Ricochet: Locked & Loaded

by Heather C. Leigh

  Travis shoved her dress up to her waist and straddled her thighs, pressing his heavy weight down on her.

  “No! No, no, no! Travis, don’t do this.” Huge sobs wracked her chest, causing her to sputter and cough.

  “Shut up!” He punched her in the face again.

  Quinn felt her lip split open, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

  Travis tore her panties off in one rough tug. Her eyes too swollen to see, Quinn could hear him unbuckling his belt and lowering his zipper. The sound of each tooth of the zipper unfastening brought her closer to living her worst nightmare.

  Travis held her down and entered her roughly, grunting on top of her like a rutting animal. Quinn’s body was unprepared for the intrusion. She could feel the delicate flesh tearing inside. The sheriff’s badge on his shirt jabbed her in the breast with each hard thrust, a reminder of how absolute his power over her was. It took every molecule of strength to keep quiet, to keep from vomiting all over Travis. She did that once. He kicked her so hard she couldn’t take a deep breath for over a month.

  Silent tears ran freely down her cheeks, burning a path across her skin.

  Funny, Quinn thought, she knew she wouldn’t live much longer if she didn’t do something about Travis. But she wasn’t trained to fight. She didn’t know how to survive situations like this. Quinn was completely and totally helpless.

  The first time Travis hit her, a month after they were married, she knew what her future looked like. Today, the beatings she suffered through? This was exactly how she thought she’d eventually die.

  Chapter 3

  RICK COULD smell the acrid smoke, the singed flesh burning his nostrils. His face was pressed to the ground, debris and rock cutting into his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he could see a halo of fire glowing bright against the pitch-black sky. He vaguely registered the flames that ate through his camos and thermals quickly, seeking out his unblemished skin.

  “Staff sergeant!” His earpiece was filled with his teammates’ calls to him. Rick couldn’t move or speak. His brain was too rattled to form words.

  “Rick! Ricochet! Come in.”

  Leave, he thought to himself. Get Bixby out of here. He knew his team wouldn’t go. They would never leave a man behind. They would find him. Alive or dead, they would find him.

  Rick startled awake with a gasp, sweating. Fucking dreams. It’s been over a year since he left the Marines, two since that night on the mountain, and it played in his mind as if it were only yesterday. His own private movie, shown on a never-ending loop.

  Christ, it never ends.

  Rick glanced over at his bed partner, some blonde chick he picked up at a bar last night. He struggled to remember her name, only recalling that he called her peaches because she tasted like peach Schnapps, most likely because she drank way too much of it at the bar. She was fun, but it was time to go. Rick slid out of bed as quietly as possible, not wanting to have the “thanks it was great, no I’m not going to call you again” conversation. He stretched when he got to his feet, the now familiar pull of tight skin flexing over the back of his left thigh.

  Shit. It was late, or early depending how you thought of it. He never fell asleep at a woman’s house. He never wanted to. Rick knew he was tired, he didn’t realize how tired until now. Constant lack of sleep will do that to a person. The shrink gave him pills, but Rick didn’t do tranquilizers. Years spent as a Marine had him trained to be able to spring into action at a moment’s notice, even from a deep sleep. He refused to let his guard down by being knocked out and helpless by drugs.

  Rick had to be at the gym tomorrow, okay, this morning by eight or Mack would chew his ass up and spit it out before he could even get his first cup of coffee. He quickly dressed and slipped out the door, the thought of a hot shower at his own house giving him more pleasure than the blonde he left in bed.

  “SO, I EXPLAINED everything to you yesterday,” Tucker said to Quinn.

  “Yes, I got it,” she responded. Tucker was taking his job of training her very seriously. Too seriously in Quinn’s opinion. The man never stopped talking, and not in a social, friendly way. It was more of a regurgitation of the employee handbook than an actual conversation.

  “Great. Then I’ll let you get to it. Remember, no unexpected visitors. Ever. If they argue, call me or Mack, but don’t let them past the lobby.”

