Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Yeah, that sounded like us. We thought it was better that the cartel collapsed in an in-house war that killed people in the thousands on Colombian turf rather than the Blancos controlling the market. To me, it didn’t fucking matter. A strong cartel was obviously not good, but it came with fewer casualties.
“Are we gonna stumble across federal agents closer to the premises?” Greer asked.
Most of us shook our heads.
“We think it’s a small operation,” I said. “They can’t risk anyone finding out.”
“Crew says Mercier has a single agent in the country,” Coach revealed. “He’s waiting in Pasto to escort a civilian woman to the US. Other than that, Mercier’s on his own. With Crew.”
“And us,” Elliott murmured.
And us.
“With all this said, it’s highly possible Adrien has plans for the sons too,” Emerson added. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
Coach cleared his throat. “Considering the length Crew is goin’ to in this profiling, it would surprise me if they’re not including the sons. They’ve spent all day observing them, primarily Enzo and Marco. But they’re all here.”
“In other words, that’s tomorrow’s problem,” I said. “Does he say anything about when we’ll hear from him again?”
“Yeah, down here.” Coach read from the screen. “After breakfast, they’re meeting with a woman who cooks for the Blancos. She’s an assistant to the old man’s personal chef, and she’s in charge of every ingredient that comes into the kitchen. Mercier hopes he can smuggle three of us in during a delivery tomorrow. It’s apparently something they’ve done before—but we’re not sure yet. He’s mentioning it, though, in case we’re far away—and we fucking are. The town where they pick up food and supplies is almost four hours away.”
Elliott and I locked eyes over the fire. A three-man crew? He would count himself out; I was definitely going, and—
“That’s close combat,” Danny stated, clapping his hands together. “I’m in.”
Danny, ever the quick thinker, was right. The three men we sent in the Mercier way had to be ready for close combat—all while refraining till the absolute last second.
Emerson sighed. “Do you remember when we agreed we were done in the field?”
“No, because I was hooked up to a morphine drip.” Danny didn’t miss a beat. “It doesn’t matter. That’s our boy in there—my junior. If I hadn’t been so young and cool, I would’ve asked him to call me Gramps.”
I coughed on a laugh, unable to stop the images. Shay calling Danny Gramps? Fucking hell. Danny might refer to himself as on the wrong side of fifty these days, but he had too much in common with Shay to pull off that label. They were both punchy submissives to their significant others—in his case, Emerson.
“Danny’s probably our strongest fighter,” River admitted.
“Fuck yeah, I am,” Danny agreed. “I say Reese and I go—and whoever else…?” He glanced around us.
I looked to Greer and cocked a brow. He was a six-foot-five grunt with many talents, whether it was close combat or marksmanship. Cullen was much the same in height and mass, but he’d been blunt about not getting in the way because his stamina wasn’t what it used to be. Additionally, he’d been shot when we’d rescued Crew in Belize last year.
Greer shook his head. “You want me with the others,” he said. “Where are you gonna hide me? Chances are, when you arrive at the estate or wherever the supplies are going, you’ll be laying low for hours. Cullen and I will manage the explosives and make sure everyone else gets in before we throw our weight around.”
That was fair—and a solid plan.
“If I may offer my expertise,” Coach drawled. “Send your best sniper. We’re all good enough shots to take down guards on a wall or watchtower—but on the actual property, you might need precision skills beyond that.”
Fuck. He had a point. We’d be surrounded by civilians, more or less.
Elliott, River, and I turned to Joel.
Given what he’d dedicated his life to, I assumed he was our best.
Joel nodded with a dip of his chin. “Sure.”
“You’re not with the Hillcroft outlaws, are you?” Cullen wondered.
“Outlaws,” I snorted.
“No, I’m with the Coast Guard,” Joel answered.
“He’s former HITRON,” Elliott elaborated.
And you wanna hit that so badly, buddy.
Greer let out a low whistle, visibly impressed. And who wouldn’t be? Joel had been on the front line of the drug war for almost twenty years. But while the rest of us had trekked through jungles and infiltrated cartels or staged extractions, he had sat in a helicopter speeding after smugglers in the Pacific and the Caribbean. Turbulence, crashing waves, a precision rifle, and a tiny target some one hundred and fifty feet below, usually a boat engine.
It was settled. Danny, Joel, and I were hopefully hiding our asses in the back of a delivery truck tomorrow.
“I can drive you there,” Mathis said. “You’ll need to sleep on the way. When I get back, I can join Greer and Cullen.”