Page 13 of Her Mercenary

A sudden slideshow of images flashed in my head. Women, girls, bloodied, beaten within an inch of their life. Chained to walls, locked in cages. The sound of their screams echoed in my head, along with the shouts, the crack of the whips.

I felt my pulse kick, adrenaline awakening in my veins.

Pulling in a sharp breath, I shook the visions from my head, and once again was annoyed that I pictured them at all. And worse than that, that they made me feel.

Kieran’s words whispered through my ear. “... didn’t do things they should have done ...”

I nodded at the doorman as I stepped into the glass high-rise that housed my latest property. My mind was preoccupied during the ride on the elevator, the walk down the long corridor, and finally, the turning of the key to my apartment.

I flicked on the light as I kicked the door closed with my heel.

Framed in the floor-to-ceiling window ahead of me, the moon hung low above the city, which sparkled with energy and life. My wingtips clicked against the marble floors, echoing off the empty walls as I strode to the window.

Stripping out of my suit jacket, I stared down onto the streets.

The real estate agent had sold me hard on the view. And yes, I suppose it was a beautiful view. But all I saw was the hookers in the shadows, the drug dealers, the gangs, the secrets, the lies. The death.

My gaze refocused on the reflection of the penthouse suite behind me, the place that I would call home for six months a year.

The black-and-white marble floor gleamed, the walls a patent black, the kitchen, sparkling lines of every upscale appliance known to man. But not a single stick of furniture.

“You’re gonna regret dying alone ...”

I turned, glancing at the double doors that led into the master bedroom. A king-size mattress lay on the floor, next to a closet full of designer suits and a safe packed with guns and money.

Money that went to shady places, guns that went into even shadier hands.

“Even the good ones get lost ...”

“Fuck you, Kieran,” I mumbled.

I stalked to the kitchen, beelining it to the bottle of whiskey I kept within easy access. After pouring a glass, I centered myself over the collage of reports, maps, and photos that littered the counter.

Seven days.

I glanced at the clock.

I had seven days to find Samantha Greene.

Was I desperate? Yeah. Kieran didn’t know the half of it, including what would happen when the seven days were up.

Feeling abnormally on edge, I sifted through the papers, though I didn’t need to. I’d memorized her file like the back of my hand.

Days after Samantha had been reported missing, the US government received a number of tips on her disappearance, including information that Samantha had been kidnapped by a ruthless cartel known as the CUN Network. If the tips were true, I knew from gathering my own intel that Samantha would be included in a group of slaves that were to be shipped overseas to a massive auction where they would be sold like cattle—in seven days.

Another tip suggested that while in captivity, Samantha had been chosen and positioned as the CUN leader’s personal slave and possibly future wife.

While the first tip was the most troubling, the latter presented a unique opportunity. Samantha’s access to the leader of the CUN Network gave her unique insight into the leader’s business dealings, including a USB drive that could bring down a worldwide slavery network.

And this was when finding Samantha Greene became the US government’s number one priority.

Because of the delicate dance of working with the widely corrupt Mexican government, the DOD contacted the company that I worked for, Astor Stone, Inc., which was contracted to help aid in her search. I was requested specifically.

After all, no one knew the industry like I did, and no one had the contacts that I had, especially in that area.

That day, I accepted the mission, packed my bags, and caught the next flight out to Oklahoma, where I learned everything I could about Samantha Greene. Then on to Puerto Vallarta, where I re-entered the dark underworld of human slavery.

I’d expected to be in and out in a matter of hours.