Page 30 of Echoes and Oaths (Guardian Security Dynasty #4)

T he farm was dead quiet. Jinx stood at the edge of the porch, hands loose at his sides, watching the horizon bleed into a washed-out gray.

Dust curled around his boots, dry and restless, stirred by the faint breeze rattling the barn doors.

The cattle were in the pasture, the chickens in the roosts, avoiding the day's heat.

No dogs barked. There were no voices and no laughter from a little boy chasing after chickens.

Everything was still. Silent. Exactly as it should be. Had to be.

He leaned against the porch’s post, waiting for the vehicles Brando had told him were coming his way.

He didn't move when he heard the low growl of engines grinding up the dirt road. He didn’t so much as twitch when two blacked-out SUVs rounded the bend, tires kicking up long snakes of dust behind them.

He simply waited.

The vehicles rolled to a stop. The doors popped open, and four men stepped out. Not Simón this time. They were cartel soldiers, mid-tier muscle who would have been told of him.

They wore their guns low. Their fingers were loose, but Jinx saw how they watched him.

They were careful … respectful. Ah … there it was, he saw it. They were afraid of him.

Good.

One man broke away from the others. He was a wiry type with a scar splitting one eyebrow. The appointed spokesman stopped a few feet away and jerked his chin toward the lead SUV.

In a gruff voice, he stated, “Tomás wants you. Says you’re in." He tossed the words out like a challenge, but his body echoed that tone. His weight shifted back, and he was ready to move if Jinx made any wrong move.

Jinx’s mouth twitched, a slow, humorless ghost of a smile. He reached back, flicked the screen door open with a hollow creak, and turned the lock behind him. The soft click echoed loudly in the heavy air .

It was a final closing. A final goodbye to anything other than Mateo Rivas.

Without a word, he stepped off the porch, boots crunching over the dry earth, and slid into the back seat of the waiting SUV.

The men around him seemed shocked as if they’d been warned he might not come willingly.

What a crock of shit. Jinx waited while they got into the vehicle.

The engine growled, and the convoy pulled away, leaving the farm behind.

Z would tell the cousins that no one was available to do the chores.

They’d take care of the animals, and Jinx would become one.

The drive was long and utterly silent. The slight man tried once to ask him a question, but the withering look he gave him shut him up.

No others tried after that. It was what he wanted.

Fear. Fear worked in his favor. The jungle started to close in tight around them.

All twisted green with choking vines. Not the dusty farmland near the foot of the mountains any longer.

No, from the direction of travel, it confirmed Tomás had taken over Montoya’s compound.

A place Jinx knew well. A place he’d occupied years ago.

A place of death, drugs, and murderers. It was a fortress, and when he’d last been there, it had had enough supplies to sustain the men inside for over a year if someone were to try to take it.

The road narrowed to a battered track, potholes yawning under the tires.

Jinx leaned his head back against the seat, eyes half-closed, body loose.

Yet he missed nothing. He saw the gun placements on the lead truck.

Noted the position of each soldier and the crude communications rigged up through ancient radios.

These were the trucks of the workforce of Tomás’s business.

The drivers switched off with silent hand signals.

One led for several miles before the next took over.

They were professional to a point, but sloppy enough for Jinx to exploit later.

The SUV jostled hard as they rounded another bend, and the compound came into view.

It hadn’t changed. A fortress of concrete and rusted steel, rising out of the jungle like a rugged, ugly gouge in the miles of green.

The outer walls were topped with razor wire, and two guards in mismatched body armor were posted outside the heavy gates, which were bolted shut from the inside.

Home fucking sweet home.

The SUVs rumbled up to the gate. After a brief check, the guards’ rifles lowered, although more than one wary glance was thrown at Jinx in the back seat. After radio communication with the inside of the compound, the convoy was waved through.

Inside the compound, movement was everywhere, and Jinx absorbed the familiar and noted the differences between Montoya’s operation and Tomás’s.

As he exited the vehicle, Jinx watched as a convoy of soldiers formed. Armed men moved in tight clusters. Trucks were being loaded with crates. Shouts echoed off the walls, sharp and urgent.

