Chapter Four Rev
The van jolted and jostled us over the uneven terrain as we drove further and further into no man’s land. Glancing out the window, I took in the moonless night and our dark isolation from civilization.
It seemed unbelievable that less than forty-eight hours ago I had sat at a table in The Rising Phoenix and listened to the El Paso Raiders’ attack plan.
While I had first been skeptical that they had the resources to take on a cartel lieutenant, they had quickly made me a believer.
I had felt more than confident in tonight’s mission, and that soon Breakneck would be reunited with his daughter.
Now I threw a glance over my shoulder into the third row where Breakneck sat next to Bishop.
He had flown in yesterday to be a part of the rescue mission.
At first, Ghost hadn’t wanted him to come along.
“He’s too emotionally invested—it’ll fuck things up.
” But Breakneck had gone toe to toe with him to veto any ideas about him staying back at the Raiders compound.
In the end, I didn’t know what physical condition we were going to find Sarah in, so it made sense to have someone with medical training along.
Because we couldn’t just go storming into a cartel compound half-cocked, it had taken a full day of further research and planning before we felt ready to move.
Thankfully, the El Paso Raiders had set the wheels in motion while Bishop and I were on the road.
They also had a lot of allies who were willing to get us intel.
The room in their roadhouse where they held church looked more like something out of a Pentagon war strategy session while we spent hours pouring over maps, aerial images, and print-outs from Google Earth.
What we had learned from the Raiders’ sources was that Mendoza ran a relatively small-time trafficking operation.
He never housed more than five or six girls at a time before “unloading” them, as it was known.
Because of the low numbers, he had less than ten men working for him at the compound.
With our group of nine in the mission, we were pretty evenly numbered.
The location of Mendoza’s slave camp was about fifty miles from any semblance of civilization.
The gravel road we now found ourselves on seemed to stretch into a desert oblivion.
Close on our tail were two other identical black paneled vans.
One carried the remaining members of our mission, and the other was loaded down with enough explosives to take out the wired, steel-enforced gate at the front of Mendoza’s compound.
“Fuck, I wanna claw my skin off. I think I’m allergic to this fucking war paint!” Bishop exclaimed, breaking the tense silence. As a form of camouflage, each one of us had slathered black shoe polish onto our face, neck and arms.
Despite the tense mood, I chuckled. “Jesus, you’re as bad as when you had chicken pox. Mama and Pop didn’t sleep for three days trying to make sure you didn’t scratch yourself to death,” I mused.
“Whatever,” Bishop grumbled.
When the van began slowing down, I sat up a little straighter.
Chulo turned around in the passenger’s seat to face us.
“Okay guys, here is where we leave the vans for safe keeping. We’ll do the last half mile on foot.
Then once the front gate is blown, the reserve vans will pull up to wait to pick us up. ”
With a nod of my head, I reached for the handle of the door. Once I slid it open, I dropped out onto the soft desert floor. Breakneck came next with Bishop behind him. They were followed by Ranger and Nero, two of the El Paso Raiders who had been appointed to come with us based on their skills.
At six foot five and three hundred pounds, Ranger got his road name from his time with the Army Rangers.
After two tours in Afghanistan, he came home to his MC brothers and worked out his extreme PTSD by beating the hell out of anyone who crossed the Raiders’ path.
Like a true Army Ranger, he was our lead man into the compound.
Nero, a scrappy Italian originally from Jersey, had stepped forward to be our explosives expert.
With his bottle cap thick glasses, he looked more like a tech nerd than a tough biker.
But any doubt I had in his abilities faded the first time he showed us a test run of one of his homemade bombs.
I knew then he was truly an asset to have along.
“He stays with the vans,” Chulo said, pointing to Breakneck.
Even in the darkness, I could see Breakneck’s fists clenching at his sides. “I’m going to find my daughter.”
“You won’t be any help to her if you get your ass shot,” Chulo challenged.
I placed my hand on Breakneck’s shoulder. “It’s for the best if you stay here. If this goes bad, we’re all going to need you in one piece, not just Sarah.”
