Page 2 of Echoes and Oaths (Guardian Security Dynasty #4)

He stared at his shoes as he remembered the day he made his way to Montoya.

Jinx had crouched in the undergrowth, his body a shadow amid the tangled jungle.

Hacienda Roja had loomed ahead. It was an isolated estate, miles from the nearest city, swallowed by the rainforest. The thick canopy above had muffled the moonlight, casting the world in deep blues and shifting shadows.

Security had been tight but predictable. Jinx had studied the men for years, memorizing their patterns, weaknesses, and habits.

Jinx had waited until Brando let him know his exfiltration was on its way before he moved. The guard at the western perimeter had turned his head, just for a second. It had been enough.

A flash of steel. The sluicing sound of tendons and cartilage being severed. A gurgled gasp. A body slumping silently into the brush. His training and his work for Guardian had been his only focus.

Knives over bullets. No sounds. No warnings. No mercy.

Jinx had moved through the jungle. He’d moved silently.

A breath over the land, a shimmer against the contours of the forest around him.

Another guard. Then another. Each man had had a name.

Each man had had a life. But that night, they’d been obstacles.

They’d fallen where they’d stood, their flowing blood fed the earth.

He’d moved quietly after checking for cameras, alarms, or any electronic monitoring system.

There’d been none. Why? Because Montoya had trusted the ones who knew he was there.

That was his only mistake. Jinx had moved silently through the grand old home.

Women's laughter behind the doors of several rooms had given credence to Lucia’s belief she’d be replaced.

Jinx had moved on with Brando guiding him through the hacienda.

Brando had given him directions to the study.

That had been where Jinx found him. Montoya had been sitting in his private lounge, the rich scent of whiskey mingling with the slow-burning tobacco from an expensive cigar.

An empire of blood and cocaine rested in the ledger on his desk.

He hadn’t been celebrating. He’d been too paranoid for that.

He’d been counting his money, counting his enemies, and waiting for the next war he needed to survive.

He’d never even seen the Shadow approaching.

Jinx had stepped into the room, a silenced pistol raised.

Montoya had looked up.

And at that single moment, he’d known. Recognition had flickered in his dark eyes.

No panic. No pleas. Just the quiet acceptance of a man who’d lived his life knowing it would end like this.

Montoya had exhaled, his sigh carrying the weight of finality.

His hand had twitched toward the pistol at his side.

Jinx hadn’t hesitated. He’d fired two suppressed shots.

Clean. Precise. Absolute. And fucking anticlimactic after almost three years of his life.

A double tap. One to the brain, the other to the heart.

Less than two seconds of effort after years of work.

There had been no feeling of remorse, just a faint sense of relief the mission was over.

His bullets had hit true. Montoya had jerked, his breath escaping in a wet, gurgled gasp. He’d collapsed back into his chair, blood blooming across the silk of his shirt and dribbling down his face. His fingers had twitched against the ledger he would never finish balancing.

The drug king had died.

With an exhale, Jinx grabbed the book Montoya had been working with and those in the open safe behind him before melting into the night. The laptop he’d shoved inside his shirt with the books and left the room. No alarms. No screams. Just a Shadow slipping into the darkness.

The fallout of his hit had come fast. Montoya’s death had rippled through the underworld like a tsunami, shaking the foundation of his empire.

No one knew who had done it. Some had suspicions, but the explosion of the organization was bloody and messy.

Hundreds died in the when the turf war ignited.

Disappearing at that time wasn’t unusual.

So many did. If he was noticed to be missing, people would assume he’d been killed.

Most whispered of a betrayal from within. Others claimed it was one of Montoya’s lieutenants fighting for power. A few suspected foreign assassins, but no one had proof.

The lieutenants turned on each other. Blood ran through the streets as Montoya’s empire had split apart and shattered into pieces. Alliances broke. Old feuds ignited. And in the storm, one man had clawed his way to the top.

Tomás Ortega.

He’d taken what was left of Montoya’s crumbling organization and rebuilt it.

He was brutal and ambitious. But Jinx doubted he was ever feared like Montoya.

There was an inherent weakness in the man.

Jinx had seen it. Others had noticed it, too.

But somehow, he’d covered it sufficiently to rise to the top.

And now, a new force threatened the Ortega throne and the country’s stability.

El Fantasma . The Ghost. A whisper in the dark.

A name spoken in fear. Jinx had heard of him.

Hell, all the Shadows knew of the cartel’s assassin.

He’d become bold and was building an army of his own.

Jinx glanced down at the packet of papers in his hand.

He had two targets. One known. One a mystery.

There was unfinished business. And this time, he wasn’t just hunting. He was going to war.

“Your travel companions are pulling up.”

Brando’s voice crackled in Jinx’s earpiece, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He glanced out the tinted jet window, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the tarmac.

A black SUV rolled to a stop near the plane, dust curling up in its wake.

The vehicle’s doors swung open, and two figures stepped out. Raven and Rook.

A slow grin tugged at Jinx’s lips.

Raven looked exactly the same. She was a figure that was utterly unassuming.

She wasn’t the woman anyone would pick out of a crowd.

Jeans, worn sneakers, and a faded T-shirt that had likely seen its fair share of laundromat abuse.

Her dark hair was twisted up in a haphazard bun, a few rogue strands slipping free to frame her face.

