Fighting For Olivia

by Zoë Normandie

  Ryder knew the ugly truth. He had to shut her out emotionally. It was the only way. A crush was stupid. Sex was stupid. He needed to focus. He had a commander to disrupt and a mission to run. He had to focus on keeping his men alive, and keeping himself alive in order to protect them. On operation, if any part of his mind got distracted by what she inspired in him, he’d be dead.

  A case in point: “We’ve got company.” John spoke quickly into the mic, barely audible over the engine even through the earpiece.

  “Shit,” Ryder replied, only then observing the faded and beat-up red truck full of men carrying guns. It moved quickly out of a war-torn compound to the left and came up from behind them.

  “Stay on the shoulder,” Ryder ordered, immediately criticizing himself for not catching it sooner.

  Exhaling three times and narrowing his line of sight, the experienced operator did what he had to do to survive. Olivia was gone from his mind. No more. Enough. Ryder switched on and dug into the zone. He kept his finger on the trigger of his assault rifle and began envisioning different scenarios and how he would react to each one. Prepare. Prepare. Prepare. No surprises.

  The loud red truck with a bunch of bad-looking dudes in the back closed the gap behind them. The crew pretended they hadn’t seen Ryder or John. But Ryder had already seen their massive assault rifles and bulletproof vests.

  They’d come to party.

  “Fuck me,” John said. “They aren’t going to let us through, are they?” He nodded to the dusty road that stretched around the town, bringing them closer to their destination.

  Ryder switched his radio station over and growled into his mic. “Tango Foxtrot.”

  All he heard in return was static. Feverishly switching the station back to the one he shared with John, he seethed about the fucking comms on that deployment. Goddamn. Of course when he needed to get a hold of the teams, the comms were spotty.

  Ryder shook his head and said to John, “Make a way through.”

  John nodded obediently, but things were looking tight. Locals were milling about under the hot sun, getting through the day. They didn’t have a lot of leeway, and Ryder didn’t want to give the snake a reason to scorch earth.

  “No losses,” Ryder snapped, reminding the special warfare operator of what he already knew.

  “Yes, sir.” John nodded, his face dead serious.

  Enemy militants advanced hard, slamming the back of Ryder’s truck. Instinctively, John hit the gas and hurtled forward, slipping through a dirt passageway between compounds to the right. It seemed they’d shaken their tail, because the red truck disappeared, but Ryder knew better.

  Weaving back up to the main road, they weren’t far from the waypoint. They just had to fucking get there to rejoin the crew. Then they’d have backup. They carried on down the road unobstructed until they were stopped by a traveling caravan of farmers bringing crops to the market. Pedestrians and locals on bicycles whizzed past their truck on the busy side streets.

  Ryder held his gun tightly, feeling deep unease with their vulnerable position. They were sitting ducks—open to ambush in the middle of the busy town road.

  Was the snake finally trying to kill him? Christ.

  “We’ve got to move. Can’t stay here,” he barked at the driver as he spotted a group of surly locals watching them.

  “It’s too tight—I can’t move,” John said anxiously, knowing exactly what the risk was and scanning for a way out.

  “Fuck.” Ryder growled as he saw one of the locals flash an assault rifle underneath his robes. “Move. We’ve got to move.”

  Ryder could see the waypoint up ahead—it was so goddamn close. A SEAL team held position in trucks nestled covertly by stone walls, waiting for Ryder and John.

  Just as John attempted to hit the gas, a young child escaped his mother’s side and darted across the dirt road. Ryder immediately grabbed the wheel, and John hit the brakes. Whipping around, the child looked up with wide eyes, realizing that he had come face-to-face with the grill of their black truck.

  “This kid has got to fucking move,” John snapped at him desperately, observing the local with the assault rifle mounting his weapon to fire.

  The mother, realizing what was happening, screamed at her child to return to her side, but chaos ensued as the local with the rifle started spraying bullets at the truck.

