Steel Vengeance (Blackthorn Security #6)

Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

T he 1,150-foot Arabian Princess sat low in the water. Bright yellow cranes loomed above her, their job complete. She was fully loaded and ready to set sail.

“I don’t see Omari,” Stitch muttered, scanning the loading dock and surrounding area. “He should be here by now. The ship leaves in less than one hour.”

“Maybe he’s not coming,” Blade suggested.

Stitch frowned. “I was sure he’d want to see it off.”

Blade grunted in agreement.

A few minutes later, three black SUVs rolled onto the loading dock. Stitch heaved a sigh of relief. “They’re here.”

Blade eyed out the entourage. “That’s some heavy security detail.”

Stitch nodded. “He’s paranoid. Can’t blame him—he’s on the CIA watchlist.”

“While in cahoots with the CIA,” Blake murmured, under his breath.

The convoy rolled to a stop, and a bunch of big, heavy hitters piled out. They didn’t bother hiding their weapons—AKs and M16s gripped tight, ready to fire. The message was clear: Don’t even think about it.

“You sure about this?” Blade asked, voice low.

Stitch nodded grimly. “Omari’s not getting away this time.”

“Then, we’re going to need a distraction.” Blade glanced around.

“Only after they set sail,” Stitch reminded him. The shipment had to get underway first, then they could go after Omari.

“What about the exit road?” Blade suggested. “If we blow that, they’ll have to stop.”

Stitch thought about it. “We don’t have enough ammo for a full-on firefight.” Two against nine armed mercenaries weren’t the best odds.

“We won’t need it if things go to plan. We’ll blow the first car, the rest will scatter, and we’ll pick them off one by one. Easy.”

Stitch knew Blade was working the problem. They had to divide and conquer. It was their only hope. In reality, it could go sideways fast, but he didn’t have a better plan.

“Alright, you wanna set the charges, or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” Blade didn’t hesitate. “You keep watch on Omari. If he makes a move, let me know.”

“Copy that.”

Stitch turned back to the convoy as Blade ducked behind a container and vanished.

He could always count on his Navy brothers. That was the great thing about their team. They had each other’s backs. Not just in combat, but for life.

Last year, when Blade and Lilly had been stuck in Afghanistan and on the run from the Taliban, Stitch had helped them escape. Together, they’d managed to get Lilly out of the country, but only because Blade had sacrificed himself at a roadblock. It was the bravest—and most reckless—thing Stitch had ever seen.

Now, Blade was helping him track down the man responsible for Soraya’s murder and the destruction of their village. That’s how it was between them—and always would be.

As Blade crept away to plant the charges they’d gotten from the same arms dealer who’d supplied their weapons, Stitch kept his eyes on Omari. The Afghan warlord was talking to someone on the dock—a port official, by the looks of things. Someone paid to let the heroin containers through. Stitch snapped a quick photo with his phone.

The two men shook hands, and the official walked off. Omari hung back, overseeing the final checks as the massive container ship prepped for departure. His entourage stayed near the SUVs, on edge, scanning their surroundings.

Fifteen minutes later, Blade returned. “All set.” He patted his pocket, where the detonator was tucked away. “Just say the word.”

“Soon.”

They watched as the ship’s engines roared to life, churning the dark water beneath it into a foaming frenzy. The steel hull groaned and creaked as it pulled away from the dock.

“There she goes,” Stitch murmured.

“And there goes Omari.” Blade nodded toward the Afghan leader as he climbed into the middle vehicle in the convoy. Once Omari and his men were safely inside the SUVs, they began to drive away.

Stitch raised his hand. When Blade hit the detonator, the C4 would go off, stopping the convoy dead in its tracks.

“Ready... now!”

Blade pressed the button, and a split second later, the first SUV was blown off the ground, engulfed in flames.

“Nice shot.” Stitch watched the wreckage burn. There were no survivors.

The remaining two vehicles screeched to a halt.

“Let’s do this,” Blade said, springing into action.

“Ready.”

They opened fire, unleashing a hail of bullets on the SUVs. The mercenaries scrambled out of the cars, trying to take cover. Stitch and Blade managed to take down six of them before the last three, including Omari, found shelter behind some crates.

But they weren’t together—while the mercs huddled behind the crates, Omari bolted into the maze of shipping containers.

