Page 271 of His To Erase
“Three.”
It’s going to have to be enough.
The plane touches down with a slow, hungry screech. The sound feels like a blade dragging across my spine.
I don’t relax. Every second I’m on the ground is one more she’s in his hands. One more second she might be hurt. Stripped. Branded. Married off like some pawn. I missed it because I let my dick get ahead of the mission.
I fucked up. I can’t stop thinking about what it’s going to cost me if I’m not fast enough.
The hangar doors creak open and the Puerto Rican heat slams into me. The sun’s almost down, and trees swallow the sky.
And there—at the edge of the landing strip—is a beat-up black SUV. Three men lean against it like they’ve been here since the island was born.
They straighten when I approach. The one in front steps forward, holding out a hand.
“Cruz.” he introduces himself. He’s a big guy. Broad shoulders, tan skin, forearms thick with muscle. He’s got three scars across his knuckle. The kind you only get in close-quarters work. “You’re the guy who’s gonna burn this place down for a girl, yeah?”
I don’t take his hand at first. “She’s not a girl,” I say evenly. “She’s mine.”
He nods once, like that tells him everything he needs to know.
After a beat, I reach out to shake his hand. “Appreciate the help,” I add. “Let’s get this done.”
“Good enough for me.” He jerks his chin toward the truck. “We’ll brief inside.”
The vehicle smells like oil and cigarettes. The interior’s stripped down, and is now filled with weapons, folded maps, old intel scrawled in sharpie across crinkled paper. If this were any other time, I would admire it.
The driver—Rico—is quiet. The other guy, lean build, older, with eyes like a hawk’s name is Silva. The sniper.
Cruz turns in his seat. “Estate’s up in Bayamón. Heavy canopy. Gated. Long drive. We scoped it this morning—the entry’s clear for now, but they’ve got patrols. Cameras. Satellite coverage shows four exits, but we can’t confirm what’s active on the interior.”
“Guards?”
“Ten, minimum, surround the perimeter. And if this Frank guy has half the pull your guy said—he’s got people inside, too.”
I nod, already expecting that.
“I say we wait. Hit it in the morning at shift change, we get two blind spots—front and rear. The easiest window is going to be at 5:45 AM. Sun’s just up, guard swap happens at the gate, and staff rolls in around six.”
He glances back at me like he just gave me a gift.
I meet his stare, dead calm. “No.”
Rico glances up. “What?”
“I’m not waiting.”
Cruz frowns. “We move now, we hit hard resistance. No blind spots. We don’t know who’s inside.”
“I don’t care.”
I lean in closer, trying to keep my shit together. “I don’t care if there’s fifty men with guns and a fucking tank parked in the garden. She’s in there. And I’m not leaving her for another goddamn hour.”
My voice isn’t raised, but it lands like a threat. Cruz opens his mouth like he’s about to push back, then sees my face and thinks better of it. I’m not bluffing.
The only fucking thing I can think about right now is all noise—images of her skin banged up, all the fucked up shit Frank might be making her do.Fuck.
Silva nods once. “Then we move now. We do a shadow sweep, we’ll find the quietest entry point. Breach and burn.”
