Fast Vengeance

by Kaylea Cross

“I don’t have time to explain,” David said curtly, dragging her toward the staircase that led to the lower floor.

  Panic hit her. “Stop!”

  His grip remained solid on her arms. “Don’t fight me,” he warned, but there was also the edge of a plea in his voice. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please don’t make me hurt you, Oceane. I couldn’t take that.” Ignoring her struggles, he continued forcing her toward the stairs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Camera blackout in progress. Stand by.”

  Freeman’s quiet voice came through Gabe’s earpiece as he waited behind cover at the front of the team, M4 to his shoulder, ready to execute the breach as point man. They were all crouched down behind a low garden wall in the only blind spot they had found in the security camera coverage, waiting to storm the place and rescue Cap.

  On the opposite side of the property, the Mexican team waited for the same. Someone on the taskforce was busy trying to disable the system, hopefully buying them a window of surprise.

  Rodriguez crouched beside him, breaching tool in his hands. As soon as he blew the door to the main floor open, Gabe would be the first one through it.

  A loud thud reverberated through the sultry night air, coming from the other side of the house. Gabe’s head snapped up, looking at the others. They all looked as tense as him. What the hell? Had someone spotted them?

  Another thud, and then yelling in Spanish.

  Christ, the other team had breached too soon.

  He popped up to check the side door of the house. With the element of surprise gone, they had to get in there immediately. “Freeman—”

  “Execute.”

  Gabe broke from behind the brick wall and charged the short distance across the lawn toward the door they were using for an entry point. More shouts rang out from the other side of the house, followed by the sporadic crack of gunfire.

  Gabe bit back a snarl of fury. Fuck, if this cost Cap his life, if Oceane was in there and in harm’s way because the other team had just fucked up, Gabe would tear someone apart.

  Oceane had insisted her father wouldn’t hurt her, but Gabe wasn’t so sure. Men like Nieto were never predicable. And when cornered, they were the most dangerous.

  Rodriguez reached the door first, rammed the reinforced door with the breaching tool twice, three times until it opened slightly. Then he reared back and smashed his boot against it, and it finally gave way.

  No need for night optics now. Gabe pushed his NVGs up onto his helmet mount and scanned for targets as he swept into the lit house, using his knowledge of the layout to navigate. If Cap was here, he would be down in the basement. The team had to get to him before his captors did.

  Plaster sprayed a foot to Gabe’s right, the shot echoing in the air. He glanced to his right, glimpsed the shooter trying to duck back around the corner of the wall. Swinging his weapon around, he fired, tagging the guy in the shoulder.

  The man’s weapon clattered to the floor as he fell out of sight. Gabe swiveled to clear the other side of the room, waited as Maka and Prentiss rushed past him to clear the next.

  “Main floor clear. Heading upstairs,” one of the Mexican team leaders called out. Moments later the other team raced up the stairs toward the second floor. Somebody shot at them but it quickly stopped.

  Gabe didn’t even glance up, busy with his own team as they did a sweep of the main floor themselves, to ensure it really was clear. “Clear,” he reported and headed for the top of the stairs that would lead to the basement. It was dark down there. He flipped his NVGs down.

  “Clear,” Freeman echoed a moment later. As team leader, he would be near the back of the line. “Let’s move.”

  As soon as Gabe felt his teammate’s hand squeeze his shoulder, he switched on his NVGs and started down the stairs. A hand popped out from around the corner below, holding a weapon. The instant the shooter came into view Gabe stepped to the side and fired, hitting him in the chest. The man dropped, his rifle still clutched in his hands.

  “Tango down.” Gabe raced for him, ready to put another round in him, but he didn’t twitch. Gabe kicked the weapon away as his teammates rushed past him down the stairs.

  More shots rang out from up ahead. The distinctive sound of an M4 firing answered.

  “Tango two down,” Granger said.

  Gabe spun around to check the stairs above them. Still clear.

  He turned and ran after his teammates, his heart rate picking up now that they were getting close. If Cap was down here they would find him and get him the hell out.