“Damn it,” Stitch growled. “I’m going after him.”

“I’ll deal with the others,” Blade said. “Watch your back.”

“You too.”

They split up.

Stitch tracked Omari through the narrow gaps between the containers. The Afghan was armed and dangerous, a seasoned fighter with years of experience as a rebel soldier and Taliban officer. He wasn’t going to be an easy target.

Crouching low, Stitch moved quietly, his rifle at the ready. Where had the bastard gone?

He had a couple of rounds left in his AK and ten shots in his Glock. Enough to take down one man.

The alleyways between the containers were dark and narrow, the sun barely touching the gaps. Stitch’s pulse was steady, his senses sharp.

I’m coming for you, you son of a bitch.

A sudden burst of gunfire forced him to duck behind a container. He peeked around the corner—nothing. He fired a few shots to cover his advance, then ran to the next intersection.

No sign of Omari.

He paused, listening. Footsteps echoed to his right. He followed, hearing gunfire in the distance—Blade taking care of the other mercenaries. A short, controlled burst. One down, two to go.

Stitch kept moving. Another round of bullets tore through the container ahead, forcing him to dive for cover. He returned fire, spraying bullets down the alley.

Eventually, the shooting stopped. Must be low on ammo.

Stitch continued his pursuit.

When he reached the end of the row of containers, he spotted a robed figure darting toward a warehouse.

Omari.

He ran after him, only to hear a voice behind him bark, “Drop the gun!”

Stitch stopped in his tracks.

Fuck.

Then who the hell had he been chasing? Slowly, he set his rifle on the ground and raised his hands in the air.

“And the pistol.”

Grimacing, Stitch took out his Glock and tossed it away.

“Turn around,” the Afghan warlord barked.

Stitch pivoted, keeping his hands up. He glared at his adversary, feeling the rage firing hot molten lava through his veins. Instead of losing it, it gave him total clarity.

Omari’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“I’m the man who’s been hunting you down.”

The dark eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“You burned down my village, killed my people, and murdered my wife.”

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

“Don’t play dumb. You ordered my village destroyed because the elders wouldn’t support your drug operation.”

Omari sneered. “You’re insane. I don’t deal in drugs.”

Stitch laughed bitterly. “You can say that with a straight face as your heroin sails out of this port?”

Omari’s expression hardened. “I don’t have time for this.”

“May 25, 2023. Ring any bells?”

A flicker of recognition flashed across Omari’s face.

“I saw you there,” Stitch hissed. “And now, you’re gonna pay.”

Omari smirked. “You forget—I’m the one holding the gun.”

Stitch shrugged. He could kill Omari with his bare hands if he had to. He just needed a distraction.

He stared over Omari’s shoulder. “Took you long enough,” he said, dropping his arms. As expected, Omari glanced back.

That was all Stitch needed. He surged forward, tackling the warlord to the ground. The rifle fired harmlessly into the air as they hit the tarmac hard.

Omari fought back. He was stronger than he looked, but Stitch was fueled by hatred and vengeance. The warlord was no match for his brute strength. Getting the upper hand, Stitch reached for the weapon.

Suddenly, a shout rang out, and a second figure appeared, gun drawn. The man Stitch had been following. He fired at Stitch, who rolled over, taking Omari with him, using him as a human shield. The bullets tore through the Afghan’s body as he screamed in pain.

Realizing his mistake, the guard froze, horrified. Before he could react, Stitch grabbed Omari’s rifle and fired back. It only took one shot, center mass, for him to go down.

With a growl, Stitch shoved Omari’s lifeless body off of him. The Afghan’s once sharp eyes were now glazed over, unseeing. Death had claimed him.

“Serves you right, you bastard,” Stitch muttered.

It wasn’t over yet. Sporadic gunfire resonated from between the containers. Picking up his weapons, along with Omari’s, Stitch headed in that direction. He rounded a corner only to find Blade standing over the dead body of one of the mercs.

“That was the last one,” he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Stitch grinned. “Great work.”

Blade looked at him. “Omari?”

Stitch gave a quick nod. “He’s dead.”

Blade patted him on the back. “Job done, then. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Already sirens could be heard screaming up the road towards the dock.

Together, Stitch and Blade melted into the shadows.