by Elle James
He was alive. But why wasn’t he moving?
A man near the front turned toward her, a frown setting between his eyebrows. “What the hell?”
He raised his hand and pointed a weapon at Sunny’s chest.
Sunny dove as he pulled the trigger.
“Fuck!” a voice called out behind her.
She turned to see the taser wires clinging to the chest of the man she’d hit with the guitar.
Good. He’d be out of commission for a few minutes at least, giving her time to figure out what to do about the man wielding the taser.
The motorhome burst out into the open, racing through the darkness. They wouldn’t get far in the big vehicle. Others could easily catch up to them, once they learned the coach had been hijacked.
Sunny just had to stay alert and keep the man with the taser distracted until help caught up with them.
A foot bounced against her ankle. She jerked back but realized quickly it was Dash. He must have been tased and was just starting to come out of the temporary paralysis.
“Pocket,” he gritted out.
She dropped to her knees beside Dash. “What did you say?”
“Pocket,” he whispered.
She scrambled to find whatever he wanted her to fetch when her fingers closed around a small handgun. She pulled it free and tucked it into the front of her jeans, covering it with her blouse before she straightened.
The tall man with the gray hair and gray eyes, and holding the empty taser gun, sneered at her. “All I got to say is my buyer better pay up. You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass from the git go.”
Sunny recognized the face and the voice from their meeting earlier. “Desmond Housman.”
He nodded his head and pulled a gun from a holster beneath his jacket.
“You can’t shoot me,” Sunny said. “I’m your golden ticket.”
“You’re right. But I can shoot your lover. He’s worth nothing to me.”
Sunny stepped between Housman and Dash. “You’ll have to shoot me first.”
“No,” Dash said from the floor, his body rocking side to side, if only slightly.
“Shh, Hayes,” Sunny said. “Housman and I are having a discussion.”
“That’s right. Your woman is spunky as well as talented. The sheik footing the bill will have his hands full with this one in his haram.”
“He won’t have his hands full of me,” Sunny said. “I’m not going anywhere with you or anyone else selling human beings like cattle. You’re a despicable man.”
“I might be despicable,” Housman said. “But this sale will allow me to retire to a little island in the south Pacific. I won’t have to beat the bushes in Afghanistan ever again.”
“You didn’t have to in the first place,” Sunny said. “Selling human beings is the lowest of lows a man can sink to.” All she had to do was keep him talking until the Deltas arrived to save them. She’d only resort to shooting Dash’s gun if the situation got worse.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dash’s legs twitch. He rocked from side to side, gaining momentum. His arms were still useless, but his legs were just beginning to move
Sunny couldn’t count on Dash’s help in his current condition. She’d just have to figure her way out of this mess and save her Delta at the same time.
“Boss, there’s headlights behind us,” the driver called out.
“Ignore them and keep going. We meet up with our transfer six kilometers from the base. They’re heavily armed.
“Boss,” the driver said, “they’re almost on us.”
“They won’t do anything to jeopardize Miss Daye.” Housman leveled his gun on Sunny. “Keep moving. There’s one million dollars waiting for us if we get her there alive.”
Headlights flashed in the window to Sunny’s left as a vehicle passed. Machine gun fire erupted, loud and insistent.
The motorcoach swerved, throwing Sunny and Housman across the room. She landed on her hands and knees, the gun in her waistband popping out and skittering across the floor, out of her reach.
Damn. Her only method of protecting herself and Dash was too far for her to dive for. Or could she?
“Don’t even think about it.” Housman was on his feet again, holding onto the cabinet beside his head with one hand and his gun in the other. “If you make a move toward that gun, I’ll shoot your lover.”
Sunny grabbed the seat next to her and pulled herself to a standing position, placing her body in front of Dash’s.
Another burst of machine gun fire sounded on the other side of the coach.
Again, the motorhome swerved.
Sunny held onto the chair, refusing to go down again.
Housman was equally successful remaining upright.
The motorhome slowed, making a horrible sound like metal on concrete.
“Why are you slowing?” Housman yelled.
“Both front tires have been destroyed. This bus won’t go any farther.”
“Make it go. We can limp along on the bare wheels if we have to.”
“Not in a crate this size.”
“No,” Housman shouted, “we can’t give up now.” His face creased in an evil sneer. “It’s my money. I’ll deliver her one way or another.”
As the coach came to a squealing halt on the road, Housman lurched toward Sunny.
She backed away a few steps, until her foot bumped the gun she’d dropped.
“I wouldn’t reach for that. As soon as you do, I’ll put a bullet through Hayes’s head,” Housman warned.
“All this for money?” Sunny asked. “Is it worth it?”
“When I’m sitting on a beach in Tahiti, sipping Mai Tai’s, it’ll be worth it. Until then, you’re a damned pain in my ass.” He reached for her.
She jerked backward.
His hand grabbed a hunk of her hair, and he yanked her toward him.
As he did, she kicked the gun backward, toward Dash’s hand and prayed.
