Flash of Fury

by Lea Griffith

  “I’m going to follow you, but only so far and so long before you answer some questions,” she said, infusing as much determination into her voice as her tired body would allow.

  He didn’t say a word, just nodded. It was enough for Allie in that moment. His nod was more reassurance than any words he could have spoken. She didn’t know why, only that it absolutely was.

  He gave her time for one more deep breath, and then he started out at a fast clip, dodging trees and holes the rain had dug into the sodden earth. Before long, they were running full out. King kept his pace slower so she could keep up. She was a short woman, and his long legs had been designed to eat up the ground beneath him.

  Allie was in decent shape but discovered her cardio was severely lacking. She’d hiked all over Africa, Cameroon especially, but she was sorely unprepared for this sprint to safety. She did her best, stumbling occasionally, but by the time the trees broke and they came to a dirt road, she was practically wheezing.

  The rain was falling harder now, and she slipped as he slowed down and came to a stop. She hit his back and slid to her knees slowly.

  He turned suddenly, pushing her belly-down into the mud, shoving her pack to the side, and falling on top of her.

  “Men ahead,” he whispered.

  She lifted her head as far as his smothering body would allow and caught a glimpse of flashlights in the distance.

  “Friendly?”

  He put his mouth at her ear. “Negative. Nobody is friendly except me right now, Allie. Remember that. I need you to stay here. Do. Not. Move. You clear?”

  His voice was hard. The man had several different tones—this was his do-what-I-say-and-you’ll-live one.

  “Clear,” she whispered.

  He was a big man, and with him spread over her prone form, she felt safer than she had in years. Ironic that there were people a few meters away who would probably shoot them on sight but she felt…protected.

  “You’ve got the SIG and several rounds in your pack. If I’m not back in five minutes, crawl back to the edge of the woods and wait there. Shoot to kill, because if they take you, that means I’m dead. These men are killers, Allie. Understand?”

  His mouth brushed her ear with every word. She shivered before nodding.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, and then he was gone.

  Allie was left with darkness and a crying sky. She was soaked, and as she positioned her pack on her back again, she brought up her arm and glanced at her watch. He had four minutes left.

  A shot and a grunt to her left had her gathering herself to flee.

  Three minutes.

  Another dull thump followed by a man’s short scream, and Allie felt her eyes burn. Terrible time to bawl, a suck-ass time, really, but the tears threatened and fell, mixing with the cold rain and leaving her gasping silently for breath.

  She searched through her watery eyes and the darkness for a hint of King. He represented safety, and if she couldn’t see him, feel him, she was lost. How quickly that had happened. She trusted him, and he’d become her only source for safety. Shivers tore through her body. Allie recognized shock was setting in but could do nothing to stop her slow slide into that state.

  A sound behind her had Allie reaching under her body for the gun in her waistband. She pulled it out slowly, hoping the darkness hid her movement. Survival instincts kicked in, and everything sharpened. Her sight cleared, and the raindrops slowed in her limited field of vision. The clouds thinned, and muted moonlight filtered through, blanketing the world in a hazy light.

  She was going to have to dance with death.

  There was another step in her direction, and the ground seemed to tremble. The SIG had a round chambered, but the safety was on. She thumbed it off and grabbed a handful of mud with her other hand.

  Her father had taught her to shoot and play dirty when she’d been a teenager. His lessons had stuck.

  Would she get a chance to tell him good-bye?

  A foot touched hers as a light flashed, illuminating the ground in front of her.

  “Get up,” a man yelled.

  Allie turned, slinging the mud in the direction of her attacker’s eyes as she lifted her weapon and fired shot after shot. Once she started, she couldn’t stop, reflexively emptying the clip into the man’s body.

  The light he held blinded her for a second as he fell toward her, his knee in her gut pushing her back into the mud. Deadweight. She’d killed him. Bile rose and her stomach heaved. She was a killer.

  She keened, recognized the sound for what it was. She’d become a wounded animal. Safety. Where was King?

  Two more shots were fired at a distance as she scrabbled from underneath the dead man. Sobs racked her throat. They were inhuman, grunting sounds that she tried to quiet but just could not.

  “Allison!”

  She knew that voice and turned to it. King. He slid to his knees at her feet, checking her with his eyes and hands for injury. “Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m good,” she forced past her dry lips.

  Bucketfuls of water had dropped from the clouds, but her lips were dry.

  King stood, took her hand and placed it on his belt loop, and said, “We need to move, Allie. More are coming.”

  Her only thought as she began to move with him, slipping and sliding in the mud but following his tracks to an SUV, was that she really liked when he called her Allie.

  In the darkness, she couldn’t tell the color or the make of the SUV, but once King pushed her into the passenger’s side, she collapsed against the seat and covered her face.

  She was responsible for taking a life when all she’d ever wanted to do was teach people how to live.

  King climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine coughed and finally turned over. He cursed and reached for her trembling hand, enfolding it in his big, warm mitt as he began to drive.

  He squeezed her hand, and she turned to him. His mouth was moving, but it took her a minute to understand the words.

