Anti Hero

by Skye Warren

  In ops like this, making the plan took longer than actually executing it. Everything happened in a matter of seconds, the entire action over in minutes. His brain reverted to the old flip-book style of processing, slowing down everything to snapshots.

  Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

  The burst of light when he opened the door.

  Splatter of red as one guard went down.

  Whizz of bullets as he took aim. The second guard went down.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ford take down the last two guards. Exactly as they’d planned. Everything executed with precision, just as he’d been trained, just as he’d known they were capable of. Except for the unknown, the unexpected whine of an aircraft when his team was there to rescue him. The blast.

  No unexpected sounds came, no blast.

  “This way,” Ford said, taking charge of the women.

  They huddled away from him until Nate pulled off his mask. “We’re here to help.”

  Whatever they saw in Nate’s eyes, they must have decided to trust them. They ran out the door, following Ford while Nate took up the rear.

  The last girl huddled in the corner, clearly not won over.

  His blood whipped through his veins, some latent sense telling him they were running out of time. He crouched near her and put his hand out. “I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”

  She shook her head, wrapping dirty arms around herself.

  Fuck.

  The sound came to him as the whimpers and padding footsteps of the other girls died away. The whir of a vehicle stopping near the front door. He could only pray that Ford had gotten the other girls far enough, because backup had arrived. He had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t Ford’s backup, but more of Moreland’s men. They must have been dispatched when the men bleeding out on the ground stopped responding.

  “We have to go,” he said urgently.

  The girl curled in on herself, lost to him. He realized that he’d have to pick her up, physically remove her. He hated to touch her against her will, but it was life or death. She fought him, scratching, screaming, and he knew that whatever stealth he might have had was gone. He hefted her into an awkward carry, while she struggled to get free.

  He was halfway to the exit when he felt something sharp blast his shoulder.

  Stumbling, he dropped her. “Run,” he managed to gasp.

  At least she obeyed that much. The last thing he saw was the flash of her hair through the door.

  Pain seared him—fuck, he was hit.

  Nate forced himself to turn over and shoot toward the front, blind and desperate to give them a few more seconds to safety. Two men surrounded him. Maybe he could have taken them, maybe not. With his shoulder on fire, he didn’t have a shot.

  The first kick to his stomach took his breath away.

  The one to his back hit his kidney, and he saw black spots.

  He managed to swipe the guy in front of him with his leg. The next boot met his face with an audible crack, and he knew he was going to die here. His only hope was Ford’s backup teams, but by his internal clock they still had another fifteen minutes. His knee hadn’t been recently shattered this time, he hadn’t been starved, but he had fought enough to recognize defeat.

  In that godforsaken hut, he’d accepted death.

  Even welcomed it.

  Sofia’s gorgeous face flashed in front of his eyes, and he knew he wouldn’t accept this. Fuck no, he wouldn’t die. Not while he wasn’t sure she was safe. Not while she was in this world. He would fight for every single fucking second with her.

  His entire body screamed in pain as he pushed up on his hands. The guy went for the easy kick—right to his stomach. Nate was prepared for it, gripping the leg and twisting hard. The man screamed, but underneath Nate heard the snap of bone breaking.

  The other guy was on top of him in a matter of seconds.

  The smart thing would have been to whip out his gun and shoot him, but these guys assumed that because he was wounded, he’d be an easy kill. They were the kind of fuckers in the hut, the ones who enjoyed inflicting pain. Nate would show them that he wasn’t easy.

  He whipped his elbow into one guy’s eye socket, eliciting a hard grunt.

  Then he got a knee in the groin and gasped his own pain.

  The sound of a car pulling up whispered through the warehouse. More reinforcements for these fuckers? Except they tensed, as if they weren’t expecting company. And Ford’s teams would still be ten minutes away. So who had come? Who was unaccounted for?

  The assholes on top of him were clearly just as curious. They backed away, ducking behind some empty crates like fucking cockroaches.

