Page 1 of Scarred Souls

1

VAUGHN

Outskirts of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico

The target property lay half a klick away across a dusty plain. There were no lights on inside the derelict cinder-block house. The only illumination came from the waxing moon, which gave us a crystal clear view of the target when amplified by night-vision goggles. A few wrecked cars littered one side of the ramshackle property, and out back, a dilapidated workshop looked ready to crumble with a stiff breeze.

We’d passed no other houses on our two-hour hike through scrub and rocky terrain. Arriving on foot gave us the element of surprise. The Black Hawk and several Humvees remained at our infil location and were ready to be called in at a moment’s notice.

The suspected stash house might look abandoned with its boarded-up windows, but our intel suggested otherwise. And since the cartel was a bunch of slippery motherfuckers, we needed to be prepared for anything.

But this wasn’t our first rodeo. Far from it.

I hit the button on my radio. “TOC, any movement?”

Sage, who was our drone pilot and intelligence specialist for this op, responded right away. “Thermal camera is picking up a coyote and her pups on the other side of the ridge. Besides that, you guys are the only warm bodies around.”

Go time.

Our team of a dozen mercenaries moved into position. Six approached the house from the front and six from the rear.

I’d taken point on this op because I’d discovered the stash house through my sources and brought it to our team leader, Brandon. Ever since the PCC—the Pacific Coast Cartel—had become Mexico’s dominant narco organization, locations like this one were getting harder to find. Not because the trafficking of humans, drugs, and weapons wasn’t happening. The cartel was just getting craftier at hiding it since we’d started our raids.

We approached on steady feet and with rifles at the ready. But the house was quiet. Too quiet.

We had no idea of the internal layout or what we’d encounter inside. Despite the number of times we’d carried out ops exactly like this back in our military days, there was always an element of risk when entering a building. IEDs, hostages, hidden shooters. There were any number of traps we might face, but we were as prepared as we could be.

“Execute, execute,” I said into the radio.

My blood brother, Owen, used bolt cutters to remove a rusty padlock from the front door, and after one solid kick, we had access.

Moving with seamless precision, we swept into the house and divided into pairs. Owen came with me. Behind us were Kane and his twin brother, Wyatt, and after them, Brandon and Shep. The other team of six held position, monitoring the back door in case any narco rodents scattered upon our entry.

Owen and I entered the first room on the left—a kitchen. Empty. Dust motes and an unidentifiable rancid stench filled the air. The dented refrigerator door hung open. Dirty dishes covered the countertops, and a torn bag of trash sat in a corner.

“Clear,” I yelled.

Owen and I filed into the next room. A bedroom. Nothing but a yellow-stained mattress and filthy clothes strewn across the floorboards.

“Clear,” I called out again.

The rest of the team echoed the same call as they went from room to room.

Less than thirty seconds after entering, we’d gone through the entire house and had our answer. The cartel had split with their goods. Either that or my intel was bogus.

I flipped up my night-vision goggles and rubbed grit from my eyes.

Dammit. The last four ops like this, we’d recovered over a dozen women each time. This felt like a failure. At the very least, a missed opportunity. If the cartel had been using this place as a holding house for trafficking victims, they were long gone.

I turned to leave the room, and the floorboards creaked as they flexed. I paused, backed up, and walked over the spot beside the mattress again. The boards dipped when I put my weight on them.

“What is it?” Owen asked.

“Not sure. Help me move this mattress.”

We hauled it across the room and leaned it against the wall. I flicked on my flashlight and inspected the floor. Nothing obvious, but when I crouched to feel around, something shiny caught my eye. Fresh nails in the floorboards.

I hit the button on the radio. “Someone bring a crowbar to the bedroom at the front of the house.”

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