“Fuck,” Breakneck muttered under his breath. After a few tense seconds, he nodded his head, and then slipped back into the van.
Once we checked our weapons and were ready, Chulo nodded. “All right. Let’s go,” he ordered.
As I ran across the rugged desert terrain, it brought back memories of my one tour in Afghanistan.
Just out of high school, I had signed on for a two-year term in the Army.
It was the shortest one I could do where I actually got out of town, but I would still not be gone long from the Raiders.
It wasn’t so much I felt I needed molding into a man or a great sense of patriotism, but more about getting money for school.
Of course, in the end, I only got a two-year degree at the local technical college before Preacher Man was on me to step up and take more responsibility in the club.
As far as suffering from PTSD, the lifestyle I had known before I went into service had prepared me to deal with the horrors of war.
That said, it didn’t mean I didn’t occasionally have a nightmare that brought me shouting up off the bed in a sweaty mess.
In the end, the nightmares were just a few more to add to an ever-increasing pile.
I was pretty sure a shrink would head for the hills if they ever got a look inside my fucked up head.
Just ahead of us was the row of tightly woven shrubbery that sat about twenty feet from the front gate.
After seeing it on a map, Chulo had decided it would be our rendezvous point.
Once we were all accounted for, Chulo radioed the weapons van.
As I gripped my assault rifle tighter, I tried to still the erratic beating of my heart.
Adrenaline had it pumping overtime. There was nothing left to do now but wait for the van to arrive and for the explosives to truly set our plan in motion.
When the van came into view, I drew in a sharp breath.
Just as it got to the line of shrubbery, the driver’s side door was thrown open and one of the El Paso Raiders jumped out onto the ground.
The van’s gas pedal was rigged to keep accelerating.
Just as it was about to hit the gate, gunfire broke out, riddling the hood with bullet holes.
But it was all in vain. The moment it smashed into the steel, the van exploded in an orange ball of fire, taking out a section of the gate.
“Now!” Chulo shouted.
I sprang out from behind the shrubbery to get behind Ranger.
With his gun cocked, he kicked down another part of the gate that was hanging precariously by one hinge.
As it collapsed onto the ground, he motioned us to follow him.
The moment I entered Mendoza’s courtyard, I felt like I had been transported back into the service.
Everything seemed executed with military precision.
Immediately gunfire rained down on us. Crouching down, we returned fire until we took out the two targets, and the only sound in the compound was the bellowing alarm.
“Go on. I’ll cover you guys,” Ranger said.
“Rev, you, Nero, and Sidewinder take the house,” Chulo ordered.
“Okay.”
“We’ll take the back bunker,” Chulo said, nodding at Bishop and two others.
With Nero and Sidewinder at my side, we hurried across the courtyard. When we got to the veranda, gunshots went off behind us. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Ranger taking out three men who were rushing toward him. With those odds, I had no idea how the fucker managed not to get hit.
Using brute force, Sidewinder kicked in the front door while Nero and I covered him.
When we met no opposition, we headed into the foyer.
With its marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and expensive art, it was evident what drug money could buy, and Mendoza certainly enjoyed the finer things in life.
Nero cleared his throat. “Okay, how about I make a sweep of the front, Rev you take the hallway and bedrooms, and Sidewinder, you take the middle,” Nero suggested.
“Sounds good,” I replied.
I advanced out of the foyer and past the living room.
When I started down the hallway, a hail of gunfire met me as I came around the corner.
I ducked into an open bedroom. In the darkness, I took a knife out of my belt.
Pressing myself against the wall, I listened to the sound of boots clomping down the hallway.
As the gunman entered the doorway, I plunged the knife into his chest. The hit momentarily disabled him.
Grabbing him by the shoulders, I shoved him against the wall and wrestled control of his weapon.
“Where is the American woman?” I demanded.
“Fuck. You.”
Pressing my knife against his throat, I growled, “The gringa with red hair. Where is she?”
When he shook his head defiantly, the seething anger racing through me reached a volatile point—one where I no longer saw reason. Since he was no use to me, I plunged the knife into the man’s throat. After severing his artery, I released him, letting him drop to the floor.