by Margaret Kay
His eyes focused on hers when he replied. “Five minutes. We still need to grab lunch.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, which was a stark contradiction to the intensity of the kisses and sex act they’d just engaged in. “We do that very well together. You sure you won’t change your mind and just stay with me? The wilds of Colorado can’t hold a greater allure to you than repeating that with me every day, every night.”
Her lips curved into a slight smile, a natural smile that was a stunning and genuine display that took his breath away.
“Tempting.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “And yes, we do. But I need to make it to Colorado.”
He nodded silently, considering how he could convince her to stay with him, so he could continue with his mission, but keep her safe at the same time. He’d already decided he’d have the team grab her up in Colorado when he delivered her there. She would not be left on her own. She needed their help, if she knew it or not. But having that plan didn’t quell the urge to personally protect her.
Charlie
The night air was calm. An infinite number of stars shone brightly in the heavens and painted a hypnotic display against a stark, black canvas. The temp was holding in the low seventies, the humidity low. It was a beautiful night to be camping out.
Razor tore his eyes from the heavens and glanced over the face of the woman whose head laid on his leg, her pillow. Her eyes were glued to the vast night sky. She gazed at it with wonderment. He contemplated whether it brought her the same peace it did him. And would falling asleep to such a beautiful sight keep her from yelling out in her sleep again tonight? He doubted it would, and that was something he didn’t want the whole group to hear, might raise questions.
He felt his phone vibrate with urgency in his pocket. Retrieving it, the face was red, which instantly put him on alert. He opened the secure app to find the alarm from his team. “You’ve been made, enemy in-route, five minutes ETA. Activate your comms,” it read.
“Fuck,” Razor swore aloud. He stabbed out a reply…Roger.
His jaw was set, his lips were drawn into a straight line. “What?” She whispered, dread filling her.
“We’ve got to go,” Razor whispered as he stood, pulling on her to rise as well. His eyes went to the two men, who sat nearby against their packs. “We’re breaking for now. Continue with the plan. I’ll catch up with you in a few days.”
They nodded.
She didn’t speak. On some level, she knew something was wrong, very wrong. He led her to his bike, and she heard him mumble something that was unintelligible to her as they got on.
“Coop, give me a heading.”
“Head west five clicks, then south on the paved road. We’ll rendezvous there,” Cooper said.
“Roger that,” Razor mumbled then turned the bike over.
She held on tightly as the bike bumped and rattled over the uneven ground. He sped through the night, focused and on alert. Thoughts raced faster than the wheels of the bike through his mind. Which enemy was incoming? Those after the woman? Or had his cover been blown, somehow?
He made it to the paved road and opened the bike up, pushing its max speed. Her arms were coiled so tightly around him, he could barely breathe. He wished he could give her an explanation, to help calm her, but there was no time for that now. As soon as he made it to the team, there’d be time, he told himself.
Through the battering of the wind whipping at his ears he heard engines, Harley’s. Two small pinpricks of light approached head on, growing bigger and brighter as they neared. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed. “Alpha, I don’t suppose a couple of you are on bikes.” Though he knew that would not be the case.
“Negative,” Cooper’s voice came through his comms. “Looks like you have unfriendly company.”
A dirt road came into view. Razor took the sharp right onto it, heading towards the large steel structure a good four hundred yards away that was gleaming in the moonlight. Some cover would be better than none. He knew he didn’t need to give the team an update. They would know from his tracker his exact location and heading.
Approaching the rusted out, rundown structure, he found a garage door partially open, just wide enough to fit the bike through. Within, low emergency lighting cast eerie shadows throughout the warehouse structure creating darkness in corners and near crates of different sizes that were randomly scattered around the cavernous space.
He pulled the bike into one of those dark corners and killed the engine. In the distance the faint sound of the other engines were heard, an ominous prelude of the approaching danger. “Coop what’s your ETA?” Razor’s calm voice spoke.
Sienna’s questioning gaze met his. Who was he talking to? He ran a hand through his unruly hair, and only then did she notice the earpiece in his right ear. It looked somewhat like her Bluetooth earbud that paired with her phone, but different enough that she had to wonder what it was.
Somehow, she knew she should not ask. From the second Razor had pulled them both to their feet, his complete demeanor changed. He was calm and focused in a way that scared the crap out of her. His determined gaze was even more alert than usual, his jaw was set, and his lips were drawn into a tight line. Whatever was going on was serious, this much she knew.
“Five minutes via air. Hunker down,” Coop ordered.
The roar of the Harley engines got louder. Their pursuers were nearly upon them.
Razor raised his index finger to his mouth, hushing her. He glanced around to evaluate their surroundings. Behind them ran a wall of dirty glass windows with what appeared to be offices with filing cabinets and desks in cubicles within. About halfway down its length, the windows ended at a large metal door, and the remainder of the wall was steel.
