Wolfsbane

by Ronie Kendig

  Meal finished, he tossed his empty bowl in the trash and crossed to the other side of the room. There he yanked off his vest and removed his tactical shirt. Bare-chested, he shrugged. “Not sure.”

  Mercy! Her mouth went dry. And not out of fear of being alone with a man. But dry mouthed from the strange things he did to her mind and body. For a second, she couldn’t help but marvel that here, with Canyon, she wasn’t thrust into the past, terrified of being raped. Being with him didn’t feel suffocating. How weird—wonderful! She’d been on the verge of hysterics with Range. Why wasn’t she terrified with Canyon?

  Although she dragged her gaze away from his well-muscled body, it rebelled. Soaked in the— Whoa. Wait. What really snagged her attention—more than his incredible physique—were the tattoos, especially the one emblazoned over his heart. Three small crosses and the words: Always Remember. What did that mean?

  Conversation. Steer it back. “Then, what do we do?”

  He stepped into the bathroom, oblivious to her scrutiny, and that’s when a few spots that looked like melted skin on his back glared at her. Bullet scars. “I’ll ask around. If the people know him, we’ll take the ride.” He shut the door, severing her independent study of his body.

  The tub handles squeaked in the bathroom. Soon, the sound of water tumbling over porcelain reached her ears.

  Hair still wet, Dani finished the meal of beans, rice, chicken, and bananas, all smothered in a sauce with shredded meat. She glanced at her jeans and T-shirt hanging over the closet door, praying they’d be dry come morning. Though the yellow tunic was dry, it was also several sizes too big and hung loose on her. It might be comfortable to sleep in, but it was hot, which meant she couldn’t wear it for hiking. She prayed this guy Canyon met worked out.

  But wasn’t it straining credulity that a man Canyon knew from his Special Forces days just happened to live in the village where they’d taken refuge?

  A peal of thunder shook the walls and floor beneath her feet.

  Dani groaned. Again?

  Through the open window, rain pelted the dingy curtain. After she set her half of the torn foam box in the trash, Dani closed the window and pulled the shade. As she passed the mirror, she caught her dulled reflection. Ugh. Did she really look that bad? Fingering her hair dry, she yawned, but her mind hadn’t let go of his friend.

  Within minutes Canyon opened the door. In his half-dried tactical pants and still-bare chest, he draped his shirt over the bathroom door just as she had done with hers. She tried not to stare at his toned abs, the scars on his shoulder and back. Right now her attention should be on something else. That guy downstairs. “I’m not sure we should trust this friend of yours.”

  “Good. You’re thinking instead of reacting.” He plodded out. “But a little recon will tell me if he can be useful.” He hesitated, his right pec flexing as he tossed something on the bed. “Do I need to put a shirt on?”

  Dani blinked and looked away but not before seeing the smile on his face. “Why are you grinning?” Was he teasing her for staring?

  He held out his palm. A brown leather cord held a beautiful shell pendant in the shape of a sun.

  She drew in a breath. “It’s so pretty.”

  “Good. I got it for you.”

  Seriously? “Why?”

  Pinching the clasps, he held it out, as if wanting to put it on her. “Because we’ve had too much rain and too little sun, so …”

  Dani lifted her hair and turned her back to him, craning her neck as he slipped it on. “My own piece of sunshine.”

  “Exactly.” His fingers tickled the nape of her neck, then slid down her shoulders.

  Fingering the pendant next to her mom’s rose, she stared at him in the mirror. Strange feelings roiled through her, the biggest of which was uncertainty. The man she’d held up as a hero bore wounds with no tangible scars. He was broken, hiding things. And out there on the street, he’d avoided her kisses. But would he buy her a necklace if he didn’t return her feelings?

  Canyon’s smile faded.

  “Thank you,” she said, though it took every ounce of concentration. She shifted toward him, locked in his magnetic gaze.

  Electricity filled the air as his fingers trailed along her jaw. But he shook his head and curled his hand into a fist. “Sorry.”

