Steel Vengeance (Blackthorn Security #6)

Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

S titch waited in the car while the well-paid taxi driver went inside to book a room at the Marriott under his own name. Cash, of course. That’d confuse the cops when they came sniffing around later.

Once the room was sorted, Stitch pulled up his hoodie and headed upstairs to wait, while Blade kept watch in the lobby. It wouldn’t take long. The shipment was set to leave Karachi tomorrow, and Matthew wasn’t about to let Sloane screw things up.

They’d left Sloane back at the hotel. She’d promised to stay put. The brand-new prepaid phone they’d given her meant she could reach them anytime, if needs be.

Stitch glanced at his Glock on the table. He wasn’t sure exactly how this was going to go down, but he was more than ready to give Jeremy a piece of his mind. Nobody tried to take out his woman, especially not on his watch.

Whoa!

Sloane wasn’t his woman.

Even if he had reached for her. Held her. Tasted her.

Fuck.

His phone buzzed twice in rapid succession. The first message was the expected text from an unknown number.

It’s Jeremy. Which room are you in?

Stitch typed a reply.

143.

Right after, another text came through, this time from Blade.

On the way up.

Game time.

Stitch set his phone to record and left it face down on the dresser, then he grabbed his gun and positioned himself at the door. Blade would follow Jeremy up—standard procedure when dealing with informants. Blade’s boss, Pat—a former SEAL and all-round tough guy—was in the loop about the meeting. If things went sideways, he’d get the local authorities involved and make sure Jeremy was detained until they could ship him back to the U.S. They just needed something solid to pin on him.

A soft knock broke the silence.

“Here we go,” Stitch muttered to himself.

“Sloane? It’s Jeremy,” called the voice outside.

Bastard even sounded friendly, Stitch thought, but he remained calm. His training kicked in, keeping him focused. He cleared his head and zeroed in on the task. With his Glock hidden behind his back, he opened the door.

“Who the hell are you?” Jeremy took a step back, clearly not expecting a muscle-bound stranger to greet him. Then his gaze narrowed. “Wait? We’ve met. You were at the bar the other night. You spilled your drink on me.”

“That’s right, Jeremy. I’ve been expecting you,” Stitch said, icily.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Sloane?” Jeremy peered behind Stitch into the room.

“Sloane couldn’t make it.”

“What is this? Some kind of set-up? I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He turned to leave, but bumped straight into Blade, who had silently positioned himself behind him.

“Going somewhere?” Blade rumbled, blocking his way.

Jeremy took a step back, gaze flickering between the two of them. His hand started moving toward his jacket pocket.

“I wouldn’t,” Stitch warned, levelling his gun. “Hands where I can see them.”

Slowly, Jeremy raised his hands.

Blade reached a gloved hand into the CIA agent’s jacket and pulled out a Beretta fitted with a suppressor, then quickly patted him down in case he was concealing a second weapon. “He’s clear.”

“Come inside. Let’s talk.” Stitch motioned for him to step inside the hotel room.

Jeremy did as he was ordered but remained tense. Blade followed, right on his heels, still holding Jeremy’s gun.

“Take a seat,” Stitch said.

“I’d prefer to stand.” Jeremy glared at them. “What’s this about? Who are you?”

“Friends of Sloane’s,” Stitch said, flatly. “We heard you wanted to talk to her?”

He forced a chuckle. “I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I’m here to help her. I’m taking her back to the U.S.”

“With this?” Blade held up the Baretta.

The smirk left his lips. “That’s for protection. I’ve got a license for it.”

Stitch ignored him. “You and Sloane traveling together?”

“Yes.” Jeremy wasn’t a very good liar. Stitch expected more from a seasoned CIA special agent.

“Mm-hm. That’s strange. The airport didn’t have any flights booked in either of your names.”

Uncertainty flickered across Jeremy’s face. “Who the fuck are you?”

“We also work for the U.S. government,” Stitch said, keeping his gun on Jeremy. “I’ve got a license for this too.”

The agent’s eyes hardened. “What do you want with me?”

Stitch didn’t miss a beat. “Abdula Omari.”

The name hung in the air for a second too long. Jeremy’s mouth tightened. “What about him?” he hissed.

“You know him pretty well, don’t you?” Stitch circled him while Blade stood between the agent and the door, cutting off any chance of escape.

“I know of him.” Jeremy tried to sound casual. “But if you’ve talked to Sloane, you know about her assignment.”

“Yeah, we do. We also know about yours,” Stitch shot back.

Jeremy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“I think you do,” Stitch said. “You paid a hitman to take out Sloane because she found out about your relationship with Omari.”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“Let me jog your memory.” With his free hand, Stitch retrieved his phone off the dresser. He held up a picture of Jeremy shaking hands with Omari in a graveyard. “Ring any bells?”