  “There are—”

  Something pinged through her door and fire streaked across her side, stealing her breath. She pressed her free hand to her side and groaned. That hurt.

  “Goddamn it, Allie!”

  She pushed the black back. His voice carried a note she’d not heard yet—desperation.

  “What did I do?” she asked, fighting the burning agony in her side.

  “Hold on,” he bit out as he stepped on the accelerator and the SUV responded, gurgling once before shooting forward.

  The pain was vicious. Long, fire-tipped claws ripping into her side. Her hand was wet and warm. This was not good.

  “I think the bastards shot me,” she whispered.

  “How bad is it?” King demanded.

  “Well, how would I know?”

  “Talk to me, Redding. I’ve got to know—is it a graze?”

  The pain took a backseat. “McNally, I’m a Peace Corps volunteer, not a field medic. It hurts. That’s what I know. It fucking hurts. Now stop asking me questions and drive.”

  “You’ve got a foul mouth, Ms. Redding,” he murmured.

  “Have you ever been shot?”

  He nodded, releasing his death grip on her hand as the road became treacherous. Allie felt every bump, her breath halting in her lungs as throbbing ripped through her.

  “I think I’m losing blood,” she said. She had no idea if she really was, but something felt sticky on her side.

  “I know, baby. Hold on for me, okay? I can’t stop yet. Just keep talking to me,” he ordered.

  “Don’t call me baby. And it hurts to talk.” It did.

  “Talk to me anyway, Allie. That’s an order.”

  She glanced up, watching the lights from the vehicle slice through the rain and night. Everything blurred, a high-pitched noise sounded in her ears, and obliv
ion threatened.

  “Don’t you dare pass out on me, Redding. I don’t have time for it.”

  There were pretty, floating things in her periphery, and the pain was fading to a dull pulse. “Pretty floaties are good, right?”

  “No! That’s not good,” he said.

  His face in the low lights of the interior was hard. Grooves cut into his cheeks at the corners of his mouth—from frowning, she was sure. The man really needed to laugh more. “I’ll do whatever I have to do, Redding, to keep you from wimping out on me here.”

  “Wimping out? I’ve been shot!” Well, it burned, but when she moved, it didn’t feel that deep. Now that she was thinking a tad more clearly, she recalled the sound of the bullet embedding in the floorboard, glove compartment, or whatever. So at least it wasn’t lodged inside her. Although just the thought—or the blood loss—made that familiar darkness creep along her periphery again.

  She had a sneaking suspicion that terror was making her pain worse.

  “Look at me, Allie! Look. At. Me.”

  She did as he ordered. She had no choice really. Something in his voice tugged at her mind and refused to let it go. “I don’t want to look at you.”

  “But you will.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “You’re not going to pass out, are you? Don’t. I need you here with me. A few more miles, and I’ll pull over and take care of you, okay? Hold on,” he commanded.

  Several moments of silence passed as she tried to do just that. The pain was there, but somehow her mind was overriding it. Her instincts, the same ones that had allowed her to kill that man minutes ago, demanded she do what King was ordering her to do.

  “Seriously,” she began, “why King?”

  His mouth tugged up, and she became fascinated with the lushness of his lower lip. She was going to blame her predilection with his lips on the pain. Because between the mad dash, the brutal attack, and oh yeah, getting shot, the last thing she should be noticing was his LMAO lips. They hit a particularly nasty bump in the road, and she cried out. King cursed.

  “Focus on me, baby. Look at me.”

  The insistence in his voice was too much to ignore, but Allie was wading through drying concrete. Why was he calling her baby? It made her want to smile like a moron. “I hurt,” she said and winced at the whine in her voice. “Oh, God, I’m totally wimping out.”

  He grabbed her hand and placed her palm on his cheek. “Focus on me.” When she looked at him, he started back up. “You wanna know why they call me King?”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled, fighting the fear like a damn prizefighter. The pain wasn’t so bad anymore, but she was tired—a bone-deep weariness that made her want to give over to the shock and exhaustion. She’d like to pretend this day had never happened.

  He sighed, and for some reason, that had her smiling. She frustrated him. That was a good thing.

  “I was bestowed a kingdom.”

  She snorted, but her lips curved even more. “Of course you were.”

  “You don’t buy that?” he asked.

  Another delicate snort and “Not for a second.”

  He smiled but continued. “My full name is Kingston McNally. It got shortened to King by my master chief in SEAL BUD/S training. He said I was a smart-ass motherfucker, but I ruled my unit like a king on a throne. Said my guys followed me because I talked to ’em with the voice of authority. So the shortened version stuck.”

  “Huh, who’d a thunk it? Someone else recognizing your imperialistic nature.”

  Her eyes were getting heavier. It was becoming hard to hold her head up and look at him, no matter how hot he was. She was in shock.

  “Just hold on another mile, and I’ll check you out. Look at me, Allie. Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.”

  The car stopped moving, and her stomach rebelled. She groaned and slapped a hand over her mouth.

  She heard him get out, but her eyes refused to open again. Her door did open though. She felt him probing her side, and then he cursed before pulling her into his arms. She cut off another groan by force of will but cried silent tears that rolled down her face like hot lava.