  “Shit!” Ryder jumped quickly out of the side of the truck, lunging over to where the kid was.

  He grabbed the kid’s arm and whipped him to the side—back into his mother’s safe grasp. As he turned to look back up at John, an explosion louder than a rocket launch went off in front of the truck.

  Brash. Searing. Painful.

  Blackness closed in all around him as brutal pain spread through his body. As his sight failed, the lingering smell of blood and burning was the last thing he remembered.

  16

  Fitfully, in some sort of haze, his mind rolled footage of Olivia like an old-fashioned camera. She was crossing and uncrossing her legs as she sat in front of him. Her gorgeous berry lips were sipping on coffee. She flicked her ponytail back and around. It was long. She was playful. His senses intermittently failed him, but even in the darkness he felt her—gentle, supple, and feminine.

  Delicious.

  As images flashed across his eyes, Ryder saw his hand reach out and touch her long, silky ponytail. She turned to him and laughed. It was the most tempting thing he’d ever seen.

  Next thing he saw, she was naked in front of him, smiling over her shoulder. Her glasses were on. Her lips were red.

  He pulled her hair as he thrust into her. She loved it. She begged for it harder. He complied, of course. It didn’t take long before she was nearing her climax, and that’s when he knew it was all a dream.

  His mind went black again, and the fantasy vanished.

  17

  Ryder woke in a semi-lucid state as enemy combatants screaming in Arabic tried to lift him off the ground. The scent of gushing blood and explosive smoke filled the air. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening, but he knew he was in danger. His life was on a knife’s edge. He couldn’t get at his gun. He reached for it. He tried to grab it, but not fast enough—one of the militants jumped at him and picked up his rifle.

  The world went black again.

  It could have been hours, days, years. Ryder came to again, and his men were holding him down in the back of a pickup truck. Fiery, red-hot pain burned through his body. How long had it been? Where was John?

  Where is Olivia?

  The master chief cried out, but it sounded distant and unattached. He tasted blood. It was in his mouth. Between his teeth. His tongue was heavy. It was hard to swallow.

  The sun above burned his eyes. Loud gunshots continued from inside the truck and outside.

  Then, nothing. He was in and out of consciousness. Retreating into his mind, he didn’t know if he was awake or not.

  Mom—she was all he could see. His sweet, pious, kind mom who’d loved him and believed in him more than anyone, stolen from him too soon. The cancer that rocked her body spread quickly, like the pain he felt now. He never got to say goodbye. He’d been deployed.

  His eyes were closed, and though he wished it were real, he knew it was all a dream. A dying wish. To see her again. Hear her. Smell her. Childhood memories of lavender and vanilla and love…

  “He’s losing a lot of blood!” It was the familiar shout of a junior SEAL. “Why the fuck did he get out of the truck?”

  “He was protecting that kid. Throwing away his own goddamn life in the process.” It was John’s voice, close but muffled, like a conversation through water. “Like he does for fucking everyone…”

  Follow-up cursing could be heard, signaling to Ryder that he was in bad shape. In a moment of clarity, Ryder asked himself if he was going to make it. Surely he had a one way ticket to hell for everything he had done. He was sure as shit not going to the same place his mom went. The service to his country, the things that
he had done right, the lives he had saved—none of it counterbalanced the bad, and he damn well knew it. It didn’t matter what Blackshot said—following orders wasn’t a fucking excuse when it came to illegal actions.

  The truck bounced up and down, heightening his pain, draining whatever lucidity he had. His body was shutting his mind down, unable to cope with the hurt. More explosions could be heard, and he knew it could be the end. He was beginning to choke on his own blood.

  His mind replayed his final scene with Olivia, and he deeply regretted the path he’d chosen with her. She was the last fucking person that deserved to be shut out. They had a deal, and he needed her.

  If only he’d acted sooner, she could have helped him atone for his sins. But now, she was just another woman he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to…

  And then he blacked out again, wondering what the hell the afterlife was going to look like for him.

