Chapter 29 Tex
TEX
Leaving Rowan felt wrong.
Every instinct I had screamed to stay, to post up outside that mill and make damn sure nothing and no one got near her. But I couldn’t.
Not when the cartel had taken her ranch and burned her barn.
Not when they’d shot up my clubhouse and left my brothers’ bodies behind. They’d drawn blood and now it was time to return the favor.
We regrouped fast. No wasted words, no second-guessing, just men preparing for war, and it felt good to do so—to be doing something.
Two prospects, Confessor, Moose, Swampy, Bear, JD, and I rolled out in two trucks and two bikes, heading toward the private flight field JD’s contact had flagged.
The place sat on the edge of county lines, quiet and tucked away.
It was the kind of place you used when you didn’t want to be seen.
Exactly the kind of place a cartel would use.
The closer we got, the quieter the men became, our minds and bodies ridding themselves of nervous energy until there was nothing left but one goal—kill them all.
Engines cut a mile out and we finished the approach on foot. We cut through trees and walked across open dirt.
And then we saw it—a private jet.
It was sitting on the runway like it owned the place, big and bold. Nothing discreet about it. It was confirmed now. We weren’t just chasing ghosts anymore, we were hunting something real.
“Son of a bitch,” Moose muttered.
JD gave a small nod and we armed up, checking guns were loaded and knives were in place. We’d already strapped on bulletproof vests below our T-shirts and cuts because no risk was going to be taken today, not when Rowan’s life hung in the balance.
Then we moved.
We moved fast, silent and deadly, keeping low to the ground where the grass was long and only rising to our full heights when the grass cut down to ankle length and it was futile to hide any longer.
It didn’t make a difference though. The first guard never even saw us. So bold and obnoxious these men were to assume we wouldn’t find them. That we would be licking our wounds and waiting for what happened next instead of hunting them down like dogs.
Bear ran up behind the man and snapped his neck clean, and then dragging him into the shadows before the body had even hit the ground.
Two more men were near the hangar door, assault rifles in their grip, but their hold was loose and relaxed, unaware of the death squad at their back door.
Swampy dropped one with a suppressed shot and I took out the other, my knife sliding under his ribs, quiet and efficient. We breached the hangar and everything exploded into organized chaos as we killed without mercy or restraint.
Gunfire erupted, echoing off metal walls. Men shouted in Spanish, scrambling for weapons, but they were too slow and too unorganized. Too fucking arrogant to not expect that we’d eventually find them and attack.
Moose dropped a man near the crates and JD took out two more coming from a back office. I fired twice, both hits clean through-and-throughs as two men stood up from their hiding places.
I watched as the two prospects we’d brought with us grabbed a man from behind, dragging him to the ground before stabbing him clean through the heart.
Bodies fell and blood sprayed, and chaos turned into slaughter.
They hadn’t expected us.
That was their first mistake.
The last man tried to run but Bear tackled him hard, slamming him face-first into the concrete. Blood sprayed from his crushed nose, and his front teeth smashed, forcing him to bite down on his tongue. He screamed and blood poured from his mouth.
He fought and cursed us, spitting up blood as Bear swung him over onto his back. The man continued to curse at us in Spanish.
“Hijo de puta!”
“Pendejo,” Moose laughed and cursed back.
We dragged him into a side room and threw him into a chair.
“You two,” JD said, pointing toward the prospects, “guard the hangar doors. Swampy, Bear, go check out the jet, see if there’s anything in there—deeds, manifestos, anything we can use. Confessor, keep watch at the bottom of the jet stairs. Tex, Moose, and I gotta little questioning to do.”
“Maybe I should stay and help,” Confessor said.
“You fucking puta!” the man yelled, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the front of Confessor.
Swampy punched him hard enough to snap his head back and he cried out in pain and grabbed at his face.
Moose grabbed the man's arms and dragged him behind his back hard enough that we all heard the audible crack. His arms weren’t broken, but they were both dislocated, and his screams echoed off the walls around us.
Now he knew what was coming.
“Please,” he began, but JD held a finger up to his lips and shook his head.
“Shhh, that’s not how this works.”
The man in the chair snapped his jaw shut and nodded at JD. “Sí, sí.”