  Quinn had to hold back the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she smiled at the man and settled in the chair behind her desk. Her desk. She had her first job. Quinn was equal parts excited and terrified. What if she couldn’t do it? She shook her head. Mack wouldn’t have given her the job if he didn’t think she could handle it. Besides, it was nothing more than a glorified receptionist and quasi-housekeeper position for a mixed martial arts training facility. It wasn’t as if she was being asked to do quantum physics.

  By the time she was done with her freak out, Quinn noticed that Tucker had left her to her own devices. Thank god. He was a nice guy, but after two days of his “training”, she was ready to be without her very talkative, very repetitive shadow.

  The phone rang as Quinn booted up and logged onto her computer.

  Taking a deep breath, she answered her very first phone call, saying exactly what Tucker drilled into her—three times. “Sanctum MMA, this is Quinn, can I help you?”

  “Quinn? Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice asked brusquely.

  “I’m the new receptionist. Can I help you?” How rude! Great, she was already making enemies.

  “Put me to Tucker,” he barked.

  “Please hold.”

  Quinn stared at the phone as if it might tell her what this guy’s problem was. Irritated, she picked the handset back up and transferred the call to Tucker’s line, stabbing the button harder than necessary.

  “Jerk,” she muttered.

  “That’s not a very nice way to greet guests.”

  Quinn jumped in her seat, clutching her chest in surprise. She spun the chair around to face the lobby, ready to chastise whoever snuck up on her. Instead of snapping at the offender, her mouth fell open when she got a look at the beautiful man leaning over the counter in front of her desk. He was smiling, looking more like a magazine ad for designer jeans or expensive cologne than someone who would be hanging out in a sweaty gym in Atlanta.

  “I-I wasn’t talking to you.” The gorgeous man lifted an eyebrow. Whoops! “I mean, when I said jerk. Oh my gosh, sorry. I didn’t mean to say it again. Crud.” Quinn sank into her chair, her face burning with embarrassment.

  “It’s alright.” He grinned, showing off two perfect rows of straight, white teeth. “I’m Rick. You must be Quinn. Mack mentioned something about a new employee. Have to tell you though, with a name like Quinn, I was expecting you to be a man.”

  Quinn bristled at Rick’s assumption, straightening up so she would look more professional. “Well, obviously, I’m not a man.”

  Rick’s eyes gleamed, his mouth quirking up in a smirk. “Obviously not, doll,” he drawled as his piercing blue eyes raked over her body lasciviously.

  Quinn didn’t know if she should be flattered or angry at the way Rick devoured her with his gaze or at his patronizing nickname. He was striking— tall, dark, and handsome — with a hint of danger surrounding him. And his eyes! They were the brightest, most unbelievable shade of aquamarine that Quinn had ever seen. They matched the Caribbean blue of the faded T-shirt that stretched over his well-defined chest. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone with eyes like that before. Primitive lust coiled inside her, making her heat up from the inside out.

  Still, even with his stunning perfection and the hormonal reaction she had to him, Rick was kind of irritating, all flirty and good-looking, slinging lines and eyeing Quinn as if she were naked and spread out on a buffet. Definitely a stereotypical bad boy, one Quinn would make sure to stay far away from.

  Yeah, I’ve had enough of the bad boy image to last a lifetime.

  She decided to nip this att
raction in the bud before it started. Quinn made her face blandly neutral as she spoke.

  “Well, if you know Mack, I’m assuming you know your way around so you don’t need me. If you don’t mind.” She forced herself to tear her attention away from the stunning man, turning back to her computer as if he wasn’t the walking, talking image of Adonis.

  “Nice to meet you… Quinn. Be good, doll,” Rick said, a smile evident in his rich voice even though she couldn’t see it.

  A quiet beep let her know that Rick swiped a card through a keypad mounted on the wall, unlocking the sealed door that led further into the facility. She heard the soft click of the door relocking when it closed behind him.

  “Jesus,” Quinn whispered, wanting to fan herself dramatically. Were there really men walking around looking like that? She blinked hard a few times to clear her mind of Rick and his gorgeous eyes, and chest, and biceps, and ass… crud. Inhaling deep to slow down her racing hormones and stop the tingling feelings they inspired, Quinn focused on the figures Mack asked her to enter into the financial spreadsheets.

