Defending Zara (Mountain Mercenaries #6)(3)

Zara nodded.

“Stay with Daniela as long as necessary,” Mags ordered. “Don’t come back here until we know it’s safe. While del Rio is snatching up younger and younger boys and girls, people who look as old as teens are still disappearing. Understand?”

“Yes,” Zara said succinctly. She didn’t talk much. Had discovered a long time ago that she learned a lot more by listening. And because she’d learned Spanish by ear, she felt self-conscious speaking it, despite being fluent.

“Report back when you can, and use your own judgment about returning the man to his friends,” Mags said. “Also . . . while we have no idea what kind of man this one is, try to remember that they’re not all bad. There are some noble and kind ones out there.”

Zara nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she believed the older woman. She’d seen the worst humanity had to offer. She’d seen men literally steal food out of the hands of babies, push older men to the ground as they crossed a street. And, of course, there was the rampant corruption in the police and military forces that were supposedly there to protect the citizens of Peru.

A niggling memory in the back of her mind tried to push forward. The memory of a man whose arms were the safest place she ever remembered being. A man who smelled like aftershave and soap, who could make her giggle, and who beamed with pride when he smiled down at her.

But the second those memories tried to creep in, Zara ruthlessly shut them out. That part of her life was gone. There was no use remembering it or wishing for something she could never get back.

“Go on now, and remember not to rush. If you do, you’ll draw attention to yourself. Just go slow, stop every now and then to pick up something off the ground. Act like nothing’s wrong and no one will look twice at you. And Zed?”

Zara looked up at Mags in expectation.

Lowering her voice, Mags said, “I’m proud of you.”

Zara’s chest felt tight. She could count on one hand the number of compliments she’d received in the last fifteen years. And coming from Mags, a woman she admired and looked up to, those words meant a lot.

“Thank you,” Zara said gruffly.

“You’re welcome,” Mags said, then took a step back and turned to Gabriella. “Make sure the coast is clear to go out the back.”

The other woman nodded and headed to the back of the shack to look out the other door. Apparently seeing none of the gang members lurking around, she pulled back the piece of metal blocking the exit and nodded.

Zara took a deep breath and pushed on the pedals of the bike. It was tough to get going, since she was towing more than two hundred pounds of human flesh behind her, but once she did, Zara kept her head down and her eyes up. She navigated the rough dirt paths of the barrio and didn’t seem to breathe until she left the slum behind and was on the concrete sidewalk outside the walls.

She wasn’t in the clear, though. She had to stay sharp. All it would take was one policeman getting a little too nosey, and both her life and the life of the man in the trailer behind her would be worth less than nothing.

Breathing slowly and trying not to do anything that would bring attention to herself, Zara slowly pedaled toward Daniela’s house. She hoped the man behind her was all right. That he wouldn’t wake up and freak out, exposing them both and probably signing her death warrant. In his condition, he likely would have trouble lifting the lid on the trailer, as it was secured with a small hook, but he could yell out. And if he really tried hard enough, he could probably break the hook and flip up the top.

She’d be hauled off to jail for kidnapping, and who knew what would happen to him.

With that thought in mind, Zara took the risk and pedaled just a little bit faster.





Chapter Two

Hunter “Meat” Snow moaned low in his throat. He couldn’t remember being in this much pain . . . ever. Oh, he’d had his share of moments as a Delta Force operative in the Army where he’d been tortured, but generally he hadn’t been beaten up by a dozen men at one time.

He remembered going to help Black along one of the streets in the barrio, but they’d both quickly been overtaken by a gang of men determined to punish them for some unknown slight.

The last thing Meat remembered was looking over at his friend and praying their teammates would find them sooner rather than later.

No, that wasn’t true. The very last thing he remembered was lying in the dirt and trying to breathe when a bunch of shadowy figures appeared above him. He’d tensed in preparation for another beating, but instead they’d grabbed hold of his arms and begun to drag him off. The pain of the movement had been enough to render him unconscious.

And now he was . . .

Where was he?

Meat tried to roll over onto his back, but realized he couldn’t. He was in some sort of container. He could feel movement. Every bump felt like a knife to his ribs, and his shoulder was on fire. His head was throbbing, and he couldn’t see. Had he been blinded?

Turning his head, Meat was relieved to glimpse a sliver of light coming from above him. So he wasn’t blind, thank God. But where was he, and what was happening to him?

He could hear car horns honking and people speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, but since he couldn’t understand the language, he had no idea what was being said. Meat realized that he wasn’t handcuffed or tied, and it seemed weird to take someone captive but not immobilize them—though his captor’s idiocy was to his benefit, so he wasn’t complaining.