by Anna Blakely
Needing to do it before she chickened out, Olivia stood. She filled her lungs several times before walking toward her tent’s entrance.
Reaching for the flap, she jumped when the sound of several men yelling startled her. They weren’t screams of celebration, like before. These men sounded panicked.
Olivia quickly made her way back to her cot. She was wondering if whatever they were yelling about would interfere with her plans to escape, when a man suddenly burst into her tent.
He was tall and dressed in camouflage like the others, but the nasty scar running from the outside corner of his right eye down to the edge of his jaw set him apart. The expensive clothes were gone, but Olivia knew this was the same man who’d not only orchestrated her friends’ murders, but was also planning to sell her tonight.
Stalking toward her, he stopped directly in front of where she sat. He was definitely pissed about something.
With fear nearly choking her, Olivia forced herself to continue breathing. Without a word, Scarface—as she'd come to think of him—grabbed her by the arm, yanking her painfully to her feet.
Olivia yelped, her heart leaping into her throat as he roughly led her toward the tent’s entrance. Oh, God! I’ve waited too long!
The need to vomit was instant and fierce. Thinking past the panic was damn near impossible, but she had to do something, anything to try to stop him before it was too late.
“W-where are you taking me?” Olivia attempted to wrench her arm free, but he was too strong.
“Doctor.” The man’s bark was laced with a heavy accent.
What? “I-I don’t need to see a doctor.”
They kept moving forward, the man speaking without looking at her. “No. You doctor.”
She shook her head, digging her bare heels into the ground. “I’m a nurse, not a doctor!”
Scarface continued to pull her forward, unfazed by her clarification. “Same thing.”
Uh, no...it’s not.
When he yanked on her arm again, Olivia flew forward through her tent’s opening. Her legs had to work double-time just to keep up with his as he led her into another, larger tent nearby. Understanding hit the minute she walked in.
In the middle of the tent—on a cot much like hers—lay a man. Correction, a boy. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, and he was bleeding. A lot.
Several men filled the tiny space. Their guns were at their sides, their faces grim. The place reeked of sweat and blood...and fear.
Scarface shoved her roughly toward the cot. “Fix him,” he growled.
At first glance, Olivia could already tell the boy had lost way too much blood. She shook her head nervously. “I-I have no supplies. He needs blood, and I have nothing to—”
“Fix. Him!” Scarface yelled loudly.
Olivia flinched at the fury and determination on the man's face. Then, she noticed something else. Scarface bore a very close resemblance to the wounded boy.
He seemed too young to be the boy’s father. Older brother maybe? Well, crap. Something told Olivia she'd better at least attempt to save him, or they'd both be dead soon.
Approaching the boy with caution, Olivia tried to pretend as though she was working in her emergency room back home, rather than a filthy tent surrounded by a group of ruthless killers. A difficult, if not impossible, task.
Her hands trembled as she checked his pulse. It was barely discernible, and his breathing was so shallow she had to watch his chest closely for any sign of movement. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood, and there was a hole in the material’s lower half.
Wishing for a pair of gloves, Olivia carefully moved the sticky, wet material back to get a better look at the injury. Her heart sank when she saw the large wound just above his navel. Damn.
She’d seen enough of these to know that, even under the best of circumstance, his chances wouldn’t be good. Given their isolated, unsanitary location and lack of supplies, Olivia already knew how this would end.
Just as she had done many times before, Olivia pushed her nerves aside and called upon her professionalism. She straightened her shoulders, turned around, and addressed the group.
“He needs drugs. Something strong for the pain. I need to make him comfortable.”
One of the men looked around at the others. His broken English did nothing to hide his nervousness over her request. “W-we no have drugs here.”
Olivia barely resisted rolling her eyes at the whole lot of them. They’d kidnapped her and murdered several innocent people, and this jackass was worried about her knowing they had illegal drugs? Idiot.
Up until now, she’d kept her cool. The entire time she’d been here, Olivia had stayed as calm as possible, doing nothing to draw any unwanted attention. However, her band of patience had already worn dangerously thin. Seeing these guys trying to play innocent, after everything they’d already put her through? That thin band finally snapped.
Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes. “This boy is dying. There’s nothing I can do for him, other than to make him as comfortable as possible while that happens.”
When they all just stood there, staring at her with total indifference, she addressed Scarface directly. Praying he had a tiny shred of decency buried somewhere deep down, she very bluntly gave him the truth.
“Damn it, he’s just a kid! Unless you want him to lie in unthinkable agony every second he has left on this earth, you’ll bring me something to take away his pain. Now!”
Scarface approached her. To say he was livid would be a major understatement. Her heart felt as though it was trying to claw its way out of her chest as she tried to remain in control.
Okay, so maybe the bossy nurse routine hadn’t been the best choice after all.
Through clenched teeth he said, “He is my brother. You will save him.”
Olivia forced herself to keep eye contact. She knew this probably wouldn’t end well for her, but she refused to lie to him.
“I can’t.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry. The wound is fatal. All we can do now is—”
She didn’t have the chance to move before Scarface’s large hands wrapped around the tops of her arms. His grip was bruising as he shook her.
