Drake (The Kings of Guardian Book 11)

by Kris Michaels

  Jillian clasped her shaking hands and stared at the detonator she’d laid carefully on the branches before her. She prayed some animal had spooked the deer. There were predators in the Black Hills, coyotes, wolves, big cats and the occasional bear. Drake had made sure she knew what to do if she came across any of the apex animals while she was working with him in the hills.

  Quiet blanketed the valley. Well, that wasn’t true, she heard the nighttime bug songs start up. As the light crept out of the valley, a layer of dread settled around her. She focused her eyes away from the house as the light from the inside would hamper her night vision, or at least that was what Drake had told her. She shook her head. So much information in the last week was about survival—her survival. She hugged her legs to her chest while scanning the area.

  A movement toward the back of the meadow caught her attention. Something was out there. Jillian slid a few inches down the steep incline while still sitting on her butt so she could see past a branch that blocked her view. She couldn’t see exactly what, but something was parting the grasses and flowers on the valley floor. Something big.

  Another dark mass entered the meadow from the right. She jerked her head to the left below her position, looking for another entity, but saw nothing. She grabbed the detonation device. Her eyes bounced from movement to movement before she scanned the area immediately below her. A sound at the base of her trail froze her momentarily. As if Drake was standing beside her, she followed the steps he’d trained her on all week. One: slip off the backpack. Two: open the front zipper pouch. Three: take out the handgun, keeping her finger off the trigger. Four: lay the gun down, zip the compartment and put the backpack back on. Five: Pick up the gun. Six: Breathe. She gulped air, realizing she’d actually stopped breathing. Seven: Acquire a target.

  Step eight was to grip the handle of the weapon tightly when she picked it up. That would disable the safety. Step nine was to point at the target once she validated it wasn’t Drake. Step ten was to pull the trigger. Five times. Not once. Five times, all with her eyes open and while she was pointing at the target. Ten steps and she’d accomplished six. You can do this.

  She glanced back at the meadow. It was so dark now it was almost impossible to pick out the forms that moved in the grasses. They were still there. She knew it even though she couldn’t see them. She sent a prayer up as she shifted her attention to the trail she’d just climbed. Drake had told her to trust him to take care of himself while she was at the top of the ridge. She’d be doing that now because she needed to safeguard his escape. She grabbed the detonator in her left hand and opened the flip top. The questions she had earlier evaporated like rain on a sun-baked sidewalk. Gone in an instant. She’d follow Drake’s instructions to the letter. When the cards hit the deck, she’d call. She wasn’t bluffing, and she had the winning hand. She had Drake and a wildcard in her left hand. It was something they’d worked on together. Jillian lowered her finger to the first switch and flipped it because it was only a matter of time before Drake would be powering up that incline. The last card was about to be dealt.

  Chapter 22

  There. Drake used his middle finger to spin the focus on his ten-by-fifty binoculars. Two men. He noted their armament. Although he couldn’t see much detail in the dark, they each had a rifle, which made them a long-range threat. Where the fuck was Asp when he needed him? That son of a bitch could shoot a gnat off a mosquito’s ass at two thousand yards. What Drake needed was to pull them closer. He was a marksman, but not a sharpshooter or sniper. He preferred to fight his battles close up and in person.

  He swept the meadow and let out a low curse. Two more, similarly armed. Were they the totality of the team sent after him? He shook off that hope. Four men on the frontal. If they were trained, and gauging them by the divided approach, they must have had some training, there were more out there. He swung his binoculars to his left and…bingo. He dialed his focus in. He couldn’t see her, but he could see the straps of the prepositioned backpack. Drake dropped the binoculars and lifted them immediately. If she wasn’t wearing the pack… He scanned the area but saw nothing. He swung his glasses back to where the strap had been. It was gone. She had it back on and probably had the handgun out. His mind flew through the drill he’d made her repeat a hundred times a day for the last six days. One, two, three, four, five, breathe, baby. Drake chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. He allowed himself ten seconds before he exited the darkened room by dropping out the window. He’d needed the elevated position to see through the meadow, but he knew where the primary attack was coming from so he had a plan of action. With one rifle slung across his back and another in his hand, he landed on the soft dirt and dropped down, crab walking away from the house.

