Saint

by Zoe Dawson

  “Where are you going?” Yasmiin asked, clutching Aella’s shirt.

  “I’m going to take care of the problem.” She bent down and tucked the knife in her boot. “Be ready. I’ll be back for you.”

  She went to the door and banged on it. “I want to talk to Omar.” The guards looked at each other, grinning and laughing. “Take me to him now,” she demanded. “He’ll be angry that you delayed me from his night with me.”

  That wiped the smiles off their faces. They immediately unlocked the door. One took her arm and pulled her out, then relocked the door. They marched her through the dirty house. She looked out to the compound, spying the school bus they had brought the children in, and the ring where she’d lost her completely unfair fight.

  They brought her down a hall to a room with the door closed. Axmed Omar, the monster, was in there, waiting for her, and she knew exactly what he wanted. She was going to see he got what was coming to him.

  When they opened it, she noted how much cleaner it was here and how the windows were boarded up to protect him from anyone seeing inside. It was clear this was his bedroom.

  Aella’s blood was running hot and fast, pumping through her veins. She could feel it. even through the pain, the night was getting clearer to her, brighter, starker, turning black and white at the edges. This feeling suffused her, new, unprecedented, unlike any feelings or emotions that had come before. Most intriguing of all was that it wasn’t disturbing. She felt stronger, faster, even though she had been through hell.

  The night moved on, the blacks and whites streaking into gray. It didn’t matter.

  “Wait here,” the man said. The other one stepped out of the room.

  She turned around, trying to see anything through the blinding boards. She turned just enough to see the guard exit.

  Before she could turn around at the sound of footsteps, she was grabbed from behind.

  “You have come for your time with me,” Omar’s breath gusted past her ear and her gut recoiled. He lifted her off her feet. He was like a freaking boa constrictor.

  She wasn’t used to feeling helpless, not in her past and not now, and it started a curl of panic inside her. Then she got a grip. She was a United States federal agent, ATF, and she was tougher than some lecherous, sell-out warlord.

  “Let me go and you can have what you want,” she said, her fingers itching for the knife. He released the pressure on her throat and with quick hands patted her down. He didn’t check her boot, her anticipation of taking him out hidden by the schooled blank mask she’d adopted.

  She was the only thing that stood between him and those babies back in her jail room. She couldn’t let them down. Neither he nor his son was going to touch a hair on their sweet, beautiful, innocent heads.

  He spun her hard against the wall, his eyes taking on a gleam she could feel in the space that separated them.

  He moved toward her, pinning her against the wall, his mouth descending to hers and she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let him touch her. She turned her head away, and he backhanded her across the face. She fell to the floor, her face exploding with fiery pain. The impact to her shoulder rattled her as she frantically clawed for the knife. He grabbed her braid, his smile downright evil as he yanked her to her feet.

  Oh, God that hurt. Tears burned her eyes, and she smothered the pain inside her rage. He twisted the rope of her hair in his fist, her scalp on fire. She lashed out, her elbow impacting his throat. He barely flinched, blistering the air with his curses.

  He dragged her close and said, “I will have you and have you and have you until you are used up, then I will put a bullet in your head.

  “You’re never going to have anyone again,” she said, then plunged the knife into his chest. He staggered back, his eyes bulging, his mouth agape.

  The door opened and she realized this was it. She’d failed those girls and she’d go to her grave with that terrible knowledge.

  She whipped her head around and her eyes widened. Before her mind could process who was in the doorway, he raised his weapon. The whole action, from his first movement until Axmed Omar dropped like a stone took less than a second.

  Zach freaking Bartholomew.

  Head shot. Clean. Fast. Deadly accurate.

  4

  For a second, she couldn’t speak. He lived up to his call name. “Saint.” He was her guardian angel. She hadn’t let herself think about him or the team because there would have been nothing but disappointment if they hadn’t come. But…they had. He had. Guilt twisted like a knife inside her. She should have known better.