“You. Will. Save. Him!”
Olivia held back a cry of pain. The boy’s death was inevitable, but she knew she had to at least make it look as though she were attempting to save his life. If for no other reason, than to buy her some time.
“I-I’ll try.” Even to her, the words sounded unconvincing.
He glared his black eyes down at hers. “You will.”
Chapter 4
A couple hours later, Olivia found herself back in her own tent, sitting on her cot. The once-white dress was now covered in dark, drying blood.
As predicted, the boy died. Even though he was part of the evil group that killed her friends and took her, she couldn’t help but feel sad for him. He’d been so young, a casualty of his environment. She wondered if he was ever even given a choice but to stand alongside his brother.
The atmosphere of the camp had changed almost immediately. Olivia could feel it, and knew her time had run out. She needed to escape. Now.
For a moment, she briefly considered taking the bloody dress off, but didn’t want to waste time putting the damn thing back on. Walking toward her tent’s opening, Olivia said a quick prayer and raised her hand to move the thick material aside. She gasped when she saw Scarface standing there, glaring down at her.
She peered over his shoulder, praying someone else was near, but after a quick scan of the area, her heart sank. There wasn’t another soul in sight.
Before she could process that bit of information, Scarface moved toward her, forcing her to walk backward. Olivia’s mind raced to think of a way to make it out of this alive. Seducing him was most definitely out of the question, which meant she was in serious trouble.
“My brother is dead,” he snarled. “You did not save him.”
Though she was terri
fied, a part of her actually understood how the man felt. Olivia knew the pain of losing a brother. She understood the powerful urge to find those responsible and bring them to justice. Even though she wasn’t the one who’d pulled the trigger, she was certain she was about to pay penance for the boy’s death, regardless.
Trying not to show her fear, Olivia looked him square in the eyes. With as steady a voice as she could muster, she tried to explain.
“I-I'm sorry for your loss, but there was nothing that could have been done. Even if he’d been in a hospital with the best doctors and equipment available, he still wouldn’t have been able to survive that type of—”
The blow came from nowhere, snapping Olivia’s head forcefully to the side. Pain erupted across the left side of her face as her body flew to the ground. Tiny, white stars flashed before her watering eyes, and she struggled to remain conscious, unwilling to give in to the darkness trying to pull her under.
Fighting against the dizziness and sudden urge to vomit, Olivia had only just managed to crawl to her knees when the steel toe of Scarface's boot made contact with her left side. The move knocked her onto her back, and she couldn’t keep from crying out as fire radiated throughout her rib cage.
She lay on the ground, gasping for air, the pain making it nearly impossible to breathe. When Olivia’s eyes opened, she found Scarface looming over her, the look in his eyes telling. This man had come to her tent with only one objective—to kill her.
****
They were surrounded by thick, green trees and full, luscious plants. Breathtaking waterfalls were scattered throughout the country, and countless forms of exotic wildlife called the bountiful land home. To anyone else, the place would probably seem majestic. Jake hated every square, fucking inch of it.
For the past week and a half, the team had spent every waking hour gathering as much intel as they could. Phone calls had been made. Meetings were held. Derek pulled multiple all-nighters, working his tech magic.
Jake and the others had cashed in damn near every favor owed to them, and it all led them here...to one of the Cetro Cartel’s many hidden camps. In fucking Venezuela.
Thanks to a well-connected client who owed the team more than he could ever repay, they’d acquired a private jet to fly them into the country without suspicion. They landed at a small airstrip just outside the village of Uriman, where a chopper had been waiting.
From there, Derek flew them to a secluded clearing just over the Rio Caroni. After collecting their gear and double-checking their weapons and ammo, Jake and the others camouflaged the bird and made the long-ass hike here.
The team was ready. They’d do what they came to do, then make the fifteen-mile trek back to the chopper. If all went as planned, they'd be back in the States before the bodies were ever discovered.
Let’s get this party started.
“Alpha Team, what’s your position?” Jake spoke quietly into the small mic embedded in the earwig each of his teammates wore.
“Good to go, boss,” Trevor whispered back. The guy sounded calm, but Jake knew his friend was more than ready to send these bastards straight to hell.
“We’ve got a bird’s eye view,” Coop answered. Both he and Mac were strategically positioned in the trees to the west of the camp.
“Ready when you are, boss,” Derek whispered.
As always, Grant’s deep, emotionless response was last. “Eyes out, scanning for tangos.”
The rhetoric was one they’d spoken a hundred times. It had become as automatic as their movements. Each member was in position, their adrenaline pumping as they waited for the order to strike.
Jake surveyed the campsite through his binoculars. As far as places like these went, this one was pretty impressive.
There were ten, semi-permanent tents. At the far eastern edge, stood two cinder block structures like the campground bathrooms he remembered using as a kid.
Behind those, Jake could see the top blades, nose, and tail of a black, expensive-as-hell helicopter. The hairs on the back of his head stood on end. A chopper like that in a place like this most likely meant their main target was here.
