Page 4 of Scarred Souls

Sourcing satellite images, tapping into security systems, intercepting phone calls and emails were easy tasks for a hacker with Brandon’s skills.

“Copy that.”

Brandon hooked his thumb through a belt loop. “Any word from la Mano Roja?”

La Mano Roja, which translated to the Red Hand, was a Mexican outlaw militia mostly made up of former army, policía, and federales. The hired guns provided the cartel’s muscle and transportation. We were hoping they’d make contact with me soon because I’d put feelers out letting them know I was available to move product.

Why would they ask me to do that? Because years ago, when I’d first gotten out of Team Zulu—the black-ops unit where I’d met Brandon and most of the guys on our mercenary crew—I’d hauled my sorry ass south of the border and consumed enough booze, blow, and women to make a strung out rocker look like a lightweight.

But the most questionable life choice I’d made during that time was smuggling drugs. When I’d crossed paths with narcos looking for a pilot lacking both morals and regard for personal safety, it’d seemed like an easy way to make some quick cash to fund my increasingly debauched lifestyle. I’d excelled at the job and made some shady contacts along the way. If I went undercover and started moving product for la Mano Roja again, it could give me access to locations and intel that had so far eluded us.

I took a drag on my cigarette. “Nothing yet, but when they have a big shipment, they’ll call.”

“Good. Make your way to the coast as soon as you’re able.” Brandon let out a heavy sigh. “This should go without saying, but since it’s you, I’m going to say it anyway. Try not to kill anyone.”

I clicked my tongue. “Why are you so determined to make these jobs boring?”

“We don’t need heat coming down on us because you’ve left a trail of bodies in your wake.”

“If you’re talking about what happened at the bar in Veracruz, they deserved it.”

Those scumbags had chosen death the moment they’d slipped date-rape pills into girls’ drinks.

“You’re right. They deserved it. All I’m asking is that you keep murder as a last resort. I mean it, Decker. Play nice.”

Don’t kill people. Be nice. Who did he think he was talking to? There were too many slimeballs in the world to let them go unchecked, and I was happy to be the one to take them out of the gene pool.

The stash house before us was a perfect example. It was a relief that we’d saved these women from their nightmare, but their captors had escaped, and it wouldn’t be long before they stole another batch of women to sell. If they weren’t stopped, more lives would be ruined.

I’d heed Brandon’s warning, but my mercy would only extend so far, because right now, the animal within me needed to sate its caged fury on the nearest asshole.

2

HOPE

Playa de la Palmera, Southern Pacific Coast, Mexico

Mari approached me at the bar, where I stacked dirty glasses in the washer. “Sabes lo mucho que te quiero, ¿verdad?” You know how much I love you, right? She blinked her big brown doe eyes at me, which meant only one thing. I was about to get screwed over.

I propped one hand on my hip and answered her in Spanish. “Just tell me. What do you need?”

“Can you close tonight?” She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Please.”

Yep. There it was.

I glanced at the clock above the bar.

8:27 p.m.

The restaurant didn’t officially shut down for another hour and a half, and this was the third time this week my bestie had begged off early. Javier, the owner and cook, had already gone home to his heavily pregnant wife, so I’d have to lock up on my own.

I flung a dish towel over my shoulder and cast Mari an unimpressed glare. “Again?”

“Come on, Hope,” she pleaded. “The place is dead tonight. You don’t need me.”

“That’s not the point.” Mari knew locking up alone gave me the creeps.

Not that Playa de la Palmera was unsafe. The small fishing village had virtually zero crime, no cartel influence, and a deep sense of community where the locals truly cared about each other. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, and although I was an outsider, they treated me kindly. The three years I’d lived here had been the best of my life.