  His apology sliced through her, yanking out every last vestige of hope. Heart thumping, she unleashed her venom. “I’m sorry I can’t please you. I’m sorry I’m not good enough that you’d want to fight for me.”

  “Roark, listen—”

  “No. I’m sick of this. I can’t figure out how you feel about me. One second you seem ready to kiss me senseless, then the next you’re Tarzan herding Jane through the jungle.” She shrugged, fighting off the tears. “Did you not hear what I said out there? And you have no response to that? Or is your silence the only response I can expect?”

  “Roark, we’ve been through a lot since landing here. It’s understandable that you think you like me—”

  “Think I like you?” Her voice shrieked through the room. “I said I love you. And this isn’t some stupid transference or Stockholm syndrome or whatever. I’ve loved you since the day you showed up at the hearing. I felt it, Canyon. It’s real, not made up.” She felt the ache at the back of her throat again. “Why won’t you believe me? Or is it just easy for you to step aside and hand me to Range?”

  Canyon jerked. “Easy?” He shuffled closer. “This isn’t easy. It’s pure hell.”

  Defiance sparked in her chest as she spun away from him, feeling petulant. “Good, then you know a little of what I’ve felt.”

  He stalked toward her. “You think I like turning off what I feel for you—?”

  “So, you do feel?”

  He scowled down at her. “Of course I feel. Just because …” Canyon shifted around. Paced as he ran both hands through his short crop. He looked back at her. “I—” Elbows back, hands fisted, he seemed ready to punch something or someone. His breathing grew labored. “It kills me each time I have to step out of the way so he can have a chance—”

  “Have to?” Her eyes stung. “Why do you have to step out of the way?”

  The ridge over his eyes knotted. “In high school,” he said, his voice quiet and hoarse as he slumped against the dresser and folded his arms. “I was a class-A jerk.”

  “Not much has changed.”

  He shot her a glare, and she couldn’t help but toss him an impish smile.

  “I had everything—voted most popular, homecoming king, football captain—you name it. Always had to be bigger, better, stronger than everyone else. It drove me, controlled me.” Hands on the dresser he let out a long breath. “I stole Range’s girlfriend right before prom.”

  She let her shoulders drop. “That’s mean, but I don’t understand what that has do—”

  “She was the only girl Range ever liked or asked out. To him, she did hang the sun, the moon, the stars—the whole freakin’ galaxy.” Canyon shrugged. “I was mad and jealous because Mom and everyone made such a big deal over it. My getting scouted for baseball—something I’d wanted more than anything out of life—nobody cared about because Range finally had a girlfriend. So I stole her to spite him.”

  “That’s why …?”

  “He planned to marry her.” He seemed to deflate. “I was a stupid twenty-year-old grunt. Reckless and self-centered.” He swallowed—hard. “My idiocy ruined my relationship with my family. I vowed to never make that mistake again. So when you showed up, I got waved off. I haven’t been able to live that down, and I don’t think Range ever forgave me for stealing his girlfriend.”

  Her chin trembled. “Why am I not worth stealing?”

  Did she really say that? Or really look as childish as she felt? It had to be the exhaustion and stress dragging out all her horrible character traits. The dresser rattled as he pushed off it. When he started toward her, she held out a hand. “No. Don’t.” She sucked in a long breath, shook her head, then let
it out. “Forget I said that.”

  Canyon paused, hands fisted.

  “I’m tired and not thinking straight.” Wrecked. It was the only word she could find to describe the look on his face. And it was because of what she said. Glancing around the room she searched for something to redirect their attention. “It’s dark. Weren’t you going to check on that farm?”

  He said nothing.

  “Maybe you should go now.”

  Relief and yet heartache strangled her when he quietly turned, grabbed his shirt and vest, then climbed out the window.

  Near Bruzon’s Facility 5 May

  Stacked along the perimeter fence, Max knelt and stared down the sights of his M4 as Squirt and Aladdin connected the device, effectively bypassing the electricity humming through the steel-cabled gate.

  A crackle in his earpiece sped up his heart. A signal from Cowboy. He motioned to Squirt and Aladdin, who ceased working and pulled back. The warning hadn’t given them the time they’d need to take cover. Max anticipated the guard’s attention.

