Anti Hero

by Skye Warren

  There was a voice again, but it wasn’t shouting. Low, like from a man. Papa? Or the person who came to visit us? A door slammed. Maybe he was gone. We’d be okay again, I was sure of it. At least until he came back.

  I opened the door to see. A shot rang out, so loud in my ears, like an explosion. It made me go cold and still. Frozen. I’d never heard a sound like that so close, never inside our house. Only sometimes I heard it far away, from another street, while Caro would rock me in bed. Then the sirens would come.

  It was the sound of a gun.

  “Caro,” I shouted, running into the living room.

  At first all I could see was chaos, like how you spin and spin and then throw up. Everything was blurry. There were men here, lots of them. Papa was here and men wearing suits. I didn’t care about them. But then I saw Caro. She was okay! Relief let me breathe again.

  She was leaning over something, kneeling on the ground. Thick brown hair was spread all around. I’d seen that hair brushed and brushed. Georgia had such pretty hair. Dark red liquid was matting the strands, pressing it close to her head like clay.

  I stepped forward. “Caro?”

  She only cried harder, and I knew. I felt pain, harder than any slap I’d ever gotten. “Georgia?” I whispered.

  My oldest sister didn’t move. She lay on the floor with her eyes closed and Caro crying over her. I stood on the other side of the room, but it felt even farther away. On the other side of the planet.

  All I heard was the shot, so loud, ringing in my head like a bell. One man stepped right in front of me. He was smiling as if he’d just found something great, but I didn’t trust that smile. I didn’t like it.

  He bent down on one knee, at eye level. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  Caro! Georgia! I wanted to run to them. I should be with my sisters, but I couldn’t move. Especially when the man put his fingers under my chin. His eyes were cold and gray, like silver. His mouth moved, and I saw him speak more than heard him.

  “I know your mother’s preference for geography,” he murmured. “Georgia. Carolina. So what’s your name, little one? Texas? Montana?” When I didn’t answer, he laughed. “It’s okay. You’ll tell me eventually.”

  The ringing cleared from my head, leaving only my teacher’s voice. Results are what happened. The conclusion is what it means. I knew then that my sister Georgia was dead. And it meant nothing would be okay ever again.

  Chapter One

  Clint

  I could be comfortable strapped into a Chinook, with full body armor and another hundred fifty pounds of equipment on top of that. I could HALO down to a cross-fire insertion, no problem. But flying coach on a standard commercial airline was killer.

  Everything seemed tiny, as if I’d walked onto a display version of a real airplane. Due to the design of the plane, the rows on this side only had two seats. My buddy James had taken the window seat, but the aisle didn’t give me room to stretch. My legs were folded like a pretzel to fit into the small amount of legroom. My head cleared the headrest by almost a foot. My body jutted into the aisle, but there was nothing to do about that without pushing into James beside me.

  The pretty stewardess walked by, her hip brushing my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  Della, her name tag read. She was slender and careful, but that didn’t matter when I was taking up half the aisle with my shoulder.

  “My fault,” I managed to say. It came out more like a rumble.

  The lightest whisper of cloth, her blue uniform against my fatigues. A wisp of heat and a faint smell of peaches. It was too much. As if I were goddamned Sleeping Beauty, my dick woke the hell up.

  She smiled then, and it was way too late to pretend I wasn’t getting hot at the sight of her.

  Jesus, those lips. And the little upturned smile, the one that said she knew exactly what I was thinking.

  Well, maybe not exactly. No way were her thoughts as desperate as mine. Eight months away from the States had taken its toll, with not even enough time or energy to beat off with regularity.

  No privacy, either, but then we didn’t care about that. You couldn’t be fastidious in a godforsaken jungle. They send a bunch of eighteen-year-old testosterone junkies into the wild, what else is gonna happen? There’d been a time we’d all go into a firefight, walk out with no bullet holes, then head back to our bunks and jack off like we were synchronized swimming.

  Not this time, though.

  After our first two tours in Afghanistan, James and I got picked up to work as part of a joint task force. Guess we impressed somebody. We couldn’t even drink back then—at least, not legally—but we were handed some of the most lethal weapons and secretive recording equipment in use.

  Since then we had continued to fight, but not on any sanctioned battlefield. Our ops were secretive and lethal and mostly not even acknowledged by the US government. We lived and worked in the darkest parts of the world, then came home on leave so we could remember why we did it.

  My twenty-third birthday had come and gone, spent with some of the most disgusting human beings I’d ever met and had to pretend like I was their new best friend. I shuddered just remembering some of the things I’d witnessed, unable to do anything without blowing my cover. I’d seen some bad shit in my life, but nothing compared to those sights. When I closed my eyes, I could still see those young girls. Way too young. I wanted to wash myself off just for being around that, even if we had taken it down in the end.

  Mission accomplished. Go home.

  So it was a real fucking surprise when my body was suddenly interested in the sweet-smelling, hot-as-hell stewardess.

  “Can I get you something?” she asked. “Water? A soda?”

  Suddenly my mouth was dry. “No, thanks.”

  She smiled again. God, she really needed to stop that. “I think I can rustle up some pretzels if you ask nicely?”