  Gabe just prayed they wouldn’t be carrying his dead body with them on the return trip.

  ****

  Seated in an empty office at the far end of the headquarters building, Victoria pressed her clasped hands to her lips as she sat on a bench, elbows propped on her thighs. Her eyes remained glued to what was happening on the other side of the window.

  In the center of the long building, various Mexican and American officials were all gathered around their stations, monitoring whatever was happening on the other end of their comms.

  Tracking intel. Satellite data. Working informants. Analyzing security and CCTV footage.

  Anything and everything they could get their hands on.

  While she sat stuck alone in here, slowly losing her mind with worry.

  Officials had interrogated the man who had tried to capture her. He had apparently been hired by someone linked to Nieto, who worked in Mexican customs and immigration. The man didn’t know what Nieto wanted with her, he’d simply wanted the money for delivering her to Nieto.

  The cartel had informants everywhere. Someone, maybe her would-be-kidnapper’s contact, had alerted the network the moment she and Oceane had touched down on Mexican soil. And likely the moment FAST Bravo had too.

  That’s how they had gotten Brock.

  She blew out a shaky breath, bounced her knee up and down, unable to tear her gaze away from what was going on in the main room. They wouldn’t allow her to watch what was going on. But she knew the gist of what was happening.

  Oceane had disappeared shortly after the drop off. Whether or not they had been able to start tracking her again was unclear.

  As for Brock…

  FAST Bravo was on site and in position at the target house Oceane had identified for them. That was all Victoria knew.

  The strain was slowly killing her. Her emotions were all over the place. Fear for Brock and Oceane kept swamping everything else.

  A screen off to one side at the far end suddenly came to life. She raised her head.

  It showed a darkened landscape, painted in shadows and a weird, neon green. The camera swiveled to the left, and a man’s face appeared.

  Agent Rodriguez.

  Victoria sucked in a sharp breath and surged to her feet. The team. It was a live feed from someone’s helmet cam.

  She was up and heading through the door before she even realized she had moved. Her eyes remained glued to the video feed at the far end of the room. People stopped what they were doing to gather around it, blocking her view. She hurried toward them, her shoes silent on the carpet, straining to see what was happening.

  Blurs of motion. Shadow and light. The distinctive crack of gunfire.

  Her heart shot into her throat. Stuck there and wouldn’t go back down. Choking her. She struggled to suck in air, pushed her way through the knot of bodies blocking her view.

  Brock. Had they found him? Was he alive?

  More gunfire.

  She stood on tiptoe, managed to catch a glimpse of the screen between the moving bodies in front of her. The inside of a house. Bright. Men in tactical uniforms rushing around, weapons up. Then whoever wore the camera turned and headed away from the others. Into darkness.

  “You can’t be here,” a man said next to her.

  Victoria glanced over to see one of the Mexican officials who had taken her to the hotel earlier. The one that insisted she be kept out of headquarters during sensitive ope
rations.

  She pulled her arm away when he reached for her. “No. I’m staying.”

  His expression hardened. “No, you’re not.” Without pause he gripped both her upper arms, spun her around and began marching her away, back to the office they’d put her in.

  “I need to see,” she cried, twisting away. She needed to see if they found Brock. Whether he was still alive or not.

  “Stop,” he commanded, giving her a shake that shocked her into going still. “You can’t help anyone now. You have to stay out of the way.” He towed her away from the others.

  Victoria relented and went with him, casting a desperate glance over her shoulder at the screen. She could barely see it now.

  The team was moving through the darkness now. She couldn’t make anything else out.

  Her last glimpse of the screen showed more of the same. And no sign whatsoever of Brock.

  ****

  Brock struggled toward consciousness as another shudder wracked him. It didn’t seem as cold anymore. He kept fading in and out. Not a good sign.

  He was hypothermic, his thoughts sluggish, even the pain signals slow to reach his brain. He was alone. The bastard beating him was gone, maybe because he’d decided it wasn’t much fun to beat on an unconscious man.

