Torn in Half: A Trident Security Novella: Book 8.5

by Samantha A. Cole

“Fucking Flynn,” a few team members muttered as the explosives blew and all hell broke loose.

  “How’re his vitals?” Marie asked the Russian anesthetist, as she prepared to make a small incision on the inside of Wang’s right cheek. After changing into scrubs, she’d taken about twenty minutes to interview and examine her patient. Then, she’d scrutinized the x-rays, discussed the reconstruction options with him, and mapped out the changes she would make and where her incisions would be by using a surgical marker on his face. That had taken another forty minutes or so, and she was proud of herself for pretending this was any other day back at the hospital where she maintained her practicing privileges in Charlotte.

  A few minutes into the physical exam, it’d become clear to her that, although he’d said he lacked formal medical training, Albano knew what he was talking about when it came to the procedures. To her surprise, he’d hung on her every word and had even made a few suggestions of his own. This wasn’t the first reconstruction he’d been involved in. However, as they’d prepared to start the surgery, instead of staying and watching as she’d thought he would, he’d disappeared, leaving Antonio and Wang’s bodyguard behind to make sure Marie didn’t do anything stupid.

  She’d been instructed to change the shape of Wang’s jawline, cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. The first three features required her to access the bones through incisions inside his mouth so she could shave and move the bones to alter their shape. The chin, forehead, and nostril area of the nose would get silicone injections. The final combination was not one she would choose for any of her patients, for aesthetic reasons, but it wasn’t her call. Even though she’d do her best, she honestly didn’t care what the bastard looked like when it was all over.

  While injecting silicone under the skin sounded simple enough to most people, it called for a physician who knew what they were doing to avoid disfigurement or nerve damage. Also, it was a slow process to ensure the skin looked smooth and natural after the post-operative swelling went down. With that and the contouring of the facial bones, they could be here for up to seven or eight hours. Since no one was insisting she hurry up, it was obvious they knew what she was doing was quite tedious. Again, that was something in her and Jocelyn’s favor.

  While Wang was asleep, he wasn’t completely unconscious, which would’ve required him to be intubated. But that was impracticable, since she needed access to the interior of his mouth for the jaw and cheeks. Instead, between the lidocaine injections she’d given him to numb his face and the sedation cocktail the anesthetist had administered, Wang was resting peacefully. While it might take a bit to rouse him without giving him another drug to counteract the first ones, he could still wake up on his own with enough non-pharmaceutical stimulation.

  So far, Marie had completed working on her patient’s nose, shaving down the slight bump in his cartilage and injecting a small amount of silicone to alter the shape of the nostrils just a bit. Although Jocelyn’s hand had been shaking at the start of procedure, she’d quickly fallen into the familiar routine of assisting the surgeon. The other two nurses stood by and assisted efficiently enough when Marie asked them to. The unnamed bodyguard was also in the sterile surgical suite, wearing a mask and scrubs over his clothing, but he’d refused to coverup the holstered gun at his hip. Meanwhile Antonio had stayed in the pre-op room doing who knew what.

  As she shifted to get the correct angle she needed, the floor shook under her feet, and Marie’s hands froze. The tremor didn’t last long, but it’d still been noticeable. And she wasn’t the only one who’d felt it because everyone else was glancing around, wide-eyed. Since there were no windows anywhere in the building, they couldn’t see outside, nor could they hear anything through the thick walls. The bodyguard’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped over to an intercom on the wall next to the door. Pushing a button, he asked, “What was that?”

  Antonio’s voice came through the small white box. “Don’t know. Probably a small earthquake. We get them all the time.”

  The bodyguard glared at Marie, with an evident frown despite his mask, then pushed the button again. “Confirm it.”

  A bored sigh preceded one word. “Fine.”

  The hair on the back of Marie’s neck became energized, sending a shiver down her spine. That hadn’t been any earthquake. She’d bet a million dollars that whatever had shaken the ground had been at the hands of Boomer, Trident’s explosive ordinance disposal technician. Her boys were here, but she had to keep working like nothing was wrong until they got into the building and took out the bodyguard, who’d moved closer to Jocelyn, his weapon now in hand.

