Quadruple Duty: All or Nothing - A Military Reverse Harem Romance

by Krista Wolf

  Home. It wasn’t something I’d thought about at all, but now suddenly I found myself wondering. How was Sarge? Cindy? My businesses? What the hell was going on on the other side of the world?

  It seemed trivial, to think of these things. Yet standing there, listening to the static, watching Kyle’s eyes sweep the tent for the hundredth time? Thinking about all that stuff was a welcome distraction.

  Time dragged on, and soldiers began milling in and out of the command tent. Other men in fatigues, other members of Di Spatia. I wondered why they hadn’t gone. Why there hadn’t been more room on the chopper. Why there hadn’t been two choppers, or three, or—

  CRACKKKKK!

  A short burst of static erupted from the bigger of three radios. It was followed by voices. Shouting. A pair of reverberating booms came through, one after the other. They were sounds that could’ve been explosions, but just as easily could’ve been something else.

  Then… static.

  “W—What was all that?”

  Patrick Harewood didn’t move. Kyle remained utterly motionless, his gaze fixed on the screen of what looked to be a thick, portable laptop.

  I might just as well be speaking to the deaf.

  I thought about how crazy it all was; how just a few short years ago I’d been happy and carefree — thrilled at meeting some handsome, sexy soldier at what I thought was a random bar.

  And then my whole world changed in the blink of an eye.

  My life, my loves, my career… everything in my life got caught in the same crazy whirlwind. The same whirlwind that landed me where I was now, clear on the other side of the planet, in love with four incredible men who wanted to spend the rest of their lives with me.

  If only they came back…

  Another static burst, another explosion. Then, suddenly we heard it: the barking, unmistakably staccato sound of rapid gunfire.

  I glanced up at Kyle, terrified. Lights flashed across his face — reflections of the screen he and Harewood and four other members of Di Spatia were hunched over. I began hurrying over, dying to see. Needing to see…

  “Sammara,” he said sternly. The way he said my name stopped me dead in my tracks. His eyes were cold. “Don’t.”

  I wanted to obey. I also wanted to tell him to screw off. I wanted to grab the laptop or the screen or whatever the fuck it was and yank it out of their hands, just pull it as hard as I could and flip it toward me and—

  I can’t! I just can’t!

  Next thing I knew I was outside, standing alone in the cool morning air. The sun was up now but it was still freezing outside. I laughed manically, wondering how the desert could be so fucking hot and yet so fucking cold at the same time.

  Sammara!

  I realized I was no longer breathing. The dam burst and I dropped my head into my hands. Inhaling deeply, I took in a shuddering, ragged breath.

  It’s okay, I tried convincing myself. Everything’s going to be okay.

  I took a second breath, then a third. Then too many more, and I was practically hyperventilating. Still, this is what I’d wanted. This is what Dakota and Markus and I needed to happen.

  Like it or not, this was what we’d come here do.

  I jumped up all at once, determined to pull myself together. Suddenly I didn’t even know which tent I’d come out of. In the smooth, sand-blasted avenue surrounded by a great beige sea of canvas, everything looked the same.

  “Kyle?”

  I peeled back a nearby flap, only to find more canvas. Another flap in a similar tent opened into nothing but darkness.

  I whirled, panicked, and suddenly there he was. His face was stoic and unreadable as he stood before me, leaning only slightly on his crutch.

  My heart dropped into my feet. I couldn’t read him at all! Couldn’t tell what had happened, only that he was here instead of inside.

  “Is… is everything…”

  “We don’t know,” Kyle answered. “We lost the feed. Lost the radio too,” he sighed. “Something must’ve happened to the portable transmitter.”

  I examined his expression carefully. “But you… you were watching.”

  “A bit,” he said. “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And we don’t know Sammara,” he shrugged. “It was fuzzy. Dark. Everything was crazy, and then it just got crazier.”

  I wondered if he were telling me everything. My gut feeling told me he was. But something else told me Kyle would protect me from the truth as long as he could, especially if that truth should be hard to swallow.

