“Agreed,” Ryker joined in on the conversation. “All we can do is follow the plan and make adjustments accordingly.”
“Uh…isn’t that pretty much what we do on every op?” Matt asked with obvious jest.
“Ah, come on, Turner. Cut Ryker some slack.” Gabe’s deep voice rumbled in response to Matt’s teasing. “It’s been a minute since he’s dusted off his boots to play with the big boys.”
The banter at Ryker’s expense continued until Adrian found himself in the sights of one of the guards by the front entrance.
“Look alive, boys,” he spoke while barely moving his lips. “It’s time to party.”
“Stop!” The guard who’d noticed him pointed his long rifle in Adrian’s direction. The man next to him followed suit.
“Easy, fellas.” Adrian raised both hands, even the one holding his pistol. “Your boss is expecting me.” He made a show of glancing at his watch and making a clicking sound with his tongue. “Damn. Guess I’m early. No worries. I’m sure Matais won’t mind.”
Thankfully the building was large, and the entrance was a good distance from the north and south ends. Adrian didn’t think the guards in those areas could hear them.
“Yeah, asshole?” The second guard—a mouthy fucker—sneered at him. “And who might you be?”
“Name’s Walker. Adrian Walker. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”
Both men blanched at the sound of his name. Damn, he never got tired of seeing that sameholy shitlook on supposed tough-guys’ faces.
The fact that most people in this business knew of him and his reputation came in mighty handy.
“That’s right, boys and girls.” Adrian continued walking toward them with a pasted-on smile. “Take a good look. Hey, we could even take a selfie together. Show all your friends on the playground tomorrow. You’d be the most popular kids in school.”
“Jesus, Walker,” Matt’s voice filled his ear. “God complex, much?”
Just playing the part, Dawson. Always playing the part.
Despite the fact that these two idiots were clearly grown men, one of the dipshits actually started to smile. As if the idea of a selfie with the world-famous assassin was tempting.
The other one, however, smacked his partner in the chest and stepped forward. “That’s far enough. I’ll come to you.”
“Sure, man.” Adrian stopped moving. “Whatever tickles your curly hairs.”
The one guy snickered while the more serious one continued to approach him with caution. As expected, the guard took possession of Adrian’s pistol then proceeded to pat down his cargo pants and other combat attire.
Also not a surprise, the asshat took the extra mags Adrian brought, along with the gun on his hip, his ankle, and the small knife tucked into his boot.
What the man didn’t find—what hewouldn’tfind—was the KA-BAR duct taped to the inside of his button-up camo shirt.
Now, if all he was wearing was the shirt, then sure. The knife would be an easy discovery. But Adrian was wearing a vest, which of course, the guy also took.
But as it always went with untrained assholes like these, the guard assumed once the visible weapons and vest were gone, their captive was left essentially helpless.
They never thought to pat down the front of the shirt whenever he wore a vest. Not once.
Fatal mistake, boys.
Schooling his expression, Adrian allowed himself to be led to the door. Since the one man’s hands were filled with the vest and weapons, it was up to the other guard to open the door. Leaving both men vulnerable to an attack.
Moving lightning fast, Adrian reached into the collar of his shirt, pulled his knife free, and jabbed it into the neck of the man who’d frisked him. The other man had only just started to turn toward the commotion when Adrian did the same to him.
Both men dropped dead where they stood.
Wiping the blood from his blade onto his pants, Adrian let the teams know, “Two down. That leaves six assholes for you guys and one for me.”
“Good work.” Ryker’s go-to compliment came through loud and clear. “Now move fast, Walker. Ortiz will be watching for you, and if he finds the men you just killed before you find him—”