“Now now, we all know you can speak fucking English so don’t try that shit with me,” JD said, putting his face close to the other mans.
“Okay, okay,” the man replied, and JD stood upright.
JD looked across at Swampy and nodded. “Get to work.”
On that command, everyone left on their orders. I stood by the door, glaring like I could burn this motherfucker to the ground just by hate alone.
“Where is he?” JD asked quietly.
The man shook his head. “I don’t—”
Moose drove a knife into his thigh and a scream tore out of his throat and echoed off the walls.
“Where. Is. He,” JD asked again.
The man sobbed, shaking his head again. “I cannot. I cannot.”
We took our time, because pain has a way of loosening tongues, and ten minutes later we were rewarded when he cracked.
“Hotel downtown, third floor…” he gasped. “Please.”
JD leaned closer. “Name.”
He gave it easily, and the room number quickly followed.
I looked across at the others, satisfied that we had what we needed.
Swampy pulled the knife free of the man’s leg and his body sagged in relief.
Blood had pooled underneath the chair, and our boots splashed in it every time we got close to him.
Back at the clubhouse we’d had a specific room for this sort of thing, with drainage straight into the drains so that cleaning was kept at a minimum.
We may have been killers but we treated our staff good, and if we could help out with a little cleaning issue, we would.
I felt sorry for the poor bastard that would walk in on this mess.
The man’s head rolled on his shoulders as his eyes glassy as he tried to focus. Blood dripped from his swollen bottom lip and his nose was bent at an awkward angle.
“Por favor?” he mumbled, between broken, bloody teeth.
Moose gripped him by the hair and lifted his head up so he could stare directly into his eyes.
“Ni siquiera cerca, motherfucker,” he said, shoving the man backwards.
He thought he’d bought his life with his words, but he hadn’t. It was way past that. I wouldn’t rest until every one of these fuckers were dead and buried in unmarked graves.
“Do you want the honors?” JD asked, holding out his pistol.
“Absofuckinglutely,” I said between gritted teeth. My bloodthirst wasn’t even nearly sated enough. I stepped forward, my gaze never leaving the man in the chair. I shook my head at the gun. “Won’t be needing that.”
I pulled out my knife from the sheath and held it in front of the man’s face. His pupils shrank when he saw it, and his shoulders began to shake.
“You can’t really have expected any other outcome,” I said to him.
“Please,” he begged, “I’m just like you. I was just following orders.”
I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth and sighed. “Just followin’ orders? Is that what killing my brothers and blowing up my clubhouse is to you? Is that what burning down an innocent woman’s world is to you?”
He lifted his chin, his bloodshot eyes meeting mine. He knew what was coming, and he knew that if he’d ever had a chance of walking out of this room alive, he’d just blown it. He’d signed his own death warrant with those words.
I reared back and slammed my fist into his face.
I felt the bones shatter beneath my knuckles, and blood sprayed down him, splattering across the front of my chest. I felt a kind of satisfaction I’d never felt with every droplet that hit me, and before I knew what I was doing, I was hitting him again, and again and again.
No one tried to stop me.
No one spoke.
It was only once I finally stopped, and took a step back, that they moved wordlessly into action, covering him up with some sheets they’d found from somewhere, and began dragging him out of the room.
His blood dripped from my hands, and my chest heaved with exertion.
JD handed me a rag and then patted me on the shoulder. “Let’s move.”
We moved the bodies into the jet. Not to hide them, but to send a message to anyone who came back here. These men needed to know exactly who they were dealing with. They had underestimated us and that was being corrected, right the fuck now.
We were back on the road within the hour and heading to the hotel the cartel member had given up. We were as silent, deadly force as we rode. A single line of men hell-bent on vengeance and pumped full of adrenaline.
The hotel was high-end and made of glass and marble. It spoke of money and was exactly the kind of place a cartel leader would hide in plain sight.
We changed clothes in the parking garage, slipping on porter uniforms and smart jackets.
But there was no real hiding who and what we were—certainly if anyone took a second glance at any of us.
Especially me. I’d wiped my hands and face clean of blood splatter, but I stank of death and violence—even I could smell it on my skin and oozing from my pores.
I’d thought I’d feel more sated after killing that bastard, but all it had done was fuel my bloodlust for more.