  He looked good—part of it was his looks, the other part his battle worn, I’ve-been-through-hell-for-you appearance. She couldn’t ignore the cuts, bruises and abrasions on his face or the blood that was caked on his neck, staining his uniform collar. What had he been through for her?

  Light from Omar’s bedroom washed over his face, contouring his features with shadows, the square angle of his jaw, harder than she remembered, the straight light lines of his brows, the seriousness of his gaze—and the world’s most amazing mouth.

  Saint hadn’t changed, and it was all too easy to look at him and see him in all his naked, heavily muscled glory. Her avenging angel in camo with an unsettling quietness about him—a gorgeous angel, his face more angles than curves, his silky dark brown hair brushing the collar of his shirt, broad through the shoulders, lean and solid.

  It was almost surreal that he was here standing in front of her in this godforsaken place. Almost as wonderful as her dreams of being with him were until she woke up.

  Next to David. Oh shit! That thought threw cold water on her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Saint rushed forward, wrapping his arm around her. He smiled and shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood.” Then he chuckled. “I’m here to rescue you, babe. You’re my HVT.” His West Virginia southern drawl seemed more pronounced, and she had to wonder if it was emotion coloring his voice. It’s how he sounded when he was aroused, forgetting himself. Which gave her too many ideas.

  Making love to a stranger, even if he was a Navy SEAL, in Bosnia, she found a woman she hadn’t been acquainted with in a long time. No roles, no lies, or disguises. She had been…free. She experienced that feeling all over again. What was it about him that made her feel as if she could cut all ties and he would be right there to hold her up?

  Her only regrets were having to return to reality, realizing her life had a trajectory, and not getting the opportunity to experience more of him. She had refused to explore why he affected her so much. Maybe now she would just have to accept it.

  “I can’t believe you found me. Where are the other guys?”

  He looked behind him, his body tense beneath his sheltering arm. “Umm, that’s a long story. It’s just me.”

  She gave him a very female “men are so dumb” look and he grinned. She was overcome that he had risked his life to come here all alone to get her. But it was crazy. They were surrounded by Omar’s men.

  “Aella, this is a great reunion, but we’ve got to move. It won’t be long before Omar is either needed for the coup—”

  “Coup? I knew they were up to something,” she ground out.

  “They?”

  “Zasha and Darko.”

  “So, it’s true. They are here?”

  She nodded. “Very much so. I tracked them right before they ambushed me and my partner. They had a lot of pretty toys they sold to Omar.”

  “Like what?”

  “Choppers, weapons, RPGs, grenades. You name it. They’re like Arms R Us.” She sighed. “I think Zasha is still getting intel from someone. She always seems to know what’s going on. I want just five minutes with her. Just five.” Her hands clenched into fists.

  Saint looked down at Omar. “I’ll need only five seconds,” he said with an ominous cast to his tone.

  “I’ll take a weapon and ammo,” she said, eyeing his sidearm. He pulled it out and then dug for a clip in his
vest.

  He handed her both with a grin. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “You wouldn’t have a shower and some jasmine body wash in that pack. Would you?”

  “No, I had to leave the shower in my other ruck. Sorry.”

  “Men and their priorities,” she groused, then smiled at him.

  “Let’s get out of here.” He moved with her toward the door. “If we go back across the battlefield, we may be able to avoid the bulk of the troops who are focused on the presidential palace in the heart of the city.”

  She pulled back, resisting. He turned his sultry blue eyes on her in a questioning look. “We don’t have time for more conversation.”

  “That’s not it,” she said. “I can’t leave without them.”

  “Without—” She went out the door, now frantic to get back to the girls. Saint was right on her butt. She stepped over one dead guard in front of the door. She rolled him over. It wasn’t the one with the keys. But when she almost tripped over the second body a little way down the hall, she came up with paydirt. Did that mean they hadn’t made it back to the girls and they were still locked up safe?

