by Zoe Dawson
“That was our plan, too,” Anna said, “But we didn’t realize women were doing the cage fighting. We don’t have anyone on our team who has your skills and abilities. We’ve been authorized to add you into this op with the guarantee that we get our people back and you get Darko—”
“I can—”
Anna held up her hand. “With the stipulation that we get a crack at interrogating Darko. That terrorist…Muhammad Angar Said? He’s at the very top of our list, and we need a way in to eradicate that threat to the West. Will you join ranks with us in finding our people and finishing your mission?”
“Yes, I can live with that.”
“Thank you, Agent Mikos. When is your next match?”
“Tomorrow night at midnight. The fight boss has been instructed to give us two full days to recover. Darko wants us rested and sharp.”
“We have a lot to do between then and now. Your belongings have been moved here. You will have access to the facilities, so make yourself comfortable. Your colleagues will go back to their own base, and we will coordinate with your superiors for the final takedown. Get some rest.” She touched Fast Lane’s shoulder and they started to talk.
“Except for you, Agent Mikos,” Fast Lane said. Saint went to leave, but Fast Lane nodded to him. “Stay.”
“Am I going to get the stern dad talk?” she asked as she maneuvered her curvy body around the chairs and stopped at the head of the table.
“I want to get something straight between us before we proceed,” Fast Lane said in his customary growl. “This is a US Navy SEAL Team, and these men follow my orders. We are a tight-knit group and work as one. There are no lone wolves in this group, just a pack. Don’t let your enthusiasm get in the way of your common sense. What I say goes. Period. No discussion. Is that clear?”
“Very clear and I can follow orders.”
“I think you like giving them more,” Fast Lane said, setting his hands on his hips. “Your superior said you could be abrasive.”
“Like sandpaper, but I would ask that you take my counsel into consideration. Before the ATF, I was a member of LAPD’s SWAT Team. Those neighborhoods were battlegrounds.”
“So, you know how to assault and the basics of the military?”
“I do. I won’t be dragging your team down, Lieutenant.”
“Saint, she’s yours. Make sure she knows how we operate, although, I’m sure she’s competent in self-defense.”
Aella smiled. “I’m pretty sure I could take you, Lieutenant.” Saint didn’t think she was bluffing.
Fast Lane just grunted, and she turned to go. Saint fell in beside her. “You really don’t know when to quit.”
She shrugged. “Your CO seems competent, and I’m sure you guys are as tight-knit as he said. But this is about getting Darko. That’s my focus and my mission.”
He opened the door for her, and she stepped through.
“That was a compliment, lady. None of us know when to quit.”
She threw a look over her shoulder. “Handsome and tough.” In the hall, he indicated the way to the elevator with an outstretched arm. “Any place a girl can get a cup of coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll show you where the mess is, but if you want to get something more exotic, you’ll have to leave the safe house. There’s a coffee shop just across the street.”
“Mess will do. I don’t want to walk that far.”
They got into the elevator and he pushed the button for the second floor.
“Tired, huh?”
“Yeah, no matter how many of these dirtbags we put away, there are always more.”
Her response was mechanical, as if she’d said the same thing so often it no longer had meaning for her. He wondered how many times she’d responded with the same words and phrases. Her answer was rote. The kind of answer that always hid something—sometimes something interesting, sometimes not. But in his experience, it always hid something the other person didn’t want him to know, and for that reason alone, her answer became irresistible to him.
She should have waited out the silence, he thought, but she rushed into repeating herself. “We’re on the front line. We do what we have to do to get these international thugs out of circulation. That’s all.”
“Is it?” On the prowl, Saint stepped out of the elevator in spite of his fatigue and attraction overwhelming him. “You trying to convince me or yourself? Or are you a poster child for the ATF?” He looked down at the heavy thickness of her hair.
“What I said is true. But Darko sounds like he’s in a league of his own.”
He held back a smile. She was a tough one. Not giving an inch. As she took a step toward the mess, Saint blocked her, no longer certain what the hell he wanted from her, knowing only that she intrigued him beyond any woman he’d ever met. She stopped and eyed him as he gripped her shoulders. The light threw their shadows onto the floor, merging them into one, his shadow engulfing her form. Pain pierced him in an exquisite ache.
“What we do is tough enough. It’s better to have a strong purpose in mind in this job.” He touched threads of her hair that had slipped against her cheek. The strands were warm and satin-smooth, curling against his fingers. Its softness surprised him, and he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “Anything heavy on your soul, Aella?” In spite of himself, his voice was scratchy with his own weaknesses. He wanted to make sure she wasn’t a loose cannon. His LT didn’t like lone wolves. He just wasn’t sure her need to catch Darko overrode her promise to work with them.
She grimaced. The strand of hair slipped free of his outstretched finger and curled back against her face.
Irritation quickened her speech. “Five dead agents who shouldn’t have died, Saint. Men and women with families and lives. What about you?” She pushed against his chest.
He caught her hand and closed his fist around it. So much heat and energy in that one feminine hand radiating into him. “A young woman and small boy who should be alive right now.” The fall of her dark hair beckoned his hands, lips.
