Rescuing Mary

by Susan Stoker

  Mary dropped her hands and let her inserts fall to the floor of the vault. She didn’t cower from the gang members, but she didn’t outwardly antagonize them either. She’d done exactly what she should’ve. It couldn’t have been easy for her, and Truck wanted to take her in his arms more than he wanted to breathe. His hands shook with the effort it took to stay where he was.

  “We gonna blow this shit up or what?” Truck asked, trying to turn the men’s attention back to the matter at hand. Namely, their greed.

  “I should kill it,” Deuce said—and raised his pistol so it was once again pointed at Mary’s head.

  Truck’s heart stopped beating.

  Mary didn’t say a word, kept her eyes bravely on Deuce’s.

  The inside of the vault was silent for a moment as everyone held their breath.

  “Deuce, there are people outside on their cells—” a gangbanger started as he entered the vault. “What the fuck’s going on?” he asked when he saw Deuce pointing his gun at Mary.

  “Bang!” Deuce yelled, then laughed when Mary jerked in fright. “Fucking weirdo,” he muttered, then kicked one of Mary’s fake boobs into a corner. He turned to Truck. “If you’ve in any way fucked this up, your freak girlfriend is gonna die. Then you’re gonna die. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Truck said as calmly as he could. “The explosives I’ve set should blow up the boxes, but not the wall behind it. I don’t know what this vault is made of, but I’m assuming it’ll absorb the shockwave well enough.”

  “For your sake, I hope so,” Deuce said, then walked over to Truck and grabbed the detonator out of his hand. He motioned Shoebaloo and the other man out of the room with a tilt of his head.

  Truck narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “Because you and your freak are gonna be in here when it goes off. You better hope you didn’t fuck it up,” Deuce said. “If you disable it in any way when we leave and it doesn’t go off, you’ll be sorry.” Then he saluted Truck with an evil grin and backed away with the crude, hastily built detonator in his hand.

  “You can’t leave us in here!” Truck blurted. He’d reduced the amount of explosives, yes, but it definitely wasn’t safe to be in the vault when they went off.

  “Watch me,” Deuce sneered, then backed out of the vault. After making sure the wires were situated so the door could still shut most of the way, he closed them inside with the explosives.

  Truck stood there staring at the closed door for one precious second, not believing the asshole had actually left them inside with the explosives. If they hadn’t shot out the lock, he could’ve slammed the door shut, locking him and Mary safely inside the vault, and disconnected the detonator. But now there was no way to keep the thugs out.

  Truck didn’t have time to completely disable all the explosives, either. Even if he did, Deuce would come back in and shoot them both on sight.

  Making a split-second decision, knowing at any time Deuce could hit the detonator, Truck moved toward the explosives rather than away from them.

  He heard Mary shout his name in protest, but he ignored her, all his attention on the bricks of explosives. He quickly yanked two wires out of the bottom row of explosives, hopefully making the inevitable explosion survivable. If it was just him, he’d take his chance with Deuce and the others. But it wasn’t. He had to think about Mary.

  Truck turned away and rushed toward her. Other than a small “oof,” she didn’t make a sound, just clung to Truck as hard as she could. He picked her up off her feet and brought her to the far corner of the vault. Placing her down as gently as he could, he said, “Curl up into a ball, Mare. Cover your ears.”

  He waited until she did as ordered, then he rushed back for the table in the middle of the room. His only choice was to do what he could to protect them from the explosion that Truck knew was coming any second.

  He knocked the now empty boxes and various other things he’d used to set up the explosives to the floor, then tried to lift the table—before realizing it was bolted down. He’d hoped to use it to hide behind. Swearing, he made his way back to Mary.

  He gathered her into his arms and wrapped himself around her as best he could. He wanted every inch of her body covered. For the first time, Truck was glad he was as big as he was. He was made this way to protect his woman. He was a big-ass scary dude for this moment right here.

  Her hands came up and covered his ears instead of her own, and without picking his head up from where it was tucked against her body, he did the same for her.

