The Relentless Hero

by Angel Vane

  “It was hard for me seeing both of you like that. Broman was bleeding out. You passed out before we could get you in the helo. I thought you were dead the whole time I was flying. The only thing I kept thinking was get back to base. Over and over. Get back to base. Dodging bullets, rising and dropping, doing shit I never should have been doing in a helicopter to get y’all out of there, even though in my heart I thought it wouldn’t matter what I was doing,” Sunny said.

  “But it did matter.”

  “Broman survived and so did you,” Sunny said, biting her lower lip. She looked away and he could feel himself back in that hospital, waking up to find her head laying on his chest, gripping his hand as she slept. For two days, she’d stayed by his bedside, trading shifts with his mother and leaving only to grab a bite to eat or to use the restroom. He had no doubt that knowing they were with him, praying and willing him to live was one of the reasons he’d pulled through.

  “Dawn had Broman moved to a coma research hospital in the Aerie Islands. Some hotshot doctor is going to take over his case,” Julian said, rubbing a hand down his face.

  “Is the new doctor more … optimistic than the doctors in Florida?” Sunny asked, studying her nails.

  “Dawn thinks so. She says the chance of him waking up is less than five percent, but after hearing that he’d never wake up for so long, it’s good to have hope,” Julian said. Broman had improved to a minimally conscious state. On rare occasions, his body would engage in purposeful movements, eyes tracking a target or fingers moving. It was a big leap from the state Broman had been in, but Julian wasn’t getting his hopes up about Broman regaining consciousness.

  “Sometimes all we have is hope, right? So, tell me why you want to work for me?” Sunny asked.

  Julian raked a hand through his hair. “I need a distraction, something to do while Mena is out pursuing her career at the museum.”

  “You’re not working?” Sunny asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is this Mena woman your sugar mama? You a kept man, Montgomery?”

  Julian detected a hint of annoyance beneath Sunny’s teasing. Talking to Sunny about his relationship with Mena was not a road he wanted to go down.

  “Are you going to help me out or not?” Julian asked, trying to disarm Sunny’s verbal attack with his killer smile.

  “Do you want to know what you’re asking for?” Sunny said, growing more serious than Julian had expected.

  “Tell me about the work.”

  “There’s a fine line between private security and hired special operatives and we walk that tight rope every day. The work my guys do is dangerous … on a good day. There’s the search and rescue of kidnap victims held for ransom, recovery of classified information for businesses, supervised escorting of top secret items, and the occasional run in with terrorist groups for unauthorized trespassing through their territory. I don’t think your girl is going to want you doing this type of job. Can’t you go be an IT rep somewhere?”

  “And die of boredom. Come on, Sunny, you know that’s not me. I get the risks. I need to be where the action is,” Julian said, then dropped his legs from the desk and leaned toward her. “I can see it in your eyes. You know you want me on your team. Won’t take me long to make your motley crew look like a JROTC.”

  Sunny scoffed. “Not with that flabby stomach. I’d have to whip you back into shape with some intense daily workouts. And don’t think you’d come in here and run the show. I’m the boss and you’ll follow my protocols or get kicked out on your ass. None of that going rogue bullshit you like to do. You’re not always the smartest operative in the room.”

  “Does that mean I’m hired?” Julian asked.

  “When have I ever been able to resist you?”

  Chapter Seven

  “Damn it, Omar! Can we have one, just one, conversation where you’re not lecturing me about screwing things up with Julian?” Mena asked, stomping through the deserted lobby of the high-rise condominium. Why had she thought calling her best friend would be a good idea? These days, he was never on her side, playing devil’s advocate and trying to make her see the situation from all points of view when all she wanted was for him to listen and commiserate with her in all her glorious misery.

  “If you were acting like a sane woman and not some bizarro version of yourself, then I wouldn’t need to!” Omar screamed back at her.

