Knox’s team arrives a few hours later, and Rosalie’s whole foyer is a sweep of preparations. Roman is trying to track down any last known contacts that Waylon may have had, while Kairo makes a few phone calls to a list of suspects thought to have had contact with the trafficking ring leader, Holden Poole. I’m left to catch our connections up on the headway we’ve made since we last spoke.
“Maddox!” Callum, the battle-scarred and outspoken member, greets me. He’s massive, all corded muscles and arms covered in black and white ink. He smiles crookedly, matching the off-center nose he broke multiple times during our service. He’s always been easy-going with an infectious personality that makes one forget the occasional darkness that seeps into his usually bright eyes.
He embraces me tightly, slapping a hand over my back as he jostles me. “It’s great to see you again. Wish it was under better circumstances…”
I nod, my eyes straying to the burly leader, Knox. He’s a quiet shield, with wide shoulders and built like a wall. A faint scar trails near his sharp jaw, more of a medal than a blemish. He carries the air of someone hardened by the service and a serious demeanor that makes Roman’s stoic nature seem like child’s play. He’s all confidence and cynicism. “Maddox,” he greets roughly with a nod.
The last member of their crew is the one I find the most in common with. Cain is a quiet shadow—tall with eyes that appear haunted by his past. His buzz cut shows off his angular features and the dog tags that hang loosely around his neck.He’s far more aloof than I am, but the most deadly with his sniper track record during our service. He tilts his chin in a cordial gesture that seems tight.
“Let’s get to work,” I declare before leading them into the living room.
“I should let you know, we have backup coming,” Knox says as his eyes rake over the lavish home. “A few guys who were in our platoon will be joining us soon.”
Callum claps his hands, his jovial mood a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere. “It’ll be great to have the crew back together.”
Knox slaps a hand over his friend’s shoulder, giving him a hard stare. “A time and place, Cal.”
“Right! Sorry,” he smiles sheepishly.
Roman sweeps over, his laptop propped open in the crook of his elbow. “I’ve got a location. When will the others be here? We’re burning daylight.”
Kairo joins us, looking rattled as he scrubs a hand over his bloodshot eyes. Truthfully, we’re all running on fumes. This has shaken us to our bones, and it’s the first time in a long time that we’ve been at each other’s throats. We all have Rosalie’s best interest at heart, but our attention is divided. Kairo wanted to storm right away, tearing up the highway in search of our girl. Roman wanted to take a quiet approach, gather whoever we could for a full bust.
Me?
I wanted to burn the fucking forest to the ground. I wanted to headhunt Waylon for sport and make him suffer for all of his past transgressions against Rosalie.
Roman has had reservations about killing our girl’s father. Now? He has no such compunction. The gloves are off, and we’re spilling the blood of everyone involved. Our whole operation had transformed into a trafficking ring bust, and we fully plan to safely extract everyone who’s suffered in this. The additional veterans currently on their way to California are necessary for what we have planned.
Knox checks his phone, scowling at the device. “They’re thirty minutes out. Keep an eye on the location you pinpointed while we configure a plan.”
Knox and Roman work together, their heads bent as they meticulously plan reconnaissance. Kairo and I wait for the others to arrive, nerves electrifying under my skin. It fuels the rage burning deep within me, and my hands twitch at the idea of sinking my claws into Waylon’s fucking throat.
What’s happening?
Is she scared?
Has she called out for us?
What if they’ve hurt her?
I rub a shaky hand over my mouth as I try to remain present. Spiraling won’t do us any good. No matter how fucking insane I feel without Rosalie by my side.
“I’m losing my god damned mind,” Kairo mumbles as he paces. He places his hands on his sides before looking up at the arching ceiling. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“We’re going to find her,” I reassure him, but my voice wavers. I only get this way when I know Roman is hanging on by a thread. It’s in the curling of his shoulders and the quiet desperation in his wild eyes. He’s just as scared as we are, and it does nothing to soothe my splintering confidence.
Kairo chuckles without humor, sucking his teeth. “Oh, we are. Then we’re going to fucking kill Waylon Beckett. If a single hair is out of place on Rosalie’s pretty head, I’m torturing him until he begs for death.”
My friend is hot-tempered and quick to rile, but I agree with every word. Waylon Beckett is going to wish he were dead after we’re finished with him. Every sick, vile human involved in this will too.
We’re death incarnate, and their fates are in our hands now.
Chapter Forty-Six
Rosalie
Arriving at the ‘safe house’ is a surreal experience. My ribs are throbbing as I lie slumped in the back of the van. I only register we’ve stopped when I’m thrown forward, and the tires slide on what sounds like gravel. I hear feet crunching across the rocks before the back door is thrown open.