  He was huddled over the woman he loved, praying harder than he ever had in his life, his entire body tense and waiting for the explosion, when Mary blew his mind.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  He didn’t hear her, but he felt the words against his neck.

  That was all she said. She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t go on and on about if they didn’t make it out of that vault alive…she just wanted him to know.

  It made her words all the more poignant and meaningful.

  Truck opened his mouth to reciprocate, when the world around them exploded.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Heads-up!” the Delta Force team commander, Colonel Colton Robinson, yelled when he stomped into the meeting room the team was in. “That downtown bank has been held up again. Robbery still in progress.”

  Within seconds, Ghost, Fletch, Coach, Hollywood, Beatle, and Blade were on their feet and running for the door. As they ran for their vehicles, their commander told them what he knew.

  “Shit’s hit the fan in the city. Fires, robberies, shots fired, and general chaos. The police are in way over their heads and can’t keep up. Dispatch called me when they got reports of something going on at the same bank that was hit last month. Doors are locked and there’s a crude note on the door saying something about training. But one customer saw someone with a gun inside and called it in.”

  “Fuck, is this the bank Mary works at?” Fletch asked.

  “Truck’s wife? Yeah,” their commander said grimly.

  “Truck was there having lunch with her today,” Ghost said. “He called to tell me he’s been getting some of his memory back. He remembers being married to her. Was going to see his doctor after lunch then let me know what he said.”

  “Could be good if he’s inside,” Hollywood said.

  “Or bad,” Beatle countered. “If whoever is in there knows he’s Army, they might kill him outright.”

  “Truck doesn’t exactly look nonthreatening,” Blade added.

  “Take the truck,” the commander ordered, throwing a pair of keys to Ghost. “I’ll round up the other team and we’ll meet you there.”

  Ghost nodded but didn’t bother to respond. He and the rest of his team peeled off and headed for the deuce-and-a-half truck assigned to their unit.

  No one spoke much on the way to the bank. Partly because Ghost was driving like a bat out of hell and they were all holding on for dear life, but also because they were all worried about their friends.

  Truck and Mary were like…peas and carrots. Peanut butter and jelly. Cookies and cream. They were meant to be together. They might’ve had their ups and downs, but no one ever doubted they were soul mates.

  Mary didn’t seem to see Truck’s scarred face or his big scary countenance, and Truck didn’t give one little shit about Mary’s prickliness. From the first time Mary had stood up to Truck on behalf of Rayne, he’d known she was it for him.

  No one could fathom one being without the other. It was unthinkable that neither would be around. It was bad enough Truck had gotten hurt and lost his memory, but at least he was there.

  Little Annie needed him. She needed Mary to teach her how to take no shit from anyone.

  Fletch’s new baby needed his uncle Truck to look up to.

  Casey needed Truck to help with her PTSD because he knew exactly what she’d been through in the jungle.

  And Rayne. Fuck. Rayne needed Mary as much as Mary needed her. She wouldn’t be the same if
Mary didn’t make it out of that bank in one piece.

  No one spoke, lost in their own heads, until the truck pulled into the bank parking lot. Within minutes, a second deuce-and-a-half pulled in and Trigger, Lefty, Oz, Grover, Lucky, Brain, and Doc hopped out. They were all armed and quickly passed out the extra rifles they’d brought for Ghost’s team.

  Doc had just headed off to herd the bystanders away from the building when there was a loud explosion from inside the bank.

  Without hesitation, the thirteen men headed for the doors. They hadn’t had time to make a plan, but they didn’t need to. They were Delta Force. They each knew what the others were going to do without having to ask. Without having to plan.

  Mary struggled to breathe. Truck was lying on top of her, covering her from head to toe. Her head was under his chest and he had his arms wrapped around it, protecting her from debris. Her ears were ringing, but that was the least of her worries.

  She’d been so scared when Truck had walked toward the explosives rather than away from them after Deuce left them alone in the vault. But he hadn’t lingered, had just fiddled with some of the wires before coming back for her.