  “Don’t cry, baby. Not now. I’ve got you,” he said in a gruff voice as he wiped her face.

  She breathed in through her nose and out her mouth as he placed her on the ground where he’d laid some type of tarp over the dirt. “I’m okay.”

  He grunted. His palms brushed her abdomen as he pulled her shirt up. “Not really the way I envisioned you getting your hands under my shirt,” she said to the sky.

  “So what you’re saying is you’ve given it some thought. You’re admitting you want my hands under your shirt. Why, Ms. Redding, you sure do move fast.”

  “I admit to nothing.”

  She felt him lift the shirt farther. “Thank you, God. It’s just a flesh wound,” he whispered. “You’ve been caterwauling for miles over a skid mark.”

  Allie grimaced. “It hurts.”

  “You’re a wimp.”

  She wanted to shrug. Tried, she was sure, but had no idea if she affected the gesture or not. “I’m not a wimp, weenie, whiner, or any other w-word you want to throw at me.”

  He groaned and then laughed. “You’re crazy.”

  “And you’re the king. How deep is it?” she asked.

  “I’m going to give you my belt. I want you to bite down because this is going to hurt.”

  “Like a mother—” she began.

  “Ah-ah-ah, watch the potty mouth,” he cautioned. Then he shrugged. “But yeah, maybe that bad.”

  She found the strength to open her eyes once more. He’d turned his headlamp on but had it twisted down and to the side so it wouldn’t blind her. “How deep is it?”

  He shook his head as he placed his belt in her mouth and stroked her cheek once before he looked at her hard. “Bite down.”

  She did, and he went probing, pressing on the wound and cursing. “It’s not too deep. It may need a few stitches, I’m not sure. My main worry is fever from any possible infection you might get.”

  A tear leaked from her eye. She pushed the belt from her mouth with her tongue, gasping for breath and trying to slay the dragon burying its talons in her body. “Can you close it now?”

  He shook his head. “I’m going to use some QuikClot to stanch the bleeding completely, and I think I have some antibiotics in my kit. We have another hour and a half before we reach Kribi. Once we’re there, I’ll work on you.”

  He bit open a QuikClot packet, poured the crystals over her wound, and pressed some gauze over that.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled. The pain continued to fade, and she breathed deeply.

  He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  “All I wanted—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said with a grin. “McDonald’s fries and a mani-pedi.”

  She smiled. He’d heard her back on the plane. She should probably tell him… “None of this is really your fault. I don’t think so anyway.”

  He didn’t respond. He put her back in the vehicle, and she felt him swabbing the upper part of her arm. The prick of the needle was nothing compared to the pain in her side. The floaties were back, bright silver and blue, swirling in front of her eyes and taunting her with rest.

  “That’s the antibiotic. You can rest now, Allie.”

  She heard the sounds of him putting everything away, and then he settled once more into the vehicle. Several moments passed, but she was too damn tired to open her eyes. Then the heat of his palm aligned with hers, and he said, “I’ve got you,” his deep voice rumbling, soothing.

  “It’s funny but I absolutely know you do, Kingston McNally,” she responded and then between one breath and the next, she huddled under the blanket of darkness, letting it take her down, down, down…

  Chapter 6

  Al
lie’s words taunted King. The sound of them replayed over and over in his ears as he laid her seat back and covered her with the warming blanket. It was hotter than four hells outside, even in the rain, but with her wound, she could move farther into a state of shock. Her pulse was fine, and he allowed himself a few moments to linger over the soft skin of her neck and jaw before he pulled away and shut her door.

  He gathered up the first aid kit and settled it on the floor of the Rover before getting in and continuing the journey to Kribi.

  I absolutely know you do. Yeah, those words put a hole in his gut. She’d been in his care when she was shot. He’d only known her a few hours, and she’d been hurt repeatedly. It was unacceptable.

  No matter what her familial ties were, she was King’s responsibility.

  He took a deep breath, constantly checking the rearview mirrors for any sign they were being followed. He’d taken a circuitous route around Douala proper but didn’t feel the knot at the back of his neck loosen until he had them traveling southwest toward Kribi.

  The rain slowed, and fatigue pulled at King. His eyes felt like they had sand in them. Cars were sparse, so he turned on the dash light periodically to check her breathing and to keep himself awake. Her face was pale, the heart-shaped curves no less breathtaking. Her eyelids flinched whenever he turned on the light, so he was quick to assess and cut it back off.

  Her hand trembled in his, and he refused to look too deeply into the reason why he wanted to maintain that contact with her.

  He needed to get her to safety, was contemplating the best way to do that when his sat phone beeped. King released her hand and pulled it from his pocket.

  “Yeah?”

  “Dresden and Savidge are making moves, King,” Jude Dagan’s deadened voice said into his ear.

  Jude was one of his best men. King still wondered if he might lose him, because Jude had lost something more precious than the air he breathed—he’d lost his woman. That busted op in Beirut had taken so much from them all, but it had taken Ella from Jude. That she’d been their traitor made his loss even more unimaginable.