by Maggie Ryan
“Hey…” His protest broke off as he gave Anson a closer look. “You look like shit, bro. Did you stay here all night?”
“If it’s morning, then I suppose I did,” Anson said, taking a large gulp of the strong brew. “Once ya’ll left, I dug a little deeper.”
His statement instantly turned Stryder’s thoughts to the mission, the expression on his brother’s face telling him that the news wasn’t good. Steeling himself, he turned into the operations center, Anson following.
“How bad is it?” he asked, moving towards the bank of monitors, not the least bit surprised to find them all on. Taking a seat in one of the rolling chairs, he scanned each screen, trying to decipher the rows of data.
“It’s not good,” Anson said, taking another chair.
Something in his tone had Stryder looking from the monitors to him. Anson wore the same clothes he’d had on the day before and yet, while he did look exhausted, his expression was also one that Stryder recognized, and though it replicated his words, it also reflected a determination. “Tell me.”
Draining the last of the coffee, Anson set the mug aside and swiped his finger across one of the larger monitor’s display. Stryder watched as text and images scrolled past until one froze, filling the screen.
“With Zoya’s correction of the list last night, I had a place to start. The tattoo on this bastard’s wrist kept bugging me. I knew I’d seen it before but couldn’t place it. Not until I remembered reading about an incident a few years ago.” Anson tapped the image on the screen as both he and Stryder leaned forward. Neither spoke as they studied the band that had been inked around the man’s wrist.
“Each of these represents someone taken out for any one of a number of reasons,” Anson began, his fingertip tapping along the points that stood out in black ink, each tip ending in a blur of red.
Stryder was unconsciously counting and knew that the number was most likely off as he could only see the top portion of the wrist. Turning his head, he found Anson looking at him. “Fuck, you’re saying this guy has had over thirty-five people killed?”
“No, I’m saying this fucker has personally eliminated at least a hundred people. You don’t earn a bloody barb otherwise. Only the highest-ranking members are allowed to wear the tattoo. It’s their idea of a fucking badge of honor.” The image was one any Texan was familiar with, as barbed wire fences had been a way of containing stock for decades. Except in this case, each barb dripped with scarlet ink.
“Africa,” Stryder said, as memories of articles he’d read came to mind.
“Right. I remembered reading about the piracy based out of Somalia. This group was responsible for a great number of ships being attacked as well as competitors being eliminated. Their reputation is one of ruthlessness. If they even think you are crossing them, they’ll gut you and not even bother asking questions later.”
“I thought the incidents are almost nonexistent now,” Stryder said.
“Right again. Once captains and crews on ships armed themselves and the world managed to pull together, the threat has declined,” Anson agreed. “However, piracy still exists. A lot of the activity has moved to West Africa because there is still a controversy about allowing arms on board. Countries don’t want ships in their waters full of crews with itchy trigger fingers. There’s still a case being heard about the fishermen who were murdered because someone thought they were pirates. Until that issue is settled, and the world reacts as they did with Somalia, piracy and murder will likely continue.” Anson lifted his coffee mug, seeming surprised to find it empty. Sighing and setting it aside, he continued. “None of that matters in relation to our mission. In its heyday, millions of dollars were paid out, mostly to this group. It took all night, but I spoke to several contacts and it is agreed that this guy is at the top of that pile of shit.”
“Africa,” Stryder said again, what he knew about the continent running through his head. “So we go to Somalia?”
“No,” Anson said, shaking his head. With a flick of his finger, he removed the enlarged image of the man’s wrist, replacing it with a photo. “Does this guy look like he’d blend in with the natives?” He didn’t wait for an answer as it was quite obvious from the man’s photo that he was of Latin heritage. “He might be responsible for murder, but that doesn’t mean he wants to walk among the actual pirates.” Another moment of scrolling showed an aerial view of a huge house surrounded by high walls and lush forest. “He much prefers his compound on Madagascar.”
