Chapter 8
The Hunt
Atlas
Once we arrived at our first stop, I tossed a plastic apron to Jacob and strapped one on myself. They weren't frilly kitchen aprons; they were heavy-duty dark gray utility garb. These things were great for catching any bodily fluids that we might come into contact with.
It saved us a hell of a lot of time with cleanup. I checked my GPS app; still, no sign of Kitlyn.
I sighed, feeling frustrated, and then focused on my current task.
We looked around the parameters of the dump in front of us without uttering a word.
The house was run down, nothing more than a crumbling shell of filth and decay.
You would think the cartels would spend a little money on their processing units.
These holding tanks are almost like walking into a third-world country, for Christ's sake.
Jacob and I stepped out of the truck. I looked at him and smiled. "Showtime," I mouthed.
With our guns drawn, I kicked the wooden door in with such force that it cracked down the middle.
Inside was dark and putrid, foul with the stench of sweat and piss.
I almost lost my lunch from the vile odor settling in my nostrils.
Three men scrambled at the sound of the door splitting off its hinges, but they were too slow.
I didn't hesitate. My 357 went off, and the first man went down in a spray of red. His head exploded like a watermelon.
The others stood frozen, their eyes wide with fear. Jacob grabbed one by the throat, lifting him off the ground.
The man clawed at his hand, trying to pry himself free from the death grip cutting off the oxygen to his windpipe. Jacob sneered in his face.
"Do you know a Hector?"
Clenching Jacob's hand with his palms, the man shook his head. Jacob sat him in the chair, while I kept my eye on the last one inching toward the door. He tried to run, but I was on him instantly.
My hand wrapped around his throat, slamming him into the wall with a sickening thud. His breath came in short, panicked gasps—his pale skin glistened with perspiration.
I hurled him into the chair beside his buddy, my glare venomous. Anger bubbled under my skin, growing hotter with every minute. I raised my leg and planted my foot beside the maggot, inching in closer, fury in my eyes.
"I am only going to ask you this twice, because I know you won't give up any information the first time. Where can I find Hector, your boss?"
The scumbag's eyes darted back and forth between me and my partner. His voice was shaky, and he looked like he was going to shit himself.
"Honest man, I don't even recognize the name. I wasn't even born in this country. I'm an American who just follows orders and asks no questions."
I smiled at the soon-to-be-dead man.
Lifting my knife from my boot, I rested it against his neck. He swallowed hard, his eyes full of terror.
"I don't give a fucking shit if you were born in Rome, and you were the damn pope. Wrong fucking answer. Now, let's do this again."
I pulled my foot off the chair and stepped in beside him. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I yanked his head back so hard he let out a grunt. The tip of my blade caressed his neck, digging in just enough to draw a few drops of blood.
"Second and last attempt. Where can I find Hector? I'm not in a very good mood, so you might not want to upset me."
The guy was shaking so hard his teeth chattered. His eyes shifted back and forth nervously.
He started crying like a goddamn baby.
"Look, man. I….I'm telling you the truth. Honest to God, I never met a Hector, never even heard the name. I'm pretty new to this industry."
I looked at his sidekick, whom Jacob held at gunpoint. He was panting and sweating profusely.
His eyes were full of fear.
"Hey, gut rot, since this little pussy is supposedly a newbie in the business, I want to know what it is exactly that you do once you get your victims here, and I want the fucking truth, or I'll cut your nuts off and feed them to pansy ass over here."
The man started shaking uncontrollably; moisture beading across his forehead. Jacob cocked his head, amused, while our second contestant sat there dripping sweat, trying to keep his balls from crawling up into his stomach.
"Well?" I pressed. I asked you a fucking question, and it would be in your best interest to answer it."
The scumbag's lips trembled. "We don't do any of the high-level stuff, man.
We just prep them to move on to the next step.
The girls are stripped and checked for cell phones and trackers.
Hector doesn't let anyone here touch the merchandise.
He sends in his other guys to pick the product up.
