Riggs
The Kings of Retribution MC - Louisiana Chapter
Sandy Alvarez
Crystal Daniels
Copyright © 2019 by Crystal Daniels & Sandy Alvarez
All rights reserved.
( NOTE: This book is a work of fiction. )
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the authors’, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. It is not to be shared, sold or distributed in any way except from the authors. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Artist: Crystal Daniels
Image Provided by: Wander Book Club - Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography
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GOODREADS
Crystal Daniels
Sandy Alvarez
BOOKBUB
Crystal Daniels
Sandy Alvarez
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
More Books By Us
Chapter One
Riggs
Fucking hell, it's hotter than the devil's dick. With the back of my hand, I wipe the sweat from my brow and look through the scope of my rifle to get a better look at the men milling around the campsite we pinpointed by air from one of our drones deployed yesterday. I'm in my element out here in the middle of fucking nowhere in Central America. I've been doing contract work for my country and occasional civilian clients for the better part of ten years now. Once a soldier, always a soldier. I'm fucking good at what I do though. So, I use my skill to help those who need it.
Glancing over my left shoulder, I watch my brother, Wick pull a couple of protein bars and two bottles of water from his pack. Keeping my weapon at my side, I duck low behind the fallen tree. Wick tosses my dinner to me. "So, what is the game plan?" he asks. Catching it, I tear open the wrapper taking a bite.
We've been tracking these bastards going on two weeks now and waiting for them to lead us to the women they plan to sell to the highest bidder. Their clientele; rich fucking assholes who get their rocks off on underage children or those who run sex rings.
Wick and I have seen things most people could not fathom and been through situations that the most imaginative minds could not conjure. But I can tell you this, the conditions we have found many victims left in by human traffickers — there are no words. Those are the missions that fuck with my head the most. Those are the images that haunt me. I take great satisfaction in doling out justice to sick fucks like the ones we are trying to take down on this mission. Not one ounce of remorse or one fuck will be given when I take their worthless lives and send their souls straight to purgatory.
I look up at the darkening sky above us. The sun has almost set. I take another bite of my protein bar. "Contact Tequila. Tell her we found our target and give her our rendezvous coordinates."
Wick twists the cap off his water bottle and takes a drink, then pours a little water over his face, seeking a little relief from the hot, humid air of the jungle. "The clearing just on the other side of the river — you good with that being our pick up point?" he asks, tearing into his snack bar. I pull out my map and lay it on the forest floor.
"Good choice, brother. Send in the coordinates. We can't move in until we receive a confirmation on ATA." Needing no further instructions, Wick retrieves the satellite phone strapped to his side.
Malik Dawson and I have been side by side since SF — Special Forces training. I trust him with my life. Unlike my nickname, Dawson gained his a few years back when we started the Louisiana Chapter. Our MC brothers started calling him John Wick after hearing some of his war stories and getting to see him in action a few times, and the name Wick stuck.
Malik is a 6ft 5in mountain of a black man; who rides a midnight blue custom Fat Bob Harley. His knowledge of weapons is beyond most. He speaks three foreign languages. His hand to hand combat skills are the best I have ever seen, the sharpest and fastest shooter I know, and he is a fucking mathematical genius. Most of all, Malik is my brother — my friend. No doubt; I would lay down my life for him. And he is the best goddamn VP a club could have.
"The helicopter will rendezvous with us across the river at zero one hundred," Wick informs me. "You have the charges ready?" he asks, and I pat my backpack sitting to the side of me and smile. Getting to blow things up gets my blood pumping. Lifting his hand, Wick looks down at his watch. "We have six hours until rendezvous."
Opening my bottle, and tipping my head back, I take a large gulp, downing half the water. Pulling a bandana from the small side pocket of my gear pack, I wet it with water then use it to wipe my face and the back of my neck. "It's going to take us at least two hours to gain access into the building they are housing the women, then get them through the clearing over there and across the river." My eyes lift to look at Wick, whose peering over the log, using his binoculars keeping a check on the enemy.
"Two of their men are posted at the gate. They seem to be taking turns walking the perimeter of the fence surrounding the property. I watched the other three walk into the smaller building on the far side of camp." Spinning around, Wick looks at me. "Timeline for extraction is cutting damn close to when they have an extra convoy coming in to pick up those women. We'll have to get in and out fast."
"Ain't nothing to it, brother," I remark. "We move in four hours. As soon as darkness falls, we make our way to the only other access road leading to their camp. I'll place one explosive there. Our main objective is getting those women across the water. The bridge we need to cross is old and extremely unstable, but it is the only safe way out for them."