Anson paused and slid his eyes to Stryder. “And now we can begin to connect the dots. Eduardo Hildalgo actually got his start on another continent.” Swiping to the left, a map of South America appeared. Tapping the screen caused a country to take up the monitor’s display. Sitting back, Anson looked over at his brother again.
Looking back at the image, Stryder felt his gut tightening. “Fuck. This asshole got his feet wet in Argentina?”
“Correct, and I don’t think I have to tell you who his mentor was.”
“Juan Montez,” Stryder said, his blood beginning to boil.
“Seems that they are related—cousins in fact—so I can’t be too surprised that both assholes were at the auction. While they might not be smart enough to figure out that their host is planning on using us to eliminate them both, they are savvy enough to realize that living thousands of miles apart gives them not only a bigger share of the pie, but a sense of safety. Evidently Montez’s influence only drove his cousin to aim higher. He helps run the family business still but that didn’t stop him from hopping on the gravy train of piracy. Setting up on different continents allows each motherfucker to rule their own roost, so to speak.”
“I don’t give a shit if they live on different planets or share the same fucking bed,” Stryder said, the edge in his voice sharp. “The moment they made a bid on an innocent woman, their fate was sealed. In fact, Hildalgo being in Africa is good. Hadi does business there, and I’m sure he’ll be able to help gather information and get it to us before we land.” When Anson didn’t respond, Stryder wondered if his brother had dropped off from exhaustion. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you get a nap in before we get on the plane.”
Anson lifted his head. “I’ve already spoken to Hadi.”
“Great! Let’s go get the bastard.”
“We won’t be going to Africa,” Anson said.
“Why the fuck not? You said Hildalgo is in Madagascar, and he is the bastard who has Anya!”
“Had Anya.”
Stryder had originally thought he’d be sending his thanks to Hadi for his intervention in Anya’s rescue but seeing the look in his brother’s eyes, he felt his blood go cold. Before he could speak, he heard, “You boys are up early. What’s so urgent you couldn’t wait for the rest of us?”
Both men’s heads whipped around as Drake asked the question, Maddox right behind him. Stryder felt his stomach clench at the sight of Adira and Zoya walking in behind the men. Rising from his chair, he stepped around his father and brother, going straight to Zoya. Pulling her into his arms, he said, “Hey, it’s early yet. We didn’t get to sleep till late, and I’m sure you’re…”
“Anson, what did you mean?” Zoya asked, ignoring Stryder. When he tightened his hold, she pressed her palms against his chest and pushed out of his embrace. “I heard you say ‘had Anya.’ What does that mean?”
“Zoya…”
She ignored him again, walking towards the monitors and pointing to one. “Why is Anya’s picture gone?”
Looking at the screen he’d not given much consideration, as it reflected the same images he’d seen the evening before, Stryder saw that Zoya was correct. Where last night Anya’s photo had been, there was now nothing but a blank space. Not seeing the woman’s face next to Zoya’s on the bottom half of the screen, he suddenly felt an overwhelming need to keep his brother silent.
“Why don’t we all get some breakfast?” Stryder almost cringed, but shit, he was positive that his gut wasn’t reacting to th
e thought of putting food in his mouth but to the absolute certainty that whatever Anson said was going to rip Zoya apart. He reached for her again only to have her step away.
“Zoya—”
“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t lie to me… just… just don’t.”
His eyes found Anson’s. It took Stryder a moment to realize that the expression he saw wasn’t the least bit familiar… it was one of defeat. Looking at his father, he saw the older man knew whatever his sons had been discussing wasn’t good news.
“What’s happened?” Drake asked.
When Anson hesitated, Stryder shook his head, knowing he was going to be unable to shield Zoya. Steeling himself, he said, “Just spit it out.”
“She’s gone—”
“She got away!” Zoya interrupted, the joyful expression lingering for only a second before it disappeared as Anson spoke again.
“No, I mean she’s dead.”