Jeremy paled. He stared at the photo, trying to figure out how Stitch had gotten it.

“Was Sloane there?” Jeremy finally asked.

“No,” Stitch set the phone back on the dresser, face down. “I was.”

Jeremy stared at him. “Why?”

“Never mind. What were you and Omari discussing?”

Jeremy shifted his weight. “I think you already know.”

“You tell me,” Stitch replied. “It will save any misunderstandings down the line.”

Jeremy sighed. “Fine. We were discussing the shipment. But if you were there, you already know that.”

“Oh, I know.” Stitch shot him a hard look. “The Arabian Princess , right? Loading dock D?”

Jeremy’s body stiffened.

Stitch wasn’t about to let up. “I’m more interested in the money you paid Omari. What was that for?”

Jeremy clamped his mouth shut, saying nothing.

“Was it the final payment for your little CIA-backed drug-running operation?”

Jeremy’s eyes shifted.

Bingo.

“How long has Matthew Sullivan been running this show?” Stitch asked.

Jeremy stiffened as he went into defensive mode.

“That’s not gonna work, Jeremy.” Stitch looked him in the eye. “Either you talk, or we hand you over to the Pakistani police.”

Fear crept into his eyes, but he tried to brazen it out. “For what?”

“Attempted murder, for starters. You did walk in here with a gun,” Stitch said, calm but deadly.

Jeremy scoffed. “That won’t hold.”

“Wanna bet?” Stitch nodded at Blade. Blade aimed the Beretta and fired two quick shots into the mattress. The sound was barely louder than a cough, but the impact made Jeremy jump.

“Jesus! What the fuck are you doing?”

“Staging a crime scene,” Stitch said.

Jeremy glared at him, but he was trapped. There was no way out of this.

“What were you saying about the money?” Stitch probed, as if Blade hadn’t just fired a weapon.

Jeremy hesitated, then let out a deep breath. “I want a deal.”

“Maybe,” Stitch said coolly. “Depends on what you’ve got.”

Jeremy shook his head. “No, I want a deal first. Then I’ll talk.”

Stitch raised an eyebrow, almost impressed. “Alright, here’s the deal—you talk, you walk. You don’t, and I call hotel security.”

“How do I know you’ll stick to your end of the deal?”

Stitch gestured to the gun in his hand. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

Another sigh. Jeremy’s shoulders slumped.

They had him.

Jeremy took a deep breath and began to talk.

“During the Afghan war, the CIA sent in a security team to crack down on poppy production. Our job was supposed to be replacing it with wheat and other crops, try to get the economy back on track.” Jeremy glanced up. “But it was all bullshit. A joke. Nobody wanted to grow wheat—the margins were too small. So, we just ended up monitoring the poppy fields instead.”

Stitch gave a nod. “Go on.”

“Our unit was called Ghost Company. It was made up of soldiers, mercs, and private contractors. We were based in Helmand Province. Over time, we built up contacts—production, distribution, you name it. We helped streamline their network.”

“In exchange for a cut,” Stitch finished for him.

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. We started making real money—better than any army paycheck. When the war ended, the official team got pulled out, but we kept things going on our own.”

“And Matthew Sullivan heads up Ghost Company?” Stitch asked, his tone sharp, making sure it was clear for the recording.

“Yeah,” Jeremy confirmed. “He led the original team. When it was over, he went back to D.C. to run it from there. The rest of us stayed in Helmand.”

Stitch’s voice dropped, more intense. “Whose call was it to hit the village in the Anjuman Pass?”

Jeremy frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Stitch growled, stepping forward until the gun was pressed to Jeremy’s temple. “I know it was your guys who wiped that place out. I want to know who gave the order.” His voice was barely a whisper, but every word carried a deadly weight.

“I told you?—”

Stitch cut him off, the barrel digging into his skull. “Don’t fucking lie to me, or I’ll blow your brains out. You hear me?”

Jeremy’s eyes locked on Stitch’s, and he caved. “Okay, okay, relax! It was Sullivan. The provincial government blocked our usual supply route, so we had to find a new way through the mountains. The villagers resisted, and Sullivan told us to send a message.”

“A message?” Stitch hissed. “That was a massacre.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, a hint of annoyance showing through. “What do you care about some tiny Afghan village?”

Stitch’s voice dropped even lower, cold and venomous. “That was my village. My family. My friends. My wife, you piece of shit.”

Jeremy just stared at him, wide-eyed.

Blade didn’t move, though the arm holding his gun twitched, ready to back Stitch up.

Stitch’s chest heaved, rage bubbling up, his finger itching to pull the trigger. It would’ve been so damn easy. Just a squeeze, and this scumbag’s head would explode. But he held himself back. He needed confirmation first.

