Chapter 1 – Tank
Tank pulled the balaclava over his face. It was made of thin fabric, but still felt too hot and made his skin run with sweat underneath, slowly poaching his flesh in its own juices.
He looked at the two silhouettes in the front of the van, then to Drake, who sat on the floor across from him in perfect silence, his legs crossed, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on knees. His collection of knives was still laid out between them, and from time to time, Drake would move his fingertips over the blades, still undecided about which ones he wanted to pick for tonight. He knew his weapons by heart, the same way Tank could guess which one of his firearms he was holding, based on weight and the feel of the grip alone.
The sparse glow of the headlights died, a sure signal they were getting close to their target. In the middle of Nowhere, New Mexico, one had to put effort into remaining undetected, especially so late at night.
“Are you sure this is the spot?” Tank asked Boar, who drove the van at a languid pace, as if they were on a road trip, not tracking their mark.
“I double-checked the coordinates. It has to be our guy.”
Pyro twisted in the other seat, his features barely visible in the dark, but the moonlight still caught the edges of his large teeth when he grinned. “There’s lights ahead. We’re almost there.”
About time too, because the anticipation was making Tank’s gums itch for action. It was in situations like these that he felt most like himself. The sense of common purpose brought back memories of his time in Iraq, even if his army days ultimately had been a disappointment. They were still what formed him into the man he was now.
Lawless, and loyal only to his men.
They weren’t here to bring justice or peace. This was about money.
Boar switched off the van. “We should go on foot from here, or he’ll hear the engine.”
That push helped Drake make his choice, and he picked up a long blade. Unlike the rest of them, Drake didn’t need to change for the trip, as he already wore black from head to toe. Equipment on, and he was ready to go. Drake smirked before pulling on his balaclava. Human traffickers were Drake’s favorite marks. Tank suspected Drake would have gladly put them down even without getting paid, but a man needed to eat.
Tank rose from the floor but had to bow his head in the back of the van. “Pyro, do your thing. Boar, you go from the front. Drake, we’ll get in from the back. Riggs has a small crew so he might not be alone.”
“There was talk of him meeting a woman out here. A secret mistress?” Boar said as he got out of the car. He could be a mean fucker, but with the bushy auburn beard and a wide smile, he was most unassuming of their crew. Useful when the job required one of them to distract the target.
Pyro gave a short laugh and put on his own mask. “Rape’s only business for him then? But he personally likes them willing? That’s what you’re saying?”
Drake kicked the van door open and got outside, his slender yet tall silhouette a human-shaped black hole on the background of dark shrubs. “Focus,” he said sharply, looking toward the squares of light ahead. They were only minutes away from the old farmhouse. The job should be easy and clean, since their employer didn’t want them to deliver Riggs anywhere. The bastard was to leave the flesh market forever. Best thing the sack of bones could hope for was Tank’s bullet instead of Drake’s knife.
“Braid,” Tank groaned at Pyro when he saw him pass. What was the point of wearing a mask if there was blue hair peeking out at the back? They’d had so many conversations about this, but no, Pyro refused to cut the braid off. He had to be special. Tank had once suggested Pyro was compensating for his height with the extravagance, but one broken nose later, Tank never mentioned it again.
“Yes, Mom.” Pyro waved at Tank dismissively, but tucked the hair under his collar and pulled on the hood. He slapped Boar’s ass, and was off with a bag of explosives.
The darkness slowed them down but also kept them hidden. Riggs wouldn’t know what hit him.
Even at night, the white siding of the farmhouse was in stark contrast to the bare hills behind it and the lone tree that had grown so tall its naked branches would still provide enough shade during the day.
Two cars were parked in front of the porch. One—Riggs’s van. The other—an elegant SUV, which had to belong to the lady he’d been seen with. Tank frowned. The longer he watched the building the less it looked like an appropriate place for a sensual date. White paint was peeling off the facade, and one of the windows hung on a single hinge. Maybe the lady was a thrill seeker? Not that it was any of Tank’s business.