  Another late night. At least she was home before 11 p.m. this time. Mena waved at the three guards at the security station, then pressed her key card against the side panel of the glass partition separating the lobby from the elevators leading to the private residences. A guard with a visible assault rifle stood watch, ensuring that no one piggybacked through the opening. The condo was known for its militant security measures, one of its primary selling points. Kidnappings of wealthy Kenyans and ex-pats was a real threat.

  Mena smiled at the guard, who nodded back at her, then proceeded to the elevator. Pressing the square button, she glanced down at the charm bracelet on her wrist. The symbol of Julian’s love for her. A constant and calming presence even when she was still angry with him.

  “Why is it so wrong for me to be upset that he missed my lecture?” Mena asked.

  “No one is saying that your feelings are wrong. What is wrong is for you to still be pissed about it two days later. Let it go!” Omar implored.

  Mena had tried to let go of her anger, but her nerves were shot from the unwanted text messages she’d been receiving over the past two days. No way she was telling Omar about that. He’d blow a gasket. Actually, he’d be on the next flight to Nairobi to take care of the annoying pest himself.

  Deep down, Mena knew she wasn’t being fair to Julian. Her loving boyfriend was the easiest punching bag for her frustrations. She’d figure out a way to deal with the texts without telling Omar and definitely without telling Julian.

  Omar continued, “All you’re doing is making yourself miserable. This bad mood is probably because sticking to your principles is causing you to miss out on the D you’re used to getting on the regular.”

  Mena’s mouth dropped open as she stumbled into the elevator.

  “Trust me, I learned a long time ago that withholding sex from Charlie hurts me more than it hurts him, so I don’t do that shit anymore. Now what you need to do is go home and forgive your man between the sheets. I promise you’ll feel better about everything after he makes you holler,” Omar said.

  Mena groaned as a sly stirring ached between her legs. She and Julian hadn’t made love since they’d returned from Florida. Spending the holidays in Jacksonville had been Mena’s bright idea, but now she regretted suggesting that they spend the holidays with their parents. The trip had been a disaster, and her dear mother had planted the seed of marriage in Julian’s head.

  Why hadn’t she gone to Zanzibar as Julian had proposed? Things would still be good between them, and she would have been getting her daily, and sometimes twice, dose of the man she’d fallen in love with.

  Mena pressed the button for the twelfth floor and leaned against the elevator wall. Sighing, she whispered, “I hate it when you’re right.”

  “No, you don’t. That’s why you call me. Really, love, you are not acting like yourself at all, and I think I know why,” Omar said.

  “Enlighten me,” Mena said glumly. She didn’t know if she could handle another scathing analysis of her psyche from Omar right now.

  “Even though you have a lot going on, I know that the trial is wreaking havoc on your life … probably at a subconscious level. Having to come back here in a few months and testify against the woman you considered a mentor for trying to kill you would stress anybody out. That’s why you’re overreacting to this thing with Julian and your mom,” Omar explained.

  Mena took a deep breath. Not a bad theory. The texts had pushed thoughts of testifying against her former boss from her mind. But, it was in her best interest to let her best friend think he was right.

  “What do you want? A gold star for being right
about me?” Mena asked.

  “Honey, please. You know I go platinum and diamond only. Now, I gotta get to work. On this side of the world, the day is just starting,” Omar said.

  Mena exchanged goodbyes with her friend, and then slipped the phone into her purse. Stepping out of the elevator onto the twelfth floor, she frowned at the stench of burnt food in the air. Mena followed the horrific scent, growing in intensity, all the way to her door.

  Pulse racing, she pressed the key card against the panel and pushed the door open. A wave of gray smoke billowed into her face, almost choking her. Her eyes darted across the living room to the dining room nook, where the windows were perched open at a slight angle, allowing the stench and smoke to escape to the outside.

  Closing the door behind her, Mena stopped and listened for Julian, but she didn’t hear any sounds. On the island, she found the source of the culinary mayhem. A crusted blackened gooey substance still smoking in a stainless steel pot. Mena couldn’t fathom what the dish should have been.

