Honor Avenged Page 13

  No way was he the brains behind this operation. Xander was too smart, too good at his job to let a little punk like this get the best of him.

  “You were with Defion,” Dmitry said like it was some big secret. It wasn’t. She made damn sure the guys she’d met in Indonesia knew she was ex-Defion.

  “I was.”

  “We had another Defion operative come to us for sanctuary last year, and he recently betrayed us.”

  Xander.

  Had to be.

  Her heart punched against her ribs, but she kept her face impassive. If there was one thing Harrison Stead had taught her, it was how to shut down her emotions. She was the last one to give Harrison credit for anything, but she had him to thank for the stone-cold bitch she was today. She’d be sure to do that before she sliced his throat.

  “So tell me,” Dmitry continued, “why shouldn’t I turn you over to them, hmm? I hear they are offering good cash for your pretty neck.”

  Pretty neck? Yeah, she really didn’t like him. “Because I’m better than ten of your men put together.”

  “That’s a big claim for a little girl.”

  Little girl? She resisted the urge to reach for her weapon and shoot him now. “Not a claim. The truth. You want to test me, test me. I can be an asset to Volkov.”

  “We’ll see. Do you speak Russian?” he asked in his native language.

  “Have you always been a shit-ass?” she replied in the same language. She’d always enjoyed cursing in Russian. They were so wonderfully creative with their insults.

  Dmitry let out a quick bark of laughter. “You have spirit. I like spirit.”

  Mercedes bit down on her tongue to keep from telling him where he could shove that spirit. She’d already pressed her luck by calling him names. Shouldn’t have done that. She should be playing the part of the good little soldier, but she really didn’t fucking like this man.

  Leah said the mercenaries after her had captured Xander, but Mercedes still clung to the hope he’d gotten away. He was good. After all, she’d trained him to be. But if by some chance he hadn’t escaped, this fuckwit Dmitry would know where he was. And if he was holding her brother hostage, she would take great pleasure in wiping that smug grin off his face.

  After another moment, Dmitry stood from his desk. “Consider yourself hired, but one fuckup and you’ll join your fellow ex-Defion operative in the mines.”

  The small flame of hope inside her sizzled out. He could only mean Xander. Her brother had been caught, and this little shit in the Fabio shirt was now holding him hostage.

  What mines?

  She needed more information, but asking about it now would only show her cards. She needed to play this one close to the vest if she had any chance of getting her brother out alive.

  Though it nearly killed her, she offered Dmitry her hand. “Thank you.”

  He held on too long, and if it wasn’t for the commotion at the door just then, she got the icky sensation he would’ve pulled her toward him and laid a kiss on her. As it was, he caressed the back of her hand with his thumb before letting go.

  Ugh.

  Where was the bleach when a girl needed it?

  “You’re dismissed,” he said and turned his attention to the door. Two men dressed in Volkov black, despite the heat and their jungle surroundings, dragged a struggling blond woman into the hut.

  For the second time in a matter of minutes, Mercedes’s heart thumped hard with recognition.

  Leah Giancarelli.

  What the hell?

  Leah’s frantic gaze ping-ponged around the room until it landed on her. The woman opened her mouth in an O of surprise. Mercedes gave a tiny shake of the head, silently warning her not to say anything. To her credit, Leah recovered fast and hid her surprise with a shout of frustration when one of her guards shoved her forward.

  Mercedes continued out the door, careful to keep her face impassive even as questions raced through her mind. What the fuck had happened to land Leah here? Last time she’d seen the woman, Marcus Deangelo was sticking to her like gum and had been determined to keep her safe. Was Marcus dead? It was the only thing that made sense. Marcus wouldn’t have let Volkov take his woman if he was still alive to stop it.

  Shit.

  She didn’t need this complication.