  Nate blinked through the sweat and the blood, struggling to focus on the open door.

  And then he saw her, like some kind of fucking mirage. The object of his dreams, the woman he loved. Sofia. He wanted her to be fake, because God, fuck, she couldn’t be here.

  Her gaze met his, and he knew she was real.

  Horror filled those gorgeous dark eyes. “Oh my God, Nate.”

  “No, Sofia. No!”

  He was too late. It was happening again. He saw it happening in sharp, vivid increments—the men behind the crates finally pulling out their fucking guns. Sofia’s attention on Nate’s body, his injuries, his weakness.

  This was like before, when he’d been unable to warn his team, when they’d gotten caught in the cross fire while trying to rescue him. Sofia was here, rushing to his side, about to be hurt because he couldn’t protect her.

  Worse than death, seeing Sofia hurt.

  He couldn’t, wouldn’t let it happen.

  From somewhere deep, he found enough strength to drag his broken body upright. His knee may as well have been hit with another fucking hammer, because it felt shattered. His body was in pieces, but his heart was finally whole.

  He launched himself on top of Sofia. Surprised, she went down under him. He was her shield, the only form of protection he had left to offer. There were loud bangs, gunfire, and he prayed he would be enough.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Sofia pushed at the heavy weight, but Nate was pure muscle. It took all her strength, all her effort, just to move him sideways. Then her hands were running over him—his beautiful face, already bruised, broken, his arms, his chest. Searching for a bullet hole, because she’d heard those shots. She found it in his shoulder, an entry through the back, no exit.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, tears clouding her vision. “Nate, Nate, Nate.”

  He groaned. “Fuck, Sofia.”

  Men in black shirts and cargo pants had invaded the warehouse suddenly, milling around her. They surrounded the two men who’d jumped out from behind the crates. The ones Nate had protected her from.

  Ford approached, his expression grave. “How is he?”

  “Strong enough to kick your ass, asshole,” Nate said, his words slurring together.

  “Don’t you dare die on me, Nate. I’m serious.”

  His grin was lopsided, as if he were drunk. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “He’s punch-drunk,” Ford said, sounding amused. “Probably a concussion. We need to get that bullet wound checked out though.”

  Instead, Nate pushed himself to sit. He glanced over at the men who were being disarmed, their hands behind their heads, facing the ground. He made a growling sound. “I ought to feed those fuckers their own dicks. They tried to hurt you.”

  “You can’t kill them,” she told him. “We need their help to find the women.”

  Ford gave her a small smile. “We’ve already got them.”

  Only then did she realize Remy wasn’t with her. “Remy…”

  “Your friend?” Ford nodded toward the back exit. “Think she was looking for someone. My men have them covered. They’re safe. And an ambulance is on the way.”

  Relief swept through her, and she turned to Nate. “Don’t move.”

  “So bossy,” he murmured.

  She ran her fing
ertips over his lips. “Hush now.”

  “Not gonna let you tie me up again.”

  The laugh that came out of her was part happiness, part worry. She needed him to be okay. I think I love you. That was what she’d told him in the motel. Bending her head, she whispered in his ear, “You’re my hero, Nate.”

  His hazy eyes focused on her. “That’s right, gorgeous. Not gonna let you go, either.”

  His lids closed, and she gasped. “Nate. Nate!”

  Ford knelt beside her, pressing two fingers to Nate’s neck. “Passed out. This fucker survived the worst. He’s not going to let this get him.”

  She heard the anxiety beneath the steel and realized Ford was nervous. That made her nervous, but also glad that Nate had friends—coworkers, technically—who cared about him that much. Dipping her head, she pressed her forehead to his cheek. “Hold on, Nate. Just a little longer.”

  Time passed in shuddering stops and starts, her breath attuned to his.

  She didn’t know how long she knelt like that, but eventually Ford placed a hand on her back. Paramedics had a stretcher beside her, ready to pull Nate away. She stumbled moving out of their way, her legs numb.