  Next to the pot was a folder with a logo of a peach pierced by a trident and a tidal wave curving around the perimeter of the fruit. Below the logo was Tactical and Intelligence Defense Executive Services. Mena coughed as she ran a finger along the edge of the folder, curious about the contents.

  “You’re home … early.”

  Mena jumped, startled, and turned. In an instant, she felt dizzy, but not from the smoke. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest as her eyes feasted on Julian as if for the first time. His presence filled the room, large and imposing. His muscular chest bare as he rubbed remnants of food from his neck and arms. His smoldering, soulful brown eyes rested on her, hesitation in his glance as he waited for her to make the next move.

  Suddenly self-conscious, Mena tugged at the collar of her dress shirt and leaned back against the kitchen island. “Yes, I am, wise guy.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice to see your face before midnight. Is the restoration going okay?” Julian asked, taking a step toward her.

  A flurry of sensations rocketed through her body as he reduced the space between them.

  Mena waved a hand through the dissipating smoke. “Yeah, it is. Finally got a breakthrough on the settings I needed to use, and it’s starting to work. Remember my co-worker, Isaac, who I told you about. He wasn’t too pleased that I actually started making progress on the piece after struggling for the past two days.”

  “Need me to beat him up for you?” Julian asked, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he took another step toward her.

  Mena erupted in laughter. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  “Well, just know it’s an option that’s always on the table,” Julian said.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. So, what kind of culinary experiment went wrong here?” Mena asked, jerking her thumb back toward the smoldering pot.

  “I was trying to surprise you by recreating your mom’s shrimp and grits. She walked me through the recipe over the phone—“

  “My mother gave you her coveted grits recipe? I don’t even know that one,” Mena said.

  “She was trying to help me get out the dog house,” Julian said, closing the gap between them. His arm brushed against hers as he leaned on the island next to her. “I thought if I could make your favorite dish, you’d finally forgive me. So, she gave me the recipe with a few conditions.”

  “Which were?”

  “Don’t write anything down and don’t tell anyone, not even you, the secret ingredients … or she’d Lorena Bobbit me,” Julian said, biting his bottom lip as he looked over at her.

  “Really? My mother spent years perfecting that recipe. If she was walking you through it, how did it end up like … this?” Mena asked, enjoying the sight of Julian struggling with not being good at something.

  “Got distracted by a phone call. I swear I only stepped away for ten minutes,” Julian said.

  “A call from T.I.D.E.S.?” Mena asked, her curiosity piqued as she slid the folder toward him.

  Julian hesitated for a split second, then took a deep breath. “I got a job.”

  “A job?” Mena asked, not surprised Julian had finally found work that would meet his interests. It was only a matter of time before he ran out of ways to entertain himself while she went to work every day.

  “Private security. The company is owned by one of my old Navy buddies,” Julian said.

  Mena flipped the folder open and scanned the forms inside. “Is that Sunny Tate?” She asked, pointing to the name on the letterhead of the employment offer memo.

  Julian nodded.

  “Will it be dangerous?” Mena asked.

  “Could be,” Julian said.

  Again, not surprised. Her attempts to get Julian to take a safe job in the IT field had been met with disinterest and resistance. She knew a part of Julian craved being in situations where he could save the day, be the hero, and make a difference in people’s lives. It was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him, and she couldn’t expect him to change now.

  “Promise you’ll be careful,” Mena said.

  “Only if you promise you’ll forgive me for missing your lecture,” Julian said.

  Mena turned to face him. “I’m not mad at you anymore. I miss you. I miss us.”

  She trailed her hand against the chiseled muscles of his chest, running her fingers down until she stopped just south of his navel. The unmistakable movement beneath Julian’s sweatpants was exactly the response she’d been hoping for. Slipping her hand beneath the band, Mena caressed the shaft of his cock as it grew harder and lengthened in her hand.

  “I want you,” Mena whispered.

  Julian let out a low moan as he dipped his head toward her. His penetrating gaze held her in place as he brought his lips tantalizing close to hers.

