Enemy Mine (The Base Branch Series Book 1)

by Megan Mitcham

  The culmination of her life’s work was about to be achieved. The Devil of her every nightmare was about to get his comeuppance. She was about to be free.

  “With your right hand use two fingers to remove the necklace holding the code key. Then place it on the center of your desk and take two steps back.”

  At the words, “code key,” the almighty Devereaux Kendrick blanched, turning as white as her cocktail dress.

  Yep, it’s there all right.

  He’d just raised his quivering hand from his side when a series of shots resonated in the hallway outside the door.

  “Hands by your side. And don’t you move. I’m not the one who wants you alive. So don’t push me.”

  Sloan moved around the desk, prodding Devereaux ahead of her. Behind the thick wooden workspace she faced the door with his body in between. She kept the gun trained on his head, but her heart wrenched itself out of her chest and flew to the door, ready to help Baine any way she could.

  Her grip on the pistol tightened, as did the pull on her heart. Stay and deal with Devereaux or go help Baine? There had never been an easier decision in her entire life.

  34

  Baine followed his heart up the steps, gun drawn, ready to walk through the fiery pits of hell for the woman he loved. Adrenaline rode him hard, a jockey relentlessly cropping his ass, insisting he reach his goal. But before he got his butt shot off, he took over the reins of his own body. One deep breath eased the hitch in his chest. Another full inhale quieted the roaring pump of his blood and calmed the rapid cadence of his heart.

  His steps slowed at the top of the staircase, imitating Sneaky Feet. As he reached the apex not even a tiny rasp of fabric could be heard. Baine flattened himself to the wall and waited. He strained his hearing for any movement or talking beyond his location.

  Nothing.

  His left foot rose to move, but a sudden churning in his gut told him to stay put. The quiet was unnatural. Static. Baine eased a tiny mirror from a pocket of his vest and crouched low. At the corner of the top stair he adjusted the reflective surface to the correct angle then edged it toward a view of the corridor.

  Close McCord. Too close.

  Had he catapulted to the visceral need to reach Sloan as quickly as possible and leapt into the hallway like a crazed fool, he’d have been creamed. Two guards, one closer than the other, stood statue-still at the end of the hallway, subs at the ready. He had not a freaking clue what they were doing. Waiting for him? Kobi?

  With no time to waste Baine exchanged the mirror for a flashbang, pulled the pin, and tossed the stun grenade around the corner. About a second after the sound of its landing livened the silence its boom discharged. Before the reverberations died down, Baine uncoiled his muscles, planning to take the guards out as he steered directly for Devereaux’s bedroom three doors down across the hall.

  Plans often have a way of falling apart.

  As soon as Baine rounded the corner, revealing his entire body for target practice, he keyed in to three alarming facts. One, the fucking banger had rolled into the second open doorway. Two, only one of the guards blinked and swatted at his eyes like they were on fire. Third, the barrel of the other man’s sub aimed somewhere between Baine’s gut and kneecaps.

  He hadn’t even fully flatfooted it in the hallway when he threw himself toward the closest bedroom. About the time he became horizontal in the air the sound of automatic fire spat. Searing metal slammed into his body.The damn thing brought tears to his eyes.

  When he landed, his Reeder kept sliding across the varnished wood and disappeared under a large canopy bed. Too bad Baine didn’t follow it. He stopped with a thud, half in and half out of cover.

  Down the hall he heard Kobi scream, “Finish him!”

  Where the bloody fuck had that prick been hiding?

  Move it, McCord! End this shit and get to Sloan.

  His left leg didn’t seem to hear the order. It just lay there. Numb as an Eskimo’s tit. Baine used his elbows and right leg, snaked into the room, and slammed the door behind him.

  The room was smaller than most in the house. He’d been in it for recon once before and knew the door to his left led to a Jack-and-Jill bathroom. The door to the right went to a small walk-in closet. Above the bed a long window stretched up to the ceiling, the only one in the room.

  Baine glanced down at his leg. A small hole in his slacks showed at the side of his quad. No direct hit to the bone. Not much blood, yet. He’d live, if he could get the hell off the floor and finish asshole one and asshole two before they finished him. Then he had to get to Sloan.

