Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Mason

We found Porter.

Well, more like someone has him hostage, and they called his foster parents. Chris and Gabe Decker.

If Porter hadn't involved Ainsley's family, I'd let him die. Unfortunately, I need to wipe out this cartel. I don't care if the DEA and the FBI want to control it . They need to disappear. It's the only way I'll be able to keep my family safe.

Last night, after we dropped the Deckers and Dad at the compound. We canceled the Baja trip. My team and I traveled to El Paso, Texas. A small town bordering Chihuahua. That's where my team found Porter and the drug lords. They aren't from Mexico, but Colombia. This is the place they like to use when they're in the US.

Agent Bradford waits for us at a café right in the heart of downtown El Paso, a place where anyone can get lost in the crowd on a Friday morning.

"My inside guy confirmed they have the singer." He doesn't greet us. "He's in an abandoned house across the border, in Ciudad, Juarez. They plan to juice him to regain their financial strength."

I look at Hawk, who gives me a side nod, the cue that we should do what we planned.

"Our best bet is to end them now. We have all the information. I'm being paid to rescue Porter Kendrick," I lie. "I'll do it with or without your help."

"You're in luck. Tonight, they're selling some merchandise across the border. If you can spare a man or two for tonight's operation." One operation that will only weaken them, not finish them. "They'll be wrapped up in the sale and have little manpower while you rescue the singer."

Too easy…

"What's the catch?" I concentrate on his expression and try to read it. "What are we stopping?"

"The trafficking of meth, guns—high-caliber guns." His Adam's apple bobs slowly. "We need to stop them, but if we have a few more men with us, the operation will succeed. Once the covers of my men are exposed, there won't be any other chances."

Looking at Hawk's green eyes for confirmation, we agree to help with their operation as long as they help us with our mission. "I'll go as long as we eliminate them, not just weaken them." I don't give agent Bradford any leeway to negotiate.

However, I don't like where things are heading. We have nine hours to gather men for the operation, run through their plan, and develop a new one. We have to modify what the DEA and FBI planned, make the executive decision, and leave Porter to his fatal death.

I drive through a residential area in Ciudad, Juarez. Harrison flew us to the other side of the border, where Porter is being held captive. The white van where Hawk and two other units wait remains parked across the street from the unfinished building surrounded by a wire fence with a big sign.

No pasar (Do not trespass)

Propiedad Privada (Private Property)

The two lots behind the property are empty. The houses next door have for sale signs. The rest of the block doesn't match with this area. Still, I guess new construction developments tend to be uneven until everything is built. While scouting the area, I didn't find any pedestrians along the sidewalks or cars parked outside the already-built homes nearby. A brand-new ghost town.

The DEA and FBI don't know our real plan, but they agreed to pay for the cost of our help. A few of my well-trained men are helping them directly; the ones I trust will work well even under stupid orders.

Bradford believes I'll be there, but by the time they find out we had other plans, I should be on a plane out of here, bound for Seattle. Looking at my watch, I remind myself that we have to wait two more minutes before beginning the operation.

"Ready when you are," Hawk calls through the communicator.

Things roll in perfect sequence. I spot the van leaving the premises. Only the navy-blue sedan I'm in remains in the area. I scan my surroundings for the third time, confirming that I didn't miss any details. It'd be tragic to find pedestrians or some bystanders around as the sun sets. The coast is clear. I strap my backpack on top of the bulletproof jacket.

"Ready," I confirm, stepping out of the car. I signal for everyone to get into their positions. I go around to the darkest side of the structure, where the sewer stench assaults my senses.

Hawk joins me and snickers. "For all we know, that singer is dead and we're entering a trap."

"Something is going on inside this place." I press my body against the cold metal fence. "Either way, we get to play for the night, and tomorrow we'll reconvene about Kendrick."

Taking one last look around, I squat and sneak inside the property through the incision Hawk made earlier today. Even as I'm busy making my way toward the brick structure, I keep a watch for anything that moves. The setup doesn't make me feel secure about the operation. The darkness and being inside enemy lines with little to no sense of direction isn't new but the tightness in my chest is.