“I didn’t know,” Jeremy mumbled.

“Were you there?” Stitch snarled, pushing the gun harder against Jeremy’s head. “Did you help kill all those innocent people?”

Jeremy paled, shaking his head. “No, I wasn’t there. I swear. I was with Omari in Peshawar.”

Stitch didn’t buy it. “Omari wasn’t in Peshawar then.”

“He was close by, setting up labs near the border. I was helping oversee it.”

Stitch knew about the labs in the foothills where they processed the raw opium. It was possible Jeremy had been there.

His blood pounded in his ears. He wanted to end this bastard right here. Maybe Jeremy hadn’t pulled the trigger on Soraya and her family, but he was neck-deep in this filthy operation. Plus, he was the one who’d ordered the hit on Sloane.

I couldn’t live with myself.

Sloane’s words echoed in his head. He wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. He couldn’t just shoot the bastard without reason.

Then Jeremy gave him one.

The CIA agent twisted suddenly, going for Stitch’s gun in a desperate attempt to surprise him. It was gutsy, but it didn’t work. Before Jeremy could get his hands around the weapon, Stitch pulled the trigger.

At the same time, a loud pop sounded from Blade’s direction.

Jeremy flew backward, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud. Blood pooled from the hole in his forehead, compliments of Blade, as well as the wound in his gut.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

"Let’s get out of here,” Stitch said, picking up his phone. It was still recording. They’d let the authorities sort through the bullet holes, casings, and trajectories when they processed the scene. Good luck with that.

Blade tossed Jeremy’s gun onto the floor beside him. He’d been wearing gloves, so he didn’t worry about prints. “Right behind you.”

Stitch took a moment to wipe down both sides of the door hand, before slipping out of the room. Blade followed, closing the door behind him.

They took the emergency stairs, avoiding the guests who had come out of their rooms after hearing the gunshots. Hotel security wouldn’t be far behind.

“This way,” Blade hissed, slipping into the stairwell. They hurried down one flight and stepped into a plush, carpeted hallway, moving casually as they headed for the elevators. Blade pressed the button for down.

Stitch tucked his gun back into the holster under his shirt. “We’ve gotta get out before they lock down the hotel.”

“I’d say we’ve got less than a minute,” Blade muttered.

The elevator door finally pinged open, and they shot inside. Thirty seconds later, they were walking out of the lobby.

Blade and Stitch strode to the taxi rank and got into a waiting cab. As they closed the doors, they saw armed police storm up the steps to the hotel.

Blade gave the taxi driver the name of their street and the zone it was in, purposely not mentioning the hotel. Not that it mattered. In less than an hour, they’d be on the road.

“That didn’t go according to plan,” Stitch said, glancing at Blade.

His buddy grimaced. “Couldn’t be helped. Did you get the recording?”

“Yep.” He patted his pocket.

The cab merged into traffic.

They both knew Blade’s shot had been the kill shot. Stitch’s gut wound might’ve done the job eventually, but it wouldn’t have been as clean or painless. “He was lying about being at the village attack.”

Blade nodded. “I know.”

One name crossed off his list, Stitch thought grimly, as they headed back to the hotel.

Taking a life was never something he did lightly, even if the guy was a scumbag like Jeremy. The man had blood on his hands, though, and that made him feel better about what had happened. He’d ordered the hit on Sloane, probably even had a hand in the slaughter that took out Soraya and the elders. Not to mention his role in Ghost Company.

Stitch wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

“You know,” Blade said, “there’s no reason why Sloane can’t come with us to Karachi.”

Stitch shot him a glance. “There’s no reason she can’t stay here. We’ve neutralized the threat.”

“Yeah, but if the Feds take down Matthew Sullivan, Sloane can go home. We can fly out of Karachi instead of coming all the way back. Hell of a drive, buddy, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to do it twice.”

Stitch thought about it. Blade wasn’t wrong. Sixteen hours of driving was a massive waste of time.

“I don’t know. She’s not going to like what we’re going to do.”

“So don’t tell her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Because she reads people?” Blade shot a look at him.

“Yeah. It’s almost impossible to keep anything from her. She’s too intuitive.”

“And you’re afraid she’ll talk you out of it?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he growled, making Blade grin. “It just complicates matters, that’s all.”

There was a brief pause.

“Sullivan is going to know she had help,” Blade pointed out. “There’s no way he’s going to believe she walked in there and shot Jeremy. Twice. With two different caliber bullets.”

Stitch sighed. “Okay, I get your point. She’s still not safe. We’ll take her with us.”

“The shipment leaves in less than twenty-four hours,” Blade said.

Stitch tensed his jaw. “We’d better move out then.”