  With gritted teeth, Baine stood using a bedpost and his good leg for leverage. He hobbled toward the twenty decorative pillows littering the bed. Shoving them aside, he climbed onto the soft down, unlatched the window, and swung it wide. There was no place to go. Except thirty feet straight down. But they wouldn’t know that.

  He retreated to the V of the room sandwiched between the hinges for the bathroom and hallway doors. With no chance at retrieving his gun from under the bed, Baine pulled the last blade from his vest.

  Baine had no gun and jack to hide behind. Nothing to stop another bullet. All he had was hope. That vicious bitch.

  About ten seconds had ticked by when the bathroom and hallway knobs turned. In sync, the men moved into the room at the pace of a grocery store clerk. The short barrels peeked around the dark wood door. Then their hands came into view.

  Baine aimed high on the bathroom door. As soon as the dark hair and skin of a forehead showed, Baine launched the knife. It caught the man in the temple and he slumped to a heap on the floor. The sound of collapsing bone and flesh called the other guy’s attention. His head turned toward the commotion. Thankfully his gun stayed pointing at the windows.

  Pushing off on his good leg, Baine collected every ounce of his two hundred forty pounds and battered the door. The man groaned and the sub clattered on the floor. Baine and the guard fell in a tangle of arms and legs. Too bad the guard ended up on top. His knee connected with Baine’s hamstring. Once. Twice.

  Baine’s eyes closed against the brilliant pain. When the man straddled his legs and clamped both his hands around Baine’s throat, his eyes opened.

  Sloan.

  The pain dulled instantly. Thank fuck his wits didn’t.

  Looking into the eyes of his would-be killer, Baine memorized the sweat slicked ebony skin and white teeth that ground together. He smiled and the man’s eyes grew wide.

  Baine tossed the last flashbang a few feet above his head and clamped his eyes shut. Too bad he couldn’t close his ears. After the blast, a mute scream escaped the man’s wide mouth and his hands flew to his face, rubbing the tears that flowed in rivulets from behind his lids. Air raced back into Baine’s lungs and he landed a jab to the man’s protruding nose. The weight pinning Baine to the floor toppled off his chest to his legs.

  He ignored the throbbing ache of his thigh and sat. The need to get to Sloan had been insistent since he’d lost sight of her in the dining room, but now that his road-blocks had been eliminated, the urgency to touch her, to rescue her from his father, itched so badly he could rip his skin off. He also had to find Kobi. With two well-placed hands Baine ended the guard’s whimpers of pain with a quick snap. He shoved the sack of skin from his legs with a roar and scrambled under the bed to retrieve his gun.

  A fresh magazine in the chamber, Baine ground a layer of enamel off his teeth as he stood and ran for the corridor. He cleared right then left. No sign of Kobi.

  Where the hell…

  Baine’s eyes zeroed in on Devereaux’s bedroom door and his heart plummeted. His body shifted into gear before his mind. Baine’s hand reached for the doorknob.

  Boom! The explosion originated outside, but the house vibrated around him. Then three rapid pistol shots rang out behind Devereaux’s office door.

  35

  “Take your tie off and toss it behind you,” Sloan ordered.

  Devereaux didn’
t budge. “So, you want to fuck after all.”

  Sloan slammed her foot against his kidney like a strike of lightning. The air wheezed from his lungs and he braced his hands on the edge of his desk to keep from hitting the floor. “Tie, now!”

  The dark hair on the back of Devereaux’s right hand danced as his fingers quavered. He reached for the tight knot. After two forceful tugs the fabric gave and slid around itself like a coiled snake until the end freed with a snap. A circle of red maimed Devereaux’s neck. Knowing the mark would bruise, sadistic pleasure bloomed in her mind. But she wiped it away, snatching the tie from his hands. Sloan trained her eyes on the prisoner while she fashioned a slipknot with the skinny end of the silk.

  “On your knees.”

  Outside the office door the machine gun fire died down. The unsettling silence that took its place frosted her from head to toe, causing her to fumble with the makeshift bond. Devereaux seized the opportunity, sliding the middle desk drawer open a quarter-inch before she stopped him with another kidney strike. Both his hands splayed on the middle of the desk as he struggled to breathe and stay upright.

