Excerpt from Wicked SalvationChapter OneJT “Griff” Griffin glanced at the time, frowned,
and shrugged. He’d been assigned surveillance on the other side of
Trujillo when he’d been relieved. Nothing he could do about the
location, but he was supposed to take a check-in from his teammate, Finn
Rowland AKA Stony, and with blocks left to go, Griff was already late. The streets in this part of the city were dirt,
crime was high, and he remained on guard. It was grim. The apartment
building to his left appeared to have been sheared off, the debris left
where it had fallen. Plastic bags, tires, and other garbage mingled with
broken concrete and bricks. The structure looked unsafe, but families
lived there. A few people eyed him curiously but most ignored him. The residents had learned it was safer to leave
soldiers-for-hire alone. Griff definitely looked like a mercenary. Camo
fatigue pants, combat boots, and an olive drab T-shirt with a
long-sleeved camo shirt over it to hide his weapons. Yeah, no wonder
everyone gave him a wide berth. He sighed quietly. In other
circumstances, he’d have his medical kit and be treating those who
needed help. But his Special Forces team wasn’t in Puerto Jardin
for a mission of mercy. An arms dealer had gotten his hands on the US
Army’s latest high-tech assault rifle. American soldiers weren’t even
using it yet, but half a dozen had been sold to a drug lord and even
more were available on the shadow market. Rowland had gone undercover as
a gunrunner using the name Tom Finley and no one had heard from him in
more than a week. It was Griff’s assignment to find out what had been
accomplished. JT left the residential area behind and entered a
rundown district with shops. The hangout for mercenaries in-country, but
not fighting, was El Taller, The Workshop. Its name was nailed to
the front with pallet slats, the metal roof was rusted, and the bricks
were dirty and crumbling. It was early evening, and the sunlight
highlighted how seedy it was. Griff walked inside and spotted Finn “Stone Man”
Rowland immediately through the cloud of cigarette smoke but he
continued to scan. There were more mercs here than there’d been in a
while. They were giving his teammate a wide berth, but he was deep into
his undercover role of Tom Finley and his demeanor made even the biggest
badasses wary. JT’s gaze returned to the table Stony had staked
out. Only one of them was going to have his back to the wall, and it
wasn’t going to be him. Grimacing, he headed to the bar to buy a beer. Bottle in hand, he threaded his way through the
throng of mercs and wannabes until he reached the table. He dropped onto
the chair opposite his buddy. “You’re late,” Rowland snapped. For an instant, Griff went still, surprised by the
tetchiness, and then he shrugged. “Sue me.” He took a swig of beer. “You
couldn’t grab a better table than this? My back is to the room.” “Do you see another open table?” Stone Man, who’d
gotten the nickname because of his stoicism, was definitely in a foul
mood. “Why the hell is this place so fucking busy at 1700
anyway? Did they start a happy hour?” “1720,” Rowland corrected, frowning instead of
appearing amused. Griff returned Stony’s scowl. “Happy hour was a
joke.” “Aren’t jokes supposed to be funny?” “Asshole,” JT said genially. Stony was one of his
best friends, but he’d left Special Forces, and he was working with the
team as a contractor. It was clear his buddy wanted this op over. At
least his finely honed edge had returned. Taking another sip of beer, Griff scanned the room
again. The drinking had started early tonight, but they’d be out of here
before trouble broke out. He hoped. JT turned his attention back to his friend. Rowland
had been working to make a deal for the stolen weapons with the arms
dealer’s second-in-command. He’d be pivotal in bringing down Jorge
Torres’ entire organization and Griff needed to find out what had
occurred since the last check-in. “Anything happening?” “No. My phone calls are not being returned, and I
haven’t seen him anywhere this week. My guess he’s busy setting up an
auction.” “Fuck.” “The assassination made things a thousand times
harder.” Rowland took a swallow of his beer. “What do you know?” JT leaned back and fought the need to scowl as he
thought about the half dozen high-tech weapons that had gotten into
hands of a drug cartel. The leader being killed had complicated the
team’s plan. “We got five of six. Don’t know how long we’ll be able to
stick in there to recover the last one, though. Things are intense.
We’re reaching the point of the risk being too high for the reward.” Stony nodded, clearly not surprised. “If I had to
bet on who plugs the power vacuum in the cartel, my money is on Vargas.” “Safe bet. He’s showing a ruthlessness that makes
Ramos look like a humanitarian. You know anything about the dude?” “Not much. I’d lay odds he’s done more than a few
hits in his time, but Ramos trusted him more than the rest of his
lieutenants. This isn’t saying a lot, since he didn’t have faith in any
of his men.” Griff’s hair had fallen in his face again, and he
impatiently pushed it back. “Word is, someone tipped off Bianchi about
where the exchange was taking place. It’s how he was able to get a
sniper and the rest of his men in position. Maybe our dude, Vargas, was
looking for a promotion.” “Or any of Ramos’ other top men. Or someone outside
his org he managed to piss off. He almost blew my deal for the
merchandise by being an asshole to our supplier.” JT sighed loudly. “So basically, our list of
potentials is everyone.” “You got it.” He waited, but Stony didn’t say anything else, and
his gaze seemed to turn inward. Griff bit back another sigh. He
recognized the look, and it meant only one thing—Rowland was thinking
about his woman. “Stony, would you pay attention and not let your
thoughts wander to your firecracker? My back is exposed.” Griff understood why Stony was fixated. Mostly. JT
kind of envied the easy way Stone Man and his woman could communicate
with a glance, how both their faces seemed to soften when they looked at
each other, but Rowland had fallen for a firecracker. She didn’t
back down from much. Shaking his head, JT asked, “She’s not flying in
soon, right? You did get her to promise to stay out of this?” “Yes, she gave me her word.” Griff relaxed. “You’re just relieved she won’t be down here to
bust your ass. Zo doesn’t let you get away with shit.” Rowland’s lips
curved. JT straightened in his chair, accidentally hit the
table with his foot, and froze until it stopped rocking. “It’s because
you lied to her and said I’m sweet. She told me.” “I never said sweet.” Griff waved off his comment. “Words to that effect,
then.” “I don’t know how to break this to you, but Zo’s
never been wary of you. I only confirmed what she already knew.” It was true. Most women—and a hell of a lot of
men—were cautious around him, but Rowland’s girlfriend wasn’t one of
them. “It’s your own fault. You turned up at the condo
breathing fire and treating her as if you expected her to murder me at
any minute. You infuriated her enough to face off with you, and once she
did, your secret was out.” Stony frowned. “Ski and the hellcat had
cleared Zo three weeks earlier. You should have trusted their report,
instead of flying out with KW to interrogate her for yourself.” “It’s called looking out for a friend,” Griff said.