  “Aella,” Saint hissed, but she ignored him. It would take too much time to explain. She couldn’t leave them behind no matter what it took. Omar’s son would take it out on them—well, maybe all of them except Yasmiin. It was true he wanted her. She’d seen the looks he’d given her. It made her sick to think an almost grown man would force a fifteen-year-old girl to not only have sex with him, but into a marriage she didn’t want, into a life fraught with nothing but danger and death. All she would be to him was a brood mare for more fighters.

  Her village was beleaguered too, she thought with despair. Maybe there wasn’t anywhere safe for these precious girls. But Aella was damn sure getting married to Warsame Omar wasn’t good for Yasmiin’s health. At least they had family in the village and people who loved them and assuredly wanted them back. She couldn’t imagine what their parents were going through.

  She reached the locked door and unexpectedly, two men entered from the opposite hallway. Saint went into motion, his voice a growl when he said, “Don’t move.” He must have brought up his weapon, shooting both of them with suppressed shots over her shoulder.

  Her heart pounding, she rushed to the locked door, inserted the key and threw the door open. All the girls were ready to fight. She could see it in the terrified but determined expressions, in the lines of their small bodies. She was so proud of them.

  When they saw her, they called her name and rushed forward in a group of happy, smiling faces filled with hope.

  Saint came to the door, his back to her, watching the hall like a hawk.

  “What the hell was so dang important that you had—

  He turned to look at her and stopped speaking in mid-stream. The girls swarmed her and wrapped their arms around her waist. “I’m not leaving without them,” she said again into his shocked face.

  He focused on Aella’s face and knew in that instant he would move heaven for her, and if he couldn’t move heaven, he’d raise plenty of hell. Her sassy face brooked no disagreement and with those small, sweet faces, his heart melted. God, it was so good to find her alive, even with this complication…six complications. What the hell was he? Father Goose?

  This was a Grade-A, pull out all the stops clusterfuck. It was going to be difficult enough to get the two of them out of here with hundreds of Omar’s fighters, a city—hell, country—in chaos, demolished local forces and neutralized US communications to the outside world, not to mention an ongoing coup to topple the government, and a nefarious plan being played out with two of the most wanted people in the world destabilizing everything.

  He sighed, then looked at the girls again.

  That explained the school bus sitting outside, and it made his rescue of Aella about one hundred times more difficult. Stealth was out the window. But as soon as he saw the young girls, he was immediately on board.

  He said into his comm. “LT, I have the package, and I’ve neutralized the HVT, but there’s a hiccup.”

  “Good work. What kind of hiccup?”

  “Six kidnapped kids ranging from six to about sixteen.”

  “Fifteen,” the tallest girl said. “I’m Yasmiin.”

  “Fifteen, sir,” he said after her correction.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Kidnapped girls, six to fifteen, LT. We can’t leave them behind…Aella refuses to leave them behind. I’m on board with that.”

  There was silence on the other end of the radio, then Fast Lane’s weary growl broke the silence. “That sounds like more than a freaking hiccup.” Something was up with him. He sounded whipped and his LT never sounded that way…ever.

  “He can’t leave them behind,” Pitbull said. Dragon echoing his words. No surprise there, they had daughters. “Do you need some of us to come back to your location?”

  “Not enough time,” Saint responded, looking out the hall window to the school bus. Yeah, stealth was most definitely out.

  “That does complicate things. Do you have a plan?”

  “One that is big, yellow as hell and not very fast.”

  “Oh, Christ, a school bus?” came Fast Lane’s incredulous bark.

  “You got it, LT.”

  “We have a SUV, and we can come to you. Do the best you can to get on the road out of town and head straight on a parallel to the airport. We’ll meet you halfway.”

  “Copy that, LT.”

  “We’re getting out of here,” he said.

  “You’re seriously thinking we can escape in a school bus?” she said weakly.