“Dead?” Zoya asked, her body stiffening as her voice continued to rise. “He… he killed her? She’s in one of those… those films? No! She was so young… so scared. Oh my God, he murdered her!”
This time, Stryder managed to wrap his arms around her, yet he couldn’t reassure her as he didn’t know what Anson had discovered. All he and the others could do was listen as his brother relayed the painful details, wanting to stop him and yet knowing that Zoya… that all of them needed to face the truth, no matter how horrific it was.
“After I did some research, I called Hadi to fill him in on what I’d learned, only to discover that he was already a step ahead. He had recognized Hildalgo instantly from his reputation and piracy dealings in Africa—”
“That doesn’t make sense—” Adira cut in, only to have Maddox interrupt her.
“Let Anson finish—”
“If he thinks my family had anything to do with piracy, he’s wrong!” Adira continued. “My grandfather is guilty of a lot of bad things, but not this.”
“Everyone calm down.” The order came from the patriarch and had all of them looking Drake’s way. Once they had, he nodded his head. “Go ahead, Anson.”
Anson picked up from where he’d been, but clarified Hadi’s involvement. “Excuse me, Adira. I didn’t mean to imply your grandfather was involved. I meant that since Hadi has had operations in Africa for years, he was able to use his contacts to discover things before I did. He set up a team to hit Hildalgo’s compound, and they got inside…” He paused, and Stryder knew he was attempting to find a way to say what he needed while well aware that two women were hanging onto his every word, and not in a hopeful, expectant way. He felt for his brother, but knew there wasn’t really a damn thing he could do to help him. All Stryder could do was respect the man’s position and allow him to speak when he was ready. After a moment, Anson continued.
“They discovered that it was too late to save Anya.” He looked at Zoya, his eyes filled with pain. “I’m so sorry, Zoya. Anya took her own life the day she arrived at the compound.”
“Oh God…” Zoya said, her voice breaking into sobs. “She’s dead… No… no, oh, God, Anya. Why? Why couldn’t she have waited? Now… now it’s too late…”
Stryder pulled her even closer, the absolute despair in her voice pulling on him as he tried to find the words. It was all he could do to give her even a sliver of comfort.
“I wish we could have saved your friend, but it’s not too late for all of them,” Stryder said. “We won’t stop trying until we have them all…”
“What about that bastard? Hildalgo?” she asked. “What happened to him?”
“He paid for his crime,” Anson said. “He won’t be terrorizing anyone else. Hadi made sure of that.”
“My grandfather killed him?” Adira asked softly, though it appeared she already knew the answer to that question.
Zoya nodded. “Good. I hope he suffered.”
Before Stryder could assure her that Hildalgo would be suffering in the pits of hell for all eternity, she looked over at the monitors again. “Will someone tell her family? They deserve to know that she is… is gone.”
Drake stepped close, laying his hand on her arm. “Yes, I promise that they’ll be told how their daughter fought against evil. She lost, and yet she made the choice not to allow this monster to destroy her soul. In that, she won.”
Zoya nodded. “Thank you,” she said and then looked at the screen again before turning to Anson. “Make another section. Label it ‘Remember’ to remind everyone not to stop until this is over and because An… Anya deserves never to be forgotten.”
“I will,” Anson said, his fingers moving to a keyboard.
“Thank you.” She looked up at Stryder. “I-I need some time alone.”
Stryder’s heart constricted at the look in her eyes. A look he’d seen on one of the monitors before he even knew her name. The sadness reflected there tore at his soul and yet he felt pride at her request to honor Anya, and prayed that the strength residing in this small woman would remain strong. “Do you need to run?”
“No, I just need some time to… to…”
“Grieve,” Adira said, moving to them. “I’ll stay with her.”
Stryder didn’t want to release his hold but knew that if anyone understood the grief that was threatening to consume Zoya, it was Adira. Bending, he lifted Zoya’s chin with his fingertip. “I’m here when you are ready,” he said softly.
“I know.”