  Taking a deep breath, Marie tilted her head from side to side, working out a few kinks that’d settled in her neck. Wang was still sleeping, but every now and then his hand with the inserted IV catheter would twitch, letting her know he wasn’t completely under. Knowing she had to do something, otherwise the bodyguard would get suspicious—more than he already was—Marie made a small incision on the inside of Wang’s cheek. If, in fact, she’d been wrong, and that had been a minor earthquake, she’d keep praying and waiting. Her boys would be here soon.

  11

  Stacked, one behind the other, a short distance from the C4 Boomer had set against the wall, Ian, Devon, Nick, and then Brody waited as a huge hole was punched through the stone wall. A second after the explosion, Ian led the charge, bursting through the smoke into the compound. On the other side of the massive backyard, Foster was doing the same with the Omega Team. At first, there were no tangos in sight, but Ian knew that wouldn’t last for long. His legs quickly burned up the distance to the surgical building, keeping the sights of his AR-15 in line with where his gaze was directed.

  From the front of the property, short bursts of gunfire resounded, but Ian trusted everyone on his teams were the ones who were still standing. Movement to his right had him swiveling in that direction, and he and Devon both fired their weapons after assessing the man with an assault rifle was a threat. The tango’s body danced unnaturally with the impacts, and his finger squeezed the trigger of his gun, sending bullets flying harmlessly into the earth. Ian didn’t pause, even for a split second, knowing the man wouldn’t be getting back up.

  By the time he got to the target building, three more tangos in the backyard were dead with their weapons beside them—all taken out by the snipers in the trees. Foster and the Omega Team lined up on one side of the only door, while the Alpha Team fell to the other. Since the hinges were closer to Foster, and the door swung outward, that meant he would be opening it while Ian would be going in first. Devon would be right on his six. Mancini and Reese were facing the rest of the compound, covering everyone’s asses. Those who were going into the building, switched to the more accurate 9mm or 40 caliber pistols they were carrying. They needed the extra control in the close space to avoid shooting any innocent people.

  Once everyone was ready, Nick took two steps out from the building and aimed his weapon so if anyone was waiting for them on the other side of the door, he would have an immediate shot. Ian nodded to Foster who reached for the handle, but the door flew open before he had a chance to grab it. An armed man stormed out, and a startled expression flashed on his face. Evidently, he hadn’t expected to run into them. He had no time to raise the pistol in his hand as Nick fired one shot between his eyes, dropping him like a sack of sand.

  Again, Ian knew they didn’t have to worry about the dead man, so once Nick told him it was safe to enter, he stepped over the body without a second thought. The eight men quickly cleared the rooms as they made their way down the hall. When they got to the last closed door, Ian peeked through its small window, and he felt a measure of relief, as small as it was. His mother was in the middle of the surgery. Aside from the unconscious patient, there were three other women in the room and two men, one of whom appeared to be their main threat, given the fact he had a gun in his hand. When the guard’s head turned toward the door, Ian ducked back out of sight. Using the hand signals they all kne
w, he passed on the intel to his teams, then assigned details.

  Following the silent order, Foster and Mancini dropped down, low-crawled under the window, and popped up on the other side. Placing his hand on the door handle, Foster turned it ever so slightly, then nodded at Ian. Thank God, it was unlocked.

  Through their earpieces, they heard the snipers and other team members clearing the rest of the property. The thick concrete walls of the building muted the gunfire—at least in there. Outside was a different story. They had to hurry this up because the cops would be on their way soon.

  Using three fingers, Ian counted down. When his hand became a fist, Foster pushed down on the handle and shoved the door open in a smooth movement. Before the guard could react, Ian put a bullet in his chest, to the left of the sternum. Behind him, Devon fired a shot, and the other man dressed in scrubs hit the floor. He’d been at the head of the patient and tried to draw a gun from under a piece of equipment. Yeah, that didn’t work out for him.