  He pressed his mouth to her temple, then herded her and the kids toward the exit, moving fast. “We’ve got no choice. That’s the vehicle that can hold us all. Let’s move.”

  He urged them faster and when they reached the door to the outside, he held up his hand. It was getting pretty late, and the guards had thinned out. Thank God for sleep and pitch dark. In the distance he could still hear gunfire and mortar shells, but the sounds of battle were far away.

  Flipping down his NVGs, he opened the door just a crack and peered out. In the eerie green nothing moved. He hoped the keys to the bus were inside, but if not, he knew how to hotwire a car. A bus couldn’t be any more difficult. Thank God for his misspent youth.

  He turned back to Aella. “I’m going to go first. I can see better, and I have the suppressed weapon. He turned his back to her, her mouth set in a grim line and her eyes darting to the kids.

  “Saint—”

  “I know, babe.” He went to them, and all their eyes focused on him. “I know you’re all scared, but we have to get to that bus. When we get inside, you all take a seat as fast as you can, then duck down so that you’re below the windows. He looked at the girl who said her name was Yasmiin. “Can you carry the little one?”

  “Yes.” She reached for the small child. “Get on my back, Uba,” she ordered. The little girl moved forward and climbed on Yasmiin’s back, clinging to her like a limpet.

  “Okay, for the rest of you brave girls, set your hand on each other’s shoulders in a line. Don’t let go and keep up. We’ll be moving fast.”

  He walked back to Aella who was looking at him like he was Superman. “You bring up the rear. Kill anything that tries to stop us.”

  She nodded.

  He went back to the front of the line. “Yasmiin, put your hand on my shoulder.” He felt her tentative touch. “Hold on tighter, grip my vest if that is better.”

  He felt her hand tighten. With a few steps he moved to the door and felt her follow. He pushed it open and stepped out onto the dusty ground, then walking fast, he started forward. His head moved rapidly scanning the area all around him. When someone moved near the bus, he pulled off a shot and the body dropped. They reached the doors several minutes after leaving the doorway.

  The door was open, and he stepped aside, helping Uba down from Yasmiin’s back. They bo
th climbed the metal stairs and the other girls followed, Aella bringing up the rear. “You drive,” he whispered.

  She got in behind the wheel and pulled down the visor. Keys dropped into her hands. She held them up in triumph and he smiled. He boarded the bus and surveyed the back and grinned. RPGs—three of them. That was a nice bonus.

  There was no way to be quiet. When the engine started it was going to be loud in the compound. They had no choice. Luckily, it seemed their other vehicles were involved in the coup. This would give them a head start. He guessed they had radios, so sending someone in pursuit was a very real threat. He would have to be prepared for that.

  “Start her up, but no lights yet,” he said, and the engine turned over. It rumbled in the night. He went to the back and watched, but miraculously, no one paid attention. Aella pulled out of the compound and headed for the road that would lead them out of town and away from this area. Hopefully, they would meet up with Fast Lane and rendezvous with the other SEALs. Together they would head to one of the outlying military bases and get word to US forces in Djibouti.

  Fast Lane hated to leave so many bodies, both American and Somalian, in the rubble, but they had no choice at this point. Saint, Aella and six children needed their help, and they still had a mission to fulfill.

  “What’s the plan, LT?” Pitbull asked.

  Before Fast Lane could answer, the Bosnian’s radio crackled to life. “Status,” the voice said in Bosnian.

  Fast Lane picked it up and handed it to 2-Stroke. “Tell them we’ve killed the SEALs,” he said. 2-Stroke repeated Fast Lane’s words in Bosnian.

  There was a heavy crackling silence as Dragon grinned and fist bumped Hemingway. Fast Lane figured he could buy them some time if Zasha thought they were dead. “What did you say? Repeat that!”

  It was Zasha’s voice, and she sounded like she had been woken up. Fast Lane grinned for the first time in this long night. 2-Stroke repeated that they had eliminated them.