  Mercedes slipped out the door into a new spat of rain. Of all the forsaken places on earth Volkov could’ve set up shop, why did it have to be Africa during the rainy season? She’d gotten her fill of the continent last year in Nigeria and hadn’t planned to come back to this corner of the world any time soon. But now here she was, somehow both melting and freezing in the torrential rain, breathing in air so thick with humidity it soaked through everything even without the rain’s help. It was enough to give her flashbacks to Nigeria—sitting in the pouring rain for days on end, waiting to do Defion’s dirty deeds out of some misguided sense of loyalty.

  Well, no more.

  She was her own fucking woman now. A free agent. The only person she owed any loyalty to was her brother, and she was closer to finding him than ever before. Leah Giancarelli wasn’t her problem.

  Except.

  She was a realist. As badass as she was, she might need help freeing her brother and, given her current situation, HORNET was her best—no, face it, her only bet. HORNET was all about loyalty and honor. They all lived by a code. Helping Leah would get her a lot of mileage with those men. Maybe it would even convince them she’d turned over a new leaf.

  Ha.

  Way she saw it, she had two options. Save Leah and secure HORNET’s help when the time came, or try going it alone. Both had pros and cons. But after a quick internal battle, she decided one had more cons than pros.

  Mind made up, she snagged a sat phone from the supply hut, then jumped up into the back of a cargo truck for some privacy. The rain drumming against the canvas roof would give her cover from potential eavesdroppers. She had no doubt Dmitry would have her watched closely over the next few days, but he was currently distracted and hopefully hadn’t issued that order yet. This might be her one and only opening to make a call.

  She dialed from memory and didn’t wait for a greeting when the line connected. “Missing something?”

  Ian Reinhardt growled softly. “Where are they? Did you have something to do with this?”

  “No.”

  His silence said he didn’t believe her. Well, fuck him.

  “Hey, if you don’t want my intel, I’ll hang up now. I’m putting my neck on the line here.”

  “Where are they?” he asked again. She wouldn’t say his tone was pleasant, but he’d definitely shaved the edge off it. She imagined the control it must have required had a muscle ticking under one of his dark eyes.

  She grinned. “Say please.”

  Maybe it wasn’t smart to throw accelerant at a bomb waiting to happen, but she couldn’t seem to help herself when it came to Ian Reinhardt. She liked provoking him.

  Several seconds passed in charged silence. Then he said, “Please,” like something was strangling him.

  “I love it when you beg.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  Shit. Too far. She’d pushed him too far. “No! Wait. Leah Giancarelli is in CAR.”

  “She’s in a car?” Suspicion dripped from the question. “That’s your intel?”

  “No, C-A-R. Central African Republic. In some unnamed abandoned village on an unnamed road.” She gave the coordinates. “Dmitry Volkov has her. He’s here with his mercenaries. Supposedly they are training the local military, but there’s something else going on here.”

  “And Leah’s there? You’re sure?”

  “I saw her.”

  “What about Marcus?”

  “No clue. I only saw her and if you want to get her back alive, you need to light a fire under Tucker Quentin’s
ass and get HORNET here like yesterday. She’s living on borrowed time.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Ian muttered before he hung up.

  No Thank you, Mercedes or You saved my ass or I owe you.

  That wasn’t Ian’s style.

  But, like it or not, he did owe her now. A few times over by her calculations. And she planned to collect sooner rather than later.

  She gazed out at the pouring rain and winced. She’d enjoyed staying somewhat dry for these last few minutes, but she had work to do.

  Now to find out more about those mines.

  …

  Capri, Italy

  “Who was that, mon ami?”

  Ian pocketed his cell phone but didn’t turn around at Jean-Luc’s question. Fuck. The Cajun was a sneaky bastard when he wanted to be. “Nobody important.”

  “Sounded like something important.”

