Page 13 of Scorpion

Only this time she can barely get herself up. Her bad leg trembles beneath her weight as she hobbles out. My blood rises three degrees from the jeers and leers thrown her way. I just want to run over and help her the rest of the way, but I know well enough that it’s the worst possible thing I could do.

We hang back as the crowd readies for another round of bloodshed. Someone hands Sergei a pile of cash and I glare at him.

He shrugs, tucking his winnings into his jacket pocket. “The odds weren’t in her favor.”

I scoff, shaking my head as I head toward the exit. I put ten grand on her to win.

“Let’s bring my girl home.”

Chapter 4

ZALAK

Four Years Ago

“Make me a promise,” I whisper loud enough that TJ—Tito Jimenez—can hear without giving away our position.

The desert heat chars my skin, and the sand beneath my stomach threatens to turn the both of us into steak. What I wouldn’t give for an ice bath right now. And a decent meal. And a good bed.

The cement building stares back at me, taunting me with its empty windows. The nonexistent heat signature is like a gut punch to all the hours we’ve already spent scoping this place.

“Don’t worry. If you get stung by a scorpion again, I’ll name my sixthborn after you.” He chuckles from beside me.

Not this again.

I pull the finger at him without compromising my position and hold on the sniper rifle. “Someone would need to be willing to sleep with you first before agreeing to spawn your offspring.”

“I’ll have you know that the ladies find me extremely charming.” Fake offense drips from his tone.

“Your mom doesn’t count.”

“But my abuela does.”

I huff out a laugh. “As soon as we get back to base, take a fucking shower. If they can’t hear us, they’ll sure as shit smell you.”

“It’s called pheromones.”

Having a spotter is all fun and games until you’re in the desert heat doing surveillance. Out of everything this job puts us through, this type of work is the worst. My main distraction comes down to my need to wash my stench off me.

An hour of this is fun.

Three is relaxing.

Six gets boring.

Eight is taxing.

Twelve? I’d be willing to kill TJ just to get out of here.

Shaking my head, I scope the parameter again. Like always, there’s not a soul in sight at the abandoned compound. A warlord is allegedly residing here. Whoever gave us the info can eat shit if they intentionally fed us wrong intel.

Our instructions are to call it in if he’s spotted, then hold position until backup arrives so we can bring him in dead or alive. But there’s been absolutely zero fucking movement in five hours. The only live thing we’ve seen is a dog.

TJ and I think the intel is all shit. Until proven otherwise, the twelve hours we’ve been here will continue to stretch to sixteen until someone grants us the mercy of taking our place.

The winds are picking up, and the last thing I want is to be caught out in the desert with our dwindling supplies. And if there’s a sandstorm? I’ll personally escort us both to the gates of hell to get out of this shithole.

I radio in to the second location his wife allegedly lives at. “Anything?”

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