Page 8 of Depths of Destruction
I scan the next layer of Santiago's camp and motion for my guys to follow. Unlike some of the other team leaders I know, I go first before I send my men toward the enemy. While we have the most expensive technology money can buy and the highest level of competent intel, if there are any surprises, I don't want to send my men blindly into battle. Surprises kill or injure people, and if anyone is going to get hurt, it's going to be me over my brothers.
More shots are fired, another nine of Gómez's men go down.
Nineteen bastards left.
We get to the inner part of the camp. I hold my men back to assess the scene.
Santiago sits at the campfire, smoking a cigar and drinking what I assume is alcohol. I'm tempted to shoot him, but if I pull the trigger, the other men will all start to fire, and we can't have anything go wrong. Nine men surround Santiago. Four drink with him, but the others stand guard.
Not yet. Be smart.
I know enough about Santiago Gómez and the terror he evokes in his people and those in other countries. Torture is a game for him. He has no limit to what he will do to anyone he sees as an enemy. He's the devil himself. I'm more than happy to have a bullet reserved for him.
Plus, he took her.
I don't know Naomi, but something about her makes me hate him more.
He better not have touched her.
Boiling blood, adrenaline, and abhorrence swirl in my veins as I motion for my team to continue on.
Another five men go down.
Fourteen thugs left.
We get to the spot where the hole is and take out the kid who looks as though he hasn't even hit puberty yet—the laughter of Santiago and his top men, who are around the fire, rings in the air.
Thirteen.
I give them two minutes before they realize half their men are gone.
The ladder goes into the pit. One of my men takes out another three of Santiago's crew.
Ten.
I crawl down the hole, whispering to the women to move. One by one, they creep up the ladder. My men will take them individually away from here. Fleeing in a group is more dangerous.
Naomi is on the ground. Her sister Emilia is in her lap, and Emilia's blouse is ripped open.
Fucking bastards.
What did they do to her?
Emilia is shaking and softly sobbing.
I kneel down. "Naomi, Emilia. There isn't a lot of time. We need to go now. Come on." I reach my hand out, and Emilia cowers into Naomi, as if she is a wounded animal.
I catch Naomi's eye. "We need to go now, or we'll lose our chance."
"Who are you?" she asks in perfect English but with a sexy accent. It has a thicker hint of Latin in it than her hostage video had.
"I'll tell you later. Let's go."
Her eyes bounce from Emilia to me, as if she doesn't know what to do.
I put my hand on her cheek. "Now. And we have to be quiet."
She seems to understand, and sternly says, "Emilia, no more crying. You need to stop. Let's go."