  Currently, she couldn’t breathe. The smoke in the vault was thick enough she couldn’t see anything, and Truck’s weight was bearing down on her, heavier than when he’d first thrown himself around her.

  “Truck,” she croaked, then immediately started coughing.

  He didn’t respond. In fact, she couldn’t feel him moving at all.

  Frantic now, Mary wiggled until she was able to get an arm out from under her body. Not thinking about how close she’d come to being raped, or how she’d practically thrown her fake boobs at Deuce, or that he might return any second to gather what valuables he could, Mary kept doing whatever was necessary to get out from beneath Truck.

  When she was finally able to get her torso out from under him, she realized why he was so heavy. Through the smoke, she saw the table he hadn’t been able to manhandle over to their corner had been blown off the floor and had landed on top of him.

  Using all her strength, Mary was able to shove it off his back. It thudded to the floor next to him—and Mary stared in dismay at the blood on the back of Truck’s head.

  “Shit, Truck,” she wailed. “Not again!”

  She wanted to turn him over, but didn’t want to hurt his head any more than it already was. Her hand moved without thought and she pressed it against the cut on his scalp, feeling the wetness of the blood there. She carefully turned his head to the side so he could breathe, hoping like hell she was doing the right thing. That she wasn’t paralyzing him for life.

  She waved her hand in front of his face, trying to clear the air of the smoke. Mary continued to cough herself, not able to pull in a deep breath. “Come on, Truck. Breathe,” she ordered.

  The door to the vault was pushed open, but she didn’t even turn around.

  A flashlight flickered over her and Truck, but Mary’s attention stayed on the man lying so still next to her.

  “It worked!” Deuce shouted. “Motherfucker, it worked!”

  Mary spared a quick glance up and saw that the explosives Truck had set had indeed done exactly what he’d designed them to do. The boxes that were directly next to the explosives were mangled beyond recognition, but the ones around those merely had their fronts blown off. She could see jewelry and cash strewn about on the floor. There were lots of papers too, but Deuce obviously didn’t care about those.

  He opened a backpack and began to stuff as much as he could into it. “Hey, Shoebaloo!” he yelled, looking up toward the door.

  Mary looked toward the door instinctively—and gasped.

  Ghost and Trigger were standing there.

  She remembered the other Delta from the last time the bank had been held up. Neither man had made a sound. Both Deltas had their rifles up and pointed at Deuce.

  Before she could do anything, Deuce had obviously looked to see what she’d gasped at and had dropped his backpack and raised his weapon to point it at her.

  “Drop it,” Ghost ordered.

  “Now, motherfucker,” Trigger added.

  “Back away—slowly,” Deuce countered. “Or I’ll blow her away.”

  Mary held her breath, not liking that she was in the middle of the standoff.

  She was fairly sure Ghost and Trigger would take care of Deuce, but just in case he got off a lucky shot, she threw herself over Truck’s back, trying to protect him as much as she could.

  Just as she’d covered him, Trigger fired and Deuce fell to the floor.

  Unmoving. A hole in the middle of his forehead.

  Ghost strode over and kicked away his pistol, even though the man was obviously dead.

  “Dammit, Trigger,” Ghost complained when he’d stood up. “You know how much paperwork we’re gonna have to fill out now?”

  Mary could hear the humor in his voice. She could tell that Ghost didn’t really care that Deuce was dead. She’d make sure the cops knew that Trigger didn’t have a choice. The gang member could’ve easily shot her, or Truck, or either of the Deltas.

  Trigger shrugged. “Don’t care. They call me Trigger for a reason.” He smirked. “Trigger-happy, you know. Besides, he pointed a gun at Mary. No one points a fucking weapon at a teammate’s woman and gets away with it.”

  Mary wanted to smile at the other man, but didn’t have it in her at the moment. She looked at Ghost and said, “Truck won’t wake up. The table hit him in the head and he’s bleeding.”

  Ghost didn’t say anything, but immediately came over to where she was kneeling over Truck. Trigger slipped out of the room, but Mary’s attention was on the man lying still as death beside her.