He kissed her gently and then released her. The men stood as the two women, arms once again wrapped around each other, left the room. Only after the echo of their footsteps disappeared did Stryder turn away from the door.
“They’re dead, every single one of those motherfuckers is dead. I won’t—I can’t watch her lose another friend.”
Drake laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I know. Hadi knows. Your brothers know. But we have to gather intel and make plans that will have a chance of success. I don’t want Zoya to go through any more loss, but I won’t let you or your brothers go off half-cocked, either.”
Stryder stiffened, his hands clenching into fists at his father’s words. Logical or not, all he wanted was to get his hands on one of the men responsible for the horror innocent women were living through every hour they were in captivity.
The pressure of his father’s hand on his shoulder increased until Stryder met his gaze. “We will not stop until the mission is done, no matter how long it takes or where it leads. But Stryder, you need to listen to me. Losing another friend would be hard and would cause a lot of pain for Zoya, but if she lost you, son, I’m not sure she’d ever be able to recover.”
Maddox spoke up. “Pops is right. Believe me, I understand exactly how you feel but we need to keep it together.” He paused and then said, “As annoying as you can be, I’d hate to lose you.”
Stryder couldn’t fault them as he understood they were letting him know they loved him, but damn, it was so fucking hard not to race off to seek vengeance immediately. He relaxed his fists and took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, I’m good.”
Drake squeezed his shoulder once again and then turned to Anson. “Before you fall asleep on your feet, is there anything else you learned?”
“News of Hildalgo’s demise is already out. I’ve been getting messages from contacts in various countries and hearing that security has been increased.” Anson’s eyes found Stryder’s. “To say that our mission just got more difficult is an understatement. Every douchebag on that list is gonna be surrounding themselves with more men.” When Stryder opened his mouth, Anson held up his hand. “I’m not saying that it will stop us, hell, I don’t give a shit if they surround themselves with armored tanks… we’ll still get them. What I am saying is that Pops is right. We’ve got to plan, and work with not only Hadi but with other men who have volunteered to help. Seems like human trafficking is a line that, once crossed, puts targets on men who have been allowed to operate in other crimes without much retaliation. In other words, we can count on
help.”
When Anson ran his hand over his face for the second time in as many minutes, Drake said, “That’s good news. The rest can wait. Get some sleep—”
“I’m fine—”
“Consider it an order,” Drake cut in. “You won’t be any good to anyone as exhausted as you are.” He glanced at a clock on the wall and continued. “You’ve already got the word out and Hadi is obviously working from his end. We all slept and can monitor operations for a bit. You are to hit the sack, understood?”
When his brother didn’t bother to protest or state that he knew every piece of equipment far better than the three of them combined, Stryder knew he had to be beyond exhausted.
“Just one more thing,” Stryder said, as he pushed up from his chair. Motioning to the monitor that Anson had just updated to change the array of photos, he continued, “With Anya’s photo moved, there should only be ten women in the top section. But, as you can see, there are still eleven.” He paused to allow Maddox and his father to study the screen. Once they had, Stryder reached out and tapped the last photo in the last row. “Why did you add Sophia’s photo to this array?” Stryder remembered the conversation they’d had about the woman and his reaction to hearing how Sophia had been a plant of Poplov’s. “What did you learn about her to put her with the other victims?”
“I’m still gathering information, but from what I’ve learned, she might be one,” Anson said. He stood, his head turned to the monitor, and yet Stryder could tell his eyes weren’t at the bottom row where Sophia’s photo had been added. Instead, they were focused on the top row, where Natalia’s photo was in the first position. “I’m not saying she is the same as the others. From all I’ve learned, she’s not. But, if my inquiries are confirmed, it seems Sophia had a reason for her actions, and one that isn’t based on greed or evil.”
“What does Poplov have on her?” Maddox asked before Stryder could voice the same question.
“What’s the one thing that would cause you to not only be willing to give your own life but to give up your very soul to protect?” Anson asked, turning to face them, his eyes locking once more on Stryder’s.
