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Lucas and Zaid have been working their asses off gathering intel, and the team they’re working with is good. So I’m not surprised when we roll up to the drop point and see that they were right.
A black car with tinted windows is parked near the side of a building that has several broken windows and a crumbling roof, nearly invisible in the inky night. I’m not sure if it’s the buyers’ vehicle or the Rooks’, but one thing’s for damn sure—that car doesn’t belong to anyone who lives in this neighborhood.
“Pull into that alley up there,” I tell Ciro, sliding my gun out of my shoulder holster as I keep my gaze trained out the front window of the car. “And tell the others to hang back,” I add to Lucas in the back seat.
We have two other teams in two other vehicles, all converging on this point. We could do a drive by and cap these motherfuckers the same way they took out my father. But I’d rather take a subtle approach and see if we can catch them dropping any information before they realize they’re being watched.
Ciro eases into the alley, and we all get out silently, closing our doors gently before moving toward the mouth of the alley. Based on where the black car is parked, I’m guessing they’ll be doing the handoff in another alley about a block down. It’s farthest away from any working streetlamps, so it giv
es them the most cover.
Sticking to the shadows along the sides of the buildings, we make our way slowly down the block. As we near the black car, I jerk my chin, and Ciro and I split up, moving quickly toward the dark vehicle. I cover him as he yanks open the driver’s side door, dragging the man out of the seat and jamming his gun under the guy’s chin.
But before we can do anything else, an engine revs and bright headlights flick on, their beams pointed right toward us. I’m momentarily blinded by the light, but that doesn’t stop me from firing at the new vehicle as it barrels toward us.
Answering shots ring out, and Zaid and Lucas both shout curses.
The vehicle—a van, I realize—slams into the front of the car we hauled the guy out of. Ciro holds the man up, using him as a fucking human shield as bullets fly from the van toward us. The guy catches two in the back, his body jerking and blood spilling from his mouth before Ciro drops him and dives for cover.
Tires screech and more engines roar as our two backup teams haul ass into position.
So much for keeping this fucking subtle.
In and out, that’s what the job was supposed to be. But I should have known better, especially with how things are going these days—they’re never easy. Always messy.
Fortunately, my teams are good. One of my men takes out the driver of the van, and the man in the van’s passenger seat hurls himself from the dark vehicle, sprinting down the street and ducking into an alley. As bullets fly behind me, I take off after him, unwilling to let even one of these fuckers go. We need to question them, and failing that, we need to kill them.
A bullet whizzes past my head as I turn into the alley, and I skid on the rough pavement, ducking back around the corner for cover. There’s a scuffling noise, and as I peer around the rough bricks that make up the corner of the building, he fires again. I catch the flash of the weapon in the dim light and smile grimly to myself.
Gotcha, motherfucker.
I count to three, drawing a mental map of the entire alley in my mind, remembering every detail of it that I can. Then I step around the corner and fire.
The bullet catches him between the eyes, and he jerks backward, collapsing like a sack of bricks.
A single shot rings out in the night air behind me, and then everything grows quiet. “Ciro?” I call.
“All good,” he calls back. “Five men, all down.”
“Make it six,” I throw over my shoulder, glancing back at the man in the alley. His prone form is hardly more than a shadowy lump in the darkness. “Secure the area. See if you can find the merchandise.”
I’m fairly certain we intercepted the deal before it could be completed. If I’m right, the van and the car belonged to two different groups—the buyers and the Rooks.
Striding into the alley, I make a beeline for the man’s downed form. I can’t interrogate him, but I can at least search his corpse. Just before I reach him though, a small noise makes me stop. It’s weak and thin, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. For a second, I think the guy might still be alive, but there’s no fucking way with a bullet in his brain. Besides, that’s not the noise of a dying man.
It sounds feminine. Scared.
With my finger resting lightly on the trigger of my gun, I take several steps deeper into the alley, passing by the man’s limp body.
When I finally see what made the noise, I mutter a curse.
Behind the crates that are piled into a rough stack near the back of the alley sit three women, bound and gagged, barely dressed against the chill of the Chicago night. It doesn’t take me long to put two and two together and realize what kind of goddamn deal we intercepted tonight.
Fuck.
So this is why Grace was asking about it—human fucking trafficking.
There’s no doubt in my mind that’s what the Rook men and their buyers were here for, that these three women were an essential piece of the deal that was going on.