  He was still hanging by his wrists, locked in complete darkness. The shudders and shivers were getting fewer and farther between, his muscles too exhausted to expend the energy to try and warm him.

  His breathing rate increased, a surge of adrenaline flooding him. Survival instinct kicking in.

  Instinctively he knew his body was shutting down from the prolonged exposure to the cold. And that if he went under again, he would die.

  He fought the pull of it, the lure of painlessness and oblivion, tried to use the pain to center him. Keep him awake. But it was getting harder and harder to think. His eyelids were weighted down with concrete. Or maybe they were swollen shut. It was peaceful when he went under. No more fear. No more suffering.

  Stay awake.

  He shook his head, gritted his teeth that were hardly even chattering now. Now he was completely numb except for the pain in his wrists and shoulders, though they weren’t as sharp as they had been. It was so much easier to close his eyes and let go. All he wanted to do was sleep.

  Tori’s face appeared in his mind. Her dark eyes were worried, her expression full of desperation as she knelt in front of him and took his face in her hands. “Brock. Brock, don’t close your eyes.”

  He forced his eyes open to look at her. But she wasn’t real. She was only in his mind. He closed his eyes again, struggled to hold onto her image. You have to stay awake.

  She gave him an encouraging smile, her eyes begging him to keep trying. “That’s right. Hold on.”

  Can’t.

  “Please. Fight it.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, choked back a sob. It hurt so bad. He couldn’t take anymore. Need you. Need you to help me through this. Please.

  “I’m right here, and I will. Now fight it. For me.”

  Trying. Help me…

  A muted thud broke through his trance. His head jerked up. He struggled to open his eyes to the black ceiling above him, ears straining to hear something else.

  Another thud. Louder this time.

  Muffled yelling. Running footsteps outside in the hallway past the room Brock was in.

  Then gunshots. A pistol. Followed by semiauto rifle fire.

  He sucked in a breath, hope pouring a blast of warmth through his cold body. Someone was attacking the compound.

  His heart beat faster as he listened, trying to piece it together. Was this about him? His team coming to rescue him?

  The door flew open. Brock slitted his one functioning eye to squint at the silhouette of the man rushing toward him. There was no mistaking the outline of the extendable rod in his hand. “Wake up, asshole,” he snarled at Brock.

  Brock didn’t think. He reacted.

  Using his remaining strength, he waited until the man came close enough, then swung his legs out, biting back a scream as the manacles sliced into his wrists and tore the muscles in his shoulders. Something popped.

  Sucking in air, roaring in agony, he parted his knees enough to clamp his thighs around the man’s neck. His victim swore and tried to wrench away. Swung the rod at him. But this time he had no leverage and Brock wasn’t going to endure any more.

  Brock gritted his teeth, his entire body shaking as he clamped down with everything he had. A feral cry of rage and agony tore from his chest as he squeezed the man’s neck, taking blow after blow as his tormentor tried to fight his way free.

  He couldn’t let go. Wouldn’t, until the last of his strength gave out.

  Gunshots rang out from somewhere outside the room. Brock didn’t let go, struggling with all his strength to keep his knees locked in place.

  The man’s struggles slowed. Grew weaker.

  Brock wrenched his lower body to one side, hard as he could. A crunch sounded. The bastard’s dead weight dropped all of a sudden. It was too much.

  Brock howled in agony as his wrists shredded from the additional weight. The man fell from his grip and slid through Brock’s legs, hitting the floor hard.

  Brock was sucking in air, a blinding haze of pain clouding his mind when he finally realized more men were coming through the door.

  “Cap. Cap, you good?”

  Brock couldn’t answer, so grateful to hear Rodriguez’s voice that he sagged, his body convulsing with a sob.

  “Fuck.” Granger. “Hang on, Cap. I got you.” He wrapped solid arms around Brock’s hips, hoisting him slightly to relieve the strain on his wrists and shoulders.

  Brock groaned in pitiful relief and dropped his head to his chest, unable to speak.