  Ian did a quick mental retread of the conversation. Had he called Mercedes by name? No. He hadn’t said anything too damning, but he had mentioned Marcus and Leah. So how was he supposed to share this intel with the team without exposing all his secrets? It was bad enough they already had the flash drive. If he told Jean-Luc he’d been in contact with Mercedes, he might as well just hand the Cajun a knife to slit his throat, because it would be easier than answering the questions he’d face.

  But he still had work to do, revenge to dole out, before he cashed in his chips. He needed to think fast.

  He made sure his scowl was still firmly in place when he faced Jean-Luc. “A buddy of mine from my EOD days is working the PMC circuit now. I asked him to keep his eyes and ears open for news about Marcus and Leah. He just spotted them.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Shit, you didn’t need to be a linguist to hear the doubt in those two words. “What?”

  Jean-Luc lifted a brow. “I’m surprised is all.”

  “That I care?”

  “That you have friends.”

  “Fuck you, Cajun.”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sorry, you’re too late.” He held up his left hand and wiggled his ring finger. “I’ve turned over a new leaf and am now a happily married man.”

  Ian stalked past him, headed for the stairs leading up to Quentin’s plane. They had hung around the airport in Capri awaiting Evgeni Volkov’s reply. When none came, Tuc had the plane refueled for a return trip to Indonesia. Mercedes’s call had come just as they were preparing to leave, which meant he now had to convince Tuc to change plans.

  “I had no idea you like men,” Jean-Luc called after him.

  He stopped like he’d hit a solid wall and whipped around. “What?”

  “Your buddy? He’s…more than?”

  “Keep saying shit like that and I will pound your head into Cajun gumbo.”

  Jean-Luc held up his hands. “Mais la! Just making an observation. That convo made you…” His gaze dropped pointedly to Ian’s fly. “Happy.”

  Ian looked down at himself. Sure enough, he was rocking a hard-on. “If you’re a happily married man, why are you noticing my cock?”

  “Hard not to when your soldier’s standing at attention like that. So your friend…?”

  “Fuck off.” He took the stairs to the plane two at a time. Not that it would get him away from the annoying Cajun. He was stuck on this plane with the man until they got to wherever they were going next.

  Which looked to be fucking Africa.

  Again.

  As soon as he figured out a better explanation than “an old military friend told me.”

  Ian sat in one of the leather seats and winced as certain areas of his anatomy rubbed and pinched. He adjusted himself, then glowered down at the bulge in his pants. For years, sex had been so far off his radar that he mostly just ignored that particular appendage. Sex got men in trouble. He saw it happen time and again. He’d watched each of his teammates fall to the almighty pussy. He wasn’t going to be one of them. He pushed his palm against his cock, willing the stupid thing to disappear.

  Adrenaline, he told himself. The thrill of new intel to chase. Definitely not attraction to a bossy, bad-mouthed Latina mercenary with an agenda of her own.

  Hell, he didn’t even like her. Why the hell would he want to fuck her?

  Had to be adrenaline.

  Just adrenaline.

  Nothing more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Leah slowly became aware of her surroundings. Everything blurred and muffled, at first, like coming out of a bad dream. People—men’s voices—spoke around her, but it wasn’t in English. Her head swam as she lifted it. Drugged. She remembered that now. After she and Marcus surrendered to the black-clad mercenaries in Indonesia, they’d injected her with something and the world had gone black.

  She blinked and realized the fuzziness over her eyes was a blindfold. No, a bag. She had a bag over her head and panic spiked through her, hot and wild, counteracting whatever drug they’d given her.

  How much time had passed?

  Where was she?

  Where was Marcus?

  Rough hands grabbed her suddenly and a small, terrified sound slipped from her lips. She hated it. Made her sound like a weak little mouse and she wanted to be strong and brave and capable and not so frightened that tremors shook her to the bones.

  Someone whipped the bag off her head. Light assaulted her eyes, blinding her for several long seconds.

  “Mrs. Leah Giancarelli,” a Russian-accented voice said directly in front of her.

