederick
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“The Petrovich Bratva is a powerful mafia, but the head of it was running the organization into the ground. Vasily Petrovich approached me. Said that he will help us if we kill the head of it and make sure it can’t be traced back to him. Nick, Daisy, and I take care of Sergei Petrovich. Vasily gives me your information and then hints that there’s been a long funnel of blondes from Russia to Rio. I think maybe Naomi is here, also. You know the rest of it.” I scrub my hand across my head.

“What’s he doing here then?”

“There’s something here he wants, too.” I have my fear about what that is, but I think Regan’s had enough revelations at the time.

"I don't want to be near him.” Defiance has replaced fear as her current emotion.

“That’s fine. I’ll take him down to the beach and figure out what he wants.”

She nods.

“Are we okay?” I ask.

There’s nothing but silence, and then her hand slips over mine. “I can’t go back.”

I rise up on my knees. “I swear on my sister’s life no more harm will come to you. Not if I have to lay waste to the entire southern seaboard to keep you safe. You will never go back.”

Regan’s lower lip trembles, but she bites back her emotion and then mirrors my pose. Her small hands creep up around my neck. “I believe you then, Daniel.”

I want to kiss her but know that would be very foolish of me to do at this moment. Instead, I squeeze one of her arms. Rising to my feet, I tell her to shower. “I’ll get you some clothes.” I tuck a towel around my waist and leave Regan to clean up.

Outside I find Vasily sitting on the sofa, a white cloth wrapped around his left hand.

“Is she okay?” He jerks his chin toward the shower. I stomp over to the packs and pull out some clothing for us.

“No thanks to you.” I hadn’t realized that Vasily was directly involved in her sale, even though I knew he had kidnapped her. He’d had to in order to sell the scheme thing to his uncle, but his ends justifies the means attitude makes me want to take the butt end of my gun and rearrange his face. Shaking it off, I head back for the bathroom. Regan is drying off, and I try hard not to watch her but even the bathroom is too small to avoid seeing a few glimpses of her fine body. My own body reacts predictably, and the towel around my waist lifts up.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“I’m going to take it as a compliment," she sighs. “My outrage meter is worn out. I’m worn out.”

We dress hastily, and I ignore my growing hard-on.

Regan leads us out of the bathroom but stops short with a gasp. Vasily has stripped off his shirt and laid a belt on the bed. He's kneeling with his hands laced behind his head.

"What are you doing?” she demands.

“Recompense.” Vasily does not turn around. He barely moves.

"He wants you to hit him with the belt,” I offer helpfully.

“He thinks that me hitting him is going to make up for selling me?” she shrieks.

“I guess?”

Regan goes over to the bed and picks up the belt. We wait. She runs the belt through her fingers and then juggles the buckle end in her hand, perhaps testing its bite.

“Wrap the small end around your hand and strike with your whole arm,” Vasily instructs. This is surreal. Vasily is giving Regan directions on how to best beat him. Looking around, I spy the sofa and head toward it. This whole scene seems like something out of a bad art house drama. Regan does as he instructs, winding the soft end around her hand. She whips the belt up and down a couple of times. I think I’m flinching, but Vasily is not. Her arm pulls back, and she whips it forward. We all hear the whistle as the belt flies through the air. Vasily doesn’t move an inch, and the buckle falls harmlessly. Regan tosses the belt onto the bed.

“Live with the guilt,” she spits out. “I don’t absolve you.”

“You were not to go on sale,” Vasily says. “You were to sit in a safe house until Daniel could come for you, but…” he pauses, “something went wrong. Someone I trusted betrayed me.”

This is too much for Regan to hear. She collapses onto the sofa next to me.

Twenty

Regan

I’VE GONE FROM PURE HAPPINESS to pure misery all over again. Daniel—wonderful, amazing Daniel, who I’ve fallen hard for, my savior from the brothel—is working with one of the men who sold me.

