Jagger (Broken Doll Book 2) (8 page)

I bit back a whimper and inhaled a shaky breath, concentrating on not moving a single muscle around the knife point.

“Where to start.” His greedy eyes flicked up and down my body as he hummed a song. The sick excitement reflected those lifeless pits had me swallowing back the urge to throw up.

Cuchillo’s gaze locked on mine. I held his stare despite my internal voice screaming for me to turn my head and look away from the monster.

“Let’s improvise, shall we?”

With the first touch of blade on skin, every intention I had to remain strong fell apart—and I screamed.

“
S
hade
, tell me what’s going on.” I paced next to my car like a caged tiger, my phone to my ear, waiting impatiently for my employee to respond.

“Nothing, Boss. None of Los Guerreros have come close enough to our location to dispose of them without alerting the entire compound.”

“Son of a bitch!”

Calm the fuck down, Jag.

After taking a deep breath, I explained to Shade about finding Miri’s friend and what she knew about Miri.

“So either we need to move soon, Boss, or we wait for Los Guerreros to extend their search perimeter out,” Shade said.

“Exactly. I’d like to take some of them down before going in. We’ll be sitting ducks running across the flat expanse of lawn with all of those armed men outside.”

I could hear Shade quietly discussing options with Milo. He returned to the phone.

“Boss,” Shade began. “We’re in a fairly concealed corner of the yard. If you want, we can take out the closest ones and pull them into the brush.”

“You’d have to do it quietly,” I replied. “No guns.” I reminded him.

Despite Hollywood’s glamorous, and totally inaccurate, representation, silencers—or more accurately, suppressors—didn't remove all sound from a gunshot. They muffled the loud pop, but there was still a pretty noticeable click when the trigger was pulled, plus a decent bang when the bullet left the chamber of the gun. So, not silent by any means. My men knew that no guns equaled slitting throats and close quarters combat. The victim would die almost instantly and wouldn’t be able to scream for help. Messy, but effective.

“Got it, Boss.” Shade hung up.

I relayed my instructions to Brick.

“I agree. Taking out the perimeter men, ones who aren’t in direct sight of the others, is a good idea.” Again, Brick called his second in command. “Eric, tell everyone if they can grab any man who is out of sight of the others, to do so. Hand to hand only.”

“Yes sir.” Eric hurried off to relay his boss’s orders.

I went to pull out my KA-BAR, ready to search for men to kill, but Brick stopped me with a hand to my arm.

“We need you alive to get the girl. You must stay here until we can storm the house.”

The thought of sitting on the sidelines, doing nothing, had me seeing red. My fingers flexed, tightening on my weapon. Rage flared throughout my body, snapping and crackling as the flames grew, my anger seeking a release. “What I
need
is to kill some of the motherfuckers who touched my girl.” Brick didn’t so much as flinch when I shot him a murderous glare.

“I understand, my friend. But I want this deal to go through, and for that, I need you and your woman alive. We have soldiers for a reason. You need to trust them to do the work.”

I growled under my breath, so frustrated I wanted to take my knife and plunge it into someone, anyone. The seven-inch carbon steel blade in my hand didn’t help rein in my anger. Instead, it fed my lust for blood and death.

“It will all work out,” Brick said.

I glanced at the man I was depending on to pull this off. Without his help, I wouldn’t get Miri back. Hell, I wouldn’t even be here. Besides, we did make a deal. Brick would be a very wealthy and powerful man if Miri came out alive, so he had no reason to talk bullshit. He wanted her almost as much as I did, for very different reasons.

I tilted my head back and stared at the stars, brilliant across the sky without the light pollution of a major city nearby. Breathing in and out, my only focus was to calm the hell down and think rationally.

“I’m good,” I told him once the red haze cleared. Brick lifted an eyebrow and I huffed. “Really, I’m good.” I slid the knife back into its sheath. “I just need our men to hurry the fuck up and slit some fucking throats.”

Brick grinned and clapped me on the shoulder.

“That is something we can make happen.”

Thirty minutes later we heard back from most of the teams spread around the mansion. Thirteen Los Guerreros down, and according to our own count and that of our men, there were nine left wandering the property, still looking for Miri’s friend. I had no doubt Miri was back inside El Cuchillo’s house. Between Brick and myself, over sixty men scoured the perimeter and didn’t find a single trace of her anywhere.

