Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
I typed a quick message to the group.
Does anyone know if EJ has receeved my update? CF
I had to know, ’cause what I didn’t know was how long I’d be able to sit here with a phone.
I caught movement in the front and shifted my gaze to the guard in the passenger’s seat. He fiddled with the stereo until a woman’s voice poured out from the speakers. A rap artist too. About ten seconds in, I’d heard the name Blanco twice, so I could only presume it was a propaganda song.
I wanted to look at Adrien. His old partner had gone undercover as one of those propaganda singers.
Instead, the phone captured my attention again when a message popped up without a signature, indicating it was Squeezy.
I’m sure he’s seen it, but they left Europe in a rush, so it’s possible he can’t reply until he’s landed. DQ, GQ, RQ, JO, and R have taken over the Carillo op for the time being.
Whoa, what the fuck? I typed as quickly as my fingers allowed, and I didn’t care about typos. If Darius, Gray, Ryan, Javier, and Ramirez were working on apprehending Carillo, did that mean Elliott and Joel had received intel about Blake’s whereabouts? Why else would they leave Europe?
Where are EJ and JH landing? And who are CF1 and GF? CF
Landing or lannding—no, fuck that. It had to be landing.
Squeezy texted a hella lot faster than I did.
Everyone’s going to Colombia, CF. Has nobody reached out to you at all?
I swallowed my shock and reminded myself not to move a damn muscle.
No. And since I went off the grid, I guess I can’t be pissy about this but I don’t know how long I can stay in touch. We are entering blanco territory shortly, and I cant be sure I get to keep the phone. Why are they going to Colombia?! CF
I made a face internally and added a message.
Sorry for my impashience, im just running out of time CF
Squeezy’s reply appeared right after.
Long story short—Jorge Gomez flipped back to Team Blanco and sent Shay to Colombia as a peace offering to be a cage fighter, some type of entertainment Luca Blanco supposedly enjoys. RT1+2 flew down with EP and DP, former colleagues from Hillcroft. Your agent knows them. They are scheduled to enter Colombian airspace within the next couple of hours, followed by EJ and JH coming in from Europe, your dad and uncle from New York, and another Hillcroft contractor from DC. Everyone is heading to Pasto.
Oh my God.
Oh my fucking God. It took all my strength not to fidget like an idiot, and I just passed the phone to Adrien so he could read the update. Holy fuck—I was speechless. And enraged. Shay was here? Then he wasn’t fucking safe at all. We had to save him. We had to get him out of here.
Vincente had slit Adrien’s partner’s throat for merely rejecting his fucking flirting. Who knew what the others were capable of? And who hadn’t heard of what entertainment they found amusing? I’d heard of rape farms and jungle chases and torture and, yeah, cage fighting. Death matches.
I turned to Adrien, pretending to be aloof, and used a name known by the cartel.
“Petrov?” I had no real reason to utter the name. Scratch that, I wanted an excuse. Let the driver and the other one think it was a casual exchange. Whatever. Fuck. Whatever.
Adrien’s jaw ticked with tension, but that was the only reaction he showed. Then he shrugged and returned the phone with something he said in Spanish. He knew I didn’t speak the language, so it couldn’t be important.
I nodded and took the phone again, and I replied to Squeezy.
Thank you for the update. We will try to keep the phone as long as we can. We’re all hedded to the same place. We should probably COMMUNICATE ASAP. Also, fuck you, Gramps, you called my dad. And my uncle! You’re off the Christmas card list. CF
Mom sent Christmas cards. It felt like a good threat to showcase I was serious without being genuinely angry. I was…annoyed as fuck. I couldn’t believe him, and yet…I could. Man, this sucked.
I reread Squeezy’s previous text and made a quick correction.
*headed CF
I ran a hand through my hair and blew out a breath.
We needed to fucking coordinate. How many times had I been balls deep in missions that had suddenly changed course? Too many to count. No plan survived the first contact with the enemy and so on, but that only meant we had to get reorganized. Adrien and I had emptied his cache of explosives, small as it had been, and distributed C-4 along the western edge of the Blanco perimeter, closest to their main entrance. It was a large area, and I sincerely doubted our guys would actually set anything off, but as a Marine, I knew that everything that could go wrong…could go wrong.