Bombshell - Jane Harvey-Berrick

by Harvey-Berrick, Jane

  Clay turned to me with an ironic smile.

  “That went well.”

  “Yeah, I think they just crossed us off their Christmas card list.”

  Clay laughed.

  “They’re Muslims, James.”

  “So? That just makes me right.”

  He gave me a wide smile then stood up.

  “I’m thinking we should get the flock out of here, brother.”

  “Yeah. I’m liking the idea of climbing out the window, sneaking around to the front, and driving like hell.”

  “Great plan,” said Clay, already opening the blind fully.

  There were bars on the window.

  Clay glanced back at me.

  “How quickly can you pick that lock?”

  “Two minutes, maybe less.”

  Clay nodded.

  “Interesting education you had, James. Make it less.”

  The lock was old and uncomplicated, but hard to open because getting the angle was tricky.

  All I needed was a couple of paperclips, my utility knife, and something to use as a torque wrench. I scanned the contents of the Chief’s desk and found a metal letter opener that was perfect for the job.

  The bars opened in 38 seconds.

  “Life skills,” I said to Clay who was shaking his head.

  “You worry me, James. Now let’s get the heck out of here.”

  We slipped out of the window and strolled around to the minibus. The police officers on duty gave us a bored look, but since no one had told them to stop us from leaving, they just ignored us.

  This could be the end of our work in Nagorno, which would suck for the people who lived here and the women whose wages were paid by the Trust, but the Chief had bitten off more than he could chew. The Trust had powerful friends in government—we just had to get a message to them.

  “You drive,” said Clay. “I need to use the Sat Phone and give them the sitrep.”

  As he relayed the situation report to HQ, I drove us back to the compound, keeping a careful eye on the rear view.

  But I didn’t hear any police sirens and we weren’t followed.

  I smiled to myself when I saw Bel and Maral guarding the entrance, one with an assault rifle, one with an ancient shotgun.

  Once again, Bel had surprised me.

  When she saw it was us, she threw a sloppy salute, then smiled and waved.

  “You know how to shoot that thing?” I asked, pointing at the double-barrelled shotgun.

  Bel gave me a wide smile.

  “Of course! We had pheasant shoots on the family estate when I was a child.”

  I wondered if she meant ‘peasants’.

  “And I have good news,” she said, cracking open her borrowed double-barrel shotgun and retrieving the two shells so it was safe, “the Gauss’s have arrived.”

  She pointed over her shoulder, and I nearly had a coronary when two handy-looking men emerged from the back of the school, both armed with semi-automatics.

  “That’s Desmond and Artur,” she smiled. “Their company were delivering the Gauss’s and when they heard about our predicament, they volunteered to stay and help guard us for a few days. Oh, and they’re ex-special forces from France. Ooh la la! Aren’t they darlings?”

  More like double-hard bastards than darlings, but perspective is everything.

  “Good to have you on board,” said Clay, shaking their hands. “Team meeting in the Mess.”

  He quickly explained what had happened, and that HQ had told us that they’d be speaking to their contact in the government immediately. In the meantime, we were to hold tight, but wouldn’t go on any Tasks until assurances had been given. Furthermore, from tonight onwards, we’d be patrolling the premises at night—armed. Having ex-special forces on the team was going to be a massive help, and they agreed to take the first watch.

  Clay watched them go, smiling like the happy bastard he was: he had three shiny new Gauss detectors for the teams, and the help of some real muscle and fire-power.

  “Harry, you are one amazing woman. I don’t know how you did it, and maybe I don’t want to know how you did it, but you’ve pulled off a minor miracle. Thank you.”

  “Entirely my pleasure,” she said, then glanced at me quickly. “And in case you were wondering, I didn’t even have to sleep with anyone to do it.”

  Arabella

  THE KNOCK AT my door came late that night and I was immediately on edge.

  “Yes?” I called, without taking a step to open it.

  “It’s James,” he said, his voice muffled. “Um, I just wanted to thank you for getting the Gauss’s, and…”

  I opened the door a crack and found James staring back at me in surprise.

  “Uh, so I just wanted to thank you. We’ve been trying to get hold of them for months but there wasn’t enough money…”

  His words trailed off.

  “You’re welcome. But it’s my father you need to thank, not me.”

  I started to shut the door, but he stopped me.

  “Bel, I owe you an apology. I was a total arsehole and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you.” He paused, forcing the words out painfully.

  But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Deep down I felt that I did deserve to be treated like shit. I’d never known anything different from men—certainly my father or brother, and I’d never had anything that you could classify a relationship. I had hookups, not relationships, never a boyfriend.

  I shrugged it off.

  “Apology accepted. You’re off the hook, James.”

  He closed his eyes and grimaced as if he was in pain.

  “Bel, I mean it. You’re beautiful and clever and kind, and I’m stupid and fucked up. You don’t deserve to get caught up in my shit.”

  Anger began to build inside me.

  “Well, James, maybe I’m a little tired of people telling me what I do and don’t deserve. If I recall correctly, it was me who seduced you, and I got a very nice orgasm out of it, so thank you for that. And as for the Gauss’s, they’re not just for you—they’re for every woman on the team who puts their life on the line each time they go on Task. So please, don’t think you need to go charging off on your white horse—I don’t need a knight in shining armour—I just wanted a nice hard fuck. Goodnight.”