Most of the time, I don't give a fuck about the outcome. The cocky attitude masks the reality of not caring. Now I do give a shit about getting out alive and staying safe. Not a good combination.

"In," the echo of voices comes through my communicator. Everyone has made it through the fence. Now to the next step.

As everyone confirms their positions, I tap the code into my phone, and the rental blows up in flames. I'm glad my alias had taken the insurance option while renting the car. The sound plus the quake draws some of the residents of our abandoned building out of their hiding spots.

"Two up on the roof," Harrison, who is at a safe distance on top of the tallest roof he could find, calls. "I'll take care of them."

There's no sound, but the atmosphere changes once the men on the roof are targeted by my sniper. Like falling angels, they hit the ground. There's a third following them to the floor.

Harrison calls out again, "All clear. Hurry up. The van should be driving back in five minutes."

Hawk follows behind me as I walk around the building to the dark entrance. There's no frame, only a hole in the wall that takes us to a dim, humid hallway. The vapor of rusted-coppery metal and urine intensifies. A couple of bodies with flies around them lie on the ground.

"Jesus," Hawk mutters. "They could at least bury the bodies and not leave them to decompose."

I detect some movement at the far end of the hallway—a shadow. One. A manageable situation as there are two of us. A tall man with a baseball cap, a beard, and fully armed steps into the hallway and assesses the two of us.

"Four minutes," Harrison reminds us of the time restriction.

The man grins as Hawk and myself aren't carrying any visible weapons. He reaches for his gun, but I don't give him a chance to get it. My knife flies from my hand in one fluid move, hitting a bullseye—his forehead. Like a lifeless doll, his body slams against the concrete floor.

"What have I told you about circus tricks?" Hawk whispers as we jog toward the end of the hallway and take a left.

It leads us to a set of uneven, unfinished staircases, and we rush through them. As I take the last step, the sound of gunfire makes me slam my body into the brick wall. Two more shots ring out, and I clearly hear them coming from the left side of the second floor.

I take my gun out of the holster and move to where I presume the shooter is. But I don't have to worry as Hawk takes the lead and shoots down the two men.

"I can do tricks, too," he smirks, and we continue our way through.

There's a bright light at the end of that ample open space. Like the rest of the building, it has bare walls, unfinished floors, and the same coppery-urine smell.

"Why don't you sing for me, pretty boy?" A rough voice followed by a slap takes my attention to the corner of the area.

Two slugs stare at the man tied to a chair. Swollen eyes, bloody face, and marks all over his torso. His ripped pants stained with dried blood. The dark-black hair is a hint that maybe it's Porter. I have trouble identifying the face.

Hawk whistles. "That's tough. They roughed him up pretty bad."

"You can stay at my house. It's safe," Porter sputters through clenched teeth.

One of the men yells then hits him on his arm with a metal cylinder. "Safe? I lost half of my people, weapons, cash, and merchandise. We're in the middle of a cartel war, and you betrayed us."

I don't wait for either one to realize we are there. I take my gun out of the holster, point it, and shoot. The bullet hits him in the head. The next man lifts his head and I repeat. He drops on top of his partner.

Hawk rushes to untie Porter.

As I hear the swishing sound behind me, something pounds into my back, a slam that immediately becomes a burning sensation. Someone shot me but hit the bulletproof jacket. I turn around, and my gaze connects with a short, younger dude who holds a 9-millimeter, pointing it at my head. Another quick move allows me to pull out a small knife and let it fly toward my aggressor's hand.

"Cabron!" he screams and drops his gun.

I take a few steps and tackle him, tighten my arms, and squeeze the man's neck until he goes limp. As he passes out, I release my hold, letting him fall to the ground.

"You're not killing him?" Hawk questions as he carries Porter like a sack of potatoes.

No, I won't. He's just a kid. I don't say it out loud.

Hawk shakes his head, pulls his gun out of the sleeve, and shoots him. "Not one witness left alive. They can trace back—to your girl."