They always wear masks and gloves. I have never seen any of their faces.
The only thing I know is that Hector lives somewhere in the mountains, and that's it. "
I crouched between them, keeping my distance from their shitty-smelling breath. Both fuckers had rotten front teeth in their cruddy mouths.
"So it's safe to say you're the welcoming committee, and you don't know the address where Hector is located?"
"Yeah, exactly. You could call us the welcoming committee. We're just the front end. They don't even stay long, maybe a day or two at most, and I don't know Hector's address. I heard a couple of his men talk about going to his home in the mountains, and that's as far as it went."
I looked at the two of them, cocking my brow.
"And you don't touch the girls at all? No fucking, sucking—nothing?"
They both shook their heads. Jacob's guy's voice stuttered.
"No way, man. Hector is a brutal bastard. He would kill us if we went against his orders."
I stood and turned to Jacob.
"You hear that?"
My partner laughed.
"Middlemen and brutal is what I got."
I smirked, putting the knife back in my boot, then pulled the 357 from my waistband.
I turned back to the first guy, the one I lovingly called pansy, pointing the gun at his head. He started sobbing, snot dripping from his nose and running down his chin.
"Get up and bring me the duct tape and rope you have proudly displayed on the corner table.”
He stood on shaky legs, barely able to walk. Trembling, he retrieved the tape and rope, handing them to me. His hands were shaking like a motherfucker. Mr. pansy-pussy pants was a nervous wreck, as he should be.
"Take a seat," I ordered, my voice calm.
The guy was as pale as a ghost. He knew he was fucked, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. I didn’t believe a single word that crawled out of his mouth.
If they know where Hector is, and if I want the truth, it looks like I’m going to have to get violent…real violent to rip it from their tongues. He sat his filthy ass on the chair. I grabbed the rope and tied him up, then added the tape to his wrists and ankles for extra effect.
I threw the duct tape at Jacob. He taped his prisoner's hands together in front of him and his ankles to the legs of the chair. When he was finished, I tossed some rope his way.
He wound it around the man’s bloated torso, binding him to the seat. There was no escape.
I turned my attention back to pansy.
"Still claiming to be new?"
He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously.
"I swear, man! I know nothing!"
Using a gun on these assholes would be too easy.
I looked at Jacob, smiling.
"I think it's time for a little torture. What do you think?" He nodded, grinning like the devil himself.
"Now you're talking, boss."
Pansy and gut rot started shaking in their chairs, sweat pooling down their chests. Their filthy T-shirts were soaked.
I walked over to a nearby corner of the room.
Rusty tools, jagged wire, and a blowtorch rested on the metal table in the corner.
It was pretty clear this dump didn't care about OSHA guidelines.
My eyes focused on the hook hanging from a chain on the ceiling.
I pulled it down. It was heavy and sharp.
"You ever seen anyone try to scream without a tongue?"
I asked no one in particular. Just thinking out loud.
"It's like music to my ears."
I glanced at pansy with the hook in my hand.
"Don't worry, I won't start with your tongue. I need to keep it intact so you can tell me where to locate Hector."
He tried to buck in his seat, but the rope and tape made it impossible. He wasn't going anywhere.
"I swear I am telling the truth. Please don't do this."
Ignoring him, I steadied his hand even though it was taped down securely. Pain can reveal inner strength that people didn't know they possessed. Looking over at Jacob, I smiled.
"Have you ever driven a hook through a thick piece of bone and cartilage?"
Jacob flashed a grin.
"I reserve that type of torture only for Sundays."
A dark chuckle slipped from my lips before I got to work.
The hook came down hard on pansy's hand. The scream tore right through him. His fingers jerked, blood squirting out like a faucet all over the chair, him, and the floor. Sobbing, he tried to thrash in his confines, but couldn't.
My laugh was evil and sinister.
"You're doing fantastic," I said, patting his pale, tear-stained cheek. "You're a real tough guy, hurting women. The perfect cartel material."
