<b>Chapter </b><b>187 </b>


    I approached the checkpoint leading into Crimson Valley slowly, observing the heavily armed guards through my


    windshield.


    My SUV’s headlights illuminated a makeshift barrier constructed from shipping containers and barbed wire. Three men with assault rifles stepped forward, their faces weathered and scarred. I could tell they weren’t regr military -probably local gang enforcers. The tallest one signaled for me to lower my window.


    “Passport and entry fee,” he demanded in heavily ented English, leaning down to peer inside.


    I rolled down the window and handed him a thick stack of American dors. “Is this enough?”


    His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed as he got a better look at me. Something in his expression shifted, predatory interest recing routine suspicion. He exchanged nces with hispanions<b>, </b>a silentmunication passing between them.


    “American girl,” he said, grinning to reveal tobo–stained teeth. “Very pretty. Maybe money not enough.”


    The other guards moved to position themselves around my vehicle. One reached for the door handle while the tall one kept talking.


    “Crimson Valley special ce. Many rich men pay much more for pretty things than this.” He waved my cash dismissively. “Youe with us, we introduce to important people.”


    I smiled pleasantly. “No thanks.”


    Before he could react, I mmed my foot on the elerator. The SUV lurched forward, crashing through the flimsy barrier. The tall guard who had been leaning into my window lost his bnce, half–falling into the vehicle. He grabbed for the steering wheel, reaching with his other hand toward the keys in the ignition.


    Without taking my eyes off the road, I twisted his wrist sharply until I felt the satisfying crack of bone. He screamed, and I shoved him back out the window. The SUV bounced violently as I drove over the copsed barrier, the sound of gunfire erupting behind me.


    “Damn!” I swore as the engine made an ominous grinding noise. Something must have been damaged during the crash. I pushed the vehicle as far as it would go, putting distance between myself and the checkpoint. After about a mile, the engine sputtered and diedpletely.


    I grabbed my backpack and checked my weapons. Two handguns, extra ammunition, three knives, and a garrote wire.


    I’d have to continue on foot.


    Crimson Valley lived up to its reputation. The ce was a patchwork of opulence and squalor–luxury cars parked outside crumbling buildings, armed guards protecting what looked like abandoned warehouses. The air reeked of


    <b>8:19 </b>Thu, Sep 25


    desperation, violence, and money.


    97


    I kept to the shadows<b>, </b>observing the locals. Many of the men had the same distinctive tattoo–a blue scorpion on their wrists. From the Austrian driver’s information, I knew they belonged to the Scorpio family, one of three major powers in the valley. The others were a major drug lord and an arms dealer with absolute authority over life and


    death.


    A group of men lounged outside what appeared to be a former hotel, drinking andughing. One of them noticed me and nudged hispanion. Soon, all eyes were on me. I kept walking, maintaining a purposeful stride.


    “Hey, American!” one called out in English. “You lost?”


    I ignored him, continuing past. I could feel multiple sets of eyes following me, tracking my movements. Someone was definitely trailing me–not even trying to be subtle about it. I turned down an alley, preparing for confrontation, but stopped short at what I found.


    The alley opened onto a makeshift auction block. A small crowd had gathered around a raised tform where a terrified young woman stood bound and gagged. She was blonde, blue–eyed, probably European or American. Tears streaked her face as a man in an expensive suit described her “attributes” to the audience.


    “-twenty–two years old, no diseases, excellent condition,” the auctioneer was saying, “Training will begin immediately after purchase. Starting bid is fifty thousand.”


    I scanned the area, noting exits and guard positions. There were at least fifteen armed men, all with the blue scorpion tattoo. This was clearly a Scorpio family operation.


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