  She focused on that spot as her vision cleared. The man who came into view was…not what she had expected. Young, mid-twenties, his silk shirt halfway unbuttoned to show a chest that was almost concave, the kind of thin that came from a lot of drug use.

  This was the man who controlled Volkov Group? Who had bested Marcus?

  It didn’t make sense.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked with a snake-oil smile.

  Was she supposed to? Should she lie? No, best to stick to the truth. While he wasn’t the boogeyman her drug-addled brain had dreamed up in the seconds before the hood came off, he wasn’t exactly harmless, either. There was a sliminess to him that set her teeth on edge.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  “It’s okay. I would be concerned for you if you did. I’m Dmitry Volkov. My father is the founder and CEO of Volkov Group.”

  Ah. His father. Now that made sense. Dmitry wasn’t the leader. He was simply a rich kid working for daddy.

  “Have you heard of us?” he asked.

  This time, she decided on the lie. “No, I don’t know who you are. I don’t know why I’m here.” She let some of her inner terror seep out to wobble in her voice. “I just want to go home.”

  “That’s good. So far, I see no reason you can’t go home. Keep answering questions the way I like, and I’ll make sure you get back to those beautiful kids.”

  He’s lying. She didn’t know how she knew—he didn’t give off any obvious tells, but the fear tap-dancing down her spine told her he didn’t plan to release her.

  Dmitry walked around the edge of a desk and sat behind it. Maybe to make himself look powerful, but it didn’t work. The desk was the only furniture in the otherwise empty room, and he looked small behind it. Like a child sitting at the adult table for the first time.

  “Do you know Alexander Cabot?” he asked.

  Again, she decided on the truth. “I met him one time.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yes, he did. He gave you something. Information that could be very damning for certain individuals I work with.”

  Leah shook her head. “He gave me nothing. I swear.” Which was kind of the truth. He gave her the flash drive, but she never saw what was on it.

  “What about yo
ur husband? How long was Cabot involved with him?”

  “Involved?”

  “As an informant.”

  “My husband died a year ago.”

  “I’m aware.”

  A cold ripple of fear worked its way down her spine on a bead of sweat. He was aware of Danny’s death—but was he involved? Marcus told her the man who had pulled the trigger was dead, but HORNET never found who had hired the killer. Could she be standing in front of him now?

  “I don’t know anything. Danny never talked about work.”

  Dmitry leaned back in his seat and steepled his hands in front of his mouth. He had heavy gold rings on all of his fingers and they clinked together when he abruptly clapped. “Let’s see what Cabot has to say, huh? Maybe he’ll talk with new motivation.”

  The men grabbed her again and dragged her outside into the pouring rain. Her feet sank ankle-deep in mud. She’d lost one of her shoes somewhere between Indonesia and…wherever she was now. Not Indonesia. The weather was different, the lush green jungle replaced with high grass and scattered trees. Despite the barrage of rain, this was a drier climate than Indonesia. The rainwater didn’t so much as soak into the ground as run over it in small streams.

  God. Where was Marcus? Had they killed him?

  She was so hollowed out by the thought, so numb, she didn’t make a sound when her captors shoved the bag back over her head. It smelled of sweat and the heavy musk of fear. She wondered how many other people had worn this sack over their heads in the last minutes of their lives. Her captors manhandled her into the back of a truck, cuffed her to a bar, and left her.

  Alone.

  She stood up and tried to pull at the bar. It didn’t budge. With a rumble, the truck jerked forward and she lost her balance, crashing into the wall and wrenching her shoulder. She tried to steady herself, but every bump felt like a ravine and strained her arms against the cuffs. And, God, there were so many bumps.

  Something brushed past her bare foot. She shivered and tried to jerk away, but a hand clamped down on her leg. She drew in a breath for a scream that froze in her lungs when the bag was ripped from her head. She blinked and a face swam into focus.

  The woman from Indonesia. The one who had helped them. The one Marcus hadn’t trusted.