  All four women had let out short screams. Wide-eyed, two of them raised their hands in the air, and spoke in rapid Cebuano behind their surgical masks. While it wasn’t one of the few languages Ian spoke, he knew enough to tell them not to move and keep their hands where he could see them. With his weapon pointed at both of them, Ian stepped to the side. “Egghead, search them.”

  Ian recognized his mother immediately, even behind the mask, scrubs, and cap, so the other woman who was practically clinging to her had to be the missing nurse, Jocelyn.

  “Thank God, you got here.” Quickly regaining her composure, Marie dropped the instrument she’d been holding onto a surgical tray, then gestured to her patient. “I’m sure someone is looking for him.”

  She pushed a monitor out of the way and bent down to check the pulse of the man Devon had shot in the head. Seeing there was nothing she could do for him, she hurried over to the guard and did the same. But for him, she reached up and grabbed a scissor off the tray and began cutting open his shirt. Foster watched her for a moment, then leaned toward Ian. “Is she seriously trying to save him?”

  Ian sighed. “As serious as her Hippocratic oath.”

  After checking for a pulse and respiration, and examining the man’s bare chest and pupils, she pulled down her mask and announced, “He’s dead.”

  “A bullet to the heart will do that, Ma. Now, if you’re done trying to save the bastards who kidnapped you, can we get the hell out of here?”

  “In a minute. Jocelyn, grab our clothes while I counteract the sedation on our patient and take out his IV.” She searched another tray set up at the head of the gurney and selected two syringes. “Don’t look at me like that, Nick. You did your job, now I’m doing mine. If you want to restrain him, might as well do it before he wakes up.”

  The youngest Sawyer shook his head, then glanced at Devon and Ian, neither of whom had expected any less from their mother, despite the fact she’d been abducted and forced to perform surgery on an assassin. As Dev simply pulled a zip-tie out of a pocket of his BDUs, Ian rolled his eyes then activated the microphone attached to his earpiece. “Sit-rep.”

  Jake was in command outside. “All tangos down for the count. Three female civilians secured. Clock’s ticking.”

  “Copy that. Two female civilians in here too. Let them go.” The grease paint the operatives had on their faces would protect their identities, although he expected the women would hightail it out of there and deny ever being present. “We’ll be out of here in one. Jackass and Sweetheart, let your friends know you have a delivery for them.”

  Carter and Jordyn would make sure Xiao was turned over to the MSS for killing the Chinese ambassador. The female Deimos spy responded, “No problem, Boss-man.”

  On the gurney, the assassin was awake enough for them to drag his ass out of there, without having to carry him, but he still didn’t comprehend his predicament. Devon and Nick got him up and between the two of them.

  Ian eyed his mother as she took her clothes from Jocelyn. “Let’s get going. Dad’s a mess waiting for you.”

  She chuckled. “Now you know where all of you get your calm demeanors from—me. Take me home, boys.”

  Angie’s eyelids blinked a few times as she became fully awake. Her bedroom was dark, but enough moonlight peeked around the corners of the blinds for her to see. Glancing at the clock, she noted the time. 2:01 a.m. She’d only been asleep about three hours. While most of her girlfriends and family had gone home, Harper and Mara were sleeping in her guest room. Meanwhile, Jenn was crashing upstairs in Kristen’s apartment, even though hers was only a twenty-second walk to the other side of the building. Ian’s goddaughter had wanted to be close when the call came in about Marie.

  The last thing they’d heard, when Ian and Devon had called to check in, was that they knew where Marie was being held, and they were going to stage a daylight raid. Angie knew they preferred to do those at nighttime for the additional coverage and that their enemy would be slacking or asleep, so there had to be a valid reason why they were going in during the middle of the day. Whatever it was, she was sure it wasn’t good. She still didn’t know why Marie and her friend had been abducted in the first place, other than it wasn’t for ransom, and that, of course, sent her mind in a tailspin wondering what the reason was.