Daniel says to trust him. I do. But it’s hard. Every time I see the new man, I see my apartment and remember being tied up and duct-taped so I can’t scream. I see Yury’s face as he grunts and sweats over me.

But Daniel killed Yury. At least there’s that.

And now this one is backtracking.

I look at the big blond man’s face. He’s waiting, still kneeling on the floor and staring straight ahead. It’s like he expects me to change my mind and say oh yes, actually, I do feel like beating you. Like he expects me to pick up the belt and go to town on him suddenly.

Like he expects me to sink to their level.

I won’t.

“So I wasn’t supposed to go on sale?” My voice is dull, even to my own ears. “That’s a big fucking mistake to happen, don’t you think?”

Daniel’s hand brushes my cheek. “You okay?”

Instinct tells me to push him away, to protect myself, but for the first time in a long time, I ignore it and lean into his touch. If I can’t trust Daniel, I have nothing. “I’m okay.”

“You must have restitution,” the blond man says, interrupting us.

I look over at him, and he hasn’t moved. His face—harder and somehow crueler than Daniel’s ever could be—is impassive. He’s still waiting.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“I am Vasily Petrovich of the Petrovich Bratva,” he rattles off. His voice is one of the deepest I have ever heard, his accent slight but familiar—and hated.

“Well, Vasily . . .” I think for a moment. I look over at Daniel, and he looks as uncomfortable as me at Vasily’s display. “I forgive you.”

The big Russian stiffens. “You cannot forgive me without recompense.”

“Nope,” I say, denying him what he wants. “I forgive you. Let’s move on.” I don’t mean it, of course, but I know that it’ll be a bigger mindfuck to him than me taking the belt and whipping him. I’m guessing pain makes more sense to him than mercy, but it’s not mercy I’m offering, not really. I’m dicking with his mind. I don’t even feel guilty about it.

Vasily doesn’t move.

I get up from my seat and stand in front of the big, frightening Russian who is still kneeling on the ground, waiting for a beating that’s never going to arrive. Instead, I stick my hand into his face. “Shake on it? We can start fresh from here.”

He recoils from my hand, which surprises me.

Daniel moves forward then, tugging me away. Maybe he’s guessed my game and doesn’t approve. I don’t blame him—it’s a bit like teasing a wounded bear. “Vasily’s not a handshaker,” he says to me. “Doesn’t like to be touched.”

“Oh.” Oh, the ammunition this gives me. “All right,” I say sweetly. I won’t forget this little nugget of information.

Daniel moves to the far side of the bed and picks up his gun, checking the clip and beginning to arm himself all over again. He casts a quick glance at Vasily, who hasn’t moved, and exasperation crosses his face.

“Get up, man,” he tells Vasily. “You’re weirding me the fuck out. Regan doesn’t want to beat you.”

Vasily looks rather disgruntled, which makes me happy. Slowly, he gets to his feet and returns to his full height. Daniel is tall, but this man is a giant. I’d forgotten he was so big and scary. And he wanted me to whip him? Strange man. I edge a little closer to Daniel, heading for my own gun, but Daniel pulls it out of my reach before I can grab it. He only raises an eyebrow at me, as if asking who I intend to shoot.

I roll my eyes and drag on his arm so I can pull the gun from his hands. “I’m not going to shoot anymore,” I mutter, making sure the safety is on before I stuff it into my belt. The silencer attached to the barrel feels like it’s sticking into my hip, but I don’t care.

Vasily looks over at me one more time and then picks up his belt. He considers it then slowly begins to thread it through his pant loops.

“Fuckin’ freak,” Daniel says to him, but his voice is easy, almost affectionate. “Put your damn shirt on, and tell me how you found us.”

“I put a tail on you once I found out you did not dump the girl at the embassy,” Vasily says. As he pulls it through the loops, his shoulders twist, and I realize what I should have realized all along—Vasily’s back is one massive length of scars.

Mine would not be the first beating, and—judging by his attitude—it wouldn’t be the last. Okay then.

“A tail? Thanks a fucking lot for all the trust.”