  ABOUT ONE YEAR EARLIER

  The sandstorm was beginning to subside as Ryder made his way through the Northern Malian city held by rebels. Carnage and burnt vehicles were everywhere. The conflict between the rebels and locals had caused significant damage in that part of the city.

  They were finishing an operation, and his senior chief reportedly had the targets in his custody. Ryder didn’t like how that sounded.

  “Hold tight. I’m coming in,” Ryder said into his earpiece, directing Blackshot to fucking stay put.

  As he approached Blackshot’s coordinates, he came across a junior SEAL taking a knee behind a burnt-out car. Mason Ajax. Was he vomiting?

  Ryder removed a water from his kit and knelt beside him. “Hey, bud.” He spoke softly, handing Ajax the water.

  The guy didn’t look good. Ryder looked around as the storm subsided, and he could see Blackshot up ahead as well as some of the other SEALs. They didn’t have a cleanup crew on this one—it was all them.

  “Put your head down.” Ryder held the back of Mason’s neck.

  He checked his pulse and timed his heartbeat, just to be sure. As he counted Mason’s pulse, Ryder looked up and saw Blackshot again. He was using his knife on targets who were already dead. What the fuck was he doing?

  “It’s a fucking disgrace,” Ryder grumbled.

  Mason nodded his head in agreement, but he had no words. Ryder saw how shaken the young man was. He knew what Blackshot had done. What Fuller had ordered him to do. The targets were barely men, and once Blackshot had captured and disarmed them, they were all executed.

  We don’t take prisoners. Especially when there’s no cleanup crew. Ryder heard Fuller’s voice in the back of his head. Words he’d spoken again and again. Words that Ryder disagreed with.

  He gave Mason another reassuring pat on the back and stood up.

  “Buddy.” He nodded and then added quietly, “Be careful.” With that, Ryder turned and headed in the direction of Fuller. The lieutenant commander crunched over the debris and met Ryder partway.

  “What the fuck is this?” Ryder growled, looking at the dead enemies at the feet of the senior chief. “This is wrong. We don’t do this.”

  Fuller stared at him, daring him to say more. “We do—it’s policy. These are my direct orders,” Fuller sneered. “It had to be done.”

  “No, it fucking didn’t. They were dead.”

  Fuller took a step toward Ryder, challenging him. “Were you there? Did you see them die?” the commander hissed aggressively. “This is how we deal with enemies: we fucking kill them.”

  Ryder stared back defiantly. He knew he was walking a fine line that could lead to charges. You did not question your commanding officer at the height of combat. Then again, officers at his level usually weren’t in combat.

  There was a reason why this commander felt the need to be on site, pressuring his men to finish the job.

  The senior chief called out to them and pointed at a few enemy combatants in the distance who were trying to escape.

  The commander looked back at his master chief. “Finish them.”

  “They are retreating.” Ryder stood his ground. “There are rules.”

  “I don’t give a fuck.” The yellowing man took one threatening step forward into Ryder’s space. “You let them run, and they’ll kill your buddy tomorrow.”

  “This is wrong, and we aren’t doing this.” Ryder nodded toward Blackshot, who stood over executed detainees. “I’m not here for this.”

  “Or what? You’ll call NCIS?” Fuller said through gritted teeth. “Sit down, friend. I’m not letting my men become target practice just because you can’t handle your job.”

  “They were fucking captives.”

  “We don’t take prisoners,” the commander reminded him again, motioning to a few junior SEALs off to the side. “I’m not losing this war.”

  The snake was ordering them to fire on the retreating combatants.

  Fuck. How had their values diverged so far? Ryder felt like screaming. Shouting. Punching.

  Gazing left and right at his men, Ryder saw a horror scene. Jake stood in shock at what the fuck was happening while Mason knelt behind a car, trying to revive himself. The junior SEALs began taking position near their senior chief to snipe the enemy’s retreat. Things had gotten far, far out of hand.

