by Matt James
Must’ve arrived before the girls had a chance to leave.
Speaking of the girls, they looked downright terrified of the unarmed man. If anyone of them could dig down deep and inspire the others into action, they would quickly overrun him. They outnumbered the guy by at least twenty-to-one. But it didn’t happen. Their shell-shocked expressions lent to their profound fear of him on an emotional level that would take time to move past.
Willy knew she could end this by drawing her gun and shooting him, but it wouldn’t solve anything, really. The women here were damaged, as much as she hated to use that word to describe their mental state. Maria was still defiant toward her abductors, having only recently been taken by them. Some of the women looked like they’d been on location for much, much longer.
I need to teach them to stand up for themselves and fight back.
She wasn’t sure why she took it upon herself to be their therapist as well as savior. It felt right either way. Pulling her gun free from the back of her jeans, Willy squeezed the weapon hard but tossed it aside. It clattered on the concrete floor somewhere to her right.
“You don’t need to fear this man!” Willy shouted, keeping her eyes on her enemy. Her bellowing voice caused the closest of the women to flinch back, startled. She strolled forward, exuding confidence. She grinned now thirty feet from her sister and the asshole alike. Willy stopped. “He is weak and pathetic, only preying on those he can keep under his thumb.”
Mr. Dumpster 2.0 attacked, seething at her words. He was on her in seconds too, but Willy was ready. Arms stretched out for her throat, she ducked, spun, and took out his lower half with a strong leg sweep. She winced from the impact, her left calf taking the brunt of the blow.
Luckily, he went flying forward, tumbling to a stop a few feet away. Willy jumped to her feet, feeling the bruised muscle protest against the effort. Pushing aside the discomfort, she leapt onto his back and drove her tightly balled fist into the back of his bleeding head, aiming for the still gushing wound. Three hard-rights in, Dumpster bucked, screaming in rage.
Taking an elbow to the face, Willy landed hard on her back, hand slathered in the man’s blood. It took Willy a second to catch her breath… It was all the guy needed to launch his own assault.
Flat on her back, Willy turned her head and took a foot across the side of her face, just barely missing her eye. The force behind the shot rolled her onto her hands and knees. Growling, she tried to get up but was kicked again, this time in her ribs. Willy tumbled, landing closer to Maria, feeling the bones in her side compress and flex back into place. Thankfully, she didn’t feel any of them break.
“Mina!”
Keeping her left arm in her side, Willy fought the pain, and stood, backing toward her sister. She needed to protect Maria at all costs. It would take a lot to incapacitate Willy, but not Maria. If the guy got a hold of her, Maria could be killed.
Especially with my involvement. She grimaced, trying to inhale deeply. He’ll want to set an example for the others. He’d turn and shout, “See… This is what happens when you defy us!” or whatever a non-comic book villain would say.
Willy looked around, seeing all the frightened sets of eyes looking her way. She couldn’t fail them now, not after everything she’d done. Directly in front of Maria, Willy felt her sister grab her right ankle and plead for her to run.
“Go, Mina! Get out of here! Please!”
“Not…a chance,” Willy grunted, trying to pull her leg free.
Mr. Dumpster laughed at the display, smiling wide. He was enjoying the emotion Maria was exhibiting. Almost upon them, Willy flinched as a gunshot rang out in the echo-chamber-like building. Mr. Dumpster went down holding his shoulder, writhing in pain.
Looking down, Willy found Maria holding her small-caliber, ankle-holstered pistol, hand quaking. Oh… Willy now understood why Maria was really grabbing her ankle. She wasn’t actually trying to get Willy to leave, her sister was going for her gun.
Maria looked up at her. “You may be trying to prove something, but I’m not.”
Seconds later the doors burst open, police officers swarming into the room, weapons drawn. Willy smiled. Apparently, one of the girls made it outside and called the cops after all. One of the officers rushed forward, pistol trained on the two Flores sisters, yelling for Maria to drop the gun. She did, letting it clatter to the floor.