  Drake pulled out the handguns he’d stuffed into his boot and belt on the way through the house. He’d also pilfered an Interceptor 911 out of Joseph’s bedroom. He’d found the wicked blade under the mattress along with three throwing stars. The assassin loved his blades.

  Drake moved into a defensive position against an outcropping of granite. No one was going to come up on his six, and he had a clear field of vision to the front of the meadow while still being able to protect the path where Jillian had fled. He lay down on his stomach, minimizing the target he’d make when he started firing at the bastards who were after him.

  Drake tucked the stock of his weapon against his cheek and aligned his weapon sights. He drew a deep breath and let it out, forcing the tension in his muscles to relax. Habits forged through years of training and more real-life experience than he cared to examine kicked in. He wondered fleetingly what it said about him that he was almost inured to circumstances such as these.

  He opened both eyes and waited. The songs of the night creatures ebbed and crested, and still he waited. Moving or exposing himself wasn’t an option. He kept his focus on the mission at hand by scanning the area where the four must appear. It was only a matter of…

  Drake closed his left eye and aimed. Two of the four men were in the clearing by the back porch. He needed the other two to expose themselves before he attacked. The men advanced on the porch keeping out of the light cast from the kitchen. A third man appeared in a rookie mistake. He squeezed the trigger dropping that man and one of the other two before his targets vanished.

  Drake scrambled from his location a split second before a barrage of bullets rained down on where he’d been. He wiggled through the small depression to the right and sprinted to the next outcropping of granite and limestone. An explosion made him jump, but he didn’t move. They had more than four men. Hopefully, the trip wire took out the motherfucker trying to creep up on them. A low call for help was all he needed to hear. Drake spun, planted his hand on the top of three fallen logs and dropped behind them. He followed the cleared path to the right, soundlessly and with speed. The man moaned again and said something, but it wasn’t in English. That stilled Drake. It could be a setup. He dropped behind a large pine tree and closed his eyes, listening intently to the sounds around him. He cursed his haste, because now the house was between him and Jillian. A small distinct snap of a branch directly behind him catapulted him into action. He palmed his handgun, spun out from the trunk of the tree and fired. Two men. He dropped one, the second one bolted toward the house with Drake in pursuit. The man threw his hand back and fired with a handgun Drake hadn’t noticed, but the shot was a wild-assed attempt and was only meant to slow him down. Drake pumped after the bastard, throwing himself at the man’s knees before he got to the house.

  The force of his hit sent the man face first into the dirt. Drake scrambled up at the same time as the motherfucker under him punched back with his left hand. The knife he was holding sliced through his jeans and found purchase in Drake’s calf. Adrenaline and pure unadulterated stubbornness kept him upright.

  The sneer of satisfaction on the bastard’s face lasted the two-tenths of a second it took Drake to lift his weapon and put a bullet through the man’s brain. Motherfucker! He
limped toward the trail Jillian had taken. Blood pooled in his boot, saturating his sock, and with every step, burning pain reminded him of the presence of the blade, but taking the damn knife out wasn’t an option. He’d end up bleeding more.

  He started for the path he’d directed Jillian toward. He’d eliminated all four of the bastards he’d seen in the meadow, and the tripwire-activated explosion had injured or killed another. Drake hobbled past the house, one rifle still slung across his back, a forty-five in his hand and a fucking knife still stuck in his damn calf. He glanced up just as the lights in the house went out. No! Drake lunged forward. The percussion of the blast lifted him off his feet and propelled him through the air towards a stand of pine trees. Splintering pain careened viciously through his head and shattered the darkness with red and white brightness. He felt the impact as he was thrown into an immovable object and was plunged into darkness.

  Jillian watched in horror from her protected position as a fireball flew into the sky. Pieces of the house fell halfway up the mountain trail. She dropped the detonator and covered her ears when a secondary explosion rocked the small meadow. The rental vehicle went next followed by the small shed. Why had Drake signaled her to blow it all up? Where was he?

