Chapter 57 Adam
Adam
The second Raine’s words hit me, I felt the ground shift.
Organs. Preserving them. Inventory.
I’d seen cartel operations, warlords, black-market deals. But this—this was different. This was organized. Industrial. Not some back-alley butchers—it was logistics. Science. Supply and demand.
And someone had decided to use my ridge as their testing ground.
Back in the motel lot, I gathered my men.
Hawk sat stiff on the hood of the SUV, his bandaged arm propped against his knee.
Russ crouched low, a notebook open, already sketching timelines and connections.
Blade leaned in the shadows, knife twirling slow between his fingers.
Logan stood just outside the circle, restless, but this time no one pushed him back.
“They weren’t taking hostages for ransom,” I said. My voice carried, hard and flat. “They were preserving people. For their organs.”
Hawk’s face darkened. “Jesus.”
Russ just wrote it down, pen steady, though I saw the tremor in his jaw. “That explains the clean-up,” he said quietly. “Can’t leave behind evidence if what you’re running is medical.”
Blade finally stilled his knife, eyes flat as stone. “Organ trafficking.”
Logan swore under his breath. “That’s not cartel territory. That’s international. Contractors. Labs. Maybe even governments looking the other way.”
I turned on him, my eyes sharp. “You’re saying you’ve seen this before?”
His throat worked, but he nodded. “In the sandbox. Units went missing. Locals disappeared. Reports buried. Always the same—clean sweep, no bodies, no casings. Like ghosts. We whispered about it, but command never gave answers.”
Hawk spat into the dirt. “And now it’s here.”
The weight of it pressed down on me, heavier than the storm. My men had faced war zones, trafficking rings, corruption in every shade—but this wasn’t just another fight. This was systemic. Protected. And if they were operating here, in Texas, it meant they already had roots.
I looked at each man in turn, letting the silence burn the truth into them. “This wasn’t random. We stumbled into something big. Bigger than cartel, bigger than cops on the take. They wanted us tested. Measured. And next time, they won’t pull back.”
Russ closed the notebook, his eyes steady. “So what’s our play?”
I clenched my fists, the scar on my knuckles burning with old memory.
“Our play,” I said, my voice low and final, “is simple. We hunt them down. We expose them. And we tear this thing apart before they take another soul.”
The men nodded, grim and silent, each one ready to bleed for it. Even Logan, standing at the edge of the circle, gave one sharp nod.
For the first time since the ridge, I felt it—not relief, not hope.
Resolve.
This wasn’t just survival anymore.
This was war.