Page 101 of Bad Men

Not anger.

There was just a blissful understanding, a clear acknowledgement of what needed to be done, of what I was prepared to do.

The squat structure sat away from the little community built around it. A wide field and a chain link fence separated the population from the heavy smog of death that hung over the property, but it was still there, thick and unmistakable.

Davien pulled up the gravel driveway and killed the engine. Our gazes locked, a five second connection where we both understood each other to our very cores; we were going to get Mia back no matter the cost and slaughter every person responsible for taking her. No one was leaving that place alive.

I pulled my Glock from my holster and checked the magazine.

“If you see an opening, grab Mia and run,” I told him. “Don’t wait for me.”

Dav scoffed as he kicked open his door. “I will if you will.”

I started to protest, but he’d already rolled out. I followed quickly, catching up when we reached the front entrance.

There was no doubt in my mind we were about to walk into an ambush, or worse. I knew there was a fifty percent chance they would shoot us the minute we walked in, then they would kill Mia, if they hadn’t already. I knew there was a very high possibility that one of us wouldn’t make it out alive. I just had to make sure that it was me if that were the case.

The hinges squealed under the twist of the knob. The door swung inward, revealing a long row of empty pens still heaped with matted and foul straw. The stench burned my throat and brought tears to my eyes, but I kept them open, scanning the shaded corners for even the slightest movement.

“We’re back here!” came the familiar voice from the open door at the very back.

Dav and I exchanged glances, but neither of us paused to think when we hurried forward.

The space opened to rows of dangling pig carcasses. It seemed like the entire inventory had been slaughtered, prepped for packaging and forgotten. I didn’t know a damn thing about the process, but even I knew they had been there for too long. The bodies were left unrefrigerated, hanging in a sweltering room, tightly packed with others in varying degrees of decomposition. It was enough to almost make me reconsider bacon.

Almost.

“You’re getting closer,” taunted the voice.

My jaw clenched. My fingers tightened around my gun.

“You really fucked up,” I said, edging deeper into the room. “You took the wrong girl and pissed off the wrong men.”

There was a moment of silence where I thought maybe I’d sparked something, a realization that he was royally screwed once I got my hands on him. But the silence was broken by the slurred grunt of someone no longer aware of their surroundings.

I quickened my pace. Dav was there at my side, his own gun drawn for the second time since I forced him to have one a month ago.

“I have to say,” the voice declared, the sound reverberating off the steel walls. “She really surprised me. Most women, you smack them around a little and they sing like nightingales. But not Mia. We’ve been chatting for…” he paused, possibly checking his watch, “nearly two hours and not a peep from her. I know mercenaries with less restraint. You should be very proud of her.”

“Well, we’re here. Why don’t you come out and you can chat with us for a little while,” I said.

“No need for that. You’re almost here.”

I saw Mia first, the gun aimed at the back of her skull second, and finally the man wielding that gun third. They were in an open pickup bay at the very back of the packing plant, highlighted by the dull, yellow glow of the fluorescent bulbs overheads. Mia was strapped to her seat. Thin, plastic ties sawed into the shredded skin at her wrists, fastening her to the armrests, keeping her restrained. Her hands hung limp, the middle fingers twisted at abnormal angles

But it was the blood that made my strides falter. It was everywhere. Her green t-shirt was torn down the front, exposing the blood-soaked fabric of her bra and the six, clean slices running widthwise across her chest. Each one three inches long and oozing blood in thick rivulets down her stomach to stain her jeans. It dripped from the ends of her curls and ran in streaks down her face, her beautiful, bloody, swollen face.

“You son of a bitch!” Dav started forward, fingers balled into fists, every sinewy muscle vibrating with the same dark rage brewing up my belly.

Thiago Cortez cocked his gun and Dav immediately froze in place.

“Let’s not act rash,” he said. “At this distance, it’s very unlikely I’m going to miss.”

The man held nothing of his former self. His lavish suits were replaced by faded denim and a polo t-shirt in mustered yellow. His dark hair was still slicked back but lacked its usual glossy sheen. He’d also lost weight in the last two months since I’d seen him at Eduardo’s house, getting hauled off by Joseph at gunpoint; his bones jutted ever so slightly beneath his sallow skin, harsh contours that lifted his cheekbones under manic eyes. He was doing a good job of keeping it contained, but I recognized that look, that barely restrained desperation threatening to consume you. It was the terror of a man who knew his time was up and, like a caught animal in a cage, was prepared to do anything to get free. Its presence in the man holding Mia’s life in his unsteady hands warned me to tread with caution.

“Cortez, what are you doing?” I demanded, stopping once I was at Davien’s side, exactly seven steps from Mia.

“What do you think?” Cortez snapped. “I’m trying to get my life back, a life you fuckers stole from me.”

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