The stairs creaked, but the sound of Spanish conversation and a television from the second floor masked their approach. Jake counted three distinct voices. At the top of the stairs, light spilled from under one door, accompanied by voices and what sounded like someone crying softly.
Jake gestured for Ghost and Bulldog to take positions on either side of the door. The room beyond contained Maria Martinez. She was tied to a chair, her face showing the effects of days of captivity. Three cartel soldiers occupied the room with her.
Jake burst through the door with explosive force, his training taking over as he engaged multiple targets. The man with the firearm went down first, neutralized by Jake’s swift, silent takedown before he could even raise his weapon. The one watching television spun toward the threat, but was met with Bulldog’s overwhelming force, ending the fight instantly. The third man, the one who had been tormenting Maria, reached for a radio to call for backup. Ghost’s specialized sidearm made a quiet sound, and the man collapsed without a word.
“Maria,” Jake said gently, cutting her bonds. “I’m Jake Morrison. Your daughter Emma is safe. We’re here to take you home.”
Maria’s legs buckled when she tried to stand. Jake caught her. “Emma,” Maria whispered, “is she really safe?”
“She’s with my people,” Jake assured her. “She’s been asking for you every day. She drew pictures to help us find this place.”
Maria’s eyes filled with tears of relief. “She’s so brave.”
“You survived,” Jake said simply. “That took courage too.”
Ghost’s voice came through the radio. “Jake, we’ve got company. Four vehicles just pulled into the parking lot. They know something’s wrong.”
The sound of car doors slamming echoed from below. “Can you move?” Jake asked Maria.
She nodded, determination replacing fear. “Whatever it takes to get back to my daughter.”
Jake helped Maria toward the window that overlooked the rear loading dock. Bulldog was already securing a rope for their descent while Ghost covered the hallway.
“Hammer, we’ve got the package,” Jake transmitted. “Beginning extraction now. Things are about to get loud.”
From the church, Hammer’s reply carried the sound of engines starting. “Copy that. Creating noise to cover your exit.”
The broken cross necklace around Maria’s neck caught the light as they prepared to rappel from the second-story window. Maria clutched it tightly as Jake helped her through, her faith proving stronger than the violence that had tried to break it.
The reunion at Doc’s clinic was both joyous and devastating. Emma launched herself into her mother’s arms with a cry, but Maria’s response was a mixture of relief and guilt as she saw how thin her daughter had become.
“Misha, my baby,” Maria whispered, holding Emma tightly. “Mama’s here now. Mama’s never leaving you again.”
Doc worked quietly, treating Maria’s injuries. The physical damage was extensive—broken ribs, bruises, cuts—but not life-threatening. The psychological wounds ran deeper.
“They kept asking about what I saw,” Maria said quietly to Jake, while Emma dozed against her. “The policeman… They wanted to know if I’d told anyone.” She described the systematic interrogation. “They showed me pictures of Emma at school… said the only way to keep her safe was to convince them I would never talk.”
“You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Jake said. “We’re going to make sure they can never threaten either of you again.”
But even as he spoke, the encrypted phone in his pocket buzzed. Ghost translated the new text. “Warehouse Compromised. Package Retrieved by Unknown Hostiles. Implement Protocol 7 Immediately.”
“What’s Protocol 7?” Jake asked.
Ghost’s face was grim. “I don’t know, but the follow-up messages are mobilizing every cartel asset in the city. They’re not just coming after us, they’re going scorched earth.”
Doc looked up. “Maybe it’s time to involve federal authorities.”
Maria shook her head violently. “No police. They showed me pictures of the dead detective. Said they owned half the department. How do we know who to trust?”
Jake understood her fear, but he also recognized the tactical reality. The Devil’s Canyon MC could handle street fights, but not sustained warfare against a well-funded cartel with law enforcement connections.
“There might be another way,” Angel said quietly. She’d been making phone calls. “I know someone who knows someone in the federal system. Not local cops. FBI agents who specialize in cartel investigations.”
“Can they be trusted?” Jake asked.
“They can be motivated,” Angel replied. “Especially if we can offer them the intelligence we gathered.”
Emma stirred and opened her eyes. She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of her hand-drawn cards. This one showed stick figures holding hands under a rainbow, with “Thank You” written in careful block letters. She offered it to Jake…
