Page 21 of Mercenary
I press my lips together. No time for regrets—it’s not in my goddamned nature.
Across the street and a few houses down, a door opens. I tense, my hand high in the waistband of my jeans, my finger on the trigger of the Glock tucked neatly inside. A familiar dark-headed man steps outside, cautiously, with his hand beneath his T-shirt.
I sink backward, my back scratching the house’s stucco siding. With my free hand, I hit Hayden’s number on my cell and make the goddamned call.
He picks up on the second ring. “Where is she?” he demands, causing me to wonder if he has another cleaning crew on speed dial, ready to rile up the local drug lords and pin this hit on them.
I hesitate. Another first in what is beginning to be a long line of them.
“Where?” His tone smacks with fury.
“Loreto.”
My eyebrows arch as he makes a hissing sound, like a long, drawn-out sigh held between clenched teeth. “Diego’s,” I add, playing my hand.
A long silence follows. If he doesn’t fucking hurry up, ask the question my gut instinct is telling me he wants answered, I’ll miss my chance. Two women have joined Diego. My eyes narrow on the tall shapely form of the blond. She’s gained weight, the hallows of her cheeks now fuller, her body more plush. Less skin and bones, like she’d been back in Oklahoma. Her tits are plump, just how I like them. That punk on the beach hadn’t known what to do with a woman like her.
Shit. Fucking shit.
My temple begins to pound. If Hayden doesn’t issue the order, they’ll escape. I let the silence draw out, my breath growing more shallow by the second.
“Who exactly did they cut up?”
Diego has opened the passenger door and is ushering them both inside his Bronco. My gaze shifts off of Madelyn, and onto the dark-haired woman. “His sister.”
I grind my teeth together. Now I’ll have to execute all three of them in his truck. Or, in a few seconds, watch them drive away. Yet, my boss knows better than to waste precious time . . .
“Diego’s sister.”
“Correct.”
There’s silence on the other end. Damn it. Hayden’s going to ask me to terminate them. Especially Diego, for helping that traitor’s sister.
“I have an assignment for you.”
Jesus. His tone is a study of controlled violence. Harsh. Cold. Menacing.
“Diego isn’t involved in this. His sister is friends with Kylie’s sister.”
“Thank you for clarifying that,” he snaps.
Another brief pause. “Who?” I mutter, hearing the Bronco’s engine roar to life.
“The three men who cut Luciana up. Terminate them. Immediately.”
Do I tell him it’s a done deal, that the three assholes are buried on the beach? No fucking way. Why map out a timeline for Hayden when the end result is all that counts? It’s better this way, with no questions asked about why I’d take matters into my own hands without first reporting in. “No sooner said than done,” I reply, my eyes tracking Diego as he backs his truck out of his driveway, shifts it into gear, and floors the gas pedal.
I feel something foreign spread across my lips. A grin. Like the well-trained mercenary that I am, I wait for Hayden’s final order, well aware of what it’ll be.
“Let her go.”
6
Madelyn
My knowledge of filthy Spanish curse words expands exponentially thanks to Diego’s tireless tirade. He gives full reign to what has to be the Spanish dictionary of dirty jargon, which he growls in a husky, guttural-sounding way. Along the bumpy road hugging the US border, over a one-lane-only bridged border crossing and throughout the barren landscape heading north, on and on he goes. Until Tucson, where his cursing stops, along with his truck. “End of the road,” he confirms, gesturing toward the rundown motel he’s pulled in front of. “Out.”
Luciana clambers out of the passenger seat.
