Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gracie

I take a deep breath, trying to annihilate my nerves as the boat pulls onto the shore of the river. Three male guards in civilian clothes with AR-15s slung over their shoulders approach and grab the boat, pulling it onto the dirt.

I'm trying to project confidence as I step out with Ryker by my side. I keep my shoulders back, my chin high, and I make sure to look all of them in the eye so they can see that I'm not afraid of them. I wish my pounding heart would get the memo that we're not afraid.

The guy with the broken arm steps out, clutching his forearm and hissing out a string of harsh words that I can only assume are directed at Ryker.

Ryker grabs my arm and makes sure I'm standing close to him. He raises his nose in the air and takes a deep inhale.

"I smell wolves," he whispers as the men glare at us.

"Wolves don't live in the jungle," I whisper back.

"Not that kind of wolf."

That doesn't sound good. "What other kind is there?"

He's about to answer, but then a guy who could only be Hector Contreras comes strutting over with a big radiant smile on his face. He looks richer than everyone else in an expensive gray suit, shiny shoes, and a tailored white shirt. A gold Rolex hangs from his wrist along with all kinds of other gold jewelry—bracelets, rings, and a thin necklace. I'm sure just one of those pieces costs more than any of the countrymen he terrorizes can hope to make in their entire lifetime.

"You must be Gracie Windward," Hector says as he walks over with a jubilant air. He offers his hand and I step up and shake it. I give him a firm handshake as I stare into his eyes.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Mr. Contreras. This is my cameraman, Ryker Dawson."

"Cameraman," he says with a little smirk of amusement as he offers his hand and sniffs the air. "Interesting."

Ryker takes it, swallowing Hector's hand with his and I'm sure he squeezes it hard because Hector looks like he's trying not to wince.

"I'm sorry about the trip and the need for discretion," Hector says once Ryker releases him. "We are a misunderstood little community and we like to keep our privacy."

"Your English is impeccable," I say, trying to get on his good side with harmless flattery before I start going at him with hard-hitting questions. "Where did you learn it?"

"I went to University in Oxford, England," he says with a smile. "They taught me well."

He's in his mid-thirties and good-looking with a nice warm smile, but that doesn't mean a thing. The thing about beauty in the jungle is—like the colorful poisonous frogs and the slick lithe snakes—the more beautiful, the more deadly.

"A lot has been said about me and my community that is just false," Hector says as he waves us to follow him. We head up the path through the lush vibrant jungle to the large village up ahead. "I love philosophy, American cinema, and tennis. I'm afraid the rumors about me have been severely exaggerated. I am no killer. I am a man of the community. Welcome to the real El Nicanduras. Welcome to Valle de los Susurros."

We step into the village and everywhere I look are well-dressed children running around and workers standing outside of their tiny shops, smiling at me.

"Start recording," I whisper to Ryker as we walk up the dirt road. He pulls out the camera as I walk beside Hector. We pass tiny restaurants with diners sitting at the tables outside, their plates overflowing with food. They all smile at me as we pass.

It all feels… manufactured. It feels fake.

My bullshit meter is ringing off the hook. I can tell everyone is acting. The skinny people with the plates full of food, the children with their shiny shoes that look like they just came out of the box, and the smiles… These people are acting and they're no Leonardo DiCaprio. Their smiles don't reach their eyes.

"The village of Valle de los Susurros has a population of about fifty thousand people," Hector says as we walk through it. "Our main exports are mangoes, bananas, eucalyptus plants, and exotic hardwoods such as mahogany and teak. Some of the women sell handwoven textiles and some men sell freshwater fish and spices of various kinds. We are a poor community, but we are happy and grateful for what we do have."

As we walk down the dirt road, more and more men with guns begin to follow us. I sneak a glance at Ryker and gulp. Oh shit . His eyes are practically glowing like molten gold. That can't be good.

Ryker is keeping his heated eyes on all of them.

"And the schools," I say as a beautiful laughing girl runs by us in a pink dress with her black hair flowing out behind her. "Do the children have access to a proper education?"

"They do," he says proudly. "We have three schools in the village with well-trained teachers in all of them."

"I'd love to see them," I say as I watch her disappear around a dingy shop selling spices.

"If we have time," he says with a tight smile. "First, we will head to my palace for the interview."

Palace is right. Past all of the rundown shops and mud-brick houses is a towering estate which looks like it cost more than all the rest of the village put together.

Hector is putting on a show with the cute kids and the smiling people, but I can see the cracks in his spectacle—a boy who looks like he hasn't had a bath in months with ripped clothes and bare feet peeking out behind a tree to get a glimpse of the strange visitors, adults in the background with no body fat, a sad-looking twenty-year-old girl with a black eye. None of these people are smiling.

I glance at Ryker and he looks back at me, his golden eyes more protective than ever.

He stays close as we head up to the mansion at the top of the hill and step onto the beautiful cobblestone driveway where half a dozen luxurious European cars are parked out front. The landscaping is magnificent with huge colorful flowers and well-manicured bushes and trees.

"Don't forget to film it," I remind him.

He starts recording our surroundings instead of glaring at all of the men as we walk up the grand steps to the huge double doors.