  Pressure was building on her bladder, so she squirmed toward the edge of the bed. Usually Ian was there to help her up—he was such a light sleeper, and she woke him all the time, despite her attempts not to. His sleep had been as disrupted as hers during the last few weeks.

  Once her legs were hanging over the side, she slowly rolled up into a sitting position and felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. She’d been having them off and on again since shortly after Ian had left, and Kristen and their shared obstetrician had assured her they were nothing to worry about. Braxton Hicks contractions were irregular and far less intense than true contractions—Kristen had spoken from experience. She and Devon had run to the hospital twice before JD had been born, only to get sent home. Angie’s poor brother-in-law had been more stressed out over that than his wife had been. Ian swore he wasn’t going to act like a lunatic when Angie finally went into labor, but right now she wished he would—it would mean he was here with her, running around like a chicken without its head.

  Waddling to the bathroom, she emptied her bladder, then flushed and washed her hands. As she turned toward the doorway, a piercing pain struck her lower back then radiated to the front as the contraction started.

  She grasped the door jamb and bent over as much as she could, which wasn’t a lot. “Holy shit!”

  It was much harder than any of the other contractions she’d had. She moaned until the pain began to recede again. It hadn’t been as strong or as long as she’d expected, but that had definitely not been a false labor contraction. Nope, Little Bit was preparing to come into the world without Ian present. To hell with the curse jar—she’d fill it with money later. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! No, Little Bit, not now. Sweetie, you can’t come out until Daddy gets home. Please . . . oh please.”

  Once the pain receded, she stood up again and shuffled over to the bed. Grabbing her cell phone, she sat down and quickly found the app to help her time the contractions. Maybe it was false labor—she’d read that the intensity could fluctuate. “Please, please, please, God. Not yet.”

  Sitting upright against the headboard, while using the wedge pillow Ian had gotten her for support, she stretched her swollen legs out on the bed. One hand rubbed her distended belly, while the other cupped the bottom of it. The baby didn’t feel lower than normal, which meant he or she hadn’t dropped into the birth canal yet. Was that a good or bad sign? Angie couldn’t remember, and she didn’t want to wake Kristen or Harper to ask.

  As the seconds on her timer ticked by, the phone rang in her hand, startling her, and she checked the screen.

  Incoming call: Ian

  She’d made him promise to contact her, no matter what time it was in Tampa, as soon as he
could after the raid. She quickly swiped the screen and lifted the device to her ear. “Ian?”

  “Yeah, Angel, we got her. Mom and her nurse are okay and—"

  The relief she felt at that news tempered her fear that she was going into labor with Ian on the other side of the world. “Oh, thank God! Can I—can I talk to her?”

  “She’s in the vehicle behind me, but I want you to go back to sleep. I’ll have her call you around 7:00 a.m. your time, okay? We’re almost at the airport, and we’ll be taking off within the next thirty minutes or so. How are you and Little Bit doing?”

  Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. “So far so good. I just . . . I just really need you back here as soon as you can.”

  “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah! Oh, yeah, I’m fine, honey. I miss you, and I guess I’m a little anxious. It’s just the hormones. I’m sorry; there’s nothing to worry about.” He had so much else on his mind and couldn’t get back to Tampa any faster than he was already doing, so she omitted the fact she thought she was in labor. She didn’t want him to fret about her. If that added another spanking to the ones she’d intentionally and unintentionally racked up these past few weeks, so be it. A Master took care of his sub, but the sub also took care of her Master, and that’s what she was doing now.

  “You’re sure, Angel?”

  “I’m sure.” Another contraction began to radiate from her back, and she tightened her hold on the phone. She struggled to keep the strain out of her voice. “Give your mom a hug and kiss from me, and tell her I’ll talk to her later, okay?”

  “I will. We’re pulling into the airport. I’ll call you in the morning, your time, and see you in about eighteen or nineteen hours. Love you, Angel.”

  “Love you too, Master.” The second she disconnected the call, Angie groaned out loud as the contraction reached its peak. “Shit, shit, shit.”