“Stop!” Willy shouted, hands raised.
The police officer looked confused. Willy understood too. Who was she to tell him to do anything?
“I’m going to get my ID from my back pocket.”
Without waiting for the man to reply, Willy slowly pulled her thin, compact wallet from her back, left pocket, making sure she never broke eye contact with him. Gun up, the cop reached for her identification, and then backed away. Flipping it open, Willy saw his mouth moving, silently reading it to himself. When he finished, his eyes found hers again.
“My name is Willy Flores,” she announced, “and I’m with the CIA.”
6
The next day, battered and bruised, Willy sat at her sister’s hospital bedside while she slept. She had just gotten off the phone with her superiors in Langley and wanted to say her goodbyes before getting back on the road. Regrettably, Willy’s vacation had been cut short with the recent developments.
“I need to be the agent in charge of this case,” Willy said firmly, trying to force her boss’ hand.
“Your place is in Tokyo, Ms. Flores,” he snapped back, “You’re supposed to be cleaning up what you and Mr. Shepard started.” Conrad Hitchcock, someone Roman had affectionately referred to as “Dick” on several occasions, was a strict fuckwad. Willy had learned to detest the man a long time ago.
Knowing he was half-right, Willy understood his position on the subject. Willy was now the leader of a joint taskforce, in conjunction with the Japanese government. The unit was charged with “cleaning up” the remains of the Gilded Blade. They were a group that had moved weapons in the past but had also been deep into the buying and selling women as well. But the Blade was more or less defunct now, and the ones that had been hunted down and arrested were merely the lower-level underlings.
Most of the hierarchy was dead.
Willy wanted another big score, especially with it being on American soil. And, like Roman, Willy had several off-the-books contacts she could rely on if need be. Thinking of her personal involvement, both hers and her family’s, Willy made the decision.
“Fine,” she replied, “then I quit. Effective immediately.”
“What!” Hitchcock shouted, irate.
She continued before he could. “And you’ll be personally responsible for squandering the talents of two of your best agents. How’s that gonna sit with the director? He’s already pissed about losing Roman.”
He didn’t know that she knew that—but she did. The spy world worked both ways. The bosses knew things their operatives didn’t, and their agents knew things their superiors didn’t know they knew. Willy had been waiting to unveil that one to Dick.
Hitchcock was silent. He knew he was beaten, Willy could sense it. Cursing under his breath, but loud enough for Willy to hear, he relented.
“Okay, Flores, what do you want?”
Willy smiled. “I want a blank check on this one. I want full cooperation from the DEA and local law enforcement. And—”
“And?” he asked, sounding agitated.
“And I want to do things my way.”
He grumbled. “Lone Ranger, huh?” He understood how she liked to operate before joining Roman’s team.
“Yes, sir. I do better without having to worry about anyone else. I’ll use local contacts and only call in when I need to. We don’t want word getting out, forcing these assholes deeper underground. We need them to stay oblivious to who busted them here—make it seem like a one-time thing by Miami P.D.”
Hitchcock muttered something to himself. “Okay, then—you have a deal. But if something goes wrong and you have
no agency backup on site…”
His words hung in the air. Willy knew what he meant. No one would be coming to the rescue. If she did get captured, or worse, she would be truly on her own…or dead. No one would get there in time to help.
Willy Flores, One-Woman Army.
“And my team in Tokyo?” she asked.
“Not your responsibility anymore. Next man up scenario.”
She nodded to herself. She trusted the others on the team. They’d be okay without her. The mission she was about to embark on was one she had to take. It was personal as well as on her home turf, the U.S. Willy had, for the most part, been an international agent during her career with the Company. She was now in the business of keeping the peace domestically.
“One more thing, sir.” She said, trying to keep the peace by referring to him as sir.
“Yes, Flores?” he sounded really done with her.