  I was panting heavily when James’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed. I’d been about to slam the door on him, but suddenly it was our bodies that were slamming together and I couldn’t tell who moved first.

  His hands were in my hair, his mouth on my lips, his tongue searching and probing as my hands roved over his back, his arms, his shoulders, his chest, sliding under his sweater, finding warm, silky skin.

  I groaned, then tugged him into my room, our bodies still joined. He kicked the door shut as we fell onto my narrow bed, a tangle of arms and legs, clothes flying as we stripped ourselves bare.

  “I don’t have a condom,” he hissed as my hands closed over his thick, hot shaft.

  “I don’t care,” I gasped. “Come on my stomach again. I don’t care, just … just do it!”

  He thrust inside me with one smooth movement and I cried out, my voice lost as he swallowed my screams with his mouth.

  I dug my short nails into the thick globes of his muscled backside, hooking my ankles behind him, trapping him inside as he ground against me.

  I clung to him as his body covered mine again and again, his face pressed into my neck, his breathing hoarse in my ears.

  Then, the sudden explosive pleasure detonated where our bodies were joined, an electrical charge sparking through me that annihilated my senses. I cried out with blind pleasure. The sheer joy of James, thick inside me.

  My spine arched, pulling him deeper inside and he hissed, only just managing to pull out at the last second, grabbing his own dick as it spurted across my chest, working it to pull the last few drops of enjoyment from his own body.

  The sight of him like that, gripping his pulsing dick, his eyes closed
in painful pleasure, it sent another wave rolling through me like thunder.

  With his orgasm coating my stomach, he collapsed next to me, his body pressed against mine on the narrow and uncomfortable cot-bed.

  As our panting breaths slowed, I closed my eyes, letting my mind drift, refusing to think—only tasting, only feeling, emotions blunted but raw. Just me and him. I refused to feel ashamed of this sudden intimacy.

  I’d never had my world rocked by a lover, not like this, not with the sweat cooling on our bodies. He was a jungle cat, a snarling scrappy street dog, moody and solitary, a dangerous, hostile look in his eyes that made people avoid him.

  But not me. I wasn’t smart enough to stay away.

  This man. This wonderful complex man. Understanding him was like learning origami—each new fold created a new shape, and I had to keep folding and unfolding until the true shape was revealed. I still didn’t know what that might be.

  I wanted so much for this to be real, to be more than sex. But if it was just mutual release, it was good enough for me to want more of it. Much more.

  But moments later, James swung his legs from the bed, dressed quickly and parted in silence with a swift look that I couldn’t interpret.

  It looked a lot like regret and his silence held so many secrets.

  What is it about women that make us want to fix men who are broken?

  The next morning at breakfast, we were back to the polite coolness of colleagues who didn’t particularly like each other, causing Clay to look at us with concern.

  Yad slunk back to the compound shortly afterwards, sullen and morose but obedient, eyeing our two new bodyguards with concern. By the afternoon, the Tasks resumed.

  Desmond and Artur offered to stay for another 48 hours—72 maximum—but agreed that the immediate crisis seemed to be over.

  Their recommendation, however, was to get the hell out of Dodge. The Trust HQ, however, were involved in intense negotiations and asked us to stay put unless we felt our safety was compromised.

  Clay agreed to stay but only after a plan for immediate e-vac was arranged, should we need it.

  James avoided me for the rest of the day, but that night, and the night after, and the night after that, he came to my room.

  We fucked furiously, conjuring heat and passion in seconds, flaring with a dangerous edge as I recklessly poured fuel on the flames, until we both exploded. Then in silence, he left again. We never spoke.

  The sex was hot, scalding, frenzied and unstable. We explored each other’s bodies intimately. We fucked in just about every way possible, testing ourselves with our limits for pleasure, until there was no part of my body he hadn’t claimed. I loved it and I hated it. I felt glorious, and then he left. Afterwards, I felt empty and used.

  Each day, the torture increased a little more, until one evening, I’d had enough. I decided to go to his room to have it out with him. I wanted more. I wanted … well, a conversation would be a nice start.

  James was a hero, a decorated soldier with the medals to prove it. He was also grieving but keeping his feelings locked away. Neither of which translated well into a relationship with me.

  I was surprised to find the door to his room unlocked. It wasn’t like him at all. Usually, he was secretive and paranoid, never careless. It made me nervous.

  I stepped inside, knowing that he’d hate me being in here without him.

  My mouth dried when I saw a small photograph in a frame by his bed. It hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it was but I hadn’t noticed it. I definitely noticed it now.

  It showed a beautiful young woman with long dark hair and dark eyes. She was smiling at the camera, her eyes crinkling with happiness. A smaller picture tucked into the frame showed the same woman in a colourful hijab. When I looked closer, I could see the backdrop of a ruined wasteland city behind her.

  The likeness to Zada was so obvious, and my heart sank. The man I allowed to possess my body every night was still in love with her—Amira—this dead woman.