  Within seconds, the overweight man slumped to the ground.

  Aladdin leapt back to work. A few more strokes on his digital readout and the current ran around the device, affording them an opening in the circuitry and fence. Squirt cut through the cable.

  Max slid through and scrambled to the guard. He lifted the man’s earpiece and handed it off to Squirt, who tucked it into his ear. Even in the darkness, Max saw the man’s eyes dart back and forth. Squirt adjusted it, then gave a nod. With Aladdin’s help, they dragged the guard out of the secured area into the tree line. While Max and Aladdin kept watch, Squirt changed into the guy’s uniform.

  No need for anyone to find the guard and realize someone had entered. Hopefully by the time the man’s body or absence was discovered, they’d be on a helo, or at least, on their way out. They sprinted back to the opening, crawled through, then Aladdin secured the fence so the opening wasn’t noticeable at first glance or through binoculars. Max keyed his mic, and a confirmation crackled through the coms.

  Half-bent, they darted to the first building, slid along its rear side, then stacked up again by the parking garage. Using hand signals, he ordered Aladdin to the vehicle parked two yards from the back entrance. Max scanned the open area as the former assassin hustled across the paved lot.

  Sweat spiraling down his back and neck, Max drew in a breath— one full of thick, humid air. A tap on his shoulder sent him sprinting across the cement. Back to back with Aladdin, Max could count on Squirt to pull up the rear. A former SEAL like him, Squirt would get the job done and not complain. A brother in arms in more ways than one. They both had the same training, the same focus. Even if the guy did talk a bit funny.

  They leapfrogged from one vehicle to another, steadily closing in on the building. Max rushed the last few yards to the secret entrance, eye on the door. God, give Your angels charge over me … and mine. Protect us. Guide us.

  A blast of light shattered the night.

  He threw himself into a roll. Came up next to a small transformer. Heart pounding, he waited. Around his boots, the light groped the cement, the rocks … the small patch of grass. Crouched, he pressed his back against the grate of the steel box and ducked.

  The beam danced back and forth. Maintaining eye contact with Squirt and Aladdin gave him confidence the spotlight was randomly searching, not targeting them because Squirt wasn’t taking aim at someone. Max blew out a few short breaths to gain a normal rhythm.

  Darkness blanketed the night again. Move! He lunged toward the building and plastered his back against the steel wall. Once the others slid up next to him, Max keyed his mic to indicate they were in position to penetrate. The response from Cowboy seconds later allowed him to breathe a little easier—the snipers had them in view. At least for the next minute or two. Once they breached the facility, they’d be dark—on their own. At that point, the snipers and the Kid would hoof it out of here because once inside, the others would have no way to extract Max’s team if they were caught.

  So, don’t get caught.

  Small Venezuelan Village

  It’d only taken minutes to find the dirt road and another fifteen to trek up to the farm. Satisfied, Canyon headed back. Agony had a new name tonight—Roark. She’d all but ripped his heart from his chest asking why she wasn’t worth stealing.

  God forgive him, he’d steal her in a heartbeat. The fallout would be ugly. Real ugly. He toyed with her offer to talk to Range. That wouldn’t work—Range would think Canyon had put her up to it. Besides, he didn’t want her caught in the middle any more than she already was. This was his fault. He had to pony up and own it.

  But if he thought he had even one chance of happiness with her, he’d do it. Life hadn’t looked upon him favorably in a long time. Look at his career, his family, Tres Kruces—fragile pieces that trembled beneath his touch.

  Regardless, he wouldn’t want a woman like Roark to set her heart on him when she had no inkling of the damage he could inflict. She might have an idea after seeing him kill that VFA soldier—but that damage was intentional. The other was unintentional and a thousand times worse. Trouble just seemed to follow him like a lost puppy.

  “For I know the plans I have for you … plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

  The words stilled Canyon. Though he wasn’t a Scripture-quoting Christian the way Cowboy was—and now even Max—Canyon knew the words were from God.

