Jay is the only mouth I need in my ear—his skill levels out to the equivalent of what three hackers could do. And he’s the only one I trust with my life.
I don’t acknowledge Jay’s sentiment.
I don’t fucking need luck. Just skill and patience. And I have both in spades.
Slinking up to the door, I keep my body close to the wall and my footsteps undetectable.
When I reach the door, I hear the subtle click of the door unlocking.
Jay’s doing.
Despite the decay of the building, it’s still equipped with the latest technology where needed.
The ring leaders want to keep the appearance of a rundown, abandoned building to remain under the radar. But completely impenetrable for squatters and graffiti artists.
“It’s clear. Systems are down for ten seconds, get in now.”
Quickly, I turn the handle and slip through in a matter of seconds, opening the door just enough to fit my body through. The metal door shuts behind me soundlessly.
The old building is mostly an open concept. I came through the back door that leads into a dimly lit hallway. Straight ahead and to the left will open up to where the machinery used to be when this was a rubber factory.
That is where the girls are being held.
Muffled screams reach my ears—the sounds of girls crying and in pain. White-hot rage blinds my vision, but I don’t rush in or lose my shit.
No one can do this job and lose their fucking shit, otherwise, these girls would never be saved.
It’s hard not to, though. These assholes bring out the worst in me.
“Overrode the cameras. You have one hour before the system resets, and I’m kicked out,” Jay informs.
I only need ten minutes.
Keeping to the shadows, I make my way through the hallway and peek around the corner. There are thin cots scattered across about a thousand square feet of space. Each cot is accompanied by a metal pole installed from the ground up. Each girl is chained to the poles by a metal collar that prevents them from moving only a couple of feet from their cots.
I flex my fists, tightening them until my hands go numb.
I pull my gun out of the back of my jeans.
Once they notice the first man is down, the rest will open fire, which is why I need to be careful and quick.
Whether they’re going to be careless about the girls is impossible to say. The men know the risk if their leaders find out a virgin girl was killed. That means money taken out of someone’s pockets and their head on a stake to set an example.
But some of these men care more about their own lives, even if it means they’re walking around with a hit on their head.
Just as Jay said, three men stand guard in front of me, completely unaware of my presence.
Stupid fucks.
I’ll never understand how people can’t sense danger when it’s right up their assholes.
Shit boggles me.
In one quick succession, I take out all three men. Their bodies drop, and a few of the girls jump. Some cry and hunker down, while others stay deathly silent. A normal reaction for a little girl would be to scream, but these girls have already been desensitized to murder.
The five men in the pit of girls turn their heads in tandem, their faces morphing from surprise to alarm to anger in a matter of seconds. Immediately, they scramble for their guns.
My body is still concealed by the wall I’m hiding behind. Two of them open fire, forcing me to back away. One bullet skids across the corner of the wall, right past my face. Chunks of concrete fly into my eyes as more bullets ping around me. I grunt, rubbing at my lids to clear my vision.
Right as I ready up again, one guy comes barreling around the corner. He’s dead before he even spots me, a nice little hole right between his brows.
He was an ugly motherfucker anyway. World will do just fine without him.
Before his body can topple over, I grip him by the collar of his shirt and bring him in close. Wincing at the bad breath emanating from the rotting hole in his face, I step out of the hallway, using the dead man as a shield against the flying bullets still hurdling my way.
The dead body takes a few hits while I fire off two single shots. Two more bodies go down, and I step back inside the hallway, pushing away the bloodied man who’s now riddled with bullets.
His head smacks off the concrete floor with a sickening thud.
I used his body as a shield for five seconds, but I still got lucky. It’s not like the movies. Bullets can easily fly through bodies. Entry and exit point. Just to enter right back into my body.
I don’t use other people for shields unless I have to, and it’s only for a few seconds at a time.
A chorus of noises arise in the warehouse in the form of terrified screams from the girls, shouts of panic from the men, orders to “kill the puta,” and yells of outrage for the girls to stop crying.
There are still six men left, and I can feel the panic crawling off them.
“Come out, with your hands raised and gun on the floor, or I’ll start killing these bitches!” one of them shouts, his voice echoing.
I sigh, roll my shoulders, and do as he says. I drop my gun on the floor and step out with my hands raised. The six men stand before the group of girls, keeping them safe from stray bullets. The knowledge that they’re only doing so to ensure the product isn’t damaged rather than giving a shit about hurting them burns hot in my chest.
“Come on, the fun was just starting,” I croon, a smirk pulling my lips up.
“Shut up!” the man spits. He’s a Mexican man with a shaved head, tattoos covering him from head to toe, and wearing clothes that look like they haven’t been washed in weeks.
And look at that—quite the gnarly scar on his forehead.
Goddamn. It looks like someone took a bread knife and just sawed at his head.
This must be dear ol’ Fernando. Just who I was looking for.
Fernando’s eyes are wide with fear and based on the crack pipes sitting on the table behind him, I’d say most of them are high off their rockers.
Not so good.
They get trigger-happy when they’re tripping on whatever substance they injected into their tired veins.
And I got six of those happy fingers on triggers.
“Who sent you?” Fernando shouts, emphasizing his question with a wave of his gun.
“I sent myself,” I answer dryly.
Why do they always think I’m working for someone else? I don’t work for anyone but myself.
The man holds his gun above my head and shoots it off, attempting to scare me.
See?
Trigger happy.
I don’t flinch. Instead, I take the time to look at my surroundings better. There’s a table to my left, littered with guns, ashtrays, empty beer cans, and another crack pipe.
Perfect.
“Don’t make me ask again, cabrón,” the man says, his finger caressing the trigger.
“You Fernando?” I ask, keeping my body as still as ice. The man’s brows jump in surprise, and I see the paranoia leaking into his eyes from here.
He’s not going to be much help like I had hoped. He’s buzzing too hard.
“How you know that, huh? You following me?”
I smile, baring all my teeth. “It’s what I do best after all. I heard you’re the main man around here. Running the show and all that.”
He shifts. The asshole can’t help but feel a little pride, I just know it. Like he’s doing something good in the world, when all he’s doing is plaguing hundreds of little boys’ and girls’ nightmares.
“I was hoping you could help me out, man.”
“Yeah?” he patronizes. “You think so? You think I’m going to tell you shit, man?”
He fires off another shot, this time next to me. Too close for comfort. Enough to feel the heat of the bullet. I still don’t flinch, and if anything, that pisses him off more.
