Just ahead of us was the row of tightly woven shrubbery that sat about twenty feet from the front gate. After seeing it on a map, Chulo had decided it would be our rendezvous point. Once we were all accounted for, Chulo radioed the weapons van. As I gripped my assault rifle tighter, I tried to still the erratic beating of my heart. Adrenaline had it pumping overtime. There was nothing left to do now but wait for the van to arrive and for the explosives to truly set our plan in motion.
When the van came into view, I drew in a sharp breath. Just as it got to the line of shrubbery, the driver’s side door was thrown open and one of the El Paso Raiders jumped out. The van’s gas pedal was rigged to keep accelerating. Just as it was about to hit the gate, gunfire broke out, riddling the hood with bullet holes. But it was all in vain. The moment it smashed into the steel, the van exploded in an orange ball of fire, taking out a section of the gate.
“Now!” Chulo shouted.
I sprang out from behind the shrubbery to get behind Ranger. With his gun cocked, he kicked down another part of the gate that was hanging precariously by one hinge. As it collapsed, he motioned us to follow him. The moment I entered Mendoza’s courtyard, I felt like I had been transported back into the service. Everything seemed executed with military precision.
Immediately gunfire rained down on us. Crouching, we returned fire until we took out the two targets and the only sound in the compound was the bellowing alarm.
“Go on. I’ll cover you guys,” Ranger said.
“Rev, you, Nero, and Snake take the house,” Chulo ordered.
“Okay.”
“We’ll take the back bunker,” Chulo said, nodding at Bishop and two others.
With Nero and Snake at my side, we hurried across the courtyard. When we got to the veranda, gunshots went off behind us. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Ranger taking out three men who were rushing toward him. I had no idea how, with those odds, the fucker managed not to get hit.
Using brute force, Snake kicked in the front door while Nero and I covered him. When we met no opposition, we headed into the foyer. With its marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and expensive art, it was evident what drug money could buy, and Mendoza certainly enjoyed the finer things in life. Nero cleared his throat, then said, “Okay, how about I make a sweep of the front. Rev, you take the hallway and bedrooms, and Snake, you take the middle.”
“Sounds good,” I replied.
I advanced out of the foyer and past the living room. When I started down the hallway and came around the corner, a hail of gunfire met me. I ducked into an open bedroom. In the darkness, I took a knife out of my belt. Pressing myself against the wall, I listened to the sound of boots clomping down the hallway. As the gunman entered the doorway, I plunged the knife into his chest. The hit momentarily disabled him. Grabbing him by the shoulders, I shoved him against the wall and wrestled away control of his weapon.
“Where is the American woman?” I demanded.
“Fuck. You.”
Pressing my knife against his throat, I growled, “The gringa with red hair. Where is she?”
When he shook his head defiantly, the seething anger racing through me reached a volatile point—one where I no longer saw reason. Since he was of no use to me, I plunged the knife into the man’s throat. After severing his artery, I released him, letting him drop to the floor.
Sputtering and convulsing, he began to bleed out over the white marble floor. As I stared down at the man in disgust, rage filled me. Although I should have reined myself in, I couldn’t stop myself from kicking him over and over again in the gut and groin.
Once the man was still, I jerked my knife out of his neck. Since I could always use another weapon, I took his rifle and swung it over my shoulder. Just as I started out of the bedroom, a low moan caused me to whirl around. The room had appeared empty when I looked inside. As my gaze flicked around the room, another moan came from the other side of the room. With my finger on my gun’s trigger, I started slowly across the marble floor. When I got around the side of the bed, I was met with the sight of a pool of blood and a female body.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered at the sight of the crumpled form in front of me. Shifting my guns, I dropped to the floor. It was a woman wearing only a man’s white dress shirt. Besides the blood, her body was black and blue with bruises. Someone had done a real number on her. It was obvious she had been left to die.
My hand froze after I’d reached to push the strands of auburn hair out of the girl’s face. Sarah had auburn hair. Was it possible that I had unknowingly found her? Could it be this easy?
“Sarah?” I questioned. “Sarah?” My tone had grown frantic. Her swollen eyelids fluttered at the sound of my voice. “Are you Sarah Edgeway?”
“Annabel,” she whispered.
It felt like a harsh kick to the gut that it wasn’t Sarah. But at the same time, I knew I had to save this girl. Drawing her to me, I slid one of my arms under her back and the other under her legs. When I eased us off the floor, she cried out in pain. “I’m sorry. I’m going to get you help. I promise.”
She surprised me by opening her eyes and gazing up at me. “J-Jesus?” she croaked.
It took me a moment to process that with my unkempt hair and beard I’d made her think of the religious figure. At the hopeful look in her bloodshot eyes, I felt terrible for having to let her down. “No, I’m Rev,” I said lamely.
My words seemed to be of little comfort to her as she grimaced in pain. “Hurts.”
“I know. Stay with me. I’m going to get you out of here.”