THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,277

I insert my pointer finger into the side of his eye socket and press with just the right amount of pressure. He feels it.

“He’s not in Africa anymore!” greaseball screams out as another violent shudder alerts me to more shit exiting his filthy body. “That’s all I know. He’s back in the States. Please, please. Let me go!” Not a chance in fiery hell, you sick prick.

I shudder. The motherfucker is back in the States. He’s too close. I shake my head. No, this won’t do. He’s supposed to stay far, far away. I’m to go to him. This makes V easier to hunt, but it forces the stakes higher. He’s in my world now. I loosen my grip on the knife. “Why is he in the States?” I already know the answer. I’m not scared.

“He said he’s making good on promises.” Greaseball chokes on his own spit and starts shaking violently. Shock is setting in. I’d love nothing more than to slit his throat and watch every ounce of his dirty, tainted blood spill onto the floor. But he deserves a fate worse than that, so I radio for my men to come. He needs to be tried inside the U.S. for his crimes. I’ll make sure of it. Child rapists and traffickers don’t fare well in prison. I expect he’ll pray my blade stole his life instead. I remove my finger from his eye socket.

Horse and Van come down the filthy hallway and scan the surrounding area. I nod toward the back where there is a set of large, rusty metal doors. “Kids are back there. Some look to be American. All ages,” I say, closing my eyes to force out the image of what these poor children had to endure. “Get them out of here. Some need clothing. All will need food.” Horse glares at greaseball as if he is solely responsible for every crime on earth. He wants to break his neck and pick his teeth with his pinky bone. If there’s one thing Horse hates, it’s men like greaseball. Offenses against children are always the worst. Unforgivable. Van heads for the double doors and radios for more help. I see him shake his head sadly as he enters and witnesses the atrocity for himself.

I point at my bleeding, shitting companion with my bloody knife. “As for him…transport him back to U.S. soil and hand him over to the authorities. They’ve wanted his ass for a while,” I growl. “And, Horse?” He looks at me with his bright, angry eyes and raises a bushy brow.

“I won’t kill him,” he replies, smiling. I nod once.

“Alive,” I command, just to be sure. And with that simple word, greaseball starts wailing. Horse grabs him by his neck and drags him toward the exit. I smile, sling my hand to my hip, and admire the beauty of this moment. One truly hideous criminal is out of the world, hopefully the kids will be reunited with their families, and I’ve obtained information about V. Troubling information about V, but at least now I know. I can prepare, be watchful…I can plan. I love my job.

I pull out my untraceable satellite phone and call Molly. She picks up on the first ring. “How’d it go, boss?”

“Well. He did have the children here. I got what I came for. Please alert the FBI that we have him and we’re heading to the airport now.”

Molly pauses. “How’s Horse?” I smile. She knows of his harsh tendencies, too.

I snicker. “Having a blast!” I hear greaseball wailing down the hall. I cover the mouthpiece of the phone. “I said alive!” I bark out.

Horse laughs, the sound maniacal. “I said I won’t kill him!” I shrug and take him for his word. I recap the events and the timeline so Molly can take notes in case anyone has questions, which they rarely do, and have her ready arrangements for when we arrive back in Virginia Beach. I have to turn away when Van and a few other guys usher the children from the back room. Their wounded eyes are too much for me to bear. It’s easier for me to stare down a serial killer, a felon, a monster than it is to look a child in their eyes knowing that all innocence is gone. Why didn’t I find them sooner? Why can’t I save them all? Why are fuckers so, so horrible? I’ll say it one more time. I love my job.

Molly repeats the information back