  She held his hand on the way to the ambulance, keeping him warm, keeping him company as best she could. He was still unconscious when they wheeled him into surgery, taking him away from her.

  Her head rested in her hands, her dark hair creating a curtain.

  The scent of stale coffee drifted close, and she looked up. Remy was standing there, holding out a small Styrofoam cup with gray liquid.

  Sofia lifted an eyebrow. “Is that coffee?”

  “I know it tastes like shit, but it’s better than nothing.”

  Conceding the point, Sofia took the cup with quiet thanks. One sip, a grimace. Another sip. It was better than nothing. She needed something to stay alert, because Nate might be in surgery for hours.

  The coffee settled into the right parts of her brain. “Did you find her? Your sister?’

  Remy’s face fell. “No. I showed her picture to the girls, but they hadn’t seen her.”

  She set the coffee down and stood to—what? Hug her? They didn’t have that kind of friendship, and Remy stepped back.

  “I’m sorry,” Sofia murmured.

  Remy looked away. “I knew it was a long shot. Anyway, I just came to say goodbye. I might be going away for a while.”

  Only then did the uniformed officers register. They hovered at the entrance to the waiting room, watching Remy like they expected her to make an escape attempt with old magazines and a watercolor painting.

  Sofia blinked. “They can’t lock you up. You were doing those things under duress. He blackmailed you. Moreland is the culprit here.”

  “Oh, they have him in custody. He lawyered up fast, but the evidence is mounting. It will be a while before they sort it out. I’m not going to withhold what I know and leverage a deal, though. I figure the more I cooperate, the better chance they have of actually finding her.”

  Sofia took a moment to consider that. “You’re a hero, you know. I don’t care what they say. You did what you thought was right.”

  Remy looked down before meeting her eyes. “Your intern might not agree with that.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sure he’ll tell you about it. Maybe even get a byline out of it. That’s not the point. The point is that you’re the hero. I knew if I gave you the link to Dawson, you’d dig until you found the truth. And that’s what happened.”

  So Remy had been the one to encrypt those hidden photos. Sofia may have found out the truth, but only with help—from Remy, from Nate. God, Nate. Stay strong for me.

  Remy turned to leave but paused. “Just do one thing for me. I let my past fuck up my future. Don’t make the same mistake, okay? Not with Nate.”

  “I won’t,” Sofia whispered, but she didn’t know if she’d get the chance to make things right. He might hate her after she’d left him at the motel, he might blame her for getting him shot.

  He might never wake up.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The world swam in blacks and blues, a mix of pain and grief. He wasn’t sure what was real and what was dream—his team around him, broken flesh. Sofia’s gorgeous body, bruised and battered. He fought the heavy tide, but it only pushed him deeper.

  “Nate? I’m here.”

  He knew that voice. Sofia. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her that he loved her. Again and again, he wanted to whisper his love, his praise, his fucking devotion. Except he couldn’t open his eyes. A rough groaning sound met his ears, and he realized that was him.

  “Are you hurting?” she whispered.

  He felt something soft and warm on his hand, his arm. Her touch.

  More, he demanded.

  She responded with a kiss to his cheek.

  Yes. Again.

  This time she didn’t answer, and it was enough to make him struggle. He forced his eyes open, the light searing him. His eyelids weighed a fucking ton, but he was determined to see her. The world blurred in a miasma of beige and black. How drunk had he gotten?

  Not drunk, he realized. Shot.

  Sofia’s face formed over him, those dark eyebrows and darker eyes, those gorgeous full lips he loved to claim. There were circles too, shadows of worry. How long had she been awake? Was she eating properly? Fuck, he wanted to take care of her.

  “Sleep,” he croaked.

  “I know,” she murmured, feathering her fingers over his brow. “You’ve been sleeping for days now. I’m so glad you’re awake, baby.”

  That wasn’t what he meant, but her hands felt amazing. “Don’t stop.”

  The corner of her lips turned up. “The nurse is here.”