She lifted her chin. “Sounds like we’re in agreement and our purpose is the same. Get that scum behind bars where he belongs.”
“Or six feet under,” Saint said, the words coming out of him without much effort.
Her brows rose. “Okay, maybe we do think alike.” She peeked around him to the mess. “I could really use that coffee.”
He moved out of her way and waited while she got herself the hot beverage. Once back in the hall, she took a sighing sip.
“Better?
“Much,” she murmured. They got back in the elevator and he pushed the button for the sixth floor where all the accommodations were. “You’ll have a nice bed. We get the cots, but when you get this tired, it doesn’t seem to matter.”
“I could handle a cold floor right now.”
When the elevator dinged, he stepped off with her and escorted her to her assigned room. “I’ll fill you in on how we operate tomorrow, if it’s all right with you.”
“That’s fine. I don’t think I can put two thoughts together right now.” She turned toward the door, her voice halting him in the hall. “So, what exactly do you do on the team?”
“I’m the corpsman and whatever else my LT needs.” The fragrance from her hair lingered in the air around him with her every movement. He didn’t think he could bear the kind of wanting that flowed in with the haunting perfume of her scent.
“Medic, huh?” She was too close to him, but he couldn’t seem to care. “How do you handle that doctor slash warrior thing? Seems like there would be a war going on inside you.”
“There’s no battle for me, Aella. I understand my oaths. When I focus medical attention on my teammates, doesn’t mean I have no compunction about blowing away some sucker who’s trying to injure them further. Same goes for innocents in the line of fire. My loyalties and my life are dedicated to them first and foremost. Secondly, when it becomes necessary, I will treat the enemy in a humane and ethical way as dictated by the ot
her oath I serve.”
“So, you’re a doc first with your team and a warrior second?”
“I’m a warrior, period. I have medical knowledge beyond my teammates that allows me to be more proficient in delivering those treatments, but make no mistake, all my teammates have medical knowledge and perform the same functions. I just went to school longer than they did.”
“I have no dual morality, but there’s another thing we have in common.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Justice. We serve those who have been harmed and cannot protect themselves.” She lifted her coffee and toasted him, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. But unlike any other affectionate kiss he’d received there, this felt nothing short of sexual. He touched her shoulders again.
Then she whispered, “Is that nickname you have indicative of your pure nature?”
He shook his head. “It’s the exact opposite.”
“That’s good. Who wants a saint? I prefer my angels fallen.” Under his cupped palms, she shrugged, her movement sending his hands down the curves of her arms. He couldn’t get over how warm she was. Her skin had an inner glow that seduced him, made him want to pull her close and bury himself in the warmth until he dissolved the cold knot inside him. He slid his palms upward, her warmth drawing him closer and closer.
She retreated back to her closed door, and his hands fell to his sides. Turning back, the drift of her gaze across his skin had him growing heavy and hot. He jammed his clenched fists into the pockets of his now snug jeans.
“Good night, Petty Officer Zach Bartholomew.” The door opened and closed, and he was alone in the hall with a raging hard-on.
The next morning, he was still semi-hard. Damn, he needed to find a ready and willing woman that wasn’t a core piece of his upcoming mission. He really needed to get his head on straight. Walking into the ready room, his eyes went erringly to her. She looked fresh and rested, dressed in a dark T-shirt and a pair of black tactical pants tucked into military style boots, her hair pulled to the side and braided.
She smiled and nodded to him as Anna started to lay out the mission for the evening. When she was done, they all rose as one like a wolfpack that had scented their prey.
They were on the hunt.
3
“Hey,” someone hissed. “Wake up.” Groggy and still working off the effects of his last torture session with Dr. Giggles, 2-Stroke stirred. “Neo! Wake up!” It was a female voice, clearly stressed, keeping her words in a low tone.
He finally snapped awake and turned to look toward the bars of his cell. There was a woman standing there…an amazon from the looks of her. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or she was really there. The key turned in the lock with a grating sound, and he finally realized she was standing outside his cell, and better yet, she was here to rescue him.
He rose. “Who are you? CIA?”
“No, ATF.” She looked over her shoulder, then back at him.
ATF? What the hell—
She must have seen the confusion on his face, and she shook her head. “We don’t have time for introductions or explanations. I drugged Darko, and he’s not going to be out long. Your friends are on the way.” The door swung open with a squeak, and he pushed to his feet, gasping as his muscles cramped.
She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “Here’s a map out of here. Your team will be coming in from the south. Head that way.” She pointed to the paper, trailing along the maze out of the compound.
He was overjoyed to hear that the team was on the way, but there was one problem. An insurmountable one. “Where’s Chry?”
“I haven’t found her yet. That’s my next task. Now, move.”
Her voice sounded far away, like she’d dropped into a hole. He stood his ground, grabbing her arm. She paused and looked back at him. “I’m not leaving without Chry.”
