I was an asshole and broke her heart, but there was no other way. She needed to move on.
And now she’s been taken.
“Status.” That voice belongs to CJ, our mission commander.
CJ’s been at this game twice as long as any of us. Famous for bringing the Fairy-tale serial killer down, along with his copycat wannabe, Prince Charming, he freed half a dozen women while on vacation. In our community, CJ is a legend. Now he leads all the Guardian teams.
I work my way deeper into the building, knowing CJ follows our progress via the helmet and body cams streaming our every move. Our success and failure broadcasts in real time to command.
It’s dark. We cut the electricity to the entire block. The flashlight mounted on my helmet provides all the light I need as it pierces through the dimly lit hall.
“Do you have the package?” CJ’s voice crackles with impatience, locking my molars tight together. We can’t afford to be late and this feels all kinds of too fucking late.
Cancun is famous for kidnappings of rich Americans and pretty American girls. Spring break is their fucking hunting season. They pluck innocent college coeds off the street like it’s nothing. Unfortunately, Zoe is what they look for, a willowy blonde knockout with bright bottle-green eyes. It’s her most striking feature.
I pass down a hall. Weapon up. Scanning left to right. Finger on the trigger guard.
Max and Griff cleared these rooms on their way in, but I never assume. Those who do don’t last long in our line of work.
Methodically, I scan the long hall, clear each room as I go, and make my way to the last room at the end. I meet Wolfe there with a lift of my chin. He responds in kind.
The room’s empty.
“Fucking hell.” My nose wrinkles at the smell of blood, sweat, and human excrement. The stench is enough to make me gag. Breathing through my mouth only makes it worse. Foulness floods my senses.
Zoe was in this room.
Past tense.
Mission failure.
Ratty blankets form amorphous lumps on the dirty floor.
Lumps.
Pleural.
Not unexpected. We know the men who took Zoe are part of a human trafficking ring. That’s why we’re here. We’re the hostage rescue specialists paid handsomely to bring stolen girls home, preferably safe and sound. Although we’re only hired to recover Zoe, we’ll save them all. Forest won’t have it any other way.
There’s easily a dozen or more blankets strewn about. A dozen lives taken. The bitter tang of failure coats my tongue. I’m not used to that sour taste.
Guardians never fail.
Tell that to Zoe. Tell her how this isn’t a colossal fucked up failure.
If she’s still alive.
My helmet light pierces the gloom, revealing dried blood and fetid urine stains. They kept the girls in here like animals. The blood comes in various forms: dried pools on the floor, stains on the blankets, and splatter marks on the wall. Urine stains are everywhere.
These men are sloppy. Damaging their merchandise cuts into their bottom line. By the looks of this place, all the girls suffered. Some more than others.
My Zoe suffered. I suppress the angry growl rumbling in the back of my throat.
In my six years as a team guy, I’ve seen a lot of fucked-up shit. When I left the Navy, I thought the worst of human depravity was behind me. How wrong I was. This is some fucked-up shit.
I used to hunt dangerous men, relieving them of the burden of their pathetic lives, or returning them to whichever prevailing authority waited to extract their pound of flesh.
Now, I retrieve the fallen, the broken; those who’ve been taken. I’m a Guardian, a hostage rescue specialist dealing with a catastrophic mission failure. The girls are gone. From the looks of it, we’re hours late, maybe even a whole day late.
This job isn’t any easier than my team days. In many ways, it’s far worse. Revulsion coils in my gut, thinking about what these girls endured.
Girls. Young women. Innocent victims.
That’s not an emotion I ever felt for the targets I disposed of during my time in the Navy. I dispatched lives without a bit of compassion or lick of guilt cluttering my conscience.
“What did you want me to see?” I turn my attention to our team leader. Max could’ve told me about this shit instead of dragging me from my position.
“You tell me.” Max gestures to another room. The door sits off its hinges and is propped haphazardly against the wall. The low