“I trust no one right now,” Vasily says in thickly accented English. “My own Bratva is rotten from the inside. The best hit man I know has defected to go live in the states with a woman. I had my uncle murdered because he could not be trusted. Nyet, comrade, I do not trust anyone at the moment.”

Daniel snorts and swaps a clip out on one of his guns. “Figures. You had to show up now, though?” He sounds disgruntled. “Regan and I were busy.”

“That is obvious,” Vasily says in that cold, deep voice. Then he barks something in Russian that I don’t understand.

“Fuck off,” Daniel says, and he tenses under my arms. “And speak in English. It’s damn rude.”

Vasily’s eyes are cold. His gaze flicks over me, then dismisses me as if I am nothing and returns to Daniel. “You were supposed to send her back to Nick.”

“I didn’t.”

“My plans do not involve dragging along a woman.”

“Change them.”

Vasily’s glare is so ominous that it makes me anxious.

“You would put her in danger simply because you wish an easy fuck, comrade?”

Now that’s hitting below the belt. Daniel’s practically vibrating with tension, and I am guessing that Vasily’s deliberately being a jackass to try and get his way. Or he’s really that much of a jackass. Either way, it’s a sore spot with Daniel. I wait for him to point out that I wouldn’t go to the embassy on my own, to place the blame on me.

“She stays, so figure something out.” And he sits down on the edge of the bed and drags me against him.

I lean in and press my breasts to the side of Daniel’s face as I cling to him, feeling smug and powerful and not a little bit turned on. He’s on my side. He could sell me out to Vasily, who he apparently knows and has worked with for a while, but he’s protecting my secrets.

And that makes me want to throw him down and fuck him all over again. Funny how someone loyal who protects me is such an aphrodisiac.

Vasily is watching me with such an expression of distaste that I suddenly feel dirty again. What, does he think I’m not good enough for Daniel anymore? Because I’m a dirty whore?

I wait for him to say something, but he only pulls an undershirt over his head. Enormous muscles flex as he does so. Then he takes his dress shirt off of the bed and begins to button it with slow, careful fingers.

“What is so important that this couldn’t wait a few more hours?” Daniel wants to know.

“I asked someone to come to Rio and get Hudson’s hacker. He says to me, ‘Yes, I will get hacker and do favor for Nick.’ Now, I see Nick’s favor has been done and my hacker is nowhere to be found.” Vasily’s face looks like stone. “And you wonder why I do not trust.”

“Fuck off, man. I was getting to it. We’ve sort of been busy for the last few days getting our asses shot at. There’s more going on with Regan than we planned for. She’s got some shitbag hot on her trail, and someone killed my snitch right in front of me. We’re doing all we can to keep our asses alive.”

“It looks to my eyes as if you are doing all you can to fuck her ass,” Vasily says. He looks over at me again, then at Daniel. “Are you certain you wish for her to know of all our plans? She could be a decoy.”

“She’s not a decoy.”

“A honey trap, then. Sent to seduce you and bring down everything from inside.”

“I’m right here, you know,” I point out. “I can hear everything you’re saying.”

Daniel’s stiff in my arms again, and I can tell that he’s irritated at Vasily’s words. “She’s not a goddamn honey trap.”

“You’d better hope not, comrade, because you have clearly fallen for her wiles.”

Now I wish I’d shot something more than his hand. Vasily is a dick with a capital D.

Vasily adjusts the cuffs of his dress shirt and looks over at Daniel. “Are you done fucking at the moment?”

“Yeah, having you show up has effectively killed any sort of hard-on I might have had,” Daniel says in a dry voice. “And Regan can be trusted. I won’t have you saying shit about her, okay? She’s a fighter, and she’s with me. She’s not leaving my side.”

God, I love hearing him say those things. For that, he’s totally getting a blow job as soon as I get him alone.

“So you want to take her to Hudson’s compound?” Vasily snorts. “It is, as the Americans say, your funeral.”

“You know where Hudson is?” Daniel looks a little surprised. “How’d you manage that?”

