I didn’t like the odds, nor did I appreciate surprises.
Fallon Baldwin was a definite surprise.
What to do with her remained the difficult question.
If she were a man, I would have dealt with her swiftly and without a scrap of remorse. Maybe the fact my dick continued to twitch was a reason she remained under my protection. Or maybe I was intrigued with her determination, however ridiculous and harmful it could prove to be.
Charles Baldwin. The name could obviously be an alias. I’d need to find everything I could on the entire family.
She’d been taken to a bedroom specifically designed with prisoners in mind. There was little inside the room other than a bed, a stark bathroom, and a single lamp that provided little light.
The lock on the outside was austere, incapable of picking from the inside.
Eduardo wasn’t just a cautious man. He was a paranoid asshole who enjoyed the act of imprisonment and torture. At least the room had proved useful.
I’d yet to visit the warehouse where we were headed. Eduardo had twelve in various locations, some of which were little more than glorified shacks, but had provided adequate protection and coverage over the years. His methods were crude but worked.
For him.
I couldn’t stand his methods of doing business, although it wasn’t my place to say. The Torres organization was quickly moving toward a more profitable and legitimate operation thanks to the world of precious gems. The thought was strangely amusing since without Jamal Fassi’s determination to tear us down, we would never have considered getting into the business.
“What is this place?” Silvio snarled from the driver’s seat.
The small village was located over thirty minutes away from the heart of Mexico City, the streets little more than dirt roads. While I sensed there were people living in the dilapidated homes, there was an emptiness that could only be shown by significant poverty.
Even in the dark, the headlights provided a good look at the living conditions. They were shit. No one should be forced to livein such terrible conditions. The headlights flashed on a larger building, the warehouse tucked behind a massive group of trees and foliage.
The intended meeting place was far enough away from the warehouse building that our approach would be secured in shadows. As Silvio pulled over, Jago, Kruz, and the four soldiers who’d accompanied them appeared in the headlights.
Silvio parked and I climbed out, immediately unfastening my jacket. I scanned the entire surrounding area, both listening and looking for anything out of the ordinary. This was the kind of shit I didn’t like to deal with. Both Silvio and Alonzo pulled assault rifles from the back of the SUV, checking the ammunition although both were fully loaded.
We had enough firepower to handle the situation. The goal wasn’t to destroy the product, but to gain answers as to Fassi’s ultimate intentions.
Jago approached with a grin on his face. The man enjoyed the art of interrogation almost as much as I did. “An interesting night,” he said almost in passing.
“A pain in my ass,” I answered.
Kruz appeared thoughtful, pacing the area likely in search of booby traps. Eduardo was known for those as well, although his methods were primitive in comparison to anything established in Barcelona.
“I heard you have a guest,” Kruz mentioned as he laughed. “At least your trip is more interesting than you originally thought.”
Interesting wasn’t the word.
“A fly in the ointment as the Americans would say.” I gritted my teeth. Just the mention of the woman and her interruption should anger me. Instead, my balls tightened for the tenth time tonight.
Silvio approached. “There’s been a breach at the back door of the warehouse.” He was holding his phone, staring at the screen where a text appeared.
“We’re on. Let’s get this over with,” I suggested.
Jago snagged my arm before I walked away. “The goal is to keep one of Fassi’s men alive. We need to know what we’re dealing with. What if they’re Alcarez Cartel?” I said.
He laughed. “Then we need to know where Fassi’s pigs are holed up. It’s entirely possible we’ll find Fassi.”
“I doubt it and those soldiers won’t talk,” I countered.
He pulled out his favorite weapon, a tanto, the Japanese dagger the perfect blade to use for convincing enemy soldiers to speak their minds. As sophisticated as the man had become over the decades that we’d known each other and as much of a family man as he’d turned into recently, he still enjoyed using savagery when necessary.
Maybe a little too much.
