Delgano: A Dark Contemporary Interracial Romance

“‘Our’ is our recon team,” Hannah answered. “Well, technically, it’s Spettro, but he can do the same thing as an entire floor of CIA analysts. As far as Al-Kafan, if it can make money illegally, they have hands in it.”

Trevor retrieved a knife from near his feet and held it up, trying to catch a slash of moonlight. “We’re going in soft. The objective—neutralize all targets. Every last one. Oh, and have fun. Something you think you can do, kid?”

“With ease,” Adrían said.

Trevor grinned. “Then let’s do this.”

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

The structure turned out to be a two-story cinderblock house surrounded by a chain-link fence. Bars covered the windows, and from the outside, it looked like no one had resided there for at least a year.

“What all are they into?” Adrían asked.

Trevor eased through a partially open gate while he and Hannah followed close behind. “Your run-of-the-mill drug smuggling,” Trevor said. “Human trafficking. A few of them are glorified pimps. If my hunch is right and they’re connected with the larger groups in Casablanca, Fez, Tangier, and Marrakesh, they’re bringing in product from Latin America.”

Which was a world he knew all about.

“You said there are six on this team. Why are you two the only ones here with me?”

Hannah lightly squeezed the back of his arm. “Come on, Gano. It would be insulting to bring in extra hands when the three of us are more than capable of handling this on our own—unless you want me to do most of the heavy lifting. I can hold your hand and help you across the street on our way back as well.”

“Fuck you, Hannah,” he teased.

Laughing, she waved her black-handled hunting knife through the air.

Trevor took the front entrance. Hannah circled the house, peering into the windows. Adrían entered through the back, which faced south. These guys, not used to being challenged since the people they pilfered goods and services from were not a risk, were probably asleep.

All the better.

The first person he found was a man snoring facedown on a cot in the middle of the room, a rifle lying beside him.

He didn’t hesitate.

In under five seconds, he’d lodged his steel blade into the man’s chest, twice, before shaking off the adrenaline and moving on.

He did the same with another man sleeping on an obnoxiously long sofa and looked up as Hannah entered the room from a narrow hallway. Trevor, smiling, arrived in the main living area.

Most people thought he looked sad. A few times, he’d heard that he had soulful eyes and that, in a previous life, he’d probably been a poet or musical artist who specialized in romantic ballads. It was one of the things that made him terrifying to some: the fact that he looked like he would never hurt the wings on a fruit fly.

Smiling, however, was sinister as shit.

Trevor twisted his wrist, spinning his knife, and it was even creepier that the blade was clean. “Good on this floor, mate?”

When the chance to be part of this unit was first introduced, he’d been sure that, even if he saved a hospital full of newborns from a blast, his soul couldn’t be redeemed. But, gradually, he saw glimpses of the person he would have been had he grown up untainted by the cruelty of an unjust world.

Someone Sayeda had allowed into her body.

Knowing that she’d given herself to him, and that he’d openly received her without any triggers or trauma from his past, felt like being awarded an Order of Merit. Like he’d received a country’s highest honor.

They climbed a set of stairs without handrails, which deposited them on a bare concrete floor on the second level. A quick scan revealed six rooms with a loud snore reverberating down a long corridor. Trevor angled his head to indicate which direction he was taking, and he went the opposite. Hannah waited by the stairs to watch for stragglers or late-night entries.

This was the fastest anyone had ever gotten him to trust them. Usually, after meeting someone for the first time, he would never allow them to get behind him, especially with a visible weapon. Yet, right now, he trusted that Trevor hadn’t turned around to follow him, knife brandished, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slit his throat.

At the first opening, he peered inside. One man slept on a floor while another was braced against a window, head nodding, a gun strapped across his shoulder. The second man’s machete was several yards away, out of reach.

He took the window man first, rushing up to place one hand firmly over the man’s mouth while the other drove the knife into his neck.