  She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked, trying desperately to contain her hysteria. It was there just under her skin. If she allowed it to escape, she’d be useless to Drake when he reached the trailhead. Random fires burnt in the small meadow below, the largest engulfed the framing, which was all that remained of the house. The SUV and shed smoldered but she saw no movement. Where are you? Her eyes scanned the lower trail. There! She could see a tall shadow climbing up the trail. She held her breath as the form stopped at the tripwire and carefully moved around it. Strange that he’d stepped in that direction. He’d used the opposite side when they’d cleared the path. A sub-zero chill of apprehension ran up her back. That wasn’t Drake. She could tell by the way the man moved.

  Jillian reached down and grabbed the weapon. Five: Pick up the weapon. But this time she put the pad of her index finger on the trigger. Six: Breathe. Jillian tried to inhale. She forced herself to slow down, to exhale, and then her lungs functioned, taking in the air and releasing it. Seven: Acquire the target. The man wasn’t Drake. She knew this for a fact. Eight: She lifted the weapon and squeezed the handle in her fist, deactivating the safety. Jillian cupped the hand holding the weapon in her other hand. She was shaking so badly she couldn’t raise the weapon without steadying it. She waited until the man drew closer. Dark hair, short and holding a rifle. He stepped over a rock she’d used as a stepping stone. Jillian resisted the urge to close her eyes and pray the man walked past her. She’d be seen, and he’d kill her. No, she wasn’t going to go without a fight. Nine: Jillian lifted the weapon. Her action caught the man’s attention. He froze and then an evil laugh drifted on the smoky night air.

  The suddenness of the gunfire seemed to play in slow motion in her mind. Jillian recognized what was happening as the man’s body jerk repeatedly. She saw his flesh tear away. She witnessed his shocked expression and then the look of terror. She observed him fall toward her and land face-first in the dirt, leaves and pine needles that littered the hill. She still held the gun, pointed in his direction, but she hadn’t fired a single round.

  Jillian lifted her stunned gaze from the dead man in front of her to the trail behind him. A bloody and battered Drake leaned against a pine tree. His right arm hung at his side. In his hand was a 45-caliber handgun.

  “Jilly, lower your gun, hun. You’re pointing it at me.” Drake’s voice snapped her eyes back to the weapon in her hand. Her shaking hand. “Just point it toward the ground.” Drake’s voice was closer. Jillian lifted her eyes. She couldn’t see him very well through the tears. “It’s okay. It’s over, babe.” She stared at him as he approached. Shallow cuts all over his face oozed blood. His shirt hung off his torso in pieces, and he held his left arm awkwardly. He did something to the .45 in his hand and then tucked it in his belt by his left hip. He reached out and placed his hand on the weapon she held. “Let it go, Jillian.” She glanced from him to the weapon and back again. “I’ve got you, babe. It’s okay. Let it go.”

  Chapter 23

  Drake pushed the barrel of her handgun to his right, removing his heart from point-blank range. Being stabbed and damn near blown up was enough excitement for one night. He didn’t need the woman he loved to make him into a pin cushion. Her finger was still on the trigger, and she was shaking so badly he could feel the tremor through the weapon. There was nothing good about the situation. She was in shock. He could tell by the way her pupils were dilated, the shallow, jagged way she was breathing and the pallor of her skin.

  “Okay, sweetheart.” He winced as he moved his left arm. He’d dislocated his shoulder in the blast, and he hadn’t wasted time trying to put it back in the socket. Because of that, he had no strength in his hand to pry her fingers away from the trigger. “Baby, I’m injured. You have to help me. Take your finger away from the trigger.”

  “You’re hurt?” Her eyes seemed to focus as she looked at him.

  Thank God. “Not bad, but I need you to help me, okay?”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “Let go of the gun.” Drake had a solid hold of the barrel. He wasn’t going to get shot, but he needed to get them both out of the area in case these goons had back-up.

