Chapter 33: Chapter 33

“Talia!” Tucker bellowed. Or at least he thought he did. It was hard to tell over the ringing in his ears. Watching Talia hit the wall and slide down into a motionless heap was more horrifying than anything he’d witnessed in his entire Spec Ops career. Then, he could maintain some kind of disconnect, but it was impossible to maintain any modicum of emotional distance when you were witnessing the person you cared about getting blown up.

There was no preparing for that.

What the hell were they using anyway, rocket launchers?

Gunfire erupted once more, eliminating any chance of Tucker checking on her. He wanted more than anything to rush over and administer aid, but he was in a hot zone with two more people he had to protect. First things first, he had to get Gabby and Ash someplace safe—or safer than where they currently were. But there was nowhere they could go that would keep them out of the line of fire.

Looking around the room, Tucker realized the best he could offer given the situation they were in was under the bed. At least then they were out of sight. Thrusting Ash into Gabby’s arms, he pushed her in its direction, shouting, “Get down and out of sight. Don’t move a fucking muscle! Do you hear me? Don’t come out until I say!”

She didn’t have to be told twice. Once they were out of sight, Tucker left the room careful to remain low and vigil. No sense in getting his head blown off too early in the game, and definitely not before he took Cruiz’s off his shoulders.

The house looked like a total war zone. A heavy dust coated the air, along with a burning smell he couldn’t locate the origin of. The structure itself resembled Swiss cheese. He hoped Blake had home owner’s insurance. The deductible, though, was going to be a bitch. Good thing he was a contractor.

Bullets whizzed past his head in a constant stream, pelting the walls and everything else in their path. Tucker was torn between running into the fray and engaging the enemy, and staying put to wait for a clear path that may or may not come. Given the seemingly endless amount of ammo they were pumping into the house, he had to wonder at how many people he was looking at out there. Ten, twenty, more?

Thank God he’d loaded up earlier. Aside from the pistol in his hand that was part of a matching set, he had another in the waistband at the small of his back and a six-shooter in an ankle holster hidden beneath his pant leg. On the off chance that he had to engage in close quarters combat, he also carried a butterfly knife in his back pants pocket that he was more than fluent in. In the event that all else failed, he was a fucking MacGyver with household shit. He would take down any and every bastard that had the balls to come through that door.

Correction: the hole in the wall where the door used to be.

Ducking back out of sight, Tucker cursed roundly. From the glimpse he’d gotten, there were at least four on the front lawn. He was sure there were more. No way four guys could cause this much damage alone. The lot the house sat on wasn’t huge by any means, but it was wide and open and it had four sides, so there was a lot of possibility there.

Most of the windows had been shattered, leaving jagged edges behind, and all the lights had been cut out with the first round. At least he had that going for him. In times of war, darkness was sometimes the only ally a guy had.

Tucker closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on his breathing. In and out. In and out. Steady. Calm. His mind cleared of all outside influence until the only thing left was the mission at hand and the drive to complete it.

He was, in the truest sense of the word, a killing machine.

Heavy boot steps climbed the wooden steps out front, and Tucker timed them to the door. Into the house. Crunching of glass. The scrape of furniture. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Deep breath in, out. They grew closer, closing in on his location. Tucker’s fist tightened around the butt of the gun, his trigger finger itching to pull.

Closer. Closer. Closer…Without a sound, Tucker, remaining in his crouched position, lifted his weapon and aimed high. The instant he saw the dark figure step into view, he emptied two rounds right into his cranium.

The bastard dropped like a bolder. Shouts rebounded, and the rest of the men came running. A savage grin stole over Tucker’s face as he rose up to greet them. “Game on, motherfuckers.”

***

Bodies littered the floors. Outside, the wail of sirens grew closer. But Tucker wasn’t even close to being finished. He might have taken out a dozen or more of Cruiz’s crew, but he had yet to take the head of the snake himself.

He wanted blood. Vengeance. And he wouldn’t rest until he’d made sure it was done. Blake and his family deserved to live in peace. His brothers deserved to live in peace. And he resented the hell out of the fact that Talia had been placed in any kind of danger. Which was why this battle was personal now.

Cruiz had a lot to answer for, and Tucker planned to make sure he did. If that meant he had to spend the rest of his life in prison to make it happen, then so be it.

Right now, he had the little weasel cornered in the backyard—not that he was trying to run away. Cruiz had cased the property while his men carried out his dirty work, casually smoking a cigar while he waited. Typical for a kingpin like him. The big difference between Cruiz and a kingpin though was that Cruiz liked to be part of the action. He liked to get up close and personal with his work. He especially enjoyed watching the light fade from his victim’s eyes.

Yes, Tucker had met many men like him in his years, and he knew how to spot them a mile away. Standing on the back deck, Tucker met Cruiz’s cold, dead eyes and saw nothing but pure evil reflected back. Soulless. The effect was chilling.

Puffing one last time on his cigar, Cruiz tossed the stub into the grass and left it to burn. Smoke trailed lazily from his nostril and lips as he made a slow, steady approach. No fear. No hesitation. Even in the face of death, the man was cold as ice.