I flinch. Damn, I forgot that.

"We have one minute," Harrison warns.

That's enough time for us to head downstairs and outside the building. My men had opened a bigger hole through the gate. While running to the exit where the white van waits for us, I see several bodies on the ground.

After everyone steps inside the van, Harrison drives off to where we have the plane.

"Is he alive?" one of my men asks, paying attention to Kendrick's limp body.

"Is he okay?" I hear Nine's voice outside the hospital room.

As we landed in Seattle, I rushed Porter to the nearest emergency room. He has broken bones, several bruises, burns, and cuts throughout his body. He was in surgery for a few hours, something about internal bleeding and screws to put the bones back together.

He'll need a series of surgeries to reconstruct part of his face. The doctor plans on keeping him for a long time. I stand in the corner, watching Porter and waiting for the Deckers to arrive. Nonetheless, Nine being here wasn't what I expected.

Ainse enters the room, and her face drains looking at the body in front of her. Moisture fills her emerald eyes.

Fuck, she still loves the dude. He was right. Their connection was stronger than the one we'll ever share.

My hands transform into fists, and I want to pound something, maybe someone—him. But as she walks closer to the bed, the noticeable knots in her back loosen. She looks around and finds me.

"You idiot." She walks toward me and stares at me for several breaths, then scans me from head to toe. She throws her arms around me, holding me tight. "They told me you were inside, and I thought— I thought that was you. Are you hurt or anything?" She pushes herself away lightly and scans my face one more time, concern showing in those catlike eyes.

"Maybe," I whisper close to her ear to nuzzle her neck. My arms go around her waist, and she hugs me tighter. "You might want to take a look when we get home, and if so, you'll have to take care of me while I recover. Sponge baths, feeding me in bed. They say sex is the best medicine."

"You need a nurse?" she asks with that flirty-raspy voice that gets me hard all the time. "I can arrange that, maybe even buy an outfit that'll suit the occasion."

"Fuck, I missed you," I murmur.

"Same here, Mase. I couldn't breathe until you texted that you were coming home." Ainse turns to look at Porter. "How is he?"

"Bruised, broken, but he'll live," I confess, harboring some fear of how she'll react. "You guys planning on caring for him?"

She pushes herself back, holding my biceps and staring at me.

"Not sure. I heard my parents talking about sending him to some hospital to help him with his rehabilitation." Her gentle voice matches her soft eyes. "After everything he has put us through, we can't do much for him. There's no way for us to put all that shit aside and try to deal with who he has become."

"Ainsley?" Porter mutters.

Nine tilts her head and stares at the mess in front of her. She rises on her tiptoes, kisses me, and marches to the side of his bed.

"How are you, Porter?" That sweet voice remains. "I hope much better than you look."

"All hurts," his rough voice forms the words. "This time, I thought I wouldn't make it."

"The doctors will make it better." Nine pats him on his hand. "By the time you're out, there won't be any pain."

"There's one that will remain right in my chest," he mutters. "That excruciating ache that stays forever after you become aware you not only lost the love of your life, but the love of your life is now in love with someone else. Baby, I lost you."

His agonizing voice makes my own chest ache. "You were the only person in this world who ever loved me, Ainsley."

Nine's eyes lower. She has no response to what he said only seconds ago. Something, or someone, has died in this room. The palpable melancholy tightens my throat. Will that be the way I feel if I ever fall for her and then lose her? The slow, heavy coldness seeps inside my heart. The impact of the future grows strong and hits me with a steel fist—fear.

Run away before you become him, your father, or so many others who are now pieces of hollow clay.

"Goodbye, Port." Ainse breaks my trance. "I wish you the best."

"Bradley," Porter calls. "Thank you for rescuing me. I guess the best man won. Be smart and don't throw away the best thing that can ever happen in your life: being loved by Ainse."

"Ready to go home, Superboy?" Nine drags me out of the room and continues chattering. "Our baby kitten misses you, but I miss you the most."