  “Lift your hand,” Ghost said.

  “He’s bleeding badly,” Mary told him.

  “I can see that.” Ghost looked her in the eye. “I got this, Mary. Trust me.”

  She nodded and slowly slipped her hand away from Truck’s head. She watched as Ghost parted Truck’s hair and checked out the wound before reaching into a pocket and pulling out a pair of gloves. He put one on his hand and covered the wound on Truck’s head once more. “He’s going to be okay, Mary. It’s not that deep. A couple stitches at the most. Maybe even only one staple.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Ghost told her. “I’m more worried about his brain. It hasn’t been that long since he rattled it the first time.”

  Mary chewed on her lower lip and couldn’t think of anything to say. Truck had to be all right. He had to.

  Just as she had the thought, Truck moaned.

  She leaned down and asked, “Truck?”

  His eyes fluttered, and Mary said his name again.

  This time his eyes opened all the way. He saw her, but then closed them again immediately. “Fuck,” he swore. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “You’re okay,” Ghost told his friend. “Just a little bump on the back of the head.”

  As soon as he finished speaking, the rest of the team crowded into the vault. Fletch and Hollywood picked up Deuce and hauled him out, handing him off to someone Mary couldn’t see. Beatle and Blade stood above her, Truck, and Ghost. Coach moved the table out of the way to give everyone more room.

  “He okay?” Fletch asked.

  “How’re you, Mary?” Hollywood chimed in.

  “Fine. It’s Truck I’m worried about,” Mary said, looking back down at the man she loved with all her heart. It was hard to believe she’d actually said the words. She didn’t know if Truck had heard them or not, but lightning hadn’t struck her down as a result of voicing them. She was taking that as a win.

  “Can you all shut the fuck up?” Truck said in a whisper.

  “Truck?” Ghost asked.

  “My ears are ringing and my head hurts like a motherfucker,” Truck said.

  Mary bit her lip again in worry. He’d looked at her, but hadn’t seemed to recognize her. Had he lost the rest of his memory? Had he relapsed? Fuck, she c
ouldn’t go through everything again.

  Okay, that was a lie, she could, she’d do anything for Truck, but she sure as hell didn’t want to.

  “It’s a good thing you’ve got such a hard head,” Beatle quipped. “Otherwise your brain would be mashed potatoes by now.”

  Mary winced at the imagery. “You aren’t helping,” she muttered.

  “If you’re not careful, I’ll get Casey to find some of those bullet ants and put them in your fucking bed, Beatle,” Truck said.

  No one said a word for a moment, letting Truck’s words sink in.

  “As if,” Beatle said, extreme emotion making his voice thick. “She loves me.”

  “Yeah, she does,” Truck said. Then his eyes opened again, and he stared at Mary. “Come here,” he said, trying to lift his hand and pull her down to him, but he couldn’t move that well with Ghost’s hand on the back of his head, holding him still.

  Mary leaned down until she was almost nose to nose with Truck. She held her breath as she stared into his beautiful brown eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Reach into the front pocket of my jeans, babe.”

  He rotated his hip enough so Mary could get to his pocket. Confused, she did as he asked, not wanting to do anything that might stress him out. It was obvious how much pain he was in, and she had no idea how badly he was hurt.

  She reached into his pocket, ignoring Hollywood’s smartass comment about watching what she was grabbing down there, and pulled out a small velvet bag.

  “Open it,” Truck ordered.

  Mary sat back on her heels and loosened the tie at the top. She turned it over, and two rings fell into her palm.

  Frozen, Mary stared at Truck.

  “Our wedding rings,” Truck said. “I’m back from my mission, so we can both wear them again. I won’t wear mine if you’re not wearing yours.”

  “Truck,” Mary whispered, overwhelmed.

  “Help me sit up,” Truck asked, and Ghost immediately helped Truck into a sitting position. His hand never left the back of his head and he had a firm grip on Truck’s arm to keep him upright.