THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,239

it’s time to work.

The chipping paint on the side of the old fishing boat makes me smile. They think they’ve been hiding, and they don’t have any idea that we’ve known their location for a long time. Maybe they fish every once in a while, but their specialty is terrorism with a side of hostile intentions. This boat is filled with dangerous killers.

The only thing they have left to lose is their lives.

We have two boats with us. The lead in front of us tosses their caving ladders up and over the side of the boat and begin climbing swiftly to the top and over the rails. Fisting my hands to make sure my gloves are tight, I shift slightly so my strapped gear is out of my way and grab the ladder.

Once at the top we split into small groups and spread out to canvas the entire boat. Maverick and one other guy are with me as we head for the stairwell, guns raised, ready for whoever comes first. Once again, our intel was correct when mapping out the layout of the boat: one door on the bottom of the stairwell that leads to another corridor. Cody’s voice reverberates inside my head when he speaks into our radio system. Pressing a hand to my earpiece, I listen to his commands. The boat rocks as we walk, making it difficult to gain solid footing. The first room we enter is clear, as is the second, and then the third.

The fourth room has boisterous noises coming from inside. We lighten our steps and assume they’re aware we’re coming. Speed is the only factor that matters now. I radio back to Cody, updating him. I’m lead, with Maverick directly behind me. Once close enough, we stack up beside the door, listening for anything that might give away the location of the enemies inside. The vibrations of their voices and footsteps are easy to hear and a dead giveaway.

I feel Mav squeeze the back of my thigh. The guys are ready. I try the doorknob; it’s locked. I motion to the guys behind me and then place the barrel of my gun in the joint of the door, knowing full well that this particular door won’t take much to blow. A few well-placed shots and one powerful kick, and we’re in a room littered with enemies, their stolen guns blazing in our direction.

Clearing the room methodically and also precisely because the mother-fuckers are shooting at us all willy-nilly, we’re able to take six men down in a matter of seconds. Head. Chest. Move on. Head Chest. Move on. They might have numbers on their side, but they don’t have skill, or any sort of game plan other than pull the trigger and kill the stupid Americans. The bloody, slumped bodies all over the room signal a job well done. A quick glance beside me reassures me that my guys are unharmed and still on guard ready for whatever comes next.

A small closet in the corner blasts open to reveal the one last bad guy in this section. This bad guy has a small, blindfolded woman by the neck and a gun trained on the side of her head. He steps out of the closet screaming at us in a language I don’t understand. Maverick responds to his scream by yelling back in his native tongue, trying to engage him in conversation to distract. Dax, the other operator, moves ever so slightly without lowering his gun. The sweating, disgusting ferret squeezes the hostage’s throat, his fingers digging into skin. A wisp of air leaves her mouth, causing a distressed noise.

My eyes are drawn to the only visible feature on her face. Her mouth. Bloody, cracked, full lips separate as her need for oxygen intensifies. Maverick keeps babbling in the fucking language, and Dax takes another step forward. Removing the gun from her head, the bad guy takes aim at Dax. He’s stepped too close for comfort. The woman’s head slumps forward and a cascade of matted, long black hair masks her face. Morganna. My stomach lurches and in a nano-second of complete weakness, I aim at the enemy’s head and pull the trigger twice, even though her head is far too close to his. Maverick and Dax fire after me, just to be sure, and because they had the better shot to begin with. The woman falls limp out of his arms as adversary blood sprays against the wall.

Rushing to her side, I get