  “You have me,” Julian whispered back.

  Chapter Eight

  Mena whistled under her breath as she swiped her badge against the panel of the main museum door and entered, nodding at the morning security guard. She liked entering through the museum, using the skywalk to cross over to the Irungu Center. Seeing the amazing works of art always lifted her spirits, but not as much as an intense night of lovemaking with Julian could. Her body still ached from last night’s sexual gymnastics. Mena made a mental note to not miss her lunchtime yoga classes. She had to keep her flexibility up.

  Getting back on track wasn’t the only thing lifting her spirits. Twenty-four hours had passed since she’d received the last text message. Maybe the annoying pest had finally realized she wasn’t going to meet with him now or ever. With everything going on, the last thing she wanted was to be paranoid about coming face to face with her past. Despite her amazing mood this morning, trepidation lingered.

  What if he showed up at the museum again?

  What would she do?

  Stepping through the empty lobby, Mena walked past the exhibit hall, where the Anatsui sculptures hung from the ceiling. As she headed toward the skywalk, her heels echoed on the granite floors. The morning sunrays blinded her as she walked through the glass-enclosed tunnel and into the Irungu Center. Taking the elevator to the top floor, she headed toward the room affectionately called the bullpen, where the conservators worked tirelessly restoring masks, sculptures, ceramics, and textiles reflecting the beauty and majesty of African tribal artistic expression.

  Sliding the door open, Mena clenched her jaw as she prepared for another tense day with her co-workers.

  Grace and Isaac were already at work and engaged in another epic debate. Mena didn’t want to know what this one was about. She tucked her head and walked past them, hoping they wouldn’t drag her into their bickering again. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in her work, the delicate painstaking process of cleaning a 16th-century ivory bracelet with intricate figures and latticework carved into the surface. Wangari had entrusted the priceless piece into her care, expecting her laser conservation techniques to succeed where the other more traditional approac
hes had failed. She’d been working fifteen-hour days trying to complete the restoration in time for next week’s exhibit opening.

  Isaac shook his head. “Your excitement over the guy who turned you into a side piece, then dropped you without warning, is making every feminist around the globe cringe in disgust.”

  Mena kept her head down, hoping they wouldn’t notice her entrance, and headed toward the back of the room to her workstation.

  “They wouldn’t cringe if they saw Hakeem Underwood or his package. Plus, Hakeem never led me on. He made it clear he didn’t want anything serious, and I was fine with that,” Grace insisted.

  “Liar. You thought you’d be the exception to his rule, so you let him use you like a sex toy until he found another,” Isaac said.

  “Stop being dramatic. He didn’t break things off with me because he found another girl. His work takes him on dangerous missions, and he didn’t want me to be the target of al-Harakat or some other crazy rebel group because of him. Now that Wangari’s father has hired TIDES as part of the family’s personal security detail, he might be assigned to guard the Irungu Center, which would give me the perfect opportunity to make him regret his decision to push me away,” Grace said.

  Mena looked up, suddenly interested in the conversation. “Grace, did you say TIDES?”

  “Yes, check your email. Bodyguards from TIDES are going to be assigned to the museum and Irungu Center as we get closer to the primaries in April. With all the political connections Wangari’s family has, her father is ramping up security to prevent an attack or kidnapping to further some political gain,” Grace said.

  “TIDES is a private security firm for the rich and famous. When kidnappings or corporate espionage occurs, wealthy Kenyans reach out to special ops security firms like TIDES to protect their interests by any means necessary, including tactics the police would never do,” Isaac explained.

  “Julian got a job working with TIDES,” Mena said, an uneasiness settling within her. Julian had told Mena his new work could be dangerous, but she wasn’t expecting it to be anything like what Grace and Isaac were describing. Any work that would bring Julian into the crosshairs of terrorists and rebel factions was not something she wanted him involved in anymore. “He said the company is owned by one of his old Navy buddies.”