  Nope, wasn’t doing that.

  “I could use some pretzels,” James said from beside me.

  Really? “Nah, we’re good. Don’t worry about us.”

  “All right. You boys let me know.” She sauntered off, leaving both James and I staring. Man, that skirt hugged her so nicely…

  “What the hell was that for?” James said. “She would’ve come back.”

  “And then what, asshole? You’ve got Rachel.”

  “And you’ve got… what’s her name? Chelsea.”

  “Yeah,” I lied. I’d been lying for a few weeks now, ever since I’d landed at the base in Germany where I could check my messages. Dear Clint, I’m sorry to tell you like this but… A Dear John text message. A remote control breakup. It had happened to enough of our friends that I knew what the reaction would be if I told people. Pity, from the guys who could still look at me. Avoidance from everyone else, as if the condition of being dumped was contagious.

  So I hadn’t told anyone, not even James. And hell, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Me and Chels had a good thing going. Maybe not good, but it wasn’t bad either. And separation was always hard. For all I knew, we’d patch things up right away and then I’d be glad I never told James, who would’ve given her a hard time after that.

  She was probably going to pick me up at the airport, just like we’d planned, and here I was checking out another woman. The eight months had done a number on both of us, that was all. We’d work it out.

  I glanced down the aisle at the stewardess—Della—who had bent to speak to another passenger. “The point is, she’s doing her job. She doesn’t need us bothering her.”

  “Hey, you were the one groping her.”

  “With my shoulder?”

  “And flirting,” James added.

  “I was not flirting.” I would have known if I’d been flirting, right? And I definitely hadn’t done that. She was working. The last thing she needed was two horndogs using up her time or ogling her. “And stop looking.”

  “That’s your argument? There’s nothing wrong with looking
, man. It’s harmless. You think when our girls are back home, they don’t look?”

  I did not like where this conversation was going. One of the main reasons to send a Dear John letter, as opposed to waiting until I got back, was for another guy. It pinched something in my chest to imagine Chelsea moving on that quick. I turned my irritation on my best friend. “Do you actually hear yourself talk?”

  “I stand by my assertion. I don’t care if Rachel checks out some hot doctor at her hospital. Long as she saves up the horniness for when I get back.”

  “Yeah, okay. You write that on your anniversary card.”

  “Shit, it’s my anniversary?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  We were quiet a moment. James was probably working out the dates in his head, trying to figure out if he needed to pick up a present from the airport gift shop. Me? I pretended to be asleep. Shut my eyes, even when the stewardess came back this way. But I could still see her long legs and black heels, and I had to admit: I was peeking. I couldn’t help it. There was something about her… the way she moved… so alluring…

  “She walks like a stripper,” James muttered when she’d passed us by.

  My eyes snapped open. “I am seriously going to punch you in the face right now.”

  “What? I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s a good walk. A good, professional walk.”

  “Your nose will be broken, and then you’ll have to explain to Rachel why it’s broken.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop. But only because Rachel would freak out. She worries about me.”

  James said the last part carelessly, but I still felt it like a blow, as if he’d beat me without even trying. Rachel did worry about him. A lot. It was a point of contention between them, but also a sign of how much they cared about each other.

  Had Chelsea worried about me while I was gone? Hardly.

  “Hey…” I cleared my throat. “How do you and Rachel reconnect when you get back home?”

  “You really want me to answer that question?”

  “Besides sex.”

  “What else is there?”

  “Nice. I mean… hell, I don’t know. The emotional connection.”

  James narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Are we secretly on Oprah? Look, man. The emotional connection is the easy part. You like a girl, you spend time with her, you get closer. That’s the connection. And the sex doesn’t hurt. Well, unless you want it to.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said, but unease speared through me. It sounded so simple when James spelled it out. You like a girl, spend time with her. I’d had that with Chelsea once, hadn’t I?

  I couldn’t remember.

  Leaning over, I looked forward and back. The aisles were clear. No sign of Della or any other flight attendant. Frustrated for reasons I couldn’t explain, I settled into my seat—as well as I could—and closed my eyes. One thing you learned in the army was how to sleep, even if you were uncomfortable, anytime, anyplace.

  Not this time, apparently. But I kept my eyes shut and pretended.

  Chapter Two

  Clint

  “Shit.”

  The low word snapped me out of sleep. I went on high alert, my body recognizing the stress in James’s voice before I was fully awake. My hand went to my back, where a handgun had been stashed for most of my time undercover, a shitty substitute for a bona fide holster. But my waistband was empty. In fact, I had no gear at all.

  I was on a plane.

  Wiping my face, I demanded hoarsely, “What’s wrong?”

  “Trouble,” James murmured with a nod to the front.

  The plane. We were on the plane, and the first place my mind went after trouble was Della. If Della was in trouble, I was going to… what? I jolted out of my seat, pushing back the people who had stuck their heads into the aisle to see better.

  There was Della, kneeling in the aisle, holding someone’s head in her lap.

  “Back up,” I snapped to the man who was leaning over Della’s shoulder for a better look. He’d been sitting beside the woman who was currently on the ground, but he was of no use.

