Perfect Ruin (Unyielding #2)(99)

“Need to make our move now.” Vic started to gather up his gear as did Ernie. Tristan shut down the computer and packed it up.

“He knows we’re coming,” Deck said. “He gets those kids into the jungle, we’ll never find them. No time for sneak and peek. We go in locked and loaded.”

The kids were most important, but Moreno wouldn’t give a shit about losing sixteen kids when he could pick up twenty more. Our plan was to hit it hard and get the kids out while Tristan and Ernie had eyes on Moreno’s house and his movements. Because he’d make a move the second he heard his farm was being taken out.

“We don’t leave Colombia until he’s dead,” I stated.

The men nodded. We were all in agreement on this. Moreno was too dangerous alive knowing we were after him. Vault’s foundation was crumbling, but it hadn’t fallen and Moreno was a building block we had to crush fast before he found others to replace my mother and Dorsey.

I walked over to my knapsack, unzipped it, and then pulled out a wad of cash. Ten grand. It was more than this man probably saw in his lifetime. “Half now. Half when you show us where.” I tossed him the money and his mouth gaped then produced a smile, revealing his crooked teeth.

Tyler translated what I said. He’d show us the location of the building. Then he’d take his family to a disclosed location where Deck’s contact was waiting to get them out.

“Si. Si.”

Tyler spoke to him a little more in Spanish and then slapped him on the back again.

“Let’s roll,” Deck ordered.




I wasn’t used to working with other men on a job. Ernie was it and that had strictly been while searching for London, never anything to do with Vault missions.

Now I had Deck, Vic, Tyler, Ernie, and Tristan, who surprisingly knew how to handle a gun and a knife. But it made sense; he had spent years at the farm before Chess helped him escape.

The Moreno Cartel had a number of ‘jungle labs’ for his cocaine operation, but according to Tyler’s contact, Juan, there was a building owned by Moreno a mile from his extravagant property where he resided.

Juan took us to a rooftop of an abandoned apartment building and pointed to the west across an alley. It was obvious which one he was pointing to as it had barbwire above the eight-foot brick walls. It looked like a f*ckin’ prison.

“Fuck.” I strode to the edge of the building, eyes on ‘the farm.’ Hell happened in that place. Darkness for days. Food deprivation. The pit. Torture techniques used to make certain we didn’t break if we were caught during a mission. If we failed or weren’t good enough, we were dead.

And my own mother started it. Sacrificed her kids.

Tyler was speaking quickly in Spanish and Juan nodded frequently. I had no idea what they were saying but I caught the odd word.

Deck and his men didn’t f*ck around and, on the flight over in Deck’s plane, which was a cargo plane, we’d discussed all outcomes and who took lead on what. We’d had a blueprint of the building we knew belonged to Moreno, but couldn’t confirm it until Juan. Now, we had confirmation.

Tyler shook Juan’s hand. “Good man, Juan.”

I opened my bag and passed him another ten grand and Juan smiled then took off.

“Not sure which is worse, back in the dry heat of Afghanistan or this sticky, humid shit,” Tyler said as he ran his hand across his damp brow. “Thinking I like sand right about now.”

“You might think differently sitting in a pit in the dry heat,” Tristan muttered.

My eyes locked with his and there was a mutual respect gained between us. Tristan had spent years at the farm in Afghanistan. He knew what it was like and instead of burying what happened to him, he f*ckin’ uprooted it by spending his life making something of himself in order to get Chess and shut Vault down.

Had a hard time respecting any man, but I was beginning to respect every one of them. I was beginning to give a shit about them, too.

“We make our move now. Not dusk,” I ordered and brows lifted, all eyes shifting to me. “Moreno isn’t going to give a shit about the kids even if they’ve been conditioned for years. He cares about how he looks to others. We take his farm, it damages his pride and makes him look vulnerable. That’s what we play on.”

“Agreed,” Vic said. He crouched at the side of the building, his binoculars out as he surveyed the yard. “Give me an hour for habits.” He was looking for vulnerable spots, finding the habits of the watchdogs in the compound.

Ernie was talking to Tristan and they were putting on their headsets. Ernie was good. He knew what this op entailed and what would happen if it went south.

Deck offloaded his gear. “Okay,”—he glanced at his watch—“two hours.”

Tyler dropped his bag and took out his laptop and powered it on.

I stared at the building, and despite the heat, the cold wash of familiarity of this place hit me. “I can tell you where they will be the second the watchdogs radio trouble.” Tyler stopped typing. “I know every inch of that place.” I was sixteen when the farm moved here, so I spent two years here before I was assigned to Georgie.

There was silence for a few seconds. Then I turned, and Deck chin-lifted to me and started walking away from the group. I followed.

“You going to be solid?” he asked.