Now would be a good time for him to recover use of his arms, especially his shooting arm.
Chapter 12
The whole time Sunny argued with Housman, Dash was working the numbness out of his arms and legs. He still didn’t have full use of them, but he might have enough.
When the motorhome swerved, he was able to turn his head in the direction of Housman. When the contractor grabbed Sunny’s hair, and she kicked the handgun toward Dash, he managed to close his fingers around the grip. With every ounce of strength and concentration, he focused on lifting his arm enough to aim the weapon.
The problem was that Sunny was now in the line of fire. He couldn’t shoot without taking the chance of hitting her. With his body still semi-immobile, he couldn’t just shift his position. He had to wait for an opportunity. In the meantime, he couldn’t let Housman see that he’d snagged the gun.
He slid the weapon beneath his leg and waited for Housman’s next move.
It wasn’t long before he made it. He pulled Sunny’s head backward and snarled in her ear, “Not only are you my retirement account, you’re my ticket out of here.”
“I’m not going with you,” she said.
“If you want Hayes to live, you will.” He pointed his gun at Dash, pushing Sunny through the motorhome toward him and the door he lay in front of.
All Dash had to do was wait for Houseman to push Sunny past him, and he’d have him in his sights.
“Hey,” the driver said, “I’m coming with you.”
“You’ll have to get behind me. Miss Daye is my shield. They won’t shoot with her this close.”
Dash didn’t correct the man. He lay still as if the paralysis was still in effect. He didn’t even dare to say a word in case Housman decided to shoot him after all. If he died, Housman might just get away with Sunny.
That would not happen. Not on Dash’s watch. He’d already fallen victim to the bastard; he’d take him down if it was with the last breath he took.
Housman shoved Sunny forward. She stumbled
on Dash’s leg and would have fallen, except for the contractor’s hand in her hair holding her up.
As she passed by him, Dash moved his hand from beneath his leg. Housman was so busy watching Sunny open the door, he didn’t see the gun come out and aim upward.
But the man behind him saw it and yelled, “Watch out!”
Dash pulled the trigger.
Housman jerked backward. The bullet tore through the arm holding Sunny by the hair. Immediately, his grip slackened, and Sunny pushed open the door and fell through.
Housman roared and turned his gun toward Dash. But Dash had more use of his arm by then. He’d raised it high enough to hit the man in the chest this time. The bullet ripped through the man’s heart, and he dropped where he stood, his eyes wide as if he were surprised his plans had been foiled.
The driver whipped his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot. I surrender.”
Rucker leaped up into the coach, his rifle aimed at the driver.
Dash let his arm fall to the floor, relief washing over him. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Rucker.”
“Shoot, Dash, we leave you to guard the talent, and I find you lying down on the job.” He kept his weapon trained on the driver.
“Had a rough night,” Dash said. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right as rain. You might want to get the other guy out of here before the taser wears off him.”
Rucker laughed. “Always wondered what it would feel like to be tased.”
“You should try it sometime. We could use the one Housman used on me,” Dash suggested.
Sunny poked her head back in the door. “Dash?”
Dash lifted his head. “I’m okay.”
“I heard gunfire,” Sunny said.
“I got Housman,” Dash said.
“Good. That bastard deserved to die for what he was doing,” she said, her expression fierce. “Are you going to be able to get up?”
“In time,” he said.
“Want some company until then?”
He smiled. “You know I do. We have a lot to discuss about the road between Austin and Killeen.”
She nodded, a smile spreading across her face. “Yes, we do.”
The Deltas helped carry Dash to one of the vehicles for transport back to the base. Sunny sat beside him and helped him balance until he got back full control of his muscles.
By the time they reached the base, Dash was well on the way to a full recovery, and the sun was rising in the east.
So, his knees buckled a little when he stood, but he was able to walk to the mess tent where Dash, the Deltas and the USO team were treated to breakfast while they waited for the motor pool to tow the big motorhome back to the base. They determined the tires and wheels were shot, and they couldn’t get replacements anytime soon, so they would have to tow it to the next location.
Dash and Sunny were offered a ride in the tow truck or one of the other vehicles in the USO caravan, but they opted for the comfort of the towed motorhome.
“You want us to ride with you?” Rucker asked.
“No way. It would be easier for you to protect us riding on the outside,” Dash said, trying to suppress a smile.
“Yeah,” Rucker said with a knowing nod. “You just want to be alone with Miss Daye.”
“Damn right, I do,” he said, slipping his arm around her.
“We have a lot to discuss,” Sunny said, smiling up into Dash’s eyes. “I’m thinking of moving north.”
“North?” Rucker asked.
“North of Austin, where I currently live,” she said. “I think Killeen will be far enough and still keep me in Texas.” She winked.
“I see how it is,” Rucker grinned. “Nora will be happy to have another female to hang out with at our Sunday barbeques.”
Sunny raised an eyebrow. “Nora?”
“Nora’s Rucker’s woman,” Dash said. “She’s an Army nurse.”
“I look forward to meeting her,” Sunny said.