  Throughout the day, her mind inadvertently kept drifting back to Rick. No, she scolded herself. He was bad news, and bad was not what she needed right now— or ever. Resigned to keeping him firmly in the category of “look but don’t touch”, she continued to work. Her little pep talk seemed to have done the trick. She was proud that she managed to forget about Rick for a whole five minutes.

  RICK HEADED TO the offices at the back of the building. Sanctum, an MMA training facility, was renowned in the fighting world for their world-class experts and varied training techniques. Besides Rick’s Muay Thai skills, they also had a Ju Jitsu titleholder, a champion kick boxer, a Kyokushin karate black belt, a Russian Sambo specialist, and a traditional boxing instructor. Rising MMA hopefuls from all over the world applied to get a chance to train at Sanctum. What they didn’t know, was that each trainer had other skills in their various backgrounds. Skills necessary to carry out Sanctum’s real purpose.

  Rick was dragging badly. He needed coffee, ASAP. He went directly to the break room, following the scent of a fresh pot and poured a cup.

  “Finally! Here we were thinking you were waiting on an engraved invitation, Ricochet.”

  Rick didn’t need to turn away from the break room coffee pot to know who was harassing him.

  “Hey killer, good morning to you too.” Rick stirred some creamer into his mug and leaned back on the counter, facing the huge former Navy SEAL slash Jiu Jitsu expert. “I’m only twenty minutes late. Mack can’t possibly be that angry already.”

  He could, he was probably fuming mad.

  Dane Nolan slid his size fourteen booted feet off of the small break room table and stood up. His six foot four inch frame moved as easily and nimbly as a jungle cat. There was no mistaking that the man was a lethal weapon. It shined in his dark eyes, the shrewd way he took in everything around him, strategizing his exit points and constantly planning for attack every second of every day.

  Right now, this very dangerous man was getting up in Rick’s face, and Rick found it damn amusing.

  “Daney… killer,” Rick said with a smirk as he sipped his coffee, “what are you doing?” Rick loved poking the big man. With Rick’s penchant for silly nicknames and Dane’s utter disdain for them, it was always entertaining to watch his reaction.

  The large blonde man carefully looked Rick up and down, like one would check out a thoroughbred racehorse they were interested in purchasing. He leaned in close, his nose almost touching Rick’s neck, and sniffed.

  Rick didn’t move an inch, but he did watch his co-worker as he invaded his personal space.

  “Just seeing if I could smell the gunpowder, Rick.”

  “Gunpowder?”

  “From your latest ricochet. You know, hit the target, skip out of her bed and on to the next one, leaving destruction in your wake. Mack’s gonna kill you if he finds out that you’re late because you were getting your nuts off.”

  Rick put his free hand on Dane’s wide chest and shoved. “Get out of my face, man.” He couldn’t help but laugh with his friend and coworker. Rick didn’t admit to Dane that he was right about why he was late.

  “Hey,” Dane joked, “you wouldn’t have earned the nickname if it wasn’t true.”

  Rick refilled his mug and followed Dane out of the break room. “Ever stop to think it’s because my name is Rick?”

  Dane stopped in the hall, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “Never. Now c’mon. Mack is waiting to debrief us.”

  “Great,” Rick groaned as they entered the conference room.

  Dane lifted his chin to greet the gruff, fifty-something year-old man sitting at one end of the large table. “Mack.”

  Mack scowled, the lines on his face deepening, before resuming his discussion with a thin but muscular black man who was wearing athletic gear and an Atlanta Braves hat.

  “Good morning,” the man said to Rick and Dane.

  “Price,” Dane responded as he took a seat.

  “Hey Ace.” Rick inclined his head in the man’s direction and sat opposite Dane. Ben Price was ex-FBI who quit the bureau when his partner was killed in the line of duty. He was also a champion boxer, having won several world titles in his youth. His right hook was deadly, a fact that Rick discovered the hard way multiple times. Mack recruited Ben hard when he heard he left the bureau, not letting up until the man agreed to work for him.

  “Alright assholes. Since you’re late, let’s skip the bullshit.” Mack glared down the table at the three men, making sure to give Rick an extra-long frown. “Tucker is in Mission Control, working on a new case. So he won’t be sitting in on this meeting. I’ve already debriefed him, so unless something comes up, he’s getting a pass.”