Wick nods. "The turbulent have to be corrected, the oppressed to be liberated." We bump fists.
A few hours later, with weapons ready, we make our way to the dirt road leading into camp. I place one of the three explosive devices in my backpack just beneath the makeshift bridge they built for vehicles to cross over the narrow creek that cuts through the middle of the path. It will not completely slo
w them down should they arrive sooner than expected but it will bide us some time. Under cover of night and lush, thick brush, Wick and I move through the tree line up the road, becoming one with the shadows.
The campsite is quiet, all but for the two men checking the perimeter. However, they have moved outside the gate. Perfect. Throwing my fist up, I halt our movements. "Let's handle business. Meet me on the north side of the women's location," I whisper.
Going our separate ways, I head toward my target, who happens to stray off along the tree line to take a piss. Not the best way to go, but —. Sneaking up on the unsuspecting man, I place my gloved hand over his mouth. The knife in my other hand finds the mark, sliding effortlessly into his flesh between his ribs. I pull my weapon from his body. A bullet would have been quicker, but no gun is silent enough to have no sound, and we need to remain undetected. I keep hold of him until I start to feel the life leave his body, and he falls limp. Dragging his nearly lifeless body, I hide it amongst the cover of the thick ferns.
When I make it to the north side of the building built of cinder block and tin roof, I find Wick crouched low waiting on me. "There's a lock on the door. The light overhead is too bright for us to risk picking the lock without being seen by someone, but there happens to be a window on the far side of the building there." Wick lifts his head in the direction just above ours at the corner of the building. "My broad ass shoulders won't clear that opening, but if you take some of your gear off, I think you can squeeze through."
Dammit. This will slow us down, but he's right. The locked door is a no go. I start stripping my gear from my body and lay it against the building on the ground. "Give me a boost, brother." Placing my booted foot in his clasped hands, I reach for the concrete opening as Wick hoists my body upward. Head level with the window, I cautiously peer inside. It's nearly pitch black aside from the moonlight shining through the opening my head is currently halfway blocking. The smell of urine penetrates my nostrils the moment I start dragging my body through the other side. I look for something — anything I can grab a hold of to finish pulling myself inside. Looking around, I spot the cheap wood beams the metal roof panels are poorly fastened to. Reaching my arm in at an awkward angle above my head, I'm able to get a decent grip with just my fingertips. Using my other hand, I push against the concrete under my waist and slide forward, keeping myself from having to freefall head first to the floor below.
Dropping to my feet once I have cleared the window, my eyes quickly adjust to the lack of light in the room. At first, the space appears empty until I hear the slightest movement off to my right. Pulling a small flashlight from my pocket, I shine a light. Several dirty, frightened, and tear-stained faces, stare back at me; all huddled together in the farthest corner of the room. I put my hand out in front of me. I talk low and slow, keeping my voice as gentle as I can without spooking them. "I'm here to help." One of the young women opens her mouth as if to scream the moment I take a step toward them, but luckily another lady quickly covers the poor girl's mouth with the palm of her hand to keep her quiet. I give her a firm nod letting her know she's done well. "How many of you are there?" I ask.
"Twelve," the one who covered the mouth of the woman who tried to scream answers, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm going to lift you one by one to the window. My partner is waiting outside to catch you. If you want to make it out alive, no questions. No talking. As soon as everyone is out, you follow orders. Got it?" Slowly their heads nod in understanding, and they cross the room. The one who has taken the lead for the other women ushers the first girl to the front of the line. My heart sinks when I take in how young she looks. She cannot be any more than twelve years old. "Ready?" I whisper to her, and tears pool in her bright blue eyes. I lift her small frame to the window. Once her feet disappear, I move on to the next. One by one, the women crawl through the window until the only person left is me. Getting a small running jump, I scale the wall enough to grab the windowsill. Pulling my weight up, I poke my head out and find Wick keeping watch as the women squat low against the wall making sure they stay in the shadows.
Knowing I'll need help, Wick quickly slides his gun to his back, reaches up and pulls me the rest of the way. With my feet planted firmly on the ground, I make quick work of putting all my gear on. I turn back toward the women. "Remember what I said?"
They nod. Keeping silent, they move when we move and get low when we get low.