  “Knees,” she demanded. He complied stiffly. “Let’s get those hands tied before you get any more stupid ideas.”

  And so I can go find Baine.

  Sloan flipped the safety on and stuffed the pistol in the cleavage of her low-slung dress. Gawd, I miss functional clothes. She grabbed Devereaux’s left wrist from the desk and guided the loop over his thick hand below the wrist and pulled the end tight. Sloan watched as his opposite shoulder coiled to fight back, but she popped her fist against his ear.

  Ring-a-ding.

  His upper body weaved from the blow, but he remained vertical. Without delay, Sloan grabbed his left wrist, ready to complete the first part of a hogtie, but the quiet scrape of metal on metal brought her attention to the door. She dropped Devereaux’s hand, snatched up her gun, slid the safety off, and planted it against Devereaux’s temple in time to watch Kobi Ross slip into the office, machine gun at the ready.

  “Thank God,” Devereaux mumbled. “Kill her,” he ordered in an angry garble.

  Sloan crouched, shielding all but her head from Kobi’s view with Devereaux’s body. “Go ahead, shoot. I’ll die happy, knowing my autonomic reflexes will take this piece of trash with me.”

  Kobi’s face gleamed with sweat, and his normally pasty complexion looked two shades lighter. When he stepped closer, Sloan noticed the hitch in his step then the dark smear his ostrich loafers left on the floor. She followed the line up his body and found his dark grey suit oil-coated on the lower corner.

  The man’s crazed eyes bounced between her and Devereaux. Sloan’s inner siren whooped to life. Gooseflesh rose along her arms and coursed in a wave down her body. Sweat formed a thin sheen on her upper lip, but she tamped down the fear that bubbled up from the recesses of her brain. She was not a child anymore. She was capable and trained by the best.

  A hollow laughed emanated from Kobi’s gaping smile. The sound froze the blood in Sloan’s veins and even had Devereaux’s frame jolt to attention.

  Kobi raised and lowered the nose of the sub from her head to Devereaux’s and back again. “What is it you always called me, sir? Loyal dog?” He paused on The Devil. “Dogs bite when they’re mistreated. You should’ve thought of that while you were busy kissing your son’s ass and kicking mine.”

  Before Sloan could react, Devereaux opened his pride-stuffed mouth. “Ungrateful filth. I scraped you off the street like day-old garbage and gave you purpose, fine food, and women. I know you want this one, but my equally ungrateful son stole her away.”

  Sloan wrapped her arm around Devereaux’s throat and squeezed, but the son of a bitch continued, “I’ll let you have her forever, and the take on the shipment, if you kill my son and stop this bitc—" Even though his windpipe squished under the weight of her arm, his words, though strained, wafted through the air like the stench of a dead carcass to a hyena, enraging the beast.

  “Your son’s already dead,” he spat.

  Kobi’s words lanced Sloan’s heart. She didn’t for one minute believe Kobi had gotten the drop on Baine, but even though she knew they weren’t true, they hurt worse than any pain she’d ever experienced. Worse than being stabbed. Shot. Electrocuted.

  Without permission Sloan’s arm eased on Devereaux’s windpipe, but the man held still. Maybe in shock. More likely calculating his next move.

  Kobi smiled. “You see, old man. No more blood heir. And after I kill you, and the slut here for good measure, I inherit the kingdom.” He shrugged. “I was going to make it fast, but I love the shocked expression on your face so much, I think I’ll take it slow.”

  Boom!

  The flashbang popped in about the same place as the first and Sloan had to bite her inner cheek to keep from smiling.

  Baine!

  From recon Sloan knew the guards didn’t carry the devices. They carried actual grenades. Not stuns. And she’d seen them on Baine’s vest earlier. Heck, she’d felt them rub against her thighs.

  Kobi didn’t share her enthusiasm. His smug smile fell and he shuffled backward, locking the door he’d entered through without taking the gun or his eyes off her and Devereaux.

  Boom!

