Page 11 of Thaddeus

“Christ,” the driver growled. “Someone better explain who the fuck the girl is and why she’s in this car.”

“Garcia’s woman,” Thaddeus answered.

“I’m—”

“Shut it, Emerson.”

Well, with a little help from Thad’s dickish command, I seemed to have found my voice.

“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up, Thaddeus. I don’t know what the fuck is going on but I do know you and your friends just screwed me over. So you mind telling me where you’re taking me?”

“We screwed you over? Are you fucking kidding me with that bullshit?”

“Never mind. I don’t want an explanation,” the driver weirdly said. “But I am asking for a goddamned raise. Totally get Z’s perpetual bad mood. Swear to all things holy, this woman fucks up my op, it’s your ass, Bench. You snatched her, she’s your responsibility.”

I had no idea what the driver was talking about, who or what a Z was, or why he thought I was Thad’s responsibility.

And I didn’t care.

The fear I’d felt had morphed into anger.

I’d spent eight months working Jefferson Baldwin. Eight damn months and I had nothing to show for it.

Not a single damn thing.

“You can let me out here.”

No one said a word. No one even acknowledged I’d spoken.

Shit.

Thad

Declan pulled into the driveway of the secluded bungalow we would be staying at and came to a stop.

The fifteen minutes we’d traveled in silence had done nothing to calm me. I had a thousand questions—none of which I wanted the answers to. Answers would mean I’d have to talk to Emerson and that was something I wasn’t sure I’d survive.

On the plane ride down to Venezuela we’d strategized five different mission scenarios. From there we’d culled it down to one plan of action with two backups. The plan was simple. We’d break up into two teams. Declan, Kyle, and Brooks would infiltrate the warehouse and find Leon Brown. Garrett had an informant who had confirmed Brown was in the building. The man had also roughly sketched the floorplan on a cocktail napkin and sent it to Garrett.

It wasn’t the best intel we’d ever had, but it wasn’t the worst. Brown was in an office on the second floor. The informant didn’t know which one, as there were three, but the team had a general idea and that was good enough.

As soon as we’d gotten to the location, Max and I had peeled off and found a sniper’s perch. We’d cover the team as they went in, then wait for Jefferson Garcia and take him out.

Everything had been going to plan until Emerson stepped out of the black town car. Then the operation had gone to shit. The very second recognition dawned, my breath caught in my throat and my heart rate had kicked up.

Completely and totally FUBAR.

Through my scope I’d watched her teeter on her high heels before she’d regained her balance. Shiny blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and I couldn’t stop myself from remembering how soft it had been when I’d run my fingers through it.

Declan’s voice had crackled in my ear that Brown was in the wind and for us to take our shot now. Max confirmed he was on target but I hesitated. Garcia had pulled Emerson in front of him using her as a human shield.

I had a clear sight picture, one that would pierce Emerson’s heart before it travelled through her and slammed into Jefferson Garcia. Her tiny body was no match for my three-oh-eight round. It would’ve torn through her flesh like butter and killed them both. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d had two kills with one shot.

But I couldn’t do it.

I adjusted my aim for a head shot and pulled the trigger. Garcia had dropped, taking Emerson with him. They both hit the dirt and Max’s target had fallen on top of Emerson, banging his skull against hers.

I should’ve left her there, but as I continued to watch her through my scope and I saw the fear and panic on her face—I couldn’t do it.