“While you were fucking, I pull strings and grease palms.” Vasily’s expression is utterly cold and he shoots another look of blame at me. “It is not hard to find people to notice a snow-pale man with a fetish for blonde women from North America who arms himself with dozens of mercenaries.”

I frown at his words. “Did . . . did you say snow-pale?”

Vasily’s gaze moves to me, his eyes slits. “Da.”

My heart begins to thump erratically in my chest, and I feel my skin prickle with an all-too familiar fear. I lick my lips and then gesture, asking, “Short, white-blonde hair? Pale eyes and pale skin? About this tall?” I gesture a few inches above my head. “Wears light-colored suits and sunglasses indoors?”

“You know this man?”

“That’s Mr. Freeze,” I whisper through numb lips. “The one who wants me back once I’ve been ‘broken in.’ He’s the one watching the embassy, waiting for someone to drop me off.”

Daniel’s arm tightens around my waist, noticing my fright. “He’s not going to get you. I promise that.”

“So,” Vasily says, “we leave her here, and you and I pay Hudson a visit. We retrieve this hacker and we find out more information about your sister. Everyone is happy.”

“Wait, no,” I cry out and cling to Daniel. This time, I’m smashing his face against my breasts, but I don’t care. “You can’t leave me here. You have to take me with you.”

Daniel’s voice is muffled against my breasts. “Fighter baby, you know I wouldn’t ask you to stay behind if it wasn’t safe, but—”

“No! You’re not abandoning me.”

“Regan—”

“I’m going with you.” Vasily being here has made me all edgy again, and I have a feeling I’m going to be clinging to Daniel harder than normal. Even the thought of Daniel leaving the room for five minutes and being here alone with Vasily is enough to make my skin prickle with gooseflesh. “You can’t leave me behind. You can’t. You promised.”

Daniel sighs. “I know. I know. We’ll think of something. It’s . . . fuck. It’s not safe, okay?”

“When has any of this been safe?” I ask him.

Vasily snorts.

“I’m going,” I say stubbornly.

“You are not invited,” Vasily says to me.

“If you leave me here, I’ll follow you,” I say, fighting the panic that’s rising. He can’t leave me behind. Not after all this. He can’t. If he does, I know I’m going to turn a corner and see Mr. Freeze lurking there, waiting for me.

“You heard the lady,” Daniel says. “She goes.”

Vasily spits out another phrase in Russian, and Daniel flips him the bird. They look ready to come to blows, staring down each other. After a tense moment though, Vasily throws his hands up, conceding.

DANIEL PEERS DOWN THE SCOPE of his rifle, scanning the compound far below. “That’s thirty-one,” he says. “Which means there will be more inside.”

The three of us are perched inside one of the hovels in Monkey Hill. We stopped by Luiz’s place, picked up our papers, and then headed back to the slums. Or at least, we did after both men tried to talk me out of going again.

I refused. I’m not leaving Daniel’s side. I won’t feel safe until he delivers me back to my doorstep in Minneapolis, so why does it matter that we’re heading to someplace dangerous? Everywhere is dangerous.

Once in the slums, Daniel paid someone to let us make use of his place for a few hours. Vasily guards the door, an enormous handgun held high as he scans the hallway. I’m crouching next to Daniel by the window, a piece of scratch-paper in hand as I mark an X onto my sketch of Hudson’s compound. I have an X every place that Daniel has found a soldier.

My paper is littered with Xs.

“Thirty-two,” Daniel murmurs. “One hiding in the stairwell. Fuck, the man has an army with him. Paranoid son of a bitch.”

I make a mark on my paper and look over at Daniel. He’s still squinting down the scope of his rifle, monitoring things. “So what does this mean?”

“It means we’re not going anywhere near him.”

I frown and peek out the window, gazing down at the walls of the place. It’s not exactly pretty—nor is it inconspicuous. The walls are made of enormous concrete blocks, and the double doors only open to allow the occasional truck in. The tops of the walls are curling with barbed wire, and Daniel has even said they have a sniper on the rooftop, like us.