“I vote we move on the remaining men,” I whispered to Brick. We took turns looking through his pair of military-grade binoculars. “There aren’t many men left and we don’t want them going into the house. Inside, they’ll have the advantage of knowing the layout. Out here, they’re easy targets.”

Brick nodded and took his binoculars from me, studying the yard. “I agree. We know there are cameras on each corner of the house and by the front door. Our men are wearing dark clothing. They can stay undetected on the cameras and as they kill each target, one of our men will use the flashlight and pretend to be a Los Guerreros searching the grounds. The other will drag the body out of sight.”

“I’ll call my second.” I moved a few steps away and dialed Shade. After four rings it went to voice mail. I tried again and got the same. “Fuck!” I tried Milo next and he answered on the third ring.

“Boss…”

Milo sounded out of breath, which made the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.

“Milo? What’s going on? Where’s Shade?”

“They… one of ’em got him, Boss… He’s dead.” It sounded as if Milo had just run a marathon.

“What?” My head reeled with the information. Shade was set to take Milo’s place as my second in command after this operation was done.

“I got the guy who did it… but…” Milo gasped for air.

“Where are you?” I demanded.

“I’m somewhere in the outskirts of this fucking hellhole,” he snapped. “I don’t know. After Shade, I killed the bastard… and dragged Shade away so they couldn’t get his body.”

“Son of a bitch,” I ran my free hand through my hair. “Can you make it back to the meeting point?”

“I don’t know where the fuck I am, Boss.”

“Shit. Okay. We’re going in very soon. Can you make your way to the perimeter of the compound?”

“Yeah,” Milo said. “I think so. I see the lights.”

The ground was really flat, but with scrub trees growing everywhere, Milo might not have been able to find the hideous mansion if he was deep enough in one of the clusters of dense foliage.

“Good. Go to the perimeter. I’ll call you when we go in.”

“Okay, Boss. On my way.”

I hung up and rubbed my forehead. Shade. Jesus Christ.

“What happened?” Brick asked, concern written into his features.

“Shade is dead.”

Brick stood still, allowing me a minute to grieve my friend. I wasn’t stupid though. Brick was going to gain a hell of a lot if we pulled this off, and he was in no way a sympathetic man. He was a drug lord, a cartel boss, a criminal, just like me. This was business to him. A mere transaction. He didn’t stand to lose everything he cared about.

“Fuck this,” I growled. “We’ve waited long enough.” I glance over at Miri’s friend, still unconscious on the ground. Done with the bullshit, I bent over and pulled out my KA-BAR. “I’m going in.”

“You are very tough, no?” El Cuchillo laughed and twirled the bloody knife in his hand.

I panted, my naked chest heaving up and down as I struggled to keep quiet. I might scream. I might cry. I might shout until my voice disappeared, but I would not give this prick the satisfaction of begging him to stop.

“You ever wonder why you didn’t get any drugs like your friend? Hmmm” I didn’t know if he expected me to answer the question, so I remained silent. “Do you know what
adjuste de cuentas
means,
puta
?” Apparently he wanted an answer, because the knife point pressed against the cartilage beneath the thin skin of my throat.

“N-no,” I whispered, holding my breath to prevent the blade from sliding into my windpipe. Drowning to death on my own blood didn’t sound like a very good way to die.

But the torture would end.

As much as I wanted the pain to stop, I held out hope. Cat got away, I heard Raoul tell El Cuchillo earlier. I might not know a lot of Spanish, but the tantrum the little prick threw said more than words.

“Ahhh let me give you
una educación
.”

He circled the table, moving around my head to the other side, the point of the knife never leaving its spot on my throat. The pressure was just enough that I didn’t dare swallow. I felt something warm and wet drip down the side of my neck and knew he’d pierced the skin. My body was covered in similar cuts. There wasn’t a single part of me that didn’t burn like I was dipped in kerosene and lit on fire. I couldn’t even distinguish the bullet graze on my calf from the other injuries.

“
Adjuste de cuentas
. It means to settle a score. To get revenge.” He stopped and removed the knife. I swallowed gratefully and gulped down air while I could. The drug lord bent over the table, his dark, hollow eyes scanning my ruined skin. He moved so quickly I didn’t see the flick of the blade until I felt the flesh on my hip split open. I whimpered and bit my tongue, again, to muffle my screams. “Your Boss, your lover,” Cuchillo hissed, “cost me a lot of money. He was stupid to turn down my offer to go into business together. Now he will pay.” He stood straight and pointed at me with the knife. “I will take my payment from you. If I gave you heroin, you wouldn’t feel my knife,
puta barata
.” He made a face and spit on the ground. “It’s why I won’t fuck you. You are dirty, Boss’s cheap whore.”