  Gritting his teeth and marching over to the snipers, Ryder make a promise to protect his men from this dumpster fire, so they didn’t have to feel what he felt every day.

  They stood down upon his order, and he replaced them, aiming his rifle in the direction of the fleeing militants. It was then or never. He had to do something cowardly, unthinkable, and just fucking wrong. As he squeezed the trigger, he felt the trust he once had for his leader disappear entirely.

  The snake was no longer his leader—he was his enemy. Irredeemable.

  The standard you walk past is the standard you accept.

  18

  Ryder woke up, feeling deep pain all over his fucking body. He was on a stretcher of sorts in a shadowy, gray room with blinking lights and beeping noises. And he wasn’t wearing what he’d had on… before… before what?

  What the fuck happened? Have I been abducted by aliens?

  Coming to, he realized that he was in a military med bay, possibly the only fate worse than alien abduction. Even worse, he was back on base, under the command of one piece of burning shit.

  Christ. He should have just croaked.

  Exhaling a long, painful-as-hell breath, Ryder rolled onto his side with a great deal of searing discomfort. He had to piss like he had drunk his body weight in liquor and not released in three days.

  Is that what had happened? Was it all just a giant hangover gone wrong? It sure as shit felt that way.

  Heaving himself up and nearly passing out from the agony of whatever the fuck was wrong with his body, he shuffled his way over to the piss tank and sink in the corner of the room, finally relieving himself. Someone had place a couple of cups by the sink, full of water and mouthwash. He tended to that shit quick, desperate for anything to make him feel human again.

  Before he could keel over from the hurt, he grabbed the edge of the sink and caught his ragged breath. By that point, he didn’t even want to know what the damage was—it obviously wasn’t good.

  Inhaling slowly, he sensed movement nearby. Two familiar eyes peered around the metal door to the small room. Even in the dim lighting, he could see that they were big, brown, and beautiful, with dark lashes like fanned feathers. Serious brows were snapped together in concern.

  “Ryder?” Olivia timidly stepped around the door and closed it behind her. “Oh my god, you’re alive.”

  Her feminine voice filled the space between them, and nothing ever sounded sweeter. She took four big steps toward him as he stood there, clutching the metal sink for support.

  “Oh my god. I was so…” Her voice trailed off, and she blinked rapidly up at him. She appeared to be in the same daze he was. As he looked down at her mouth, the memory of what had happened to him began flooding back in. The
explosion. The op. The trucks.

  “I was so worried you had died,” she breathed softly, like she was confiding a secret.

  But it wasn’t a surprise—he had worried that he had died, too. And he had worried that he would never be able to finish what he’d started with Olivia. Struggling with what he could have lost, Ryder reached out and brushed a lock of chocolate-brown hair away from her cheek. Her lips parted, and he inhaled her. He drank her in. She was so goddamn beautiful.

  If he had died, everything he had seen and done, and all the reasons why, would die with him. He trailed his hand down her cheek and grasped the back of her neck gently.

  He’d never told anyone what had happened. He needed to speak his truth. Someone needed to know. Heads needed to roll for what they had done.

  He wound an arm around her back and pulled her closer. He tilted her chin at the perfect angle. She fought nothing, and seemed to know exactly what her fate was.

  Using every muscle he had, he brought her mouth to his. And he did exactly what he’d dreamed of doing—he kissed her. It was gentle at first, a reminder of how they’d grown to care about each other, but it didn’t take long for their mutual sexual frustration to express itself. His tongue found its way into her mouth, meeting hers for the first time, and he desperately lapped up her taste.

  Her body submitted, and her muscles relaxed, pressing into him, which he loved despite pain. All that mattered was her lips on his. Her taste. Her gorgeous round mouth. It was better than he imagined. No painkiller could beat it.

  It energized him when she moaned in response. He kissed her harder. The sounds of her pleasure filled him in a way he’d never thought possible. He loved how she responded to him, and his cock hardened.