“So why don’t we start shooting? Take as many out as we can and then charge in once we’ve picked off a bunch of their guys?”

Vasily mutters something derisive in Russian behind me, and I’m pretty sure he’s calling me stupid.

“No can do, fighter,” Daniel says, finally putting down his rifle and looking over at me. “I could pick off one or two before they notice, but then they’d figure out where we’re coming from and swarm up this hill. It’s too dangerous.”

“Why don’t we sneak in at night, then? We could get a few blankets and some ladders, toss a blanket over the barbed wire and climb our way over. I saw that in a movie once.”

“If he has thirty men outside, he will have thirty more inside,” Vasily bites out. “He is expecting us. He is ready. We need a new plan.”

Daniel rubs a hand down his face, looking as frustrated as I feel. I want us to go in there, guns blazing, and shoot Mr. Freeze in his ugly, pale face until he can’t come after me ever again. But if two assassins are saying it’s too dangerous, then maybe it is.

“So what do we do?” I ask.

“Tears of God,” Vasily says.

“Fuck. No way,” Daniel retorts. “I’m not taking Regan there.”

“What’s Tears of God?” I ask, my gaze moving between Vasily and Daniel. “What?”

“Remember I told you about the favela that’s controlled by the mercenaries? The one that no one fucks with?”

“That’s Tears of God?”

“They owe me favor,” Vasily says curtly. “This can be the favor.”

“Goddamn it, no, Vasily.”

“Why?” I ask again.

Daniel shoots me a dark look, and he seems rather upset. “No one goes into Tears of God without being checked over first. They take your guns, they take your clothes, and they search you. All of you. I’m not putting you through that. Fuck that. We’ll figure something else out.”

Vasily barks something harsh to Daniel.

I swallow, trying to imagine being patted down by a bunch of mercenaries. Walking into a place like the one below, naked and vulnerable. But there are two people being held in that compound– Daniel’s sister is —and the hacker. Daniel’s told me that wherever we find the hacker, we’ll find Naomi. I can’t stop thinking about that. Maybe she’s suffering the same things I went through. Hudson likes them broken. I try to picture a girl like Daniel but broken, and I shudder internally then force a calm look on my face. “I can do it.”

“No, fighter—”

“No, Daniel. I said I’d go with you. I have to take the good with the bad. I can stand to be patted down by a few guys, I promise.”

His jaw clenches, and I can tell that he doesn’t like it. That it’s vulnerable, and we’ll be naked and at their mercy if they try anything. If they decide to get rid of us, we’re fucked.

But I trust Daniel. So I force a wobbling smile to my face. “Let’s go.”

Twenty-one

Daniel

“THERE ’S NO WAY IN .” REGAN ’S dismay echoes my own internal frustration. It’s a sign. If you believed in signs, warnings, or symbols, the lack of an obvious entrance to Tears of God clearly said fuck off. I run my hand along the concrete walls and corrugated metal barriers that stand where the paved road indicates the entrance should be.

“What do you even know about this group?” I turn to Petrovich, who is standing slightly apart, hands on his hips, looking upward as if Touchdown Jesus will bend down from his place on the hill and part the metal seas for us.

“They are loyal, men of their word,” he answers and then points to the inscription written in Portuguese above the gate.

“What’s it say?” Regan asks.

“Revelation 21:4.” It’s a scripture. I read it out loud. “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain.”

“That sounds nice. Maybe it would be more comforting if there wasn’t a dagger punctuating the end,” Regan observes wryly. I flash her a quick grin. That’s my girl.

I pull out my gun and point it at the dagger. “What are you doing?” Regan hisses.

“Gotta get their attention somehow.”

