Wrecked- Luke & Marie

by Christa Wick

  "Drone status?" I bark into the headset.

  "In the air and tracking," Nazarov answers from his mobile unit outside the casino.

  "Extraction Team Alpha, pick me up at the east entrance," I order.

  "No!—" Nazarov starts before I shout down his attempt to stop me.

  "Do not fucking disobey that order! East entrance, now!"

  I hear a click in my headphone. For one microsecond I think my best friend and closest confidante has just cut off my radio access to the team. Instead, he’s only opened a private channel to argue with and ear fuck me.

  "You have men to handle this," he growls.

  "Men I’ve trained and train with," I snap back as I reach the east entrance.

  "Marie walked into this," he persists. "She ignored your instructions."

  "She's doing the same as I would for you."

  "Sure, if I was a fucked up, spoiled, psychopathic little…"

  He trails off as the black tactical van pulls up.

  "You done?" I bark.

  There's a grumble on the other end that doesn't answer my question.

  "Either you help or you get the hell out of that chair and let someone else do the job," I bark, climbing into the van and slamming the door shut.

  Nazarov surrenders the argument and starts feeding me information. Multiple drones are in the air. Three cars and a motorcycle are following at discreet distances.

  "Tag it," I order the man on the bike then watch on the drone feed as he pulls up next to the car at a red light. A camera on his bike shows Marie sandwiched between two men in the back seat. In the front seat are the driver and another male passenger. None of them are Ortiz.

  When the light turns green, the motorcycle driver hits the accelerator, spraying the car with a transparent chemical that mixes with the bike's exhaust.

  The car lights up like a Christmas tree on the drone feed.

  At the next light, the motorcycle turns left while the target vehicle continues straight. From there, we use the drones, with the three cars and motorcycle all holding at least half a block back.

  My breath freezes in my lungs when the vehicle transporting Marie enters a parking structure. This is Strategy 101 for throwing off a tail, especially if there’s a second car to transfer Marie to.

  I don't breathe again until the vehicle emerges and we have visual confirmation that she’s still inside.

  Traffic turns sparse as the car heads into the city's anemic industrial sector, all the buildings either permanently abandoned or unoccupied at this time of night.

  "We can take it now," Nazarov says over the private channel.

  "Continue observation," I answer. "They are gangbangers. If they fuck up and live, they'll be tortured but only after their families pay the price as they watch. They have no reason not to put a bullet in Marie's head and try to do the same to every one of our guys."

  "Continuing observation," he answers, his voice sounding as tight as my balls feel.

  19

  Luke

  The vehicle isn't the only thing tagged. I knew from Marie's first meeting with Ortiz that he would do a scanner sweep and use other devices to jam any tracker he couldn't find. This time, her purse, shoes, jewelry, and nearly fifty thousand dollars worth of chips have been tossed in a dumpster.

  That's why I dressed her in lights.

  Sort of. The outfit I gave her to wear is covered in colorless micro-crystals designed to amplify her visibility to ultra-wideband imaging. Scanning the warehouse the vehicle disappeared into, I know she’s still there and moving on her own.

  Again—sort of. She’s seated and her movement is extremely limited. I suspect she’s tied up. The tilt of her head tells me she’s conscious and most likely not seriously injured.

  The UWB picks up other bodies in the structure, but they don't shine as brightly. That's good because, if I need to put a high velocity round through a wall, I know where to aim and where not to.

  "Ortiz has arrived, entering the south entrance now," Mikhael says over the headset. "Locals are backtracking via CCTV to tonight's point of origin."

  "Good," I murmur as I watch Ortiz's progress through the building on the UWB screen.

  He goes straight to where Marie is bound, another figure sitting close to her, the body too slight to be any of the knuckle-dragging males Ortiz likes to surround himself with. Considering this slighter figure's continued proximity to Marie, I figure it’s Rose finally making an appearance.

  "Feds are pissed," Nazarov says over the private channel.