“Bravo.” He clapped his hands together slowly, the action more mocking than words alone could ever be. “Last man standing. Quite a feat. I’m impressed with your skill. Perhaps you’d consider coming to work for me. I could always use a man who knows his way around a weapon.”

“Not a chance in hell, cabrón.” The police were closing in fast. In the distance, Tucker thought he heard the whoop of a helicopter. If he planned to take this piece of shit down, he had to make it fast.

“No? I guarantee you the pay is better than anything that president of yours gives you, and the benefits are not so bad either. Definitely better than these American jobs offer.” He laughed lightly, although there was no humor behind it.

Impatient, Tucker made a show of checking his clip. One bullet left. That’s all he needed. “Let’s cut the chitchat,” he sniped. “We’re not going to be amigos, but I can tell you what you’re gonna be. Dead.” He lifted his arm, taking aim.

Cruiz’s expression flattened. Dipping his head, he chuckled softly. Without any visible concern for his well-being, he reached into the left breast of his finely tailored suit jacket and withdrew a shiny silver gun that glinted in the moonlight. Like Tucker, he made a show of checking the clip, then he pulled back the slide to chamber a round.

“Shame to put an end to so much talent. Are you sure you won’t make an exception?”

“I’m sure.”

Twisting the gun to the left then the right, examining it with little interest, Cruiz said conversationally, “You know, when mi abuelo was our age, he settled his problems with a duel of sorts. What do you say we do this the gentlemanly way.”

Tucker barked a charitable laugh. “Are you suggesting we stand back to back and pace it out? Because I have to admit, I’ve reached the limits of my patience tonight. As it is, I’m having trouble not shooting you on the spot.”

“And the fact that you continue to show such restraint is remarkable. You know, it doesn’t have to be this way. My beef isn’t with you. Not even with your little club, if you want to be technical. I’m just here for the girl.”

“Gabby? Nah, she’s not up for negotiation.”

“You banging her too?” he asked with amusement. “My, that woman gets around, doesn’t she. I bet your president wouldn’t be too happy to hear about that.”

Tucker didn’t bother wasting his breath correcting him. “I was going to shoot you between the eyes, make this quick, but now I’m thinking something more lasting. Stomach maybe?”

Cruiz just clucked his tongue, as if disappointed in him. “Such a shame to waste all that talent on people who will never appreciate you. Not the way I would. If you were on my side, I’d celebrate you.”

“Thanks, pendejo. I’ll be sure to remember that when I’m dancing on your grave.”

Cruiz’s arm flew up, gun aimed high, at the same time Tucker lowered his, aiming low. They pulled the trigger in unison, turning two shots into one.

A sudden and unexpected force jerked Tucker back, followed by the sensation of boiling water down his left arm. Even more confusing was the perfectly round hole carved between Cruiz’s eyes as he stood there, stare vacant. In slow motion, his body tipped backward and fell into the tall grass.

Tucker had been aiming for the stomach, so how…?

“God, you’re bleeding!”

Talia suddenly appeared at Tucker’s side, putting pressure on the wound to his shoulder. “It looks like the bullet passed clean through, but you’re going to have to get it looked at in case there’s any lasting damage.”

Covered in dirt and debris, a small cut above her right eye leaked blood down her temple. Her hair was wild, her cheekbone was bruised, he assumed, from where she’d collided with the wall. And she was a vision. Tucker couldn’t stop staring.

Talia noticed. Brows furrowed, her eyes darted to his and back to his injury, the bulk of her focus on keeping him from bleeding all over the place. “What?”

“Why did you shoot him?”

“Because he was going to shoot you.”

That was obvious. “And I was going to shoot him. Why would you put yourself in danger like that? I had him.”

“Don’t give me that macho man bullshit, Tuck. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t do the same thing as you.”

“Did you hear me say anything like that?” he challenged. Bright light filled the yard from overhead. It was then Tucker became aware that the police had arrived. He could hear officers infiltrating the house from the front and working their way back to them now. Before they did, though, he had to know why she would risk herself. “Why, Talia?”

“Why did I save your ass?”

“I had him.”

“Yeah, you did,” she confirmed, meeting his eyes. “But if you’d taken him out yourself, you’d be going to jail tonight.”

“I just killed a dozen men, maybe more. I’m going to jail anyway.”

“That was self-defense. He would have been an assassination.”

“He shot me,” he pointed out.

“And I’ll argue that I shot him because he was going to kill you.”

“You risked yourself for me.” Touching her face, Tucker trailed his fingertips across her cheekbone, down to her lips, then her chin, treasuring the feel of her in his hands while he still could.

“Just returning the favor,” she replied softly.

God, she was gorgeous. And sweet too. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

The softness in her eyes drained right out and Talia drew away. That was when a couple of suits followed by several officers stormed the deck. The tall one in front with the round belly took stock of the scene with a quick visual sweep before addressing Talia head on.

“What in Sam Hill happened here?”

Tucker scowled, puzzled as to why the focus of that question seemed to be directed solely at Talia. The feeling only grew when she looked up at him, her round brown eyes filled with anguish.

“Talia?” Tucker whispered. He didn’t like the sinking sensation in his chest one bit.

“Agent McKinnon, care to explain why I have dead bodies all over the damn place?”

Say what now?