The titanium bat collided squarely with my left shoulder. The impact sounded like a gunshot. The physical force was unimaginable. I felt the collarbone snap, the blinding, white-hot agony radiating down my arm and up into my jaw. My vision flashed white. My knees buckled, and I collapsed heavily onto the hard, unforgiving asphalt.
"Yeah, that's what I thought!" the young man yelled, stepping over me. He raised his heavy crocodile-skin boot and drove it brutally into my ribs. The air was violently forced from my lungs. "You're nothing! You hear me? You're nothing!"
I hit the pavement, gasping for air, tasting copper in the back of my mouth. I kept my eyes on the tinted window of the Lamborghini. I could still see the boy's hands pressed against the glass.
I wasn't looking at a rescue anymore. I was looking at a war.
CHAPTER 2
The pain in my left shoulder was a living, breathing thing. It pulsed with every beat of my heart, a jagged fire radiating deep into my chest. But physical pain was a language I had spoken fluently for most of my life. I knew how to box it up. I knew how to shove it into the dark corners of my mind and focus on the mechanics of survival.
I lay on the rough, oil-stained asphalt of the Desert Rose Diner parking lot, my face turned toward the crushed remains of my vintage motorcycle. The young man in the silk shirt stood triumphantly above me, breathing heavily, his chest puffed out like a peacock.
"Hold him," the young man snapped, gesturing with the titanium bat.
Immediately, Gage and Ivan stepped forward. The Russian grabbed my right arm, twisting it painfully behind my back, while Gage pressed his heavy tactical boot directly between my shoulder blades. They pinned me flat against the gravel, driving my ruined left shoulder harder into the pavement. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a groan.
"Look at this pathetic old man," the young man sneered, crouching down so his face was inches from mine. I could smell the expensive mint on his breath. "You actually thought you were going to save the day? Do you have any idea who I am? Do you have any idea whose property you just tried to steal?"
I kept my eyes flat, staring through him.
"My name is Julian Vance," he whispered, a twisted, proud smile spreading across his flawless face. "And my father is Marcus Vance. Maybe your tiny, trailer-park brain has heard the name on the news. He owns this entire border. He owns the cops, he owns the judges, and he owns that little rat in the backseat of my car. I'm delivering the kid up north tonight. That boy is going to make me a quarter of a million dollars, and you’re going to bleed out in a diner parking lot."
Marcus Vance.
The name echoed in my mind. I knew the name well. He was a cartel boss, a ruthless trafficker who had built an empire moving human cargo across the southern borders. Ten years ago, my people would have hung a man like Marcus Vance from a highway overpass just for breathing the same air as us. The fact that his spoiled, psychopathic son was standing here now, bragging about selling an eight-year-old child, sent a wave of cold, absolute rage through my system.
"Your father," I said, my voice barely a whisper against the pavement, "is a dead man."
Julian blinked. For a split second, confusion flashed across his face. Then, his face twisted into an ugly mask of pure rage.
"You're completely delusional," Julian spat. He stood up, looking at his enforcers. "Ivan. Give me the taser. Let's fry this old bastard's brain."
As Ivan reached for his tactical belt to unholster his heavy-duty stun gun, he slightly relaxed his grip on my right arm. That was all the leverage I needed.
Moving with deliberate, practiced slowness so as not to startle the armed men, I slid my right hand into the inner breast pocket of my heavy leather jacket. I bypassed my wallet. I bypassed the small pocketknife. My fingers wrapped around a small, ancient, blocky piece of plastic. It was a military-grade, heavily encrypted satellite flip-phone. I hadn't charged it in three years, but the battery was designed to outlast a nuclear winter.
I pulled it out.