Before I can squeeze off a shot, a door appears in the wall to my left, and a large hulking figure steps out. His heritage is indeterminate, which likely makes him a true Brazilian. Native Brazilians are almost a greater melting pot of heritages than the U.S. Afrikaan, Asian, and American mix in fantastic harmony. The only real important thing about this stranger is his size—extra large—and weaponry. He’s got machine gun belts draped over his chest like suspenders. On his arms are leather wrist guards that double as knife sheathes. He’s got an AK strapped on his back and an armory belt with guns, knives, and more ammunition.

Utopia is clearly enforced by martial law.

But all that show only means one thing: this guy must be a bad shot. I holster my gun, casually try to hide Regan behind me, and place my hands up in the air.

“We’re here to see the Knife’s Edge.”

“State your business.” He folds his massive arms across his chest, the movement pushing the hilts of the wrist knives out toward me. With a quick mental calculation, I figure I can pull out one of the knives and pin his hand to his chest in about ten seconds—that is, if the blade is long enough. Behind me I feel Regan’s slight form creep closer.

“We’re here to do a trade.”

“We don’t trade in flesh,” he growls.

Enlightenment dawns. He thinks we’re here to trade Regan for . . . something. I pull her to the side. “Nope, she’s with me. My Russian buddy is going to pull out some money so you can see that we’re interested in information and some services in exchange for cash.” I didn’t want the guard to get trigger happy when Petrovich reached inside his suit pocket.

Petrovich hands a wad of cash to the guard, who doesn’t even count it, just flips it in his hand as if he can measure us merely through the weight of the cash. Maybe we should have brought gold. Without a word, he disappears inside and closes the door.

“Nice friends you have, Petrovich,” I mock.

“I associate with you, do I not?” he retorts. Regan stifles a semi-hysterical giggle.

A minute passes. Maybe five. I cross the street and sit on the curb. We aren’t leaving until we speak to the person in charge. Petrovich stands by the door, like he’s a soldier awaiting orders.

“He’s super strange,” Regan observes.

“Yup.”

“Like, I think he really wanted me to beat him.”

“Yup.”

“Are all your friends that fucked-up?”

“Yup.”

She’s silent for a minute. “I guess I see why you like me.”

This brings a grin to my face. “Fighter, you’re the least fucked-up of all the people I know. You’re like the normal control in a sample full of crazy.”

“You weren’t always part of this world though.” She gestures toward the favela.

Leaning back on my elbows, I raise my face up to the sky. The sun is warmer here, more intense. Its rays touch you with a close hand. If not for the kidnapping, my missing sister, and the surly Russian standing five feet away, I could pretend I was lying on the beach sipping a fruity drink with an umbrella with Regan in a barely-there bikini, her body glistening with the oil I’d spread over every square inch of her. “You know why bad guys win?”

“No.” She sounds as despondent as I felt staring into Hudson’s compound.

“Because they live in these fucking compounds. When I’m done here, I’m going to buy my own fucking island and you and my sister and I are going to live there and drink fruity drinks with little umbrellas. I’ll grill some steaks, and after we’ve gorged ourselves, you and I will go inside and make sweet love while Marvin Gaye serenades us.”

“I like that you’ve put a lot of thought into that.”

Before I decide to get my gun out and start shooting holes into the walls in front of me, the guard comes out and gestures us inside. The door opens into a small room with one table. There are no windows here, and the space is dark and cool, lit only by a couple of bare bulbs. There are two other guards standing in front of the only exit. Nice. My gun hand twitches. The first guard hands the wad of cash back to Petrovich. “Strip.” I raise an eyebrow at Regan, and she gives me a wan smile.

When her hands fly to her blouse, the guard barks out, “Stop.” We freeze.

“Not you,” he waves a hand toward Regan. “Stand over there,” he orders, but Regan doesn’t move. Her fingers creep out and loop into the waistband of my pants.

“I’m not leaving Daniel,” she says.

“Sorry,” I shrug my shoulders. “We’re a package deal.”

He snaps his fingers, and one of the men standing in front of the rear exit leaves. A few minutes later a woman appears with a folded cloth in her hands. She approaches. “If you’ll come with me, you can change into this. I promise to return you.”