Clearing the security fence surrounding the camp was the easiest part of this entire mission. Making quick work of cutting the fence, Wick and I hold the two sides apart, allowing the women to shimmy through before getting clear on the other side ourselves. On foot, this trek toward the river would have normally taken no more than thirty minutes to complete. However, with twelve young, brave women, who happen to be weakened from physical abuse and starvation, it will take more time for us to get to our destination. Fifteen minutes in, two women, one of them being the youngest girl, are unable to walk on their own, so Wick and I end up carrying them the rest of the way.
We stop just as the river bridge comes into view. Unfortunately, it also starts to rain. The bridge is old, but passable by foot, so we continue across. Once we're on the other side, I make the women gather around the base of a large tree and pull a couple of mylar blanket packs from my backpack and use them to shield the ladies from the rain. "What's our wait time?" I ask Wick.
He looks at his watch. "Three hours."
"I'm doubling back. Now that the women are safely away from those bastards, I want to leave a little wake-up call." I hand him a single small remote detonator from my bag. "I'm strapping a third explosive to the bridge. If something happens before I get back, you blow the bridge and get them out of here," I jerk my head in the direction of the women, "Copy?" Wick clenches his teeth, his jaw ticks with tension. He understands losing our lives is a risk we are willing to take.
"Received."
Shit. God decided to open the flood gates on the rainstorm. It's falling so hard I can hardly see three yards in front of me, yet I manage to make my way back to the camp, through the hole in the fence. With no signs of the other men, I maneuver around the building they are housed in. Pulling my pack off my back, I dig out the remaining bomb. Unlike the building they had the women in, this one is raised off the dirt ground, leaving about a two-foot clearance; perfect for me to scuttle beneath. About midway, I place the explosive between two floorboard beams and just as fast get my dirty wet ass out. When I slide around the side of the building, I hear the door slam shut, and notice the beam of a flashlight shining bright on the ground. Ducking back, I watch the guy, with a rifle slung over his shoulder, walk across the yard with his light scanning the fence line, most likely looking for his men who haven't reported back to him.
Knowing I need to get across without being seen, I wait for him to make his way a little further out before making a run for it. Halfway between me and the fence, shots ring out, and bullets whiz past my head and ricochet off the ground at my feet. Off in the distance headlights can be seen through the trees, which means their other men are early. Prepared for this scenario, I pull my pack off, throw my body to the ground behind the building we rescued the women from and pull the wireless remote from my bag, flipping the switch cover up and press the button. The bomb explodes lighting the night sky with a cloud of fire. Knowing this will cause the other men to run from the other building, I flick the second switch cover open and blow the motherfucker, sending structural shrapnel in all directions.
Picking myself up, I start running, toss my pack over the fence, and crawl back through the hole in the fence, then tear off through the trees. I don't bother looking back, I know they will find the girls missing, so I need to put as much distance between myself and them as possible. The tree line comes into view just as gun power rings out behind me. Bullets tear at the trees splintering the bark.
I push myself harder.
The moment my foot hits the first bridge plank a searing
pain bursts through my left thigh. I know I've been hit, but I keep going. Wick begins to return fire. My leg burns and the pain radiates upward with every step I take. Another round of rapid-fire echoes around me. I can hear the bullets as they hit the water and bounce off the ground as I clear the bridge.
I hear it before I feel it.
The explosion.
Then the heat on my back.
The force propels my body forward, slamming me to the ground, knocking the air from my lungs. I cover my head, protecting it from falling debris. Sucking in a breath of air, I push myself up. I take a second once I've gotten to a kneeling position and clear my senses. An arm wraps around my waist, hoisting my heavy limbs to my feet. Wick helps me to the other side of the clearing.
Lowering me to the ground, he immediately tends to the bullet wound on my leg. Wick rips open the tear in my pant leg left by the bullet, exposing the weeping hole in my thigh. "Blood loss is minimal. Looks to be a clean shot." He takes his pack from his back and retrieves the first aid kit. He packs both entrance and exit wounds with gauze then wraps a firm tourniquet around my thigh. It hurts like a motherfucker, but the pain reminds me I'm alive, and death did not want me today.
"You are one lucky motherfucker," Wick plops down on the ground beside me. We watch the remains of the bridge burn.
"Thanks for having my six, man." We sit in silence for a short time.
It's not long before the roar of the transport helicopter can be heard off in the distance. Once the pilot lands, we usher the women onboard. As we are climbing in behind them, the youngest girl throws her arms around my neck. She doesn't speak. She doesn't have to. Taking her seat next to the others, Wick counts heads, making sure they are all accounted for before strapping ourselves in. I place the headphones over my ears so I can communicate with the pilot.
Riggs (The Kings of Retribution MC, Louisiana Chapter Book 1) Page 1