  “What do you think?”

  He stood there a moment longer, then hobbled another step forward. His closeness felt good, reassuring. I felt his hand go around my waist, pulling our bodies together.

  “I love you no matter what happens,” he murmured into my ear. “But I know they’ll come back. Dakota, Ryan, even Briggs. All of them…”

  I felt his hot breath as he nuzzled my neck. He did it for comfort. For reassurance, both for him and for me.

  “But if…” he hesitated, choking momentarily on the sentence. “If anything doesn’t go the way—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “I—I mean...”

  “KYLE!”

  I flashed him a dangerous look. One I’d never given anyone, and certainly one he’d never seen before.

  “I said don’t even say it.”

  His nostrils flared, but he refused to look away. Lowering his head slightly, he nodded.

  Silence descended over the camp. It wasn’t just us, it was anyone around. It was like being at a funeral parlor, where nobody knew anyone else and everyone was in simultaneous mourning.

  “So what now?” I asked dismally.

  Kyle reached down with his free hand and clasped mine. “Feed’s out,” he shrugged. “Transmitter’s gone.”

  He tilted his chin upward, just as a cool wind picked up.

  “Now we watch the skies.”

  Forty-One

  JASON

  I knew something was wrong when I was suddenly alone. When the trio of men who usually traded off shifts just outside my cell disappeared all at once, and quickly too.

  Then I heard the explosions.

  I stood immediately and began stretching my legs. I might need them soon, and they’d been used way too little in the tiny, six-by-eight chamber I’d called home for the last few months.

  Shouting reached my ears, but only from within the compound. And then I heard shouting from outside, as well. The sharp, commanding bark of orders.

  Here we go…

  Gunfire broke out before I even finished my thought. M-16’s for sure. Maybe M4 carbines. Then I heard the unmistakable sounds of a chopper coming in fast, and the crisp, rapid report of someone’s M249 light machine gun.

  One of my M249 light machine guns…

  I pulled on my ankles, desperate to get going. My quadriceps screamed as I forced oxygen into the unused muscles.

  “HEYYYYY!”

  If anyone heard me, they didn’t respond. The noise outside was louder now. The shots rang out much more locally.

  You should probably crawl under your bed.

  Logic certainly dictated I protect myself in such a situation. But fuck logic. I’d been here way too long. Either I was escaping this shithole now, or I was getting drilled by random gunfire. Either way though, I was getting out.

  BOOM!

  A violent blast rattled the entire concrete building. I felt the heat of a secondary explosion, and all the lights blinked off at once.

  They took out the generator…

  It was a targeted strike — something I’d order for sure. It was progress. It was a good sign.

  Not such a good sign however? The dark smoke rolling in from the only hallway.

  Quickly I ripped off the base of my shirt. Wadding up the dirty fabric, I held it over my mouth.

  Shit.

  The smoke was getting thicker.

  “HEYYYYY!” I shouted again, realizing it might be
my last chance. There wouldn’t be enough oxygen to shout in another minute or two. “OVER HERE!”

  The smoke grew thicker… followed by more gunfire. I was taking shallow breaths. Trying to stay low, where the air would still be good for another minute or two.

  Well this is it…

  The helicopter still hadn’t slowed. I could hear the engine screaming.

  This is how it ends for you. Choking on the floor of this filthy desert cell.

  I stood up, suddenly angry. Whatever happened, happened… but I wasn’t going to die on my knees.

  “HEEEYYYYYYYYY—”

  An explosion blew me backward, flattening me against the opposite wall. Concussion grenade, probably. Or a set charge. Or—

  “Briggs?”

  I rubbed the soot from my eyes as all the smoke got sucked out of the room. There was a hole where the main wall used to be. Men rushed in, rifles drawn.

  “He’s in here!” one of the men said into a shoulder-mounted walkie. He coughed, the rest of the smoke cleared, and I recognized the face immediately:

  Markus Ladrone.

