Delta Force Rescue - Elle James Page 0,43
fact that Briana had assisted Alejandra in her escape and evasion of El Chefe’s men made her a prime target for retribution.
By the time they reached the cartel compound, Briana’s belly rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since the night before, and the heat and humidity of the jungle left her feeling dehydrated. What she wouldn’t give for a tall jug of ice water.
The compound consisted of high stucco walls with a heavy wooden gate. Two guards stood on either side, also equipped with AK-47s. When their cavalcade arrived, the guards met the first vehicle, their weapons drawn, ready to fire into the vehicle. Whatever the driver of that vehicle said was enough to convince the guards to stand down and allow the vehicles to enter the compound.
Once inside, Briana studied the layout. If she planned an escape, she’d need to know how many buildings stood between her and the walls and how many guards she’d have to get past to get through the gate or go over the top of the wall. Two guards at the gate, men on the wall behind the gate. A man on the top of the first building closest to the gate with a rifle aimed at the vehicles entering. Her heart sank deeper. She wasn’t a trained combatant. She didn’t have the skills to fight her way free. But she had a brain and courage. She would figure out how to free herself.
Briana couldn’t wait for someone to rescue her. That might never happen. She wasn’t an important political figure or a celebrity. The US government didn’t send the army to rescue a single female kidnapped from the mountains of Montana. Especially one they’d never heard of. If she wanted to live, she had to get herself out of the compound and to the nearest US consulate or embassy.
First, she had to get the zip-tie off her wrists.
The caravan of black SUVs came to a halt in front of a palatial stucco house with white columns and curved arches.
Briana half expected the Devil Boss himself to step out of the building to greet his prisoner.
He didn’t.
She was dragged out of the SUV and marched into the building, through a wide foyer and down a hallway to a tall wooden door. The guard in front of her knocked and said something in Spanish.
A voice inside barked a response.
The guard opened the door. Her escorts shoved her through and stood beside her in front of a large desk made of ornately carved mahogany. A man with thick black hair and a dark mustache sat behind the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. For a long moment, he stared at Briana, his eyes narrowing.
Finally, he stood and walked over to her. “You are responsible for depriving me of my property.”
Briana’s brow twisted. “And what property is that?”
“Alejandra Villareal,” he said, his lip curling back in a sneer.
Briana lifted her chin. Though she was shaking inside, she refused to let the man see an ounce of fear. “I’m not familiar with how things work in El Salvador, but in the US, slavery has been abolished. People aren’t considered property.”
He backhanded her, the heavy ring on his finger cutting into Briana’s cheek.
Pain shot through her face. She lifted her bound hands to press against the gash his ring had opened on her face. Tears welled automatically in her eyes. Briana blinked, refusing to let even one fall.
The cartel leader glared at her. “You should not have interfered in a matter that did not concern you.”
“Helping people in need is always my concern. I would do it all again. Alejandra is not your property.”
“You are wrong. Alejandra belongs here,” he said, his tone forceful. “Tell me…where is she?”
Briana lifted her chin. “I don’t know.”
He nodded. “I thought not. We found the women’s shelter where you took her outside of Chicago. They said they did not know of a woman and a child meeting Alejandra’s description. We searched the building and did not find her.”
Thank God. Briana fought the urge to smile. She hoped no one had been injured during the search.
“Alejandra was there. We know from tracking her cellphone. We didn’t get there in time. Your friends took her before we arrived. It’s funny how people will talk when you threaten their children. The shelter organizer refused to answer our questions, but one of the guests was eager to give us answers when we took her three-year-old daughter.”
Briana gasped. “You bastard.” Anger burned deep in Briana’s gut. If she’d had