Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I was sure this yacht was rented and paid for with that money too. After all, he had to keep his shit clean. Or dirty, as it was. ’Cause cartels had their own diggers and intelligence operators. That’s what was so terrifying about drug cartels today because they operated like separate nations and governments. They had their own armed forces.
I opened another door in the hallway on the second floor, revealing one more guest room. I was at five so far. Plus, a professional kitchen, two major outdoor decks, one entertainment area indoors, and a goddamn gym.
When push came to shove, I believed Adrien was well versed in veering off the by-the-book path. He wasn’t as straitlaced as he might come off.
I was curious if he’d said anything about me to Bucko. Had Adrien been honest? Was there an FBI protocol for keeping me hostage here?
Four years going undercover, on and off. That was a long time for a single case.
How many white lies had Adrien told his bosses back at the office?
Let’s be honest.
Even a grunt like me had pulled a fast one during my years in the service. Hell, so had my superiors, ’cause we knew the mountain of paperwork that waited for us if we did everything correct.
Some shit just didn’t get filed.
Besides, in Adrien’s case… If you were going to pull off the act of a cartel freelancer, you had to live like one—if only partly. You had to look the other way. You had to witness crimes. You had to see the crimes being committed so that the criminals could be charged for them. You had to let fairly large fish slide right by you in your quest for the white whale.
The next door was locked, and when I pressed my ear to it, I heard snores.
Bucko, you lazy son of a gun, you’re wasting away the day.
Adrien wasn’t wasting his day, no matter how chill he was behaving. He had everything figured out, didn’t he?
I was on board with the rapid action of his hitching a ride with military personnel back to the US—or to South America. That happened all the time. Fine. The rest, though? If I could toot my own horn for one fucking second, I wanted to say it couldn’t be done. Not with his circumstances. Not with the size of the Blanco cartel. Not in that time frame.
Not an extradition.
I knew logistics. I knew combat. I knew how many had to be involved in what Adrien wanted to accomplish. I even knew a bit of the intensity of the diplomatic relations between the US and Colombia. Because people sent PMCs for a reason, to go around all that administrative bullshit. How many times had Elliott worked in South America? River and Reese? Darius?
So…that begged the question. Was Adrien gonna pull something that hadn’t been authorized?
Was he gonna act alone?
“You won’t find anything in my cabin.”
I spun around and spotted Adrien coming down the corridor.
“You’re free to look if you want,” he said. He passed me and opened the door to his room.
I’d already looked…
Not a single laptop or phone, just clothes in his closet, some books on the desk, a toiletry kit in his bathroom, and a bag of Maltesers semi-hidden under his pillow. Oh, and two expensive watches on his nightstand.
I stopped in the doorway while he went for his stack of books on the desk.
“Hey, Adrien?”
“Hmm?” He was choosing between something with a Spanish title and a copy of some spy thriller Uncle Greer and Uncle Angus had raved about.
“Are you gonna do something stupid in Colombia, like get yourself killed?”
He glanced over at me and knitted his brows together. “What?”
I huffed and felt my temper flare right away, ’cause I had a feeling he was gonna lie to me. “Just give me the truth for once. Are you gonna go after Luca and put one in his brain instead of having him extradited?”
He gave me a quick glare before he hurried toward me. I stiffened. But he just looked past me, out into the corridor, and then he pulled me into his room and closed the door. I knew it! The second he flipped that lock, I fucking knew it! He didn’t want Bucko to hear!
“Keep your voice down,” he snapped.
“I knew it!” I whisper-yelled. “Are you seriously that fucking stupid? It’s a suicide mission!”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, so just stay out of it.” He took a step toward me, that glare of his firmly in place.
Like I was intimidated by him?
I clenched my jaw. “But you’re admitting it. It’s a hit, not an arrest.”
“I’m not admitting to anything—and you will keep your mouth shut until Fred’s out of here. Do you understand, Crew?”
My fucking God, he pissed me off! I thought the whole point of completing his mission was so that he could spend more time with his son. How was he gonna do that if he ended up dead?