  "Until they are ready to commit the same hostage rescue resources, they can go fuck themselves…" I have more to say, but I trail off as Ortiz's arm shoots out and knocks the smaller figure to the ground.

  Good, if he's going to be violent, he can be violent with Rose. I'm hopeful the target of his anger means he still thinks of Marie as an asset too valuable to damage despite her attempt to betray him.

  Or maybe his boss Machado wants to start with an unmarked canvas when he teaches Marie the true penalty for defiance.

  Pushing down a wave of nausea at that particular possibility, I keep my focus on the screen.

  One of Ortiz's men runs over, his body temporarily obscuring Marie. When he pulls back, she stands up and follows him.

  "Prepare for breach," I say over the headset before letting Nazarov know I’m going in. "Alpha One is mobile for breach."

  My team slides out of the van like black ink spilling onto asphalt at midnight.

  "Asset One and single hostile are moving toward rear of building," Nazarov advises. "No other detected hostiles in that sector."

  The breach and extraction teams have studied the schematics. There are offices in the back, a break room and bathrooms for each gender.

  "Asset One has reached the north wall and is moving east," Nazarov says.

  That's the ladies room. Ortiz is seeing to Marie's basic comfort, another good sign.

  Reaching the rear of the building, I take a slow breath in as Connors, the team's doorman, finesses the two deadbolts on the security door.

  Connors signals. As he eases the door open, the team collectively exhales, weapons at the ready and fingers on the triggers. Argento goes in first, freezing at the end of the hall. He scopes in both directions then waves us forward. Breaking left, he covers the door that leads to the warehouse's main area. Connors stays on the exit as the rest of my eight-man team heads toward the ladies room.

  Turner opens that door. I slide in. The guard that brought Marie to the restroom has a phone app lighting the floor in front of him. He walks toward the next to last stall.

  "I don't hear you anymore—"

  "Just give me a damn minute," Marie growls.

  The guard moves closer.

  She growls again. "Haven't you heard of wiping?"

  He chuckles. "Bet you want to wash your hands, too."

  Those are his last words for a long while because the butt of my assault rifle slams against the back of his head and he crumples to the floor.

  "Get her out, now!" I hiss at the team's two hostage handlers before I leave the room and join Argento.

  My job from this point forward is to guard the door leading to the main warehouse area until Marie is outside in the van. But the rescue is just another thing Rose Lafayette wants to ruin.

  "If she can take a motherfucking piss, so can I!" the girl shouts as Marie and her handlers make it out the rear exit.

  Rose is still mumbling obscenities as she tries to slam the door inward. Argento opens it on her instead, his big hand wrapping around her wrist and flipping her onto the ground where Connors neutralizes her.

  "Cops!" Ortiz shouts as he spots Rose being jerked through the doorway.

  Including the clown I took down in the bathroom, Ortiz has seven men with him. All of them are armed, but they are carrying pistols.

  "Breach Two, now!" I shout into my headset.

  Windows shatter on the opposite side of the warehouse as stun grenades ar
e shot through them.

  Falling to his knees, Ortiz fires blindly behind him. He manages to take out one of the headlights before he rolls away. The second breach team storms in. Argento, Connors and I move forward.

  Sensing they are trapped and outgunned, half of Ortiz's men toss their weapons aside and stay on the floor, arms outstretched and their torsos plastered to the concrete.

  Not Ortiz. Despite the disorientation from the stun grenade, he manages to reach the crates and rusting heavy machinery that litter one side of the warehouse floor. My plans don't include Ortiz escaping. He's leaving in cuffs or a bodybag.

  Argento chases after me as I head for the stacks.

  "I can hear you," I shout to Ortiz. "Scurrying like a rat."

  Argento points at a crate held aloft on a hi-lo truck. A heavy chain hangs from it, the end lightly swinging. Ortiz either hit the chain as he ran past or used it to climb up.

  I edge around the hi-lo until I’m at its rear. Rifle aimed at the top of the crate and Argento covering me from the ground, I climb up the back of the hi-lo and onto the roof.

  Ortiz's head pops up, then the barrel of his pistol.