To the untrained eye, she was just a girl-next-door type, maybe a college student or an off-duty waitress. But Jinx knew better.

She was the same woman who’d once gutted a target with a paring knife in a hotel room in Prague, then walked out the front door, smiling sweetly at the doorman as she left.

The same woman who could sever the balls off a wife-beating bastard and then bake cookies for an elderly neighbor in the same afternoon.

Even Valkyrie, one of the deadliest assassins in Guardian’s history, had admitted Raven impressed her. And that wasn’t easy.

Then there was Rook .

Where Raven was a whirlwind of barely contained chaos, Rook was control incarnate.

The man was a strategist, a thinker, and an executioner whose weapons weren’t blades or bullets but something far more insidious.

Poisons. Undetectable. Lethal. He was a walking chemistry set, capable of turning a sip of water into a death sentence.

And because of that, he was never, under any circumstances, allowed to bring food or drinks to any party they had.

It was a long-standing joke among the Shadows.

Jinx exhaled and stood as Raven sprinted up the steps, her sneakers slapping against the metal.

“J.!”

He braced himself just in time.

She launched at him, arms wrapping around his neck as her momentum forced him a step back. Her hands found his face, and she peppered his cheeks with rapid-fire kisses before he could stop her.

“Stop that, woman!” Jinx growled, dropping her unceremoniously.

She landed lightly on her feet, grinning like a lunatic as she wiped at his face. “You have lip gloss on you now.”

He scowled, swiping at his cheek.

“They didn’t tell us who we’d be flying with. Where the hell have you been?” She crossed her arms, tapping a foot against the floor. “You missed Berserker’s birthday.”

Jinx shrugged, but his smile was knowing. “I was working.”

“Bullshit. We knew you weren’t on a job.”

“I was tracking someone.”

Raven narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

Jinx glanced left, then right, as if checking for eavesdroppers. “A lone wolf.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why did I not think it would be an actual animal?”

Jinx didn’t correct her. It wasn’t a four-legged wolf he’d been tracking. It was Lycos. But that wasn’t a conversation he planned to have.

“As for Zerk,” Raven continued, arms still crossed, “he’s gonna take a piece of you when he sees you again. Just a warning.”

Jinx smirked. “He can try.”

“You know he will,” Rook said, stepping past Raven. The man was quick, yanking Jinx into a brief bear hug before smacking him in the arm with a solid punch. “You missed one hell of a spread. Raven and Phantom cooked, and Viper and Demon made some kind of cocktail from hell. ”

Jinx sank into one of the leather seats as Rook flopped into the one next to him.

“The Killer B,” Rook continued, stretching out his legs. “Tequila, vodka, limoncello, simple syrup, and something fizzy. And by fizzy, I mean it barely counted because there was more tequila than anything else by the end of the night.”

Raven laughed. “We had high cover from the elders, so we cut loose. It’s been too damn long since we were all in one place at the same time.”

Jinx didn’t argue. It had been a while. Too long, maybe. But that was the nature of their work. They led fragmented, secretive lives lived in the shadows.

He fastened his seatbelt as the pilot stepped out of the flight deck.

“We’ll be wheels up in five minutes. Do you need a refresher on the galley or your seatbelts?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Rook answered with a grin.

“Cool.” The pilot disappeared back inside, shutting the door behind him.

Jinx turned back to the pair. “What are you two doing here?”

“I’m heading to Mexico,” Rook muttered. He and Raven exchanged a glance, something unreadable passing between them.

“And you?” Jinx asked Raven .

“Venezuela.” She smiled. “Backup. Not that you’ll need any, right? Please say no. I brought three different swimsuits. No tan lines this time.”

Jinx arched a brow. “I just found out, too,” Brando muttered in his ear. The man was getting way too good at predicting his reactions.

“Why?” Jinx asked, focusing on Raven.

“Why do I want a tan, or why did they send me?” She smirked.

“Both. Sun damage doesn’t suit anyone.”

Raven flicked her hand dismissively. “I use sunscreen.” Her expression sobered slightly. “The backup is because you were there before. If you’re recognized …”

Jinx’s jaw ticked. “Almost three years. There are questions about my ability?”

“No.” The response came from both Raven and Brando at the same time.

Raven leaned forward, tapping off her comms, and Jinx did the same.

“You were in deep,” she said quietly. “You lived that life for years. If someone recognizes you, I’m there to finish the job.

Your abilities aren’t questioned. That’s why they sent you.

You know the players. You know how they think.

But memories are long, and if your cover is blown or some bastard gets off a lucky shot, I’ll be there. ”

Jinx studied her for a beat. Raven didn’t hesitate. She wasn’t there to question his skills. She was there to make sure the mission succeeded.

“And the voice in your ear?” he asked, knowing exactly who it was.

Raven rolled her shoulders. “Ring’s an ass. You’d think he was my father the way he hovers.”

Jinx smirked, glancing out the window as the engines roared to life. Ring cared for Raven. A bit too much, but that was her battle to fight.

It was good to have her along. Backup wasn’t rare these days. The Shadows worked together. They always had each other’s backs.

He’d once had Phantom appear out of nowhere, Specter on another occasion. Not to complete a hit, but to get him the hell out afterward.

And if the bosses were making sure he had everything he needed for this mission …

That meant things were about to get very, very interesting.