Page 43 of Hemmed

“Get her off!” yelled Richard to Ivan.

He carried the woman off the boat and down the dock toward the waiting car. As Ace and Code stepped onto the dock, the man handed them an envelope with ten grand inside.

“Do you need any help with the boat?” asked Ace innocently.

“No. The captain’s got this. Thanks for your help on the island.”

They both nodded, watching as the limousine pulled away with the neurotic woman and her three bodyguards. Ace looked at Code and tapped his comms device.

“You’re clear.”

“About fucking time,” growled Miller.

“You’re welcome, captain grouchy,” smirked Code.

“Shut up. I’m too old for this shit.”

Miller, Trak, Angel, Gibbie, Rory, Trevor, Whiskey, and Zulu crept onto the island donned in their dive gear. They were black from head to toe. Faces painted, hands covered, and the itch in their fingers ready to kill.

Although Yulia employed nearly forty men on the island, it seemed that they were either lazy or complacent. Or both. They were lounging around outside, enjoying a fire by the farmhouse. In the distance, you could see the mansion and others just standing out front, smoking and talking.

“Maybe when the cat’s away, the mice play,” said Whiskey.

“Maybe,” nodded Trak. “Rory, Zulu, and Miller with me. The rest of you, get into that house and get those kids. Get them off the island. Don’t worry about us.”

“How will you get off?” asked Gibbie.

“There’s a small fishing boat docked down on the beach at a little hotel. We’ll get to that and work our way around the island.”

“You’re the boss,” smirked Trevor.

“Just get the kids,” said Trak.

Working their way inward from the perimeter, the four men took the guards down two at a time. Whether they were trained or not, they were loaded with weapons, and had they been faster, they could have easily killed the four men.

But they weren’t faster. Not even close. With the silence of Trak and Zulu, the skill and power of Rory and Miller, they didn’t have a chance. Not a chance in hell. When Trak killed the first man, the others realized his intent. There would be no one left to sound an alarm.

Angel, Gibbie, Trevor, and Whiskey got closer and closer to the house as the guards were easily brought down. Trevor held up the heat scanner and moved it slowly over the house. Holding up two fingers, he indicated that there were two guards inside the home.

With a quick nod, Whiskey and Angel breached the front door. Whiskey whipped the knife across the room, catching the man in the throat.

“Eddie? Is that you?” called the second man from the back room. “Brother, I got this sweet little one ready for us.”

Angel practically blew smoke from his ears, Gibbie and Trevor right behind him. In the small bedroom off the hallway, a young girl of about fifteen was lying on a dirty bed. Her nightgown hiked up around her thighs.

“Fucker, you’re gonna die,” said Trevor, pointing his weapon at the man.

He tried to reach for his own weapon, and Gibbie put a bullet through his hand. When he tried to reach for the walkie-talkie, Angel put a bullet in his other hand.

“You’re gonna fucking die!” he snapped at the three men.

“Get the girl out of here,” said Trevor. “I have something to do.”

Angel carried the girl out of the room while Gibbie helped get to the other children, leading kids down from the second floor. Some were crying. Some were so spaced out on drugs they couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

“There are probably ten more up there, Gibbie.” When Zulu, Trak, Rory, and Miller came in the back door, what they saw before them made them see red.

“Where are the men that did this?” asked Trak.

---