The Cetro Cartel was based out of South Africa. The group had several smaller camps like this one hidden in various places around the world. They were well-known on the island of Madagascar, and were reportedly behind several killings and kidnappings related to their booming trafficking businesses.
While cannabis was the drug most frequently traded in that country, the appearance of harder drugs, such as cocaine and heroin, had greatly increased in recent years. From what Jake and the others had learned, Madagascar was now a major hub for trafficking these drugs to several other parts of the world, making it the perfect place for the cartel to set up shop.
Their leader, Javier Cetro, was as ruthless as they came. His goal was to become the world leader in the trafficking trifecta: drugs, weapons, and humans. Unfortunately, the arrogant bastard was well on his way.
The guy was also too smart to stick around the scene of the crime. He’d know that killing a group of Americans would bring some serious heat down on him, which explained why Jake and his team were now sweating their asses off in a fucking Venezuelan jungle instead of Madagascar, where this had all started.
Jake continued to watch the inactivity of the camp. He noticed no movement. Heard no voices. An uneasy tingling ran down his spine.
Cetro and his crew were known for their loud and crude behavior. They attacked with no concern about being seen or heard. According to Derek, they partied even louder.
There had been reports of recent cartel activity in the area, so the assholes should be out celebrating. Instead, the place was like a fucking ghost town.
Something’s off. Jake was about to relay his concern to the team when he heard Coop’s voice in his ear.
“Boss, we’ve got movement. Your ten o’clock. Female running from the far west tent, heading toward the trees. She’s in a dress and...damn, is she barefoot?”
Jake’s chest tightened. There was only one plausible reason a woman would be running away from Cetro’s tents in that condition. Coop had most likely just witnessed one of Cetro’s sex trafficking victims trying to escape. Shit.
This wasn’t supposed to be a rescue mission, but no way would anyone on his team leave an innocent woman to fend for herself against these bastards.
Jake turned his attention to the location Coop gave him and adjusted the settings on his binoculars. When he brought the woman’s blurry image into focus, breathing became damn near impossible.
“Jake, are you seeing this?” Trevor asked, obviously seeing the woman, too. “God, I hate even saying it, but she sure looks an awful lot like—”
“Olivia,” Jake whispered more to himself than Trevor.
The jungle spun around him. He became dizzy. Disoriented. He shook his head to clear it because, no way was it possible.
Olivia was dead and she wasn’t coming back. For weeks, Jake had been trying like hell to accept that fact, and yet—
“All eyes on the camp,” he ordered quickly.
With his team watching for any threats, Jake kept his own eyes glued to the woman. Almost to the tree line now, she turned to look over her shoulder, presumably checking for anyone who might be following her. He continued to watch, never letting her out of his sight.
She turned back towards the trees. When she did, her long, dark hair flew over her shoulder, giving Jake his first clear view of her face. His heart slammed against his ribs with the force of a two-by-four. It’s her! Jesus, it’s her!
“Hold positions!” Jake choked out the words, sounding anything but calm. He shot up from the crouch he’d been in. “I’m going after Li...the woman.”
Until he had her in his arms, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—believe what he'd seen.
“Cover us both. Any sign of the targets, fire at will.” No matter who she was, if Cetro or his men got their hands on her again, she’d be dead.
Jake started runni
ng through the trees toward her. Toward...How the fuck is this even possible?
“Talk to me, Jake. Is it really her?”
Trevor’s question was filled with hope, and damn if he didn’t feel it, too. Maybe this was why he’d been having such a hard time accepting Olivia’s death.
Jake had told himself she was gone. When the doubts would creep in, his conscious mind told him he was simply in denial. Jake’s heart, though...his fucking heart had refused to believe it. Now he knew why.
“McQueen, I repeat. Is. It. Her?” Trevor asked impatiently.
Hesitant to say the words out loud, Jake said, “Can’t confirm, yet.”
He continued moving west, praying he’d make it to the woman before Cetro’s men realized she was gone. No, not ‘the woman’...Olivia.
Jake shuddered to think what would have happened had his team not shown up with they did. The very idea that she’d been here this entire time, enduring only God knows what...I’m sorry, Liv. So fucking sorry.
Jake shut that train of thought down fast. He couldn’t go there now. His hunt for revenge had just turned into a rescue offensive, and his entire focus had to remain on the most important mission he’d ever faced—saving Olivia and bringing her home.
****
Olivia’s heart raced as she pushed herself to keep running. She’d looked over her shoulder and, to her profound relief, she hadn’t seen Scarface or anyone else following her. Yet.
She still couldn’t believe she’d gotten away. The jerk had punched her, hard, and she definitely had some bruised ribs from that kick, but her pure determination and will to live had apparently been enough to fight him off. That, and a whole lot of luck.
Olivia had been coughing and writhing in pain when Scarface had forced himself on her. He was much stronger than her, but in his attempt to control her flailing arms, he’d taken his hand off of his weapon. A mistake that saved her life.
The temptation to shoot the bastard had nearly overpowered her. Pulling that trigger would have felt damn good, but it also would have brought every man there to her tent.