Jinx took it all in and, within seconds, located Tomás.

He hadn’t changed, except for the haggard lines on his face and gray sprinkled in his hair.

One hell of a lot of aging. Tomás stood stiffly near the courtyard's center, flanked by two men he clearly didn’t trust. His stance was that of one who expected an attack, not respect.

He held himself too still, too tight, like a man wearing armor he didn’t believe in.

Jinx stepped forward slowly, stretching his arms, letting the others watch him, measure him, weigh their chances, and realize they didn’t have any.

Tomás swallowed once, quick and nervous, then masked it behind a sharp chin jerk. Jinx walked over to him and stopped in front of him. Everything in the compound slowed as men watched what was happening .

Tomás glanced up at him. "You’re with us now. Got plenty of work lined up for a man like you." His voice scraped across Jinx’s nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Jinx didn’t react outwardly. Inside, he smiled. The man was terrified of him. He dipped his head once, a slow, deliberate nod. Quietly and respectfully, he responded, “Where do you need me?” His words were calculated to be simple and obedient, using Dr. Wheeler’s information and advice immediately.

Tomás relaxed. Jinx noticed the smallest of physical movements, a tiny drop of his shoulders.

Score one for the doc. Tomás motioned for him to follow.

They moved deeper into the compound, the heat and the stink of oil, and men pressed close.

The walls rose around them, caging them in. Exactly where Jinx wanted to be.

Tomás led him across the cracked courtyard, his boots striking sharp against the concrete.

Jinx followed two steps behind, hands loose, eyes scanning every angle without turning his head.

The building Tomás led him to was newly constructed, low and square, the door a heavy slab of reinforced steel. Two guards flanked the entrance. They were bored and inattentive, and no doubt Tomás missed that fact as they pulled the door open when they approached it.

Inside, the air was cooler but stale with trapped cigarette smoke and old sweat.

Filing cabinets lined one wall, and a battered metal desk sat in the center.

A single cracked leather chair sat behind it.

There were no other exits, no windows. No way out, but more importantly, no way in if the door were bolted from the inside.

A cage inside a cage, or perhaps a refuge inside the cage.

Tomás’s paranoia and fear were far beyond anything he’d seen in Montoya.

Tomás moved behind the desk, gesturing Jinx forward with that tight jerk of his chin.

When Jinx complied wordlessly, Tomás dropped a small folder onto the desk with a soft slap.

"Got some shipments that need extra watching. Everyone says you’re good with your hands. Prove it."

Jinx reached for the folder and picked it up.

He flipped it open and saw coordinates, inventory lists, and names Jinx already recognized from Guardian’s intelligence briefings.

He didn’t give any physical response to the information.

He didn’t show anything other than a dip of his chin.

Slow and respectful before simply stating, “You can consider it done. ”

Tomás leaned back in his chair, studying him with hard, wary eyes. The man didn’t know it yet, but the moment he’d handed Jinx that folder … the moment he trusted him with anything , he’d already lost.

The convoy wound its way through the weed and brush-choked jungle road.

A line of half-assed armored trucks loaded with cocaine and cash trailed behind Jinx’s lead vehicle.

The late afternoon sun slashed through the trees, casting too many shadows to clear as he drove.

In his profession, every shadow could hold a bullet.

Tomás had revealed that the last four convoys had been attacked on this road.

Two of those attacks were successful. The man’s hands shook as he swiped his hair out of his face. “I can’t afford another loss.”

Jinx understood the assignment. He also understood that Esteban would probably take out Tomás before he could get to him.

But that didn’t matter. If Esteban knew he was being hunted, he’d become the ghost the assassin claimed as a handle and disappear.

That would mean more death and needless violence that Jinx could prevent by playing his cards correctly.

Two men would no longer live when he left this country.

Tomás and Esteban’s bloody reign in the territory would be over.

When the ambush came, it was fast and brutal.

Two SUVs burst from the undergrowth, guns already firing.

Jinx barely twitched. He swerved his SUV to protect the convoy in one fluid motion and leaned out the window.

He extended his fully automatic M4 and laid down a spray of suppressive fire.

His rifle sprayed death across the ambushers’ hoods and windshields.