  He didn’t want the nurse. “Want you.”

  She bent her head. “Dirty boy.”

  He grunted, yes.

  “She needs to check on you now that you’re awake. I’ll be right here the whole time. I’m not leaving, okay?”

  That was the last thing he heard before the waters dragged him down again. He fought, but there were monsters there too, tentacles thick and strong, holding him underwater. Don’t leave, Sofia. I need you. I love you.

  When he woke again, the room was empty.

  He studied the white walls and beeping machinery. Still in the hospital. And he felt like shit. Guess that was what getting shot and then kicked with boots did to a guy. Except where the fuck was Sofia?

  The door opened, and he tensed with anticipation.

  Ford strolled in, carrying a tray with two coffees and a white paper bag.

  “Sofia,” Nate demanded.

  That just made him laugh. “Fuck you right back.” He slung himself into the chair beside him, looking like some giant in a dollhouse. “Sorry, man, you’re stuck with my ugly mug.”

  Nate grunted his disapproval.

  Ford sent a glance down to Nate’s shoulder, which was exposed, the white bandage fresh from this morning. “You got pretty fucked up.”

  He really wanted Sofia.

  The bullet in his shoulder had fucked him up pretty good, like Ford said, but the kicks to his kidney had him spitting blood for the past week. Only Sofia’s gentle hands had kept him sane. So where was she?

  Ford fiddled with the remote control and turned on the TV. He switched channels until Nate did a double take at the screen. Dressed in a sweater and skirt was the girl who had stolen his heart, the girl he wanted by his side. Sofia.

  “Why didn’t you wait for the cops?” the man in a suit asked.

  They were sitting in upholstered chairs, a fake fireplace behind them. He vaguely recognized the set from a national news syndicate that Sofia used to watch.

  Sofia learned forward, her dark eyes earnest. “We knew that Senator Moreland had public support. Any allegations would be met with red tape and lots of press. Meanwhile the traffickers who worked for him would have time to go underground. The most important thing was recovering those women while we had the
chance.”

  Fuck, she was gorgeous.

  Sofia had always maintained that she wouldn’t be good as a TV reporter, that she was too shaky. And he had felt her shake in those moments in Ford’s house after the shooting in her apartment.

  She wasn’t shaking now. Her hands were still, her voice clear. The interviewer was looking at her with awe—and more than a little bit of desire. Nate narrowed his eyes at the fucker.

  “She looks good,” Ford commented, taking a sip of his coffee.

  “Go to hell.”

  “She called me, you know. Worried that you’d wake up while she was gone. I think she hasn’t left your bedside except to do the interview.”

  Damn. He couldn’t stay laid up in this hospital bed, making her sleep in that uncomfortable metal chair. “Get me out of here.”

  “No can do, buddy. Sofia’s orders.”

  He grunted. “You owe me.”

  Ford gave him a look. “You’ve been calling in a lot of favors lately. Lucky for you that you had racked up so many over the last ten years. I’ll probably owe you until the day I die.”

  Damn right. “Where is she?”

  Okay, so he turned a little caveman when he got injured.

  Ford chuckled. “She’s at the news station. You wanna surprise her? Because you can fucking surprise her.”

  Surprising her sounded good, because he hadn’t forgotten the rope and the motel room. He needed to pay her back for that. More than that, he needed to tell her that he had let her push him away because he wasn’t the man she needed. He hadn’t been whole before, but he was now. It still made his heart freeze in fear to think of her in danger, but he’d be by her side as much as she would let him.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Sofia held out her arms while the tech removed the microphone wire from her sweater. The interviewer’s name was Brian James, an award-winning journalist who had pursued her story. She had finally relented, even if it meant leaving the hospital for a day trip, because she needed the truth out there. He conferred with people off the set, the illusion of a comfy sitting room stark against the hollow warehouse.

  A series of articles she’d written would debut in the Daily starting on Sunday, thanks to Andre. But there was something to be said for the directness, the accessibility of the television.