  “I found him,” Markus repeated, “or at least I found a bear that looks like him.” He looked me up and down. “Jesus, Briggs. You need a fucking shave.”

  I curled my lips back in a snarl. “You!”

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “Me.”

  I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I should’ve known you couldn’t stay away,” I sneered. “I would’ve left you alone, Markus. It would’ve been easy for you—”

  “Oh shut the hell up already,” he snapped. The smug grin was still on his face. If only my cell weren’t locked, I would’ve loved wiping it off.

  “You here to finish me?”

  “In another timeline maybe,” Markus laughed. “But no. This time I’m here to rescue you. As stupid as that sounds.”

  I blinked, and before I knew what was happening two men ran up behind him. One of them pulled off his mask and goggles, revealing an overly-bright, friendly face. The shit-eating Iowa grin gave it away.

  “DAKOTA!”

  He smiled and reached for me, and I reached back. In the meantime, the other soldier had already begun setting phosphorous charges on the hinges of my cell door.

  “What the fuck is happening?”

  Dakota’s eyes shifted over to Markus, then back at me. “Lots of stuff. Tell you about it later, though. Let’s get you out of here first.”

  The other man tapped him twice, rapidly, on one shoulder. Dakota nodded.

  “Briggs! Get to the ass end of your cell.”

  Half a second later a searing white light flared, mixed in with a deadly pink. I looked away just in time. It was brighter than a dozen suns. Hotter, too.

  “COME ON!”

  He door to my cell fell away with a heavy clang, helped along by Dakota’s strong right arm. A hand reached in — Markus’s hand. I took it anyway, and he pulled me through.

  “Chopper!” he yelled over the noise of more gunfire. “NOW!”

  Just outside, the pre-dawn air actually tasted sweet. I gulped it into my lungs just as my knees buckled, and before I knew it I was being half-dragged, half-carried to the most wonderful sight in all the world: a big, beautiful Sikorsky Hawk.

  “GET IN!”

  I didn’t need to be told twice. Or even once, for that matter. Another pair of arms reached out, helping me inside, and the next thing I knew I was sprawled across the hard metal floor. Staring up into the grease-painted, badly-stubbled face of Ryan Dunham.

  Ryan’s teeth looked bleach-white as he grinned.

  “You look like ass.”

  “I feel like ass.”

  “Good. Then we’re in agreement.”

  One by one the chopped filled up, with both men I knew and didn’t know. Dakota boarded last. He jumped on as I kept scanning each face. Looking for—

  “Murphy’s not here,” Dakota shouted. “He’s back at camp.”

  I nodded in relief as the chopper lifted off. The gunner pulled back on the bolt latch, squeezed the trigger, and the blare of the mounted .50 cal obliterated the rest of our conversation. At least until we were out of range.

  Eventually I was left staring at the corrugated receiver assembly, glowing an angry orange as smoke drifted up from the end of the barrel. The desert horizon spun crazily outside as the Hawk nosed down and throttled up.

  “That’s not all you’ll find back at camp either,” Dakota smirked strangely.

  Forty-Two

  SAMMARA

  The chopper began as a tiny black dot. It came in low, its engine sputtering. I gasped in horror as I noticed a thick plume of angry grey smoke, trailing off somewhere behind it.

  It’s burning!

  All the hope and elation I felt was quickly draining away. My hair spun around my head as I whirled on Kyle.

  “Is it burning?”

  “Oil probably,” said Kyle. “Grey’s okay. Black smoke would be worse.”

  Relief surged through me. Even so, I clutched his arm tightly as the chopper drew near. It was holed in a bunch of places. Blackened on one side of its nose.

  Then it landed… and men began pouring out. They were cheering. Happy. Elated.

  None of them were the men I needed to see.

  “Kyle…”

  Ignoring me he limped forward. I stayed with him, acting as his other crutch.

  “Kyle, I—”

  “Hey hey!”