  Rick sat back in his chair, calm and collected. He’d known Mack for so long, and been the recipient of so much worse than just a disparaging look from him, that he wasn’t phased one bit. In fact, it was damn entertaining to get Mack all riled up. Rick tented his fingers, holding them in front of his lips to hide his smile.

  Howard “Mack” McEvoy had been Rick’s staff sergeant during his sixty-five day initial Marine Corps Recon training at Camp Pendleton. The man had screamed in Rick’s face, humiliated him, ran him until he vomited, forced him to clean the latrines, hell… there wasn’t much Mack hadn’t seen him do.

  After sustaining injuries during a Recon mission in Iraq, Rick was honorably discharged from the Marines. Mack heard about it through the grapevine, and with Rick’s special-ops background, he offered him a job here with his misfit group of ex-military men and spooks.

  “Price here is gonna start.” Mack leaned back and waited for Ben to begin.

  “Okay, so the mission was to extract three Americans— two journalists and one person of high political importance, and one British journalist— from a militant group in southern Turkey on the Syrian border. Locate, liberate, extract. Casualties of rebels acceptable.” Price cleared his throat before continuing. “Result was the removal of all four hostages, alive, with a total of sixteen rebel fatalities. No damage to property, no casualties on our side. Clean in and out.”

  “Okay,” Mack said. “Nolan, your quick summary on the ground.”

  Dane sat up straight in his chair, pulling a paper out of the manila file he had in front of him. “Helo’d in undetected. Hiked half a day to rebel camp. Gathered intel for approximately two days…”

  Rick started spacing out while Dane broke down the three days they spent in Turkey last week. Rick loathed paperwork. His mind was too active to sit at a desk and so was his body. He twitched at the thought of a desk job. Unfortunately, the U.S. government loved paperwork, and they were the main client for their in-demand hired mercenary services. Whenever they did a job for them, it always came with a fuck ton of forms and reports and debriefings. The government used Sanctum to complete their black-ops jobs, jobs that needed to be done, but weren’t exactly “legal”. Mack had built his oper
ation carefully and selectively. It was the best-kept secret in the country. No one knew what they did outside of very high-ranking officials at the Pentagon.

  Over and over throughout the debriefing, Rick’s mind wandered back to Quinn. He couldn’t remember ever having seen a woman that beautiful in person before. Sure, he’d seen gorgeous women. Fucked a bunch of them too. But this girl? She was stunning, and Rick was positive she wasn’t wearing a single bit of makeup to create that look.

  But it was something else about Quinn that drew Rick to her. He wasn’t sure how to define it, she was just… different. There was a delicateness about her, like a fragile porcelain doll, needing to be wrapped up in his arms and protected from the elements and dangers of the world. That’s where he came up with his nickname for her. Rick gave practically everyone he knew a nickname if they didn’t already have one. Doll fit Quinn perfectly. But she was also feisty, immediately dismissing him when he came on too strong. The combination of vulnerable and lively really turned him on for some reason.

  He was in the middle of wondering where she was from and what she would look like naked, when Mack yelled his name.

  “Rick!”

  “Yes chief?” He met Mack’s scowl with a lazy grin.

  “You and Nolan are on your two-week downtime. I’ve got fighters scheduled for you idiots to train during that time. Don’t want you getting all soft on me. Now, get the hell out of here and have your reports typed up and on my desk by tomorrow. Your psych evals are scheduled for Friday.”

  Rick leapt from his chair, eager to see if the girl was still sitting at the front desk. Before he could get one foot out the door, he heard Mack’s voice again.

  “And be nice to Quinn, our new hire. First off, no, she doesn’t know what we really do here. Keep it that way. Second, she’s the daughter of a very close friend of mine that passed away a few years back. She’s like family to me. Don’t fuck with her, she’s one of us now.”

  Rick heard Dane and Ben immediately acquiescence to Mack’s demand, but he had no doubt that the warning was really for him. Mack knew Rick’s reputation and almost certainly didn’t want him going anywhere near his friend’s daughter. Unfortunately, Rick didn’t think he could stay away from the intriguing new receptionist with the wide amber eyes.