  After handling many medical emergency situations in the military, two things were clear to me immediately: one, the older woman was in anaphylactic shock, and two, Della was an asset. Worry filled her eyes, but she was calm and breathing steady. No panic, though the same couldn’t be said for some of the people around us. I heard James behind me, clearing the seats nearby to give us room.

  Della looked at me. “She has a medical exception for her EpiPen.”

  That’s right. Needles wouldn’t be allowed except in extreme cases. As the stewardess, she would know about them. “Do you know where she keeps it?”

  “It’s not in her pockets. I already checked.”

  That was the most common place to store it for easy access. A quick search of the purse didn’t reveal anything. Shit. Even kneeling on the seat, digging through her bags, I could feel the tightness of the space, closing in on me. I forced myself to stop and think. If she were sitting down… She might have kept an EpiPen in her pocket, but if it poked her uncomfortably in the tight quarters…she might have stuck it into the seat pocket in front of her.

  I reached my hand in and pulled it out. “Got it. Can you apply it?”

  In response, Della held out her hand. As soon as I handed it over, she bit the lid off with her teeth and injected the woman in the thigh. I recapped the EpiPen while Della gently rubbed the injection site, something that would help the medicine disperse faster.

  Della kept the woman on her side with her breathing passage cleared while I took the pulse. It was slowing as I counted, down to safer levels. However, the woman was clearly still out of sorts, her breathing evening out but her eyes glazed.

  “Let’s get her to the front,” Della said. “There’s a seat free in first class. We’ll be able to recline her there.”

  I carried the woman to the front and then left her in Della’s care, along with another stewardess who met us there. Another man stepped forward to help. The air marshal. Nothing designated him so, but I could tell he was packing from his stance and the grim set of his mouth. Seriously late to the party. I shook my head but let him pass. Fall asleep on the job? I figured both the stewardess and the marshal had received rudimentary first-aid training and could at least support the woman until we landed.

  So I made myself scarce and returned to my seat.

  “Everything okay?” James asked.

  “She had an EpiPen. Seemed okay, but…”

  But what the hell did I know? She’d definitely get checked out by a doctor on the ground. My time in the army had taught me that human life was both incredibly strong and infinitely fragile. I had seen a man move a Humvee to get his friend out from under it. They both lived. And I had seen a guy die in a bar fight during shore leave. A single punch to the head, landed wrong on the concrete floor—lights out. I had learned not to take anything for granted, even the relative safety of American soil.

  The rest of the flight continued without incident. The departure took a little longer than usual as they first escorted the woman off the plane. She was long gone with paramedics by the time I walked through the gangway.

  Della was still there, speaking with another stewardess off to the side. I hoisted my bag on my shoulder and kept walking.

  “Talk to her,” James muttered from beside me.

  “Not a chance. I have Chelsea waiting for me, remember?” And based on my rapid pulse and dry eyes, the time away had messed me up more than I’d thought. I was in no condition to be around a woman, neither the one I’d just met nor the one I’d left behind.

  James snorted. “I didn’t say take her into the bathroom for a quickie. Just talk to her.”

  I shook my head, at both the man’s way of speaking and his suggestion.

  So, I’d felt a little attraction for someone. No big deal. As James had said in his own way, we were away a long time. It was normal to look. But if I went over to speak to her, it wouldn’t b
e as a passenger on her plane. It would be as a man interested in a woman.

  I just kept walking.

  * * *

  James swept Rachel up in a bear hug and gave her a searing kiss. I turned my head away out of respect, though I saw plenty of people stopping to stare. They looked pretty great, I had to admit. Great enough that I felt the absence of someone in my own arms acutely, like a knife in my side. Despite some of the crude things he said, I knew James was head over heels for this girl.

  Rachel had a hug for me too. “You been staying out of trouble?”

  “Pretty much.” Aside from the two gunshot wounds that had been patched up in the field. James had sewed up one of them.

  “This guy’s a hero.” James grinned. “He even saved someone’s life on the plane ride over.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t listen to a word he says.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t.” But Rachel was looking at her boyfriend with pure affection.

  It didn’t go unnoticed by James, who pulled her in for a longer kiss. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, low enough to be for her ears only. I shifted on my feet, feeling like an intruder. The terminal was bustling with people meeting loved ones. Emotion all around, battering me like little pricks, more painful than stitches in the jungle.

  I felt Rachel look at me, heard her soft whisper. Not the contents, but I could guess where this was going.

  “Hey, man, you need a ride?” James delivered the offer casually, but we all knew what was at stake. The last time we’d met in the airport, Rachel had been standing beside Chelsea.

  Wasn’t gonna happen. That wasn’t disappointment sinking in my gut, was it? Guess I really had thought she’d show up. I’d sent her my itinerary, just in case. What a shmuck.

  “I’m sure she’s on her way,” I said, lying through my teeth. “Don’t wait up for me.”

  Rachel looked worried. “You sure?”

  James mostly looked impatient—no doubt to take Rachel home and get busy. And why not? The guy deserved his R & R. No point in holding them up just because I was having woman troubles.