  Markus jumped down and strutted out, moving with swagger even though he looked like he’d just been through a war. His tactical vest was ripped down the center, the camouflage material peeled back to show finely-woven ballistic plates. Some of the Kevlar had been ripped away, revealing a reddish-brown bloom of blood beneath.

  “Where’s Dakota?” Kyle demanded. “And Ryan. And—”

  “I’m just fine Murphy, thanks for asking,” Markus sneered. “In fact—”

  He pushed past the ex-mercenary quickly, bad leg and all. I was left face to face with Markus Ladrone. He finished peeling off his Interceptor body armor and dropped it, still smoldering, at my feet.

  “You’re welcome,” he said flatly. Then, looking me right in the eye, “Now remember our deal. Don’t forget what you owe me…”

  I nodded quickly and sprinted after Kyle. And then I saw them: Dakota and Ryan, walking on either side of Jason. Propping him up as they exited the helicopter, which was still belching intermittent grey smoke.

  Oh my God, YES!

  Pure, unbridled joy — unlike anything I’d ever felt before — surged through my entire body. It choked my throat. Made it feel like my heart was about to burst!

  I dropped to my knees, tears filling my eyes as they finally saw me.

  “Here?” Jason was asking incredulously. “You brought her here?”

  He’d lost weight — at least fifteen or twenty pounds. And he looked like hell, especially with a scruffy dark beard running wild all over his face and neck.

  But he was alive. He was safe.

  Our eyes met, and even through my tears of happiness I could see the relief in his expression. He was grinning. I was smiling. Everything in my world was suddenly right again.

  I leapt up and we all rushed each other, tears still streaming. Kyle limped in and the five of us hugged in a little circle, together again at last.

  “You’re an asshole Dakota,” Ryan squinted. “You know that?”

  “Yeah yeah,” he grinned. “Sue me.”

  The anger was hollow and we all knew it. A mask to hide behind, in lieu of expressing gratitude.

  We hugged and hugged, putting our heads together. Holding each other for a long, long time…

  … long past the point where the whirring blades of the chopper spun themselves back into silence.

  Forty-Three

  SAMMARA

  The next few days were an absolute blur. A combination of travel, of exhaustion, of jet-lag…

  And of course, of catching up with work.


  We arrived home two days later, after sleeping our way across the world. I’d spent most of the flights sprawled across one shoulder or the other, drooling on Kyle, snoring on Ryan or Dakota. Jason woke me in the dead of night at one point, to tell me I was having a dream. I’d been murmuring in my sleep — complete sentences even — but nothing that made any sense when I became conscious again.

  “We’re all wound up tight,” he told me. “Every one of us. We just need a little time to decompress.”

  He looked pale, and though still strong, thinner than I’d ever seen him. For that reason alone, I was happy to see him eating everything in sight. Jason was absolutely ravenous, especially after we’d arrived back at the house. He grilled entire steaks in the morning. He piled burgers and spaghetti on the same plate, and then polished it off with a side of mashed potatoes.

  Back at the house, we’d fallen quickly into recoup mode. I had tons of work to catch up with, both at the office with Cindy and with the work crews at Modern Vintage. The guys disappeared more than usual too, spending long hours on the base every day. Or in Jason’s case, arranging meetings with his various contacts, government and otherwise. Whatever had happened out there in the desert, they were working on figuring it out. On finding the responsible parties. On rectifying it.

  And of course, on making sure it never happened again.

  “I’m sorry honey,” Ryan told me one morning, during our pre-dawn coffee ritual. “We all are. You should’ve never been dragged into this.”

  “Heard that one before,” I smirked over my mug.

  Leaning against the counter, he shrugged his two big shoulders. “Yes, but—”

  “Look,” I said. “I get it. You know I do. Just promise me one thing.”

  His apologetic look turned deadly serious. “Anything.”

  “You’ll nail whoever did this to you. To us. No matter what.”

  Ryan nodded, once, very solemnly. It was all I really needed to see.

  I brought Sarge home on a Wednesday. He ran straight over to Dakota and began licking him feverishly, but thankfully there were no accidents.