“And Ski’s opinion couldn’t be trusted, not as sappy as he’s been since
he fell for his hellcat. Dude, you listening?” Rowland shook his head. “We got trouble brewing.” Trouble? JT turned, following Stony’s gaze. The
woman was tall, blonde, and sexy enough to make heat fill his body. She
became the center of his attention. Her brown skirt ended inches above
her knees, her blazer matched it, and he fantasized about opening each
of the gold buttons and sliding it off her shoulders. Her clothes
appeared to be American, her lips were full, her haircut was expensive,
and the expression on her face broadcasted she was repelled by what
surrounded her. It also clearly said eat-shit-and-die. The heat he felt leaped higher. “Holy fuck,” he
breathed, “she’s hot.” “That’s one problem. Her attitude is the other.” “Her attitude is part of the reason why
she’s hot.” Griff kept his gaze on the woman, not wanting to miss a
minute of her. She was checking out the men, and he scowled. She
definitely wasn’t a sex worker, so what the hell was she doing? “She’s
dressed for a business meeting in Rio Blanco, not a merc bar in
Trujillo.” “We are two minutes away from things going to
hell,” Rowland barked, jerking JT out of the haze of desire flooding his
brain. “Round her up and get her the fuck out of here. I’ll hold them
off so you can get away.” His buddy was right—things were about to turn ugly.
“Copy that,” Griff said, moving immediately. As he approached, he did some quick assessing.
Blonde and sexy was about five-seven, she was wearing heels and had a
designer purse with the strap across her body. Griff put her in her
mid-to late-twenties. Her chin was square, her cheekbones high and
sharp, and her eyes were a brilliant, emerald green. She caught him
nearing her, and her glare would have reduced him to ashes if that kind
of thing affected him. “Let’s get out of here,” he said in English, taking
her elbow. She yanked her arm free. “I’m not going anywhere,
especially with you.” He’d been right—her accent was American. “You don’t
realize where you are.” “I know exactly where I am, now go away.” Griff felt the atmosphere in the bar ramp up
higher. He and Stony couldn’t hold off a room full of mercs by
themselves. Time was up. “I tried asking nice. You didn’t listen.” He
bent, put his shoulder solidly into her stomach, and lifted her into a
firefighter’s carry. The move knocked the wind out of her, leaving her
unable to scream, and JT headed for the exit. The mercs he passed
laughed and stepped aside, giving him a clear path. Once outside, he didn’t waste any time distancing
them from El Taller. Rowland should be able to control the
situation now that the spark had been removed from the powder keg, but
it was better to err on the side of caution. The next problem was where
to talk. He needed to convince her how dangerous the bar was, or she
might show up there again. When he wasn’t there to protect her. “Put me down,” she demanded. Her voice remained
weak and wheezy, but it wouldn’t last long. “I will in a minute. Before you think about
screaming, lift your head and take a good look around.” When her hands
gripped his waist and he felt her move, he knew she was following his
order. No matter which way she’d come in, she’d walked
through some sketchy neighborhoods, but JT wasn’t sure she’d paid
attention to what surrounded her. Now he wanted her to understand the
danger. How she made it to the bar unscathed…well, the saying was angels
watched over fools and children. “This area of Trujillo? It’s so bad the
local police avoid it. No one you see is going to rush to your aid. They
might rob you or rape you, but they’re not going to help you.” “Why should I trust you not to rob or rape me?” Her
voice was definitely getting stronger. “I’m the safest option you have.” Which told her
exactly nothing, but he couldn’t reveal he was US Army Special Forces. “Oh, well, that reassures me.” She had her air back, and her attitude, but she
wasn’t screaming, and that was the only thing that mattered. Now, Griff
needed to find somewhere they could talk where she felt safe but
couldn’t run away before he impressed on her how fucking idiotic her
actions were. It took a while to find somewhere. The area was transitional—not great, but he
wouldn’t need to worry about exposing his back. Boarded-up row houses
with front doors set into deep alcoves lined a cobblestone street. Griff
picked one of the entrances and deposited the woman on her feet, hanging
on to her waist until she had her equilibrium back. He blocked her exit. She’d cut and run at the first
opportunity—he didn’t blame her—but there were people here who would
help her if she screamed.
This excerpt is from WICKED SALVATION
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