“You won’t have to. I’m going to find her and get her out.” She shoved a bottle of water into his hands and two power bars. He opened the cap and drank, then started on the power bars. “You leave and rendezvous with your team. Those were my instructions. I’d say it was an order.”
“I don’t think I made myself clear,” he said, narrowing his eyes and dropping his voice. “I’m not leaving without Chry.”
She sighed and said under her breath, “Alpha males.” Reaching down, she grabbed the sidearm off the dead guard. “Here. Let’s go.”
He checked the magazine and chambered a round, releasing the safety. They moved down the hall, his fatigue replaced by the spike in his adrenaline and the calories from the food keeping his emotions at full throttle. Their escape was close, so close he could almost feel it, touch it. It was there, the distant pulse of freedom, the driving force of it, the chaos barely discernible beneath the beat.
But to leave without Chry and put her life in someone else’s hands—he couldn’t. He’d left her once, probably when she needed him. He’d left because it was going to be too hard for him. Too hard for her. But all he wanted right now was to see her face, see that she was whole and sane.
They had both been receding into the darkness.
The hallways went on and on, and he was beginning to feel like a rat in a maze. Voices would echo eerily then seem to disappear or recede. He shivered in his threadbare clothes, his feet like ice against the uneven and broken floor.
“Where are we?” he whispered.
She paused before the corner that led down another corridor with more cells in complete disintegration, doors missing or hanging from their hinges. Plaster, concrete, and rubble dotted both inside the cells and outside, graffiti on what remained of some of the walls. And the smell. He’d noticed it the moment he awoke in that cell. Death. The stench of it had seeped into the structure like smoke. It lingered here, coating his nostrils and the back of his throat.
“Croatia. We’re in an abandoned prison on an island off the coast, right on the Adriatic Sea.” She did a quick peek around the corner, then said, “He’s left everything in ruin, except for your bank of cells. He has a sumptuous living area that is hidden in all this rundown mess. Gorgeous wood and glass, velvet furnishings, and bedrooms complete with silk and satin. He’s spared no expense.” She ducked around the corner and he followed. “No one would ever think to look for him here. It’s a brilliant hideout and doubles as a good place to hold you hostage.”
She looked at her watch. “They’re landing soon. Can I talk you into leaving to find them?”
He shook his head. “No, let’s get to Chry, and we can all go together.”
“Stubborn and loyal. I hope it doesn’t come back and bite us on the ass.”
“I’d rather die trying to save her than run away and leave her to these fuckers.”
“Fair enough,” she murmured. “I recently lost some colleagues. It’s devastating.”
Chry was more than a colleague. More than a friend. He couldn’t define what she was to him, but it would kill him to leave her to this…evil.
“It took everything I had not to overdose Darko, that bastard. But I’m no assassin.”
“He was to blame?”
“Yes, he gave the order.” They heard voices and crouched down in the dark, listening intently.
He could hear her breathing, slow and steady, and he had to wonder if she knew something about combat breathing. She was a cool cucumber, and he wished like hell that she was somewhere else. He couldn’t handle another person getting killed because of him.
“What is your name?” he whispered as the voices receded.
“Aella Mikos.” She rose and searched down the hall. “Let’s go.”
They moved steadily down the ruined hall. Most of the walls had been at least partially destroyed. He tensed when she swore under her breath and stopped. She was sweating in the cool air, her skin glistening in the dim light from the moonlight that was filtering through a broken part of the roof. She crouched down again and turned to him. “My instincts are telling me that this is too easy. S
he’s up ahead in her cell. But my senses are screaming.”
“We have to chance it.” He leaned around Aella and spied Chry, or what looked like a ragged bundle lying on the floor of the cell. “You said the team was landing. The sooner we get Chry and get to them, the safer we’re all going to be. We have no choice. I’m not leaving without her.” His hands ached to touch her, hold her, and his chest was tight as hell. He wanted to get to her, feel the warmth of her body, know that she was alive. From here, he couldn’t see if she was breathing.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
They rose and started moving again, but a few yards before they reached Chry, Zasha came out of the shadows and pulled Chry up from the floor by her hair. Before the two of them could react, she was against Zasha’s chest, a gleaming knife against her throat.
Zasha grinned like a demon, her eyes looking sunken, the whites ghostly in the filtered light. “Rats don’t get to leave the maze until I say so,” she said.
“Neo!” Chry shouted, and things whooshed out of focus.
Neo! Suddenly he could smell blood. He tried to breathe, but his chest wouldn’t cooperate. His father had held the knife to Riley’s throat and there was nothing that 2-Stroke could do to stop him from dragging it across his neck and throwing him aside like he was trash.
2-Stroke was sweating now, his hands shaking, his stomach protesting, the horror and agony wound tighter as everything whooshed back into the present. It had been so real, the smell, the sounds, the fear. Riley’s blood pumping over the asphalt, wet and red. He gasped now, his breathing out of control, still reeling from the sudden burst of shock, pain, and raw emotion that had seared itself across his brain.
He had no idea if it was the drugs or some form of delayed PTSD, or memories that had been too long suppressed, but he was losing it. Now was not the time, and this was not the place to be unraveling.