Regan looks reluctant but stripping down to nothing in front of these three seems like it would be more traumatic than being separated.

“I won’t leave without you. I promise.” I tell her, and she releases me with reluctance.

With Regan gone, Petrovich and I undress swiftly. The guard who left to get the woman comes over and pats us between our legs. I’m not sure how many people can hide a weapon up their asshole—and I don’t think I even want to know—but the guards here are more invasive than a TSA agent. I hope Regan isn’t suffering the same kind of inspection.

“Kind of overkill, don’t you think?” Petrovich is a good shot, and there are a lot of weapons in the room even if we are naked. The guy on his knees in front of me could have his windpipe crushed by my leg.

I hope it doesn’t come to that. We’re handed loose shifts made out of coarse cloth. It’s kind of like wearing the metaphorical burlap sack. With our hands secured behind our backs with modern zip ties that look suspiciously like the ones we used in the army, we’re escorted out of the little room and onto the street. I can see now that the main road into the favela has been blocked off with a row of three houses. They serve as guard gates. Whoever is in charge here is paranoid and kitting out this patch of land like it’s a fortress ready for an epically long siege. Regan is waiting for us, wearing a similar loose-fitting sack that extends down beyond her knees. The length of the sack is fairly ingenuous because it doesn’t allow for much movement. You’d have to lift the material to run or topple over from the restraint.

As we climb up the steep winding road, people peek out of windows and doorways. We’re a pale imitation of the Carnival parade. No floats, only nearly naked foreigners with armed guards in the front and to the rear. I resist the urge to wave. At the top of the hill, the houses fall away and there is a large gravel expanse interrupted by burn marks on the ground. A huge granite slab sits like a sacrificial altar in between burn marks. There is lumber to the right, stacked in precise piles of varying lengths. There were rumors about this favela—that they burned their enemies at the stake. Right now I’d like to drop kick Petrovich in the balls for bringing us up here and placing Regan in danger.

A man comes out, simply dressed in a cotton button-down camp shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show tattoos on both arms. He’s wearing loose-fitting cotton pants and is entirely weaponless. The sun’s rays blot out his face until he comes closer.

“Jesus Christ. Rafe Mendoza? What the fuck?” I’m stunned to see one of the members of my old Delta unit standing in front of me. Mendoza’s apparently just as dumbstruck because he says nothing for a moment and then reaches out to grab my hand. When he realizes that I’m trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, he awkwardly thumps me on the back.

“Hays, what the hell are you doing in my little fiefdom?”

I jerk a shoulder toward Petrovich, who is silently watching the whole exchange. “I’m with the freak show there. He says you owe him a favor.”

Mendoza studies the Russian. “Don’t know him.”

“Not you, a lieutenant. I rendered him aid during a melee over in Dubai six months ago,” Petrovich explains.

He nods and then turns to a boy, barely out of puberty based on his size. “Confirm with Fetler.” The young boy runs off, and Mendoza turns back to me.

“And the girl?” Mendoza asks.

“She’s with me,” I answer.

“Merry band, you have,” he jokes.

“Every gang needs at least one Russian and one hellcat.” I stretch to ease the tension in my back. We aren’t going to die today. There’s no need to make more small talk because the young boy returns and whispers something to Mendoza.

“Fetler vouches for you,” he says to Petrovich, “which means I castrate him if you do harm to anyone who belongs to me.”

Petrovich nods stiffly. “There will be no harm to your people from my hands.”

We follow Mendoza past the burn marks and an open field, up to the last building on the hill before a wild bramble of trees and jungle foliage takes over. From the exterior, it looks squat and but inside I see that it is much larger than I assumed. There are a dozen people in here. In one room it appears that they are folding and stuffing envelopes. In another is a bank of computers.

Mendoza leads us to a back room which appears to be some sort of office. There are several wooden chairs around a rectangular table and a desk at the very end. “Cut them loose,” he orders the guard who has followed us from the front gate all the way up. The ties around our wrists are sliced open, and Mendoza gestures for us to sit.