  “Help me get him the fuck down,” Granger snapped.

  “On it.” Lockhart.

  The familiar, dreaded cranking sound started up, came faster and faster, and Brock was slowly lowered toward the floor. Granger held him up, his grip solid around Brock’s hips. Somebody else rushed forward to grab him around the waist. He yelled as pain sliced through his ribs, tried to wrench away and got nowhere.

  “We got you, Cap. We’re getting you out of here.” Freeman.

  The pressure on his sore ribs eased. His arms slowly lowered to his sides. No longer suspended by the chains, his entire body sagged like a ragdoll as his teammates lowered him gently to the floor on his back. He dimly heard them dragging the dead man’s body aside.

  “It’s like a fucking meat locker in here,” Granger muttered, already fumbling with one of the manacles. Someone was cutting the ties on Brock’s ankles free. His legs flopped apart when it snapped, lay limply on the icy concrete. “Get a blanket.”

  Brock faded out, came back when someone tucked a blanket around him. The overhead light was on now. He blinked his one eye, staring up into Khan’s worried face.

  “Hey, man,” Khan said. “You’re gonna be okay. We’ll have you out of here in a minute. Just hang on, all right?”

  Brock sucked in a breath as Granger finally got the first manacle off. He struggled to turn his head to see who was working on the other one.

  Blood coated his wrists and hands, the torn flesh there like raw hamburger. Maka was there, his face set as he strained to force the metal halves apart. Brock yelled when the second one snapped open, tearing into his shredded skin.

  “Sorry, Cap. I’ll let you punch me in the face later. Now take a breath and brace yourself, because this is gonna fucking hurt.”

  It hurt to breathe, much less take a deep breath. The little air he managed to suck in left his lungs on a scream when Maka grabbed his arms, pulled him upright and then bent to lever Brock across his wide shoulders.

  Fire burned through his ribs, through his arms and down his spine. When he could finally get a gasp in Maka was already on his feet and heading for the door. Glad as he was to be rescued, Brock wasn’t sure he could handle being carried right now.
r />   “I c-can walk,” he gritted out.

  “Not today,” Maka replied, and rushed out of the hellish room.

  The difference in temperature was immediate and startling. Brock groaned in sheer relief as the air seemed to warm with every step Maka took.

  Time blurred. His head spun. He faded in and out during the trip up the stairs. Might have puked once.

  He came to sometime later with the sound of rapid Spanish floating around him. Maka was carrying him through what looked like the main floor of the house, and there were Mexican forces all around them.

  “Tori,” he rasped out when Maka carried him outside into the warm night air.

  The big guy went to his knees on the lawn, eased Brock off him onto his back on the grass and peered down at him in concern. “What’s that, Cap?”

  No, not Tori. They didn’t know her as Tori. “Vict-toria.”

  Maka shook his head, wrapped the thermal blanket more tightly around him. “You’ll see her soon enough.” Brock wanted to ask what he meant but Maka was already looking back at the house. “Khan! Get your ass over here.”

  “Nieto,” Brock managed. “Was here earlier.”

  “I’ll inform Taggart.”

  The team medic came running over, knelt beside Brock. “Hey, Cap. Let’s take a look at you.” Khan unwrapped the thin thermal blanket and started checking him over.

  Fire. Fire burning in his shoulders, wrists and ribs. Everything else was icy cold. His teammates gathered around him, all trying to help.

  “Gimme some room, dammit,” Khan snapped, and everyone else backed off.

  Brock closed his eyes, let himself drift until Khan tried to move his right arm. Brock let out a snarl and tried to curl in on himself but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Damn, Khan, stop moving him,” Lockhart said.

  “Will in a sec.” The medic continued to check him over. “They’ve got an ambulance coming for you, Cap. I’m gonna get an IV started, get some fluids into you and then—”

  A sharp whistle cut through the air.

  Brock rolled his head to the side, managed to focus on Taggart as their commander rushed out of the house. He was dressed in tac gear and carrying a rifle.