Jacob started working on the other asshole, silently digging into the guy's thigh with a hunting knife.
The man's howl was a melody of agony to my ears. I turned back to pansy. He was fading fast.
His face was chalky, his skin grayish and clammy.
I moved in close again.
"You got anything for me? Names, places? Phone numbers? Anything at all?"
He shook his head, leaning forward, drool escaping the side of his mouth, trickling onto the filthy floor. He was bleeding profusely from his wound. I pulled the hook through the side of his hand, ripping it to pieces.
The man's screams echoed through the entire house. He was panting and drooling, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. I wasn't getting anywhere with this piece of shit. Maybe he was telling the truth, but I didn't give a fuck, anyway. Lowlifes like him weren't worth a penny.
I bent down, pressing the hook into his leg, and dug deep with the butcher’s claw. I sliced his femur wide open, cutting through muscle, cartilage, and bone. No screams, just gurgles and groans. The scumbag was too far gone.
He was still gasping for breath, but I didn't feel like playing nice today, so I just let him suffer and bleed out.
I stood up, my apron full of blood. My breath was calm and controlled. I didn't realize my face was beaming. Although these two losers didn't kidnap Kitlyn, they were part of the problem. If the girls had passed through here, they would have found the tracker in her neck.
I was hoping against hope that the device was still where I had it inserted and the scumbags would remove her collar for something, and once that signal pinged, I would be on Hector like a fly on shit.
Jacob was still working on gut rot. He would not give up any information either.
He insisted he knew only that he lived in the mountains.
A lot of good that does me. It accomplishes nothing.
The country is full of mountains. It was time to finish the mess and move on to the next filthy shack. I nodded at my partner.
"Finish him. He either doesn't know where to locate the cartel, or he has a huge tolerance for pain."
Jacob smiled wickedly from ear to ear, while our little friend screeched to high heaven.
I looked into his eyes.
All I saw was pure terror.
"Do you have anything you want to say before you die?"
I said sarcastically.
His voice was shaky, and his body trembled.
"Please don't kill me, man. I have kids!"
I glanced at my partner, running a hand over my overgrown goatee. "He's right. Let's not kill him. One of the other criminals will show up with the next batch of girls, and they can release him. I mean, the man has rugrats at home."
Jacob nodded. "Okay, boss, whatever you say."
Gut rot's voice dripped with disbelief.
"Oh, my God! You're not gonna kill me? Thank you. Thank you so much." He took a deep breath, sucking the snot back up into his nose. I looked over at the lifeless body of his friend, then back at gut rot.
"Let's hope your kids never get trafficked."
He was bloody and torn apart, but still managed a smile, thankful to us for sparing his life.
"I am going to quit this business. I am forever indebted to both of you for opening my eyes."
I looked over at Jacob, wiping the blood from my hands, turning toward the door. I wasn't interested in what this fucktard had to say. It was time to get the hell out of this dump.
The place was made of old, splintered wood that was dry-rotted everywhere. It was not stucco or concrete like the typical homes you find in Mexico. The sun was going down, and we needed to rest and refuel.
Jacob and I exited the filthy, decaying structure and walked to the SUV. I grabbed some lighter fluid from the bag.
We returned to the house, dousing the decomposing exterior in the flammable liquid. I coated every edge and every rotted board until the place was saturated.
I lit a match and flicked it onto the trail.
The fire roared instantly. Flames crept along the walls, swallowing the structure in seconds.
From inside, panicked screams erupted, raw and begging.
"Ah! Ah!! Please, please. I am going to be burned alive.
You said I could live! You said I could live! !!"
I turned to Jacob and smiled, lifting one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "So sue me…I fucking lied."
We walked back to the truck and climbed in. I started the engine and pulled away, grateful to put this reeking hellhole behind us. Both our aprons were covered with blood.
We needed to find a nearby hotel—somewhere to shower, change, eat, and crash for a few hours. It was getting late. Tomorrow, we'd head out early and, with any luck, finally get closer to finding Kitten.