The crackle from the small device indicates my directions
are about to come in. I shake out my fists, restlessness
binding my nerves into tight knots.
"Five bodies in the main area, all of them armed. Three more
on their six and four on their twelve."
I crack my neck, enjoying the feeling of my bones popping.
Tension releases and my shoulders relax.
Twelve men won't be too hard to take down, but I'm going to
have tobe quick and stealthy. It was easier to pick off theguards
surrounding the decrepit warehouse.
The sun has long since fallen, providing ample coverage. It
took two seconds to find a spot hidden in the shadows, giving me
the perfect angle for a sniper shot.
Their mistake was relying on their limited eyesight for intruders.
My ability to hide in the shadows is what ultimately got them killed.
Should've had night vision goggles like me.
Maybe then I would've had a bit of entertainment.
I lick my lips, anticipation sharp on my tongue.
"Be careful, Z," says my righthand man, Jay. His hacking skills
are nearly as good as mine—and only because I was his teacher.
I created an entire organization built solely around ending
human trafficking. I started out as a hacker exposing the truths of
our corrupt government. Andthen, as I became more aware of
their true nature—the depravity of their sickness, it turned into
personally snuffing out every single one of these sick bastards,
starting from the bottom up.
Terminate all the worker bees, and the queen is left vulnerable
and weak.
But I couldn't be both a hacker and a mercenary, and what I
really enjoy doing is being the one to put the bullet in their heads myself.
So, I created my org, Z, from the ground up, recruiting a team
of hackers to help the mercenaries with their job—get into the
rings, kill themall, and get the victims out safely. I stationed my
mercenaries in high-rate trafficking areas and assigned them their
own team of hackers. Now, Z has become so big that there are
teams in every state, and several outside of the country as well.
Jay is the onlymouth 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 fuckingneed 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 oldbuilding is mostly an open concept. I came through the
back door thatleads 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 dothis 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 athousand square feet of space. Each cot is accompanied
by a metal pole installed from the ground up. Eachgirl is
chainedto 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 asJay 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. Anormal reaction for a little girl
would be to scream, but these girls have already been
desensitized to murder.
The fivemen 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 therotting 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.
Achorus 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.Itlooks 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 mans 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."