“I need all intel on this group. They have deep pockets and incredible resources. Who builds a subterranean factory in Miami and gets away with it? That doesn’t happen. Plus, the amount of narcotics and the equipment I saw must’ve equaled into the millions. Someone will be snooping around for answers.”
“Multi-millions lost, Flores. You’ll have a bounty on your head if they find out it was you that took the Miami lab down.”
She grinned. “I’ll be fine, sir. I’ve managed to stay alive this long, even in Columbia.” It was where Willy was stationed for three years before being sent to Japan. She knew the drug world as well as any of the agents.
“Don’t get cocky, Flores.” Someone spoke to him in hushed tones. “And as far as your intel… We didn’t know what to make of it until now, but there has been a large uptick in disappearances and drug-related deaths in a handful of major U.S. cities over the last six months, the closest to you being New Orleans. It might be a good place to start.”
“Will do, thank you, sir.”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
The line went dead, and so did the memory of the call as Maria roused. Leaning forward, Willy took her little sister’s hand and gently squeezed. The intravenous fluids were already doing wonders for her, bringing back the color in her face. She had been quite pale.
“Mina…” Maria said softly, trying to smile.
“Shhh.” Willy squeezed her hand again. “I…” she frowned, “I have to go.”
“Go?”
She nodded. “I’m going after the people responsible for what happened—the head of the snake.”
Maria looked sad, but she nodded her approval. “Be careful, sister.”
Willy stood, leaned in, and kissed Maria’s forehead. “I will. I’ll be in touch with Abuelo from time to time.”
“He offered his home to me, you know? He wants me to stay with him.”
“I know,” Willy replied. “He cares about you—about all of us. Take his offer and get some rest. Give the old guy a hand around the house. It’ll be good for the both of you.”
Maria nodded and closed her eyes.
Turning, Willy quietly left and headed for the parking lot, jacket slung over her shoulder. She eyed her ride, her grandpa’s beastly GTO. He had told her to keep it for a while since his arm would be in a sling for a few months. The bullet wound wasn’t life-threatening, but it did do a number on the joint as a whole. His age didn’t help either. He was strong, but he was still getting up there.
Keying the car’s remote-start option, the engine roared to life, making Willy smile. Opening the driver-side door, she slid on a pair of sunglasses, threw her jacket onto the passenger seat, and climbed in. Securing her seatbelt, she looked at herself in the mirror and nodded. She was confident in what she was setting out to do.
Let’s get these bastards.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MATT JAMES is the #1 AMAZON.COM bestselling author of over ten titles, including BLOOD AND SAND, THE CURSED PHARAOH, PLAGUE, DEAD MOON, and BEAUTIFUL DRAGONS. He’s also penned two books with David Wood in his popular Dane Maddock series (BERSERK and SKIN AND BONES). Known for his high-octane action and thrilling adventures, Matt also enjoys dabbling in some science fiction and horror. Regardless of the genre, he loves to move fast and have fun doing it. He resides in South Florida with his wife and daughters.
Matt also hosts a podcast with his brother. It’s called A GOOD B.M. and is available on Apple/iTunes and Podbean.com
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A MESSAGE FROM MATTHEW JAMES
Thank you again for supporting me and picking up a copy of this book and anything else I’ve released. I’m still in awe that I get to do this for a living. It’s a grueling task sometimes, but I’ve never published a book and regretted the time and energy it took to put together.
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PRAISE FOR “THE HANK BOYD ADVENTURES”
“BLOOD & SAND takes readers on a spellbindingly treacherous journey that also manages to have fun along the way!”
—Rick Chesler, Bestselling author of HOTEL MEGALODON
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COMES THE AWAKENING
PRAISE FOR “PLAGUE”
"PLAGUE erupts from the pages in a steroid-filled tornado of terror and shock!"
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“DEAD MOON is a high-octane thrill ride filled with action, suspense, sadness, and of course, monsters! An amazing read!”
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Copyright © 2017 Matt James
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The right of Matt James to be identified as the Author of
the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design © Matt James
Used under Creative Commons licenses