“Fuck you. And I should thank you for not fucking me with your tiny, useless prick,” I rasped. “Just kill me, asshole. I don’t give a shit about your revenge.”

El Cuchillo froze and the two dark pits beneath shadowed brows made me shiver. “You little cunt. Tiny prick? I should fuck you with my knife.” His lip curled and he moved closer, raising the blade above me. I closed my eyes and steeled myself for the blow that would hopefully end my life.

I’m sorry, Jag
.

A phone rang and my eyes flew open. Clearly irritated at the interruption, my torturer stepped away from the table to pull the device from his pocket. He no sooner put it to his ear than his mouth dropped open in shock. Before he could speak to whoever was on the other side, the door burst open with a loud crash.

“El Cuchillo!
Hay una problema
!” From the very edge of my peripheral vision, I saw Raoul run into the room, his face red and his eyes wild. He ran up to Cuchillo and they bantered in rapid Spanish. Phone forgotten, their voices rose until they were shouting at each other. Unable to keep up, I closed my eyes again and tried to ignore the searing pain that burned every inch of my body.

From far away, there was shouting, in both Spanish and English. Gunfire broke out, some shots so close my ears rang. Close by, I heard the dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground and the slaps of fists on flesh. A gurgled, choked cry came from the hall and I couldn’t stop the tears that welled up from rolling down my face. It sounded as if the world was ending around me while I remained helpless.

Naked, bound, and sliced up from head to toe—that was how I was going to die. From the sounds of it, whoever found me was certainly as bad as Cuchillo.

“Where is she? Goddammit!”

Because my ears were still ringing from the gunshots, the words sounded as if they were being spoken underwater, yet I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Jag.” The effort from speaking made me cough violently, my vocal cords so swollen I was unable to manage more than a whisper. “Jag.”

“Miri?” He was close. Oh my God. Either I was dead and in heaven or I was about to be saved.

The tears flowed harder.

“That motherfucking bastard!”

I looked up through blurry, tear-filled eyes. “Jag?” My voice was no more than a rough whisper.

“Baby, it’s okay.” Warm hands ran over my forehead and brushed away the moisture on my cheeks only to be replaced by more. “I’m here. I’m so sorry, Miri.”

“I-I…”

He bent over to murmur in my ear, comforting hands never leaving my face. “Shhhhh, don’t talk, doll. I’ve got you.” Jag straightened up, but his warm touch remained. “Someone bring me a goddamn blanket or sheet or something!”

I must have faded in and out of consciousness, because I woke to find myself free from the table, wrapped in a shirt that smelled like Jag—like
home
. Something heavier was thrown over me and next thing I knew, I was in Jag’s arms, pressed against his chest. I snuggled in close, reveling in the rapid beat of his heart against my cheek. Despite wanting to know what was going on, I was drained. The low vibrations that rumbled when Jag spoke lulled me right to sleep.

J
ag

E
xhaustion weighed down on me
. Like Atlas, it felt as if the entire world was balanced on my shoulders. I struggled to keep my body going when lack of sleep and stress had depleted my energy and I was on the verge of collapsing. Miri was the only thing that kept me pushing through the fatigue. Weak, dehydrated, and horrifically abused, my beautiful doll was broken, and I wouldn’t rest until I made her whole again.

A quick rap on the door of the master bedroom, and an older man with wise brown eyes and confidence radiating from his stocky figure entered without waiting for my consent. My body tensed, ready to fight. Then I recognized the doctor I kept on retainer for emergencies that couldn’t be brought to the authorities’ attention and relaxed. The doc checked Miri last night after I called him from the car as I raced back to my house, scared shitless that my doll might not make it.

The doctor gave me a stiff nod before moving to Miri’s bedside. I leapt from the chair I had pulled up next to the bed. I needed to stay close to my girl all night, but was too afraid of hurting her to climb onto the mattress and hold her like I wanted to.

“Doc.” I acknowledged the older man as he unpacked items from his messenger bag with the efficiency of someone who had done this many times.

“Good morning, Boss. How did she do last night?” He fiddled with Miri’s IV drip, his smooth, practiced movements never faltering while he peppered me with questions about Miri’s condition.