Page 66 of Lash

Solomon hoots with excitement as he lifts a strange-looking assault rifle from the bag. "A Steyr-Aug. Where the fuck did that little dude get this shit?"

Lorenzo snorts. "You would be surprised. He was probably holding them as a favor to someone. Currency means little to him, so he will likely receive compensation in the form of goods he and his tribe will find useful." He pulls another gun out. "This is excellent gear, however. Lash, you owe your friend Nils a huge debt of gratitude."

Despite growing up around guns, I know very little about them, as far as makes and models go, but the men and Scarlett seem very pleased with the contents of the bags—ten assault rifles, the same number of handguns, several boxes of ammunition of assorted sizes, magazines, and clusters of grenades and flashbangs.

We spend the rest of the flight loading bullets into the magazines. I am shown how to do it, and which bullets go into which magazines, and I spend the rest of the flight slotting cold brass shells into hard plastic magazines.

Solomon receives a text message with a specific location where we will meet the rest of the Broken Arrows—a large field on a hilltop overlooking a river. The rainforest has been clear-cut and burned here, and I notice that Lorenzo in particular is looking around at the devastated landscape below us with sorrow and anger.

As the helicopter touches down, Lorenzo is the first out, an assault rifle slung on his back, and a few grenades clipped to a bandolier, along with spare magazines. Large yellow construction machines sit parked in a row at the edge of the far side of the field, perhaps half a mile away.

Ignoring everyone, Lorenzo marches across the field, a grenade clutched in his hand.

"Oh, shit," Solomon says, watching. “He's gonna blow that shit up."

Nicolae, with anger suffusing his handsome features, spits on the ground at his feet. "Good. It won’t stop them, but it's something. This is evil, this destruction."

Solomon nods. "It is," he says. Movement catches his eye—a caravan of battered SUVs emerging from a two-track path in the forest close to where Lorenzo has reached the equipment. "Oh, hey, here come the guys. Let's go, ya'll. Double time."

Nicolae and Solomon carry the bags on their backs, their arms hooked through the handles. We jog across the field—footing is treacherous, the ground lumpy and rough, with rocks and roots and stumps littering the brown soil. The SUVs, four of them—all old, battered Land Rovers—cut a wide circle and stop facing the path from which they emerged. Doors open and five massive men get out.

We reach them a moment later, and Solomon in particular is greeted with rough, energetic, hyper-masculine hugs, full of backslapping, laughter, and playful fighting. Two men seem especially happy to see Solomon, both of them tall, lean, and hard, one with blond hair like Solomon's, and the other reddish like sun-burnished copper.

Nicolae, close to my side, murmurs to me. "Those are his brothers. Solomon has been missing for some time. Well before I got hijacked to Zagreb." He entwines our fingers and kisses the back of my hand. "I shall make introductions once Lorenzo has finished his act of protest."

I look across the field to see Lorenzo jogging across the line of machines, yanking pins free and tossing grenades into the tracks, engine compartments, and cabins. Once the last machine has received an explosive, Lorenzo pivots on his heel and sprints as hard as he can toward us, his rifle clutched in his hands. He gets perhaps a hundred meters before the first explosion sends him sprawling in the dirt. He hits the ground, rolls, and springs to his feet, turning to walk backward so he can watch the rest of the explosions—BOOM…BOOM…BOOM…BOOM! Parts fly and burning diesel fuel sends black clouds of angry smoke spewing into the sky.

The machines are wreckage now, little more than charred hulks of scrap metal. He nods once and makes his way more carefully across the field to the line of vehicles. The explosions,naturally enough, dominated everyone's attention. Now, it's time for introductions.

Solomon takes the lead on this. He claps a hand on Lorenzo's good shoulder. “Lorenzo, meet the crew.” He points to each man in turn. "That big motherfucker over there is Chance. The almost-as-big motherfucker next to him is Rev. Beside him is Kane. These two knuckleheads are my younger brothers, Saxon and Silas." He squeezes Lorenzo's shoulder. "Everyone, this is Lorenzo. He's our South American guide and translator, and he and Inez are…I dunno. Something."

Rev, a massive, muscular, brown-skinned man with a short, black-haired mohawk, frowns. "Inez is something with someone?"

Lorenzo chuckles. "Indeed. She and I have an extensive history."

Rev snorts. "I always sort of assumed Inez just appeared on the earth one day, fully formed and scary as fuck. Hard to imagine her getting all cozy with anyone."

Lorenzo laughs again. "That is an understandable notion, Rev. Sophia is…rather unique, shall we say."

"The fuck is Sophia?" Rev asks.

“That is the name she was born with," Lorenzo answers. "Any more is her story to tell, however, not mine, so please do not ask. I won't betray her trust."

"Just as soon interrogate a cobra," Rev mutters. "The woman scares me."

“That is wise," Lorenzo says.

Solomon wraps an arm around Scarlett. "This is Scarlett Gutierrez. She was in the CIA with me, and she sprang me from the jungle."

Saxon grins at his brother—Saxon is burlier than his brothers, with a nasty scar running down the side of his face, and blond hair shaved on the sides and back, left longish on top andswept diagonally backward. "Somethin' tells me you're leaving some shit outta that little summary, bro."

The other brother is tall and lean with clean-cut good looks and coppery hair. He slugs Solomon's arm. “Yeah, like all the good details."

Solomon snorts, shoving his brothers away from him. "Back off, you damn cavemen. Yeah, yeah, we're together." He indicates them both. "I hear the two of you came outta shit with women of your own. We'll shoot the shit once things go back to normal."

The brothers nod and drop the subject.

The huge man, Chance, frowns at Nicolae. "Wait, hold the actual fuck up. Lash? Shit, brother, I didn't even realize that was you. Goddamn, son."