He heard her gasp when he unholstered his Sig 226 9mm from the small of his back. He shot out one of the windows. She squealed in shock and took a step back. Then he stepped up to her and took her hand. He led her towards that large metal door being sure to remain as hidden in the shadows as possible. He wasn’t sure what lie beyond, but hallways or offices had to be a better place to hide than out in this open warehouse space.
Razor had them to and through the metal door before the two motorcycles roared into the warehouse through the same open door he’d used. Through the closed metal door, he heard the bikes circle around the warehouse space, searching for them, he assumed. He pulled her through the long corridor lit with the same low voltage emergency lighting, heading away from the metal door before he heard both engines cut. Certainly, they found his bike and at least one of them would be breaching the hallway soon.
Razor picked up the pace and ducked into an intersecting hallway to his right. The only door at the end of the hall opened into a large mechanical room. It too was lit by the low voltage emergency lighting. The room had a few counter workstations cluttered with numerous tools, small engines in various states of disrepair, and a layer of dust. There was nowhere good enough to hide though, not even a closet.
As the sound of the outer metal door clanging echoed down the hall, ice cold chills invaded Sienna. She clutched Razor’s arm with both of her shaking hands, her desperate eyes pleading with his. “Please,” she forced out in a whisper.
He nodded and then pulled her towards the opening on the other end of the room from where they’d entered. His eyes surveyed the room and everything in it as they crossed it. Near the gap was a bench strewn with cans of liquid lubricating oil, starter fluid, Loctite, and various power tools. This workshop was a mess.
His gun led the way as he thrust himself into the adjoining hallway. It was shadowy and dark. His eyes scanned for any movement. His ears strained to hear any sound. Even his nose sniffed to distinguish any scents that would indicate an enemy was near.
Sienna stepped beside him as he heard movement and he smelled the unmistakable aroma of Hoppes No 9 gun cleaning and lubricating oil. And in that moment, his gun was kicked from his hand. The sound of it hitting the concrete floor reverberated off the metal w
alls. Razor pushed Sienna back towards the mechanical room. Then he attacked the solid form of the man who had followed up the kick to his hand with a punch to his stomach, by diving into him and driving him into the wall. He then pulled this assailant by the hair and threw him to the ground. He stomped on the hand that held the gun, a .357 by the look of it, until the man released his hold of the weapon. Razor kicked it across the hall.
The man rolled to his back, unholstering another gun from under his jacket. Razor quickly retreated back into the mechanical room as he retrieved his lighter from his jeans pocket. He grabbed the large can of starter fluid from the workbench, squeezed a ribbon towards the entry way into the room as the unknown assailant entered, flicked the lighter on, and tossed it into the stream of liquid. It erupted into a fiery flow that engulfed the man instantly. He went up in flames, screaming in agony as his blazing form flailed about for way too many horrible seconds before crumpling to the ground.
Sienna let out a scream, which Razor silenced, his hand over her mouth. He pulled her around the corner into the mouth of the hallway. She couldn’t breathe. He was suffocating her. She thought she had known terror, but she realized she never really had before that moment. She tried to fight him off.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t scream,” he added.
She realized she could breathe, through her nose, but the smell of the burning man was sickening. Her stomach rolled. She realized that Razor wasn’t trying to suffocate her. He was just silencing her. She nodded, her tight chest heaved as she attempted to catch her breath. He released her mouth. His hand slid down her neck, over her shoulder and down her arm. He grasped her bicep in a tight reassuring squeeze and then slid his hand back up her arm. She stared back at the flaming heap on the floor.
“Right here,” Razor commanded, his index and middle fingers pointing at his own eyes. “Look at me, not him.” She felt his lower body press against hers, holding her tightly against the cold metal wall. Her eyes went to his as ordered. He released her mouth.
Her eyes darted back into the room, at the flames that burned brightly. There were no more screams, no movement. Then her eyes refocused on Razor. “That’s got to be the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” her breathy words came out in chokes. “I’ll never be able to un-see that.”
“We’ve got to move. There’s going to be more of them coming.” His left hand took hold of her hand, which shook uncontrollably. “Are you with me?” He asked.
She nodded.
“If anything happens and I tell you to run, you run like hell and don’t stop. Don’t look back. Don’t worry about me. Do you understand me?” Again, she nodded. “Breathe, sweetheart, a couple of deep breaths and then we’re going to move.” He picked his 226 up from the floor.
She did as she was told. She sucked in several deep breaths that were laced with soft moans. She felt lightheaded as he led her through several more doors and the length of the dark hallway. He held the 9mm in his right hand, confidently leading the way. His left hand held hers tightly, pulling her along behind him at a fast pace. All she heard was her own heart thundering in her chest and her blood surging in her ears.
He opened the door at the end of the hall. It opened into another room. Across the room was the wall of windows that overlooked the warehouse floor. The low lighting invaded the room through the many dirty windows. He listened. It was quiet. He leaned to look as far inside without entering that he could, weaving like a boxer in the ring, all the way to the right, then the left.