I set up the camera so it's sending the footage directly onto my company server, so even if Hector and his thugs destroy the footage, Walter will still have it safe and sound back home.

Hector leads us into a large room where two chairs are set up on a stunning Persian rug.

"Will this work for your interview?" he asks with a polite smile.

"This is great," I say as I take a seat. "Ryker, are you okay?"

He doesn't look okay. He looks like he wants to start punching every man in sight.

"Try to get what you can," I whisper to him as I set up my phone to record another angle. "Remember why we're here."

"I know why I'm here," he says as he stares Hector down.

"Remember why I'm here," I say, pleading with my eyes. "This is important to me. Please."

He finally looks at me, takes a deep breath, and nods. "Okay."

We get the interview going and I ask Hector a few easy questions before I start digging in deep. When I go at him, I go at him hard.

"You mentioned that Valle de los Susurros' exports are mainly fruits, wood, and spices," I say with a friendly nod. "Where does cocaine fit into that?"

His eyes narrow a little, cracking the friendly facade. It's quick, but he gives me a glimpse of the killer behind the smile.

Now, I'm really glad I have Ryker here. He's giving me the courage to conduct this interview properly.

"It's been stated by the FBI that your criminal organization, Los Lobos de la Muerte, supplies twenty percent of the illegal narcotics smuggled into the United States. Do you refute this?"

"Los Lobos de la Muerte is not a criminal organization," he says, shifting in his chair.

"Oh really," I say, pulling out an FBI report. "That's interesting because the FBI has also declared Los Lobos de la Muerte responsible for torture, murder, extortion, human trafficking, and weapon smuggling."

I show him the paper and he crosses his legs and leans back in his chair.

"Fifty thousand people in this village rely on me to feed and house them," he says, trying to keep his voice calm but I can hear the crack of indignation in it. This is a feared powerful man who is never challenged and I'm getting under his skin. "What I do is practical, necessary, and beneficial to the local community and the local economy. What you call crimes, I call survival."

"What about the blatant indiscriminate murder of the habitants of Valle de los Susurros?" I ask him. "Would you consider that survival?"

"For the greater good, yes."

"And what about torture?"

He stares at me with those cold calculating eyes as he formulates his answer. "It must be easy for a beautiful woman from the richest country in the world to look her nose down on us. We do what we can to survive. We provide jobs that feed families. We offer stable income for thousands of people and we create wealth where the government has abandoned us."

"Actually, the El Nicanduras government has tried to help the habitants of Valle de los Susurros, but Los Lobos de la Muerte have held them out at gunpoint. What gives you the right to use violence to thwart the will of the democratically elected government?"

His chest starts moving up and down a little harder. I can feel the anger emanating off him. I glance at Ryker, knowing there's a protective grizzly bear hiding inside him that wouldn't hesitate to kill all these men to keep me safe.

"You think the democratically elected government doesn't profit from the work we do?" Hector says, his voice heated. "They profit from our tax dollars. And you think they're so innocent? They criminalize these drugs—drugs we aren't forcing anyone to use by the way—yet they benefit from the legal pharmaceutical industry, which sells highly addictive opioids. Where is the outrage there?"

"The pharmaceutical industry doesn't force children to work in their factories," I say, staring him down. "But Los Lobos de la Muerte does."

"Our village has been growing coca for generations," he says, shifting in his seat. "It is part of my people's history and culture. How is it fair for your foreign government to criminalize what my people have been doing for centuries?"

"I don't think the US government cares what you do on your land," I say. "But the problem arises when you smuggle those fatal drugs onto American soil for use in our communities."

"We are simply fulfilling a market demand," he says. "We are providing a high-quality product that people want. We're not the cause of the problem. We're part of a global economy."

"And what about torturing the locals?" I say, narrowing my eyes on him. "Is there a demand for that?"

I've gotten under his skin. He's turning red and gritting his teeth as he stares me down. This isn't the kind of interview he had planned.

I think he wanted a softball interview where he could portray himself as a nice community man, which would help him get off the FBI's most-wanted list. Well, he picked the wrong interviewer for a softball interview. I'm launching fastballs at his head.

"There is no torture," he finally says.

"Oh really?" I say as I stand up. "Then, you'll have no problem showing me around your facility. Ryker, keep rolling."

I march to the door and one of the guards steps in front of it. He's not holding a gun, but he's big enough to not need one with those giant muscular arms and broad shoulders. A snake tattoo runs up his left arm and onto his thick neck.

"Move out of her way," Ryker growls from behind me.

The man looks over my head at him and growls back.

And then, the wildest thing happens. He starts shaking violently. The man's hulking body trembles and then begins to swell up. Those big arms get bigger. His back curves and he falls to his hands, only they're no longer hands—they're paws. Long brown hair spurts out of his skin and with a loud tear, a huge snarling brown wolf explodes out of him, tailing swaying behind him.

I step back with a gasp, bumping into Ryker as the fierce deadly wolf steps forward with a nasty snarl.

"You're not going anywhere," Hector says as he stands up with his muscles flexed and his veins straining against his skin. His face is red with fury. "You're in my world now."

He turns to his guards and points at me and Ryker. " ?Agárralos! "

I turn in panic and look at Ryker only he's shaking too.

And growing…

Larger than humanly possible.