Page 13 of Wick
"Good idea. I brought Luna with me. I didn't want to leave her alone, just in case; ya know? I think we'll stay too." Riggs and I are both quiet for a minute before he asks. "You good, brother?"
"Yeah. Just exhausted." I snub my cigarette out and stand. "I'm going to get some shut-eye. I'll catch ya in a few."
Riggs stands and claps me on the back. "Glad you're okay, brother. Take the morning off. I'll open the bar tomorrow."
"Thanks, Prez." I tip my head then stroll my tired ass out of there and upstairs to my room, where I strip out of my clothes before falling into bed. Not two seconds after my head hits the pillow, I'm out.
Chapter Six
Tequila
We sit with our backs against the wall facing the front of the old shack. With the door missing we have an unobstructed view of the edge of the mangrove separating us from where we landed hours ago.
"Radio working yet?" I ask Thor who has been tinkering with it since we took shelter.
"Negative. Something is scrambling our signal, and cell phone signals are for shit out here." Thor tosses the useless equipment into his gear pack.
"I'm not sure we should stay here much longer," Preacher says opening a bottle of water.
"The sun will rise soon. It's best if we move at night. The plan is to head east toward the Rio Grande." Cowboy reiterates his plan we discussed earlier. "For now, we wait."
A couple of hours later, I hear a noise off in the distance. "Ssh. Did you hear that?" Keeping low, I move across the floor, and peek out the open doorway. Several vehicles crest the hill, where a road cuts through the mangrove, and at least two jeeps and a truck full of men barrel toward us. With nowhere to run, we prepare ourselves for a fight. "They outnumber us." I ready my rifle as the vehicles flank all sides of the shack, and the men outside surround us.
"Surrender now, and you will not die. Not today anyway." A voice from outside, with a thick Spanish accent speaks.
I look to Cowboy, then to Thor and Preacher. We all know we don't have enough ammo to hold them all off. "Scott knows by now something is wrong. I was supposed to report in the moment we had eyes on the compound, and I didn't. Knowing Scott, the wheels have already been put into motion in order to get us out of here. It may take him some time, but he'll come for us." Cowboy sighs and makes a direct order. "We engage in gunfire, we will take some of them down, but we won't win." He makes eye contact with each of us, and we all give him a firm nod.
"We're coming out," Cowboy yells. "Unarmed." Reluctantly, the four of us drop our weapons to the dirt floor and step outside into the bright morning sun. With our arms above our heads and surrounded by masked men, we surrender. The only visible parts of their faces are eyes, noses and mouths. With no intent on playing nice, several of them rush forward, and rid us of our gear and any remaining weapons they find visible on our bodies, then force us to our knees.
"Who sent you?" someone asks from the right of me.
Turning my head, I make eye contact with a broad, bald man. Pain radiates across my cheek the moment another soldier steps forward striking me with the butt of his rifle.
"Don't fucking look at us, bitch. Keep your eyes on the ground," the masked man spews, as I fall back on my ass from the blow.
"Motherfucker." Cowboy lurches forward, hurtling toward the man who hit me but is stopped by two more men.
"Tie them up and blindfold them as well. We're taking them back to camp," the bald man says, and his men comply.
One by one, they make quick work of binding our hands behind our backs.
"What about this one?" someone asks, but I keep my eyes cast down to avoid another blow. "He appears to be wounded." I hear the click of a weapon, and my heart stops.
"They all stay alive…" There's a short pause before the voice of the bald man finishes, "for now. What we do with them will be up to our superior." Suddenly I feel a presence standing at my side, then hot breath against my ear. "And you pretty thing; if I have my way…I will own you." His voice sends a cold chill down my spine.
Chancing glances toward the rest of the team, I make eye contact with Cowboy, Preacher, and Thor. All of us knew the risks and knew, at some point, a situation like this could happen. At this moment, because it has never happened to me, I can't help being a little scared of what they have in store for us—for me.
Yanked to their feet, I watch the masked men slip woven sacks over each of my brother's heads before the world around me becomes shrouded as a bag is placed over my own head, blocking out most of my sight, and pulled tight around my neck. Roughly groped, I'm ordered to move.
Pulled on, I'm placed in what I believe is the back of one of the trucks, then forced down on my ass. Shortly after, one of the guys falls down beside me. No more than five minutes goes by before men are shouting, the vehicle's engine revs up and we lurch forward.
The heat of the day has increased a good ten degrees in the time we've been riding, which, by guessing, has been nearly an hour now. With the sack over my head, I've lost my bearings and have no idea of which direction we are going. After what feels like another hour, we come to an abrupt stop. My mouth is dry with thirst, and my face is drenched with sweat from the heat and humidity beneath this bag over my head. As we stand still, I try to focus in on two men speaking to one another. Their tones are low, and speaking Spanish, but I made out one name spoken. Arturo Cortez. My stomach falls with the mention of his name. We've been captured by the Cartel we've been sent in to take down.
Escorted out of the bed of the truck, they blindly lead us to another unknown location. Wherever we are is out in the open, unhidden by trees, because I can see a bit of the light from the sun filtering through my blindfold. The man whose hold tightens around my arm commands me to move faster, then shoves me forward. After walking a few yards, the palm of someone's hand plants itself between my shoulder blades giving me an unexpected push causing my body to surge forward. Tripping over something, I fall, landing hard on my left side.
The light that had once filtered through the sack obscuring my vision darkens as I hear a door slam shut, then chains against metal, letting me know we are locked inside somewhere.
Silence fills the space around me as I lay still on the dirt floor beneath me until I hear Cowboy whisper. "Tequila."