He stepped in. It was a large office, the cubicle walls open revealing the many desks and file cabinets. There was still nowhere good to hide. They were about six feet away from a straight wall that ran to the right, where there was an opening into another hallway. He hoped it led into another room that may give them better cover. She stepped in and came beside him just as the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.
“Lower the gun,” a male voice with a heavy Spanish accent spoke calmly.
Razor surrendered, removing his finger from the trigger. He released her hand. He held the gun by the butt. In one smooth movement, he hit the gun at his temple with his arm, pushing the man’s arm back. A shot fired behind his head. “Run!” He shouted to her as he turned and punched the man, who counter attacked, knocking Razor’s nine out of his hand. It flew across the room and clanked against one of the file cabinets.
She heard grunts and the unmistakable sound of fists contacting with body parts as she sprinted away. There were sounds of things breaking as she dove towards the pistol, gripped it, and then rolled to her back as the sound of more gunshots rang out. The man who was attacking Razor dropped to the ground. She held the gun extended out in front of herself towards the armed assailant that was closing in on her.
“Don’t shoot!” Razor ran in and stopped beside her, his hands went to a surrendering gesture when she swung the gun towards him. “She’s on my team!”
Sienna stabilized her form with her back against the filing cabinet and aimed the gun away from Razor at what she now saw to be a blond female in the black tactical gear standing just eight feet in front of her. The woman’s black rifle was aimed down at her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man who had held the gun on Razor. He lay dead on the floor in an expanding pool of blood.
“Charity, Sienna,” Razor corrected himself. “Don’t shoot. We’re the good guys, here to get you to safety.”
Sienna shook, her breaths coming in deep draws. “Holy shit, how do you know my name?” Her eyes were glued to Razor’s. She felt the gun get ripped from her hands. Her head snapped to the right. A man with blonde hair, also dressed in black tactical gear stood beside her, holding the nine he’d just ripped from her hands. Where’d he come from?
“We’ve got to move,” that blonde man commanded.
“Come on,” Razor prompted. He was beside her, his hand in front of her face.
Sienna stared at him in horror. They knew who she was. Had she put herself in the wrong hands? “Who are you?” Her shaky voice demanded.
“Sienna, we’ve got to go, they’re moving in. We’re the good guys. You have to trust me,” Razor said.
Just then, the sound of several motorcycle engines blasted the silence. Cooper grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet. Razor took hold of her hand and they all ran back into the hallway she and Razor had entered the room through.
They ran back through the hall and into the room where the man had been burned alive. He was still smoldering. The smell was sickening. That smell was something else she’d never forget.
The blonde man went ahead to the doorway across the room. Razor pressed her against the wall, his body covering hers. He had a different gun in his hand now. Where did that come from? Sienna wondered for a fleeting moment. The woman took up a position behind them, her rifle aimed back the direction they had come.
The blonde man motioned. Razor led her over to him. The woman followed, walking backwards, her gun still trained back the direction they had come. The sound of rotor blades from a helicopter pierced the silence. It buzzed the building.
“Tangos are moving in. I’m gonna blow the east wall of your location,” Jackson’s voice came through the comms.
“Roger that,” Cooper replied.
Immediately they all moved towards the other side of the room and into the corner. Razor pulled her along and pinned her to the wall. The others huddled in close as a deafening blast shook the room. The sound of metal violently ripping apart and clanging, followed. She flinched. She noticed the others did not. Smoke and dust blew over the room. The others stepped away and Sienna saw a gaping hole in the wall. Razor pulled her towards it, following the others.
As they neared the hole in the wall, the sound of the rotor blades announced the approach of the helicopter. It suddenly dropped down, its bright light invading the room and blinding Sienna. A figure leaned out, a rifle pointed in their direction. Sienna shuddered and shrunk back. Razor slid his arm around her,
holding her in place. He pulled her to the hole, through it, and pushed her to the open door in the hull of the aircraft.
The man who leaned out, jumped down as she neared. Her wide, frightened eyes met his hazel-green focused stare as he passed her. She watched him take up position, his rifle pointed into the building as the others came up behind them.
Another man was within the chopper. His hands reached to her and grabbed her by both of her forearms. He hoisted her aboard as Razor’s hands lifted her at her hips. Razor jumped in behind her, moving her farther within. He pressed her to sit with him on the bench that ran along the fuselage. Sienna watched as the blond-haired woman in the tactical gear climbed aboard followed by the blonde man. Razor led her hands to the edge of the seat. He slipped headphones onto her head, positioning a mic just below her lips. “Hold on,” he said, his voice coming through the headphones.
The man who had jumped out, now sat in the open doorway, rifle aimed out as the helicopter lifted. He shot a few bursts of rapid fire before the chopper banked sharply and sped away. Razor held her tightly to himself. Her hands held the seat with a white-knuckled grip. She continued to hold on long after the chopper leveled off.