  I squeeze off a round.

  The bullet hits his wrist. The pistol falls. Ortiz screams, the sound a mix of pain and fury. I hear the snick of a switchblade just as Ortiz launches himself off the top of the crate.

  Argento and I squeeze off a round each. One of us grazes Ortiz's arm, but it's not enough to alter his course or stop him now that he’s committed to the jump.

  He falls on top of me, knife slashing and stabbing as I roll to send him to the ground first. Argento dives for the hand wielding the blade, captures and restrains it as I land with a sharp knee to Ortiz's gut. My fist falls a second later, smashing once against his cheek.

  Argento slams Ortiz's hand against the concrete flooring, loosening the man's grip on the knife. Together, we roll Ortiz over. Argento slaps the cuffs on him as Connors drags me to the side and tries to pull off my tactical vest.

  With a massive surge of adrenaline still flowing through me, I fight him.

  "Prisoners are secured," he shouts in my ear. "And you're fucking bleeding, boss!"

  Blood drips from my gloves. I shake my head.

  "It's his," I say.

  "Yeah?" Connors jabs a finger just below the lateral end of my collarbone, a spot the vest doesn't cover. "You sure about—"

  He doesn't get to finish the question because I punch him in the face for intentionally sticking a finger in my stab wound. Then, with the prisoners secured and blood quickly leaving my body, I pass out.

  20

  Marie

  My rescuers plant me in the underground holding room at Luke's casino and leave. I have no idea what has transpired since we left the warehouse. In the van and during the long, barefoot walk through the maze of cubicles, no one answers my questions. I don't know Masters' condition: whether he remained in the warehouse during the gunfight or if he's injured. I receive no assurance he’s even alive.

  In the room, I turn on the television but it apparently is meant for security playback. I try the door, but it's locked. I sit, pace, wait, bury my face in my hands but refuse to cry. After an hour or so passes, a male I don’t recognize escorts me from the basement to the penthouse.

  "Wait here," he warns right before he shuts the door.

  Alone, I go straight to the television. Coverage of the FBI raiding a warehouse on the north side of the city plays on the television. Only the reporter has it wrong—it's Solandro's warehouse on the screen and the Feds are merely cleaning up after the raid by Luke's security team. The perky redhead informs the audience that no law enforcement officers were injured.

  I'm glad, but that isn't the information I need to know.

  A familiar reflection dances in the corner of the screen. I start to turn, words spilling from me before I face him.

  "How—"

  Mikhael glares at me.

  Suppressing the urge to shrink away, I meet his gaze. "Where is Luke? Is he okay?"

  "He's getting stitches and a couple of pints of blood." His mouth pinches down at the corners. "Solandro apparently likes knives as much as guns."

  Watching Mikhael, I start to mangle a couch pillow. "But he'll be released tonight?"

  The Russian lifts an accusing brow. "Solandro?"

  "No!" I want to toss the pillow at his face. Instead, I stuff it behind my back. Mikhael isn't stupid. Either he’s prodding me for a reaction—studying my tells while I’m stressed—or he's dumping some of his personal baggage at my feet.

  Closing my eyes, I roll my lips for a few seconds, grinding down my frustration so that I can speak without yelling.

  "You know I mean Luke. Will the injury require him to stay the night at the hospital?"

  "Is it really Luke you're worried about?" Deceptively soft, his voice sinks deeper than any dagger. "Or what happens to you next?"

  "Luke." Opening my eyes, I growl the name at Mikhael. "I'm worried about Luke!"

  "Don't." He moves along the back of the couch, his hand almost menacing as it brushes the piece of furniture. Stopping at the massive window, he looks out over the Vegas skyline where it fades into the desert. "He can handle himself around scum like Solandro."

  Trying to contain my anger, I start to shake. "Then why the hell are you interrogating me?"

  "Because you're not Solandro." With his cold gaze on my reflection, he laughs and, for a moment, I’m more afraid of Mikhael than I have ever been of any man.

  "Let her be, my friend. You're growling at the wrong woman."