  Sloan half expected the windows to come raining down on them in crystalline shards. The floor shook beneath her feet, but she remained steadfast with her weapon and line of sight.

  Apparently unaccustomed to combat, Kobi reached out to the wall with one hand and let the machine gun fall to his side as he tried to steady himself. With a smooth wrist flex and ease of the trigger, Sloan fired three shots into Kobi’s chest.

  As his body grew slack and fell toward the ground, that sharp pain she’d experienced when Kobi said he’d killed Baine returned…only a little lower.

  36

  Baine ran through the open door from his father’s empty bedroom into the office. For a moment the entire world stopped spinning. Gravity no longer held his universe together. Everything he held dear plummeted into the black abyss of space and he stood utterly alone. Lost.

  Devereaux drew his bloody hand from Sloan’s middle, a blade held in his taut fist. Red poured from its edges. Sloan’s exquisite mouth hung open in surprise. Devereaux cranked his arm back to strike.

  “No!”

  Baine raised his Reeder. Devereaux’s head turned at the roar. Shock etched in his features. Baine placed two bullets in his father’s skull.

  The man collapsed, folding over atop himself. Sloan caught herself on the edge of the desk. Her once pristine dress grew a red accent at her middle. Dread ripped its way though Baine’s heart, leaving it in shreds at the bottom of his stomach.

  Too late. You didn’t keep her safe.

  When she teetered, Baine ran like a ball player seeking home plate. He passed Kobi’s corpse and the puddle of blood seeping from it. Sloan’s legs gave out as he rounded the desk. He caught her in the cradle of his arms, her thick hair cascading over his arm, her precious brow knit in pain.

  He lowered them to the ground, unable to stand, whether from the bullet in his leg or his shattered heart, he wasn’t certain. His gun clattered to the floor at his feet as he pulled her against his chest.

  Her tender smile nearly closed his throat with a thick lump. “I messed up. Knew he had a gun in the right drawer, but…”

  Baine shook his head. “No. I put you in a bad situation. I should’ve let you kill that fucker straight away. Should’ve gotten here faster.”

  “You were right on time. I asked for more time, remember?”

  His head still shook. He didn’t know if the motion would ever stop. Like his reluctance to lose her would keep the reaper at bay.

  “Hush now,” he said. “I need to take a look.”

  When she nodded Baine eased her toward the floor, but her hands fisted his vest straps. Only hours before she’d gripped them in a lively show of passion. Now she clung in fear. Clung to life.

  “Don’t
let me go.”

  His eyes burned, but Baine refused the welling emotions. “I’ll never let you go.” His left arm secured her to him while the fingers of his right hand ran down the curve of her waist in a careful caress. “Scream if you need to, love. This is going to hurt.”

  The warmth of Sloan’s skin as she nuzzled her head against the side of his neck only made the ache in Baine’s chest sear deeper into his soul. He had field training in first aid, but he was no doctor. Why couldn’t he have been a healer? A giver of life, instead of a killer?

  Because there was no amount of miracle working to right his father’s wrongs. He’d become a killer to stop his father, and he had accomplished his goal. But at what cost? Hell, even if he were a doctor, they were hours from the nearest hospital with no I.V., no supplies, nothing. In a house filled with weapons and whores, killers and con-men, the real possibility of losing Sloan forever set his hand shaking.

  Baine steeled his nerves with a long exhale and slipped his index finger inside the frayed material of her dress, careful not to touch the wound. He made a claw with the digit, hooking the blood-soaked cloth, and pulled. It howled as it ripped horizontally across her stomach. The hole grew from two inches to nearly six in a second.

  Sloan tensed in his arms.

  “I’m sorry, love. So sorry.”

  She shook her head against his neck, but Baine’s focus riveted on the pucker of gnarled skin that flayed her perfect belly. His gaze flew to the weapon used to inflict the damage. The fucking letter opener lay next to his father’s body, all four inches of the hilt covered in Sloan’s blood. Even the silver handle was smeared with her life force.

  In a city this wouldn’t be a mortal injury.

  But out here…

  Baine’s jaw tightened against the negativity. She would live. She had to. And where he failed her before, he would not this time.