  I heard the floor creak and knew that James had entered the room. I could sense him behind me, and I was afraid to turn around and see his anger, to see him comparing me with her and finding me lacking, again.

  I held the photograph carefully.

  “You never talk about her,” I said softly, and even I could hear the empty ache in my voice.

  “We never talk at all,” he answered, his tone flat.

  But he didn’t sound angry, so I turned around to look at him. He was watching me carefully.

  “She was very beautiful,” I said, my throat cracking.

  “Yes, she was.”

  “I’m sorry you lost her. Zada’s told me a little about her—she sounds amazing.”

  His lips pressed together.

  “You must have loved her very much.”

  “I wanted to marry her,” he said, his voice harsh.

  It hurt to hear the words.

  I took a quick breath then moved towards him, pressing my hand over his chest, feeling the muscles and warmth through his t-shirt.

  “I think I understand your tattoo now. Her death ripped out your heart.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “But it’s still there, James,” I pleaded. “When I lay my head on your chest, I can hear it beating. When I touch you, I can feel it.”

  I reached up to stroke my fingers over the sharp angles of his cheekbones, to allow myself the guilty pleasure of touching him because I wanted to.

  He closed the door behind him and led me to his bed.

  We made love, or had sex, depending on your point of view, and it was amazing. It was always amazing.

  Usually, at this point, with the sweat still drying on our bodies, James would leave. But this time I was in his bed, and I made no move to go. If he wanted me gone, he’d have to tell me with words.

  I was lying next to a man, glowing from sex, a man I could well be falling in love with, a man who’d just admitted to me that he was still in love with his dead fiancée, a man who was possibly even more broken than I was, a man who defused landmines for a living—life was turning out to be very complicated.

  A strange alchemy of empathy and jealousy filled me—how could I compete with a dead woman? I couldn’t. I never would. She’d always be young, always beautiful, perfect for ever, frozen in time. And me … I was far from perfect.

  Was I accepting second best for the rest of my life? Just because I was used to it from my father didn’t mean I liked it. Could I accept it from James?

  Amira was so beautiful she glowed. I could see that from the photograph. She looked happy, even with the chaos of a broken city behind her; she looked competent and capable.

  Maybe in an alternate universe, I could have been her.

  Probably not.

  I was incompetent and incapable.

  Insecurity arrived like the ghost at the feast.

  When James slept, I whispered the words I needed to say.

  “Loving me doesn’t mean you love Amira any less.”

  But my own inner voice answered me instead.

  He never said he loved you at all.

  James

  WE WORKED TO clear the minefield for three more days, long hours of dirt and danger.

  Yad was around, sulky and bad tempered, putting everyone’s nerves on edge. Turul returned, but he wasn’t happy about it, and appeared worried and anxious, as if he was waiting for something bad to happen. Both Clay and I tried to talk to him, but he just shook his head and walked away.

  Artur and Desmond had used up all the leeway they’d been given and had to leave for their next assignment. They strongly advised us to leave, too.

  But there was work to do.

  We settled into an even rhythm, but then ten days after our stand-off with Chief Kurdov, another mine went missing.

  I’d just finished laying the command wire to blow all the anti-tank landmines and PMAs that we’d found in one final fireworks display, before moving on to another mined area t
en miles down the road.

  “Fuck!” I snarled, counting and recounting the mines.

  Yep, definitely one missing.

  Yad’s expression was too blank, too carefully controlled, and I knew that he’d taken and hidden another MON-100 somewhere. I also knew that beating the shit out of him to get the truth would land me in jail—and not the kind where the British Embassy would be able to get to me before I disappeared or was found dead.

  Everyone on the minibus knew that there was a mine missing, and the women studiously ignored Yad, whispering worriedly amongst themselves.

  When I got back to the compound, I told Clay what had happened.

  He sighed and tugged his beard.

  “We can’t let this happen again. I’m replacing the entire team.”

  I nodded, knowing it was the right decision, but I felt bad for the teams who’d worked so hard—women who’d put their lives on the line day after day without complaint or question.

  Being a suspicious bastard sucked.

  “I’ll get Harry to pack up the office today and I’ll make a call to headquarters to see if they can find us another terp. We can make do with just Turul for a couple of days, but after that, he’ll have to go, too.”

  At that moment, Bel’s blonde head peeped around the office door.

  “Do you need me to come back later?” she asked, glancing at me briefly then focusing on Clay when she saw us together.

  She didn’t meet my eyes, which was probably just as well. Ignoring each other in daylight worked for us.

  “Nah, you’re good, Harry. Come on in. I’ve got plenty of work for you.”

  “Oh goody!” she smiled with a roll of her eyes. “Just what I always wanted.”

  Clay raised an eyebrow then grinned.

  “Ya see how it’s done, James? You catch more flies with honey.”

  “Who wants to be fly-blown?” I grumbled. “So, are you going to talk to the team? Do you want me to tell Yad he’s off the clock?”

  Arabella’s eyes widened.

  “You’re firing Yad? I can’t say I’m sorry after what he did and the way he behaved towards me, because I…”

  Clay’s eyes narrowed, a frown appearing on his face.