  But could God really stem the havoc?

  Stupid question, especially if he believed God was all-powerful. And he did. But how did that fit into the established norm Canyon had lived?

  Sorting those thoughts and slinking through the shadows, he kept to the alley and dark patches of the village as he made his way back to the hotel. Back to Roark. Plans. God had plans for him? Seriously?

  Bet I can screw them up like I do everything else.

  What would Roark say? How would she handle it if he told her about the past? He’d told her about Mariah and she hadn’t blinked. Or maybe she was just really good at hiding her feelings. After all, she was a politician’s daughter.

  She’d never talk to him again, not if he told her … everything. It was best to keep her at arm’s length. Let her think he was this hero that he wasn’t.

  That! That right there was the reason he wanted her to know everything. So she’d stop looking at him, believing he was this good, ideal man. Canyon fisted both hands and squeezed. Why couldn’t he be that man? Be her hero, sweep her off her feet?

  A car chugged by, pushing him into the shadows, and only then did he realize he’d been standing in the rain across the street from the hotel, staring up at the window. Light glowed amber through the drawn shade. Was she still awake? Probably. Which meant more talking …

  Coward.

  He crossed the street, climbed up on the bed of a truck parked off-center of the small balcony, then leapt up. The world spun and he dropped hard against the truck. Canyon shook his head, the wooziness away, then tried again. This time he gripped the ledge and hauled himself up over the lip. Crouched in the corner, he nudged the window open and slipped inside.

  Roark stood near the door, hand on the knob as if ready to run, questions bouncing in her expectant gaze.

  He removed the tunic, then peeled out of the vest. “Farm’s there, truck in the drive, just like he said.”

  Her rigid posture softened. “So, we go with him—get a ride. No more stupid jungle or rain.” She sighed and hurried into the bathroom, then returned and handed him a towel. “Can you believe it? We’re this close”—she held her thumb and forefinger so they were almost touching—“to being home.”

  Sloughing the water from his face and neck, Canyon avoided looking at her long, toned legs. She’d hidden them during dinner and after his shower. But apparently in her panic to run if he was an intruder, she’d abandoned propriety.

  “I can’t wait to get home.” She laughed as she folde
d her legs under her on the bed and drew the cover over them. “I never thought I’d be glad to see my dad again.”

  “I’m still not.”

  Defiance flashed through her face. She snatched something from the bed and threw it at him.

  He snagged it from the air. Granola bar. He wagged it at her. “This is our nourishment till we get to safe haven, highness. Might want to be more careful in case something goes wrong.”

  “Why can’t you just believe things will go right?”

  “I’m being realistic, considering options.”

  “You’re being pessimistic.” She flung another one at him. “We have a ticket out of here.”

  He caught that one, too. “Anything can go wrong. In all things prepared,” he said, repeating the Nightshade motto, but when another bar sailed through the air, he rushed her.

  She screamed and dove away but not before pitching another at him.

  It beaned his face as he tackled her. He dragged her back, attempting to pin her. Digging his fingers into her sides, he tickled her.

  Roark threw her head back and laughed. “Stop, stop!” And she shoved another bar at his face.

  “You’re an obnoxious brat.”

  Indignation marched across her face. “I am not!” Pawing for more bars, she sputtered when her hair spilled into her face. She tried to blow it away but met with little success.

  “One-hundred percent pure brat.” Wrestling to keep her from whacking him with more granola, he finally pinned her. “Crazy, fiery, strong.” He swept aside the hair that had fallen into her face. Her beautiful face. High cheekbones. Silky-soft complexion. Pink smiling lips …

  Canyon’s gaze flicked to hers.

  Expectation hung there with her captive breath. He shouldn’t—

  Roark froze, rigid. As if she understood what streaked through his mind. Then slowly, she relaxed. Tilted her head toward his. His lips dusted hers, testing, firm but gentle. A sigh escaped her. Canyon eased back, his mind warring with his actions.

  Don’t do this. Honor her. Treat her right.

  Her hand cupped the back of his head, and that was all he needed.