  Jillian looked down at the forty-five and blinked, then pulled her hand back as if she’d been burned. Drake put the weapon in his belt at the small of his back, between his jeans and the leather. It was less than perfect, but without his left arm, he had to improvise. He just prayed he didn’t somehow end up shooting his foot, or worse, his ass, in the process.

  After shoving the metal into place, he reached for her and pulled her into him. “I need you to be strong for me, Jilly. We need to get out of here. Can you walk with me?” Drake held her to his chest as his gaze swept the ground below. Nothing moved, but God only knew how long that would last. He felt her nod and kissed the top of her head. He needed to get her going before reality bit her in the ass, and she lost it. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up the hill. It would be a long, long fucking night.

  Drake stumbled over a small rock nearly going down to his knees. “We need to stop.”

  “I’ve been saying that for the last hour,” Jillian snapped at him. “You’re bleeding.”

  He glanced down at the bandage he’d tightened around the hole in his leg. They’d stopped after they stumbled down the ridge in order to relocate his shoulder and pull the fucking knife out. It wasn’t a long blade, but it still did a job of messing him up. His calf had a puncture wound a couple inches deep. “Yeah.” Drake glanced around and nodded toward an outcropping of granite. “Over there.” He hobbled to the V in the rock. “Wait here. Let me go back and make sure nothing is sleeping back there.”

  He pulled his handgun from his belt and moved forward. The only thing he was worried about was rattlesnakes. They’d be tucked up against the rock keeping warm. He put the weapon in his left hand and grabbed a stick that had a small fork at the end with his right.

  “What are you doing?” Jillian whispered right behind him.

  He turned his head and narrowed his eyes at her. “What part of stay there didn’t you understand?”

  She straightened to her full height and pointed at where they had stood moments before. “The part that would leave me alone. In the dark…without you!” Her voice held a hysterical edge to it.

  Drake closed his eyes and gathered his waning strength. He nodded. “Okay. Keep me in sight, but stay behind me. I’m going to check the crevices for rattlers.”

  “Snakes?” If her voice wasn’t bordering on hysterical before, it was firmly on board the freaked-out train now.

  “Just stay here. It won’t take me long, and you can see me. Okay?”

  The rapid up and down movement of her head should have been comical, but he’d lost his sense of hum
or recently. Drake limped forward and proceeded to shake the bushes and prod the crawl spaces. He made a complete sweep of the small area. Thankfully, nothing there needed killing. He dropped the stick and extended his hand to Jillian. It took two seconds for her to skitter to a stop at his side.

  “I need the pack.” He waited as she slipped it off. It took several seconds of groping in the dark before he found what he was looking for. Two small, hand-sized packets. He pulled the plastic bag apart and unfolded an emergency Mylar blanket. “Spread that on the ground.” As she worked, he opened the other pack so they would have something to put over them. It wasn’t cold, but they were both exhausted, and the mosquitoes would drain them given a chance.

  “I need to take a look at your leg.” Jillian patted the blanket next to where she knelt.

  Drake leaned over and set the backpack down. He extended his leg in front of him and controlled his descent to the ground as much as he could. “You can’t see anything in the dark. If I stay still, it should clot and stop bleeding.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “I’ll know because the blood will pool on the blanket.” He wrapped his arm around her with his good arm and pulled her into his side. Offering her the other Mylar blanket, he waited until she’d covered them. “We need to get some sleep.”

  She pushed away from him. “But what if someone comes?”

  “I’ll wake up. It is what I’m trained to do, but if they can track us in the dark, over foreign landscape, and through a forest, then they deserve to get the drop on us.” Drake realized his joke had backfired when she tensed in his arms. He chuckled and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Silly Jilly.” She elbowed him gently at his comment. “I didn’t mean to scare you. We are in a protected location. The shelf of rock protruding above us will block us from view if they have satellite coverage. They won’t even get a heat signature. We are as safe as we can be. If we are exhausted, we are at a disadvantage. I wouldn’t tell you to rest if I thought you were in danger. Now close your eyes and sleep.”