“And you will. As soon as we get back to the great state of Texas.” Dash held the door to the motorhome open and helped Sunny up into it since it was jacked up at an odd angle. Once she was inside, he climbed up into the living area and pulled her into his arms.
Sunny wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up to brush her lips across his. “We’ve only just met, but I feel like I’ve known you for years.”
“We’ve lived a few lifetimes in the past couple days. Kind of like cats.” He brushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear. “Think we could be falling in love?”
She laughed and squeezed him tight. “I’d say it’s a definite possibility.”
“Good, because I’m about to break all my self-imposed rules, and I think love is as good an excuse as any.”
“It’s the best one I can think of,” she said breathlessly.
“I think I love you, Sunny Daye.”
“I know I love you, Ryan Hayes.”
“I think that needs a kiss to seal that deal.”
“You’re right.”
He crushed her to him and kissed her like there might be no tomorrow.
The way their luck had been running, that was a possibility. Why waste any more time when they could love in the moment?
THE END
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SEAL JUSTICE
BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS Book #13
New York Times & USA Today
Bestselling Author
ELLE JAMES
Chapter 1
Reggie McDonald held her breath and listened for him. She shivered, her naked body chilled by the cool damp air of her prison. Though her brain was murky, her thoughts unclear, and her strength diminished, she knew what she had to do. When she could hear no sounds of boots on the wooden steps leading down into the earthen cellar, she continued digging. Inch by inch, she scraped away at the soil of her cell, praying she was correct in assuming hers was on the edge of the group of cells. If she dug long enough, she might see daylight and find a way to escape the hell she’d been trapped in for what felt like a lifetime.
Using the tin cup she’d been given to drink from, she scooped dirt from the corner behind the door. That small space was hidden from her captor when he came to feed her or shackle her to take her up to the big house where he tortured her and the other young women he’d kidnapped and held in the horrible dungeon beneath his house.
If she got out, she’d find help to get the other women out and save them from the sociopath who forced them to bow to his bidding. If they didn’t do what he said, he whipped them with a riding crop or shocked them with a cattle prod. Sometimes, he burned them with the lit end of the cigars he smoked.
To keep them pliant to his will, he drugged their food and water, making them weak and groggy, unable to form clear thoughts or fight back.
Reggie had caught on to what he’d been doing. She couldn’t quit eating or drinking completely, but she’d skip a day and use that time of semi-clear thinking to work through the problem to come up with a solution. On those clear days, she’d acted just as drugged when she’d been shackled and taken up the wooden stairs to the Master’s house. When she could see out a window, she’d determined the house sat on the side of a hill, the slope dipping downward from the back of the structure. Though the women were trapped in the cellar, the earthen walls of their prison couldn’t be that thick, especially on the far end where she was being kept. The hill sloped sharply on that end, giving her hope that, with steady digging, she’d eventually break free of captivity and escape.
Reggie prayed she was correct and scooped faster, pushing the soil she’d dislodged into the sides of the walls and floor, packing it down so that her captor couldn’t tell it was fresh dirt.
She paused again as a sound penetrated the wooden door of her cell.
Footsteps.
“He’s coming,” a voice whispered. Reggie recogniz
ed Terri’s voice. She was in the first cell, closest to the stairs. She’d been there the longest. A single mother of a little girl, she’d held out all those days, suffering through the torture in hope of seeing her little girl again. Lately, she’d fallen into despair of ever escaping.
Quiet sobs sounded from other cells along the row.
Reggie emptied her cup, quickly patted the dirt she’d removed into the ground, dragged her tattered blanket over her naked body and moved to the opposite corner where she curled up and pretended to be asleep.
Boots clunked down the steps to the bottom.
Silence reigned, even the few sobs ceased as the women held their breath, praying the Master wouldn’t choose them for the trip up the stairs.
Reggie waited, listening. When a door hinge creaked, she braced herself.
“Please, no. Please,” a woman’s voice pleaded with the Master. It was Beth, a young college student who’d been captured on her way home from a night class. “Don’t hurt me,” she cried.
“Shut up and move,” the Master’s harsh voice echoed in the darkness.
“No, please. I can’t.” The sharp crackle of electricity sparking was followed by a scream.
Reggie winced and bit down hard on her tongue to keep from yelling at the man for hurting Beth. She couldn’t draw attention to herself. Not now. Not when the hole she’d been digging was already two feet wide and as deep. If he took Beth up to the house, he’d be distracted long enough Reggie might finally break through.
Beth cried as she stumbled up the stairs, the Master’s footsteps sounding as he climbed up behind her.
As soon as the door clicked closed at the top of the stairs, Reggie grabbed her cup and went back to work, digging furiously, scraping the dirt away with the cup and her fingernails. The Master usually kept a woman up in the big house for at least an hour before he brought her back to her cell. She didn’t have much time.
She abandoned quiet for speed and dug as fast as she could.
“What are you doing?” Terri whispered, her voice barely carrying above the scraping sound of the cup on dirt and rocks.