  Hearing Luke's voice, my head dips back and something breaks inside me. Tension—it’s tension that breaks but it does so too quickly. I grab the arm of the couch, lurching as my vision grays at the edges. My body slides toward the floor. Two strong arms wrap around me and stop my fall. Pulling me with him, Luke sits down, his arms a comforting cage.

  "Really, baby, you're picking now to faint?"

  Behind us, Mikhael paces.

  Luke glances over his shoulder, the pacing stops.

  "Leave us," he orders.

  Once I hear the door shut, I bury my face against Luke's chest. A hard puff of air leaves him. I immediately jerk back. He wears a dark cotton t-shirt. I can barely make out the raised outline of something square beneath the fabric near his armpit.

  A bandage, perhaps.

  "What's this?" With the t-shirt tucked into his pants, I try to tug it up. "Did you really need a couple pints of blood?"

  Wrapping his hand around mine, Luke kisses my fingertips, the gesture telling me he doesn't want to allow my inspection.

  "But you're hurt." I close my eyes against the tears ready to fall. If I cry, he will try to comfort me and I don't want that. I want to comfort him. "Please, I need to see."

  The kiss moves from my fingers to my lips as he tries to distract me. "You haven't asked about Rose."

  I stall, momentarily surprised as I realize he's right. I haven't asked a single person if Rose is okay. Nor did I ask anyone to deliver a message to Tommy that I’m uninjured. For more than two hours, I haven't thought about anyone other than Luke.

  Inhaling, I nod and brace for bad news. "How is she?"

  He captures my face in his hands, his gaze narrowing as he answers. "Fine, physically, but she's in jail—and staying there."

  I nod again. Rose brought this on herself.

  "Was anyone else injured?"

  His mood lightens for a second. "Guy in the bathroom has a concussion. Ortiz might lose his right hand—left one doesn't look so good, either. Plus his nose is broken."

  Luke leans forward and rubs his face against mine like an affectionate cat. My head rests against his. I want to be relieved, but my lips quiver with a question I’m afraid to ask.

  He brushes his fingers over them, acknowledging that something is wrong. "You want to know what happens next for you and Tommy?"

  I shake my head and close my eyes again because I don't want to s
ee Luke angry or indifferent. He pulls me closer, ignoring the pain as my shoulder pushes against the bandaged area on his chest.

  His hand rubs reassuringly along my jaw then curls behind my ear. "Ask me, baby."

  I struggle to start. I’m afraid he will think I’m accusing him with my question because, deep down, I am. But he waits so patiently that I push on.

  "Why did you leave the bathroom?"

  What I really mean is why did he leave me in the bathroom with strangers and why have I been kept from him these past few hours.

  He drops his arms lower and tightens them around me. When we’re torso to torso, he pushes gently at my head until I rest it against his shoulder.

  "I left to provide forward cover while Brooks and Martinez got you out of the building. That's what they do, Marie."

  My fingers dance along the sleeve of his shirt, wanting to fist the fabric as I press a little harder against him. "I'm sorry."

  Luke shushes me as if I did nothing wrong.

  Knowing better, I protest. "Deep down, I knew you were right about Rose. But I saw the blame as mine, not hers, because I failed to keep her from becoming what she is. For one hateful girl, I put you and your men in danger—"

  "You put yourself in danger." His gentle attempts to comfort me evaporate. Gripping my hair, he forces me to arch my neck.

  The dark brown eyes glare down at me.

  "Don't ever do that again, Marie."

  I blink, but I don't look away.

  "I won't. I promise."

  "You've broken one promise already. You said you wouldn't leave the casino alone."

  He strokes the edge of my mouth, not quite touching my lips. I realize he hasn't kissed me since sometime before he entered the room. Really, he hasn't kissed me since we argued over my meeting with Solandro and I threatened to call the police if he wouldn't let me go.

  "I know. I'll keep this one." I strain up, trying to reach his mouth with mine. He shifts his fingers so that they rest against my lips and block any chance of a kiss.