by Susan Stoker
Fletch’s head whipped up—and he stared incredulously at the four men standing around the yard, each had a bandana over their faces and an AK-47 in their hands, pointed at the guests.
Fuckin’ A. They were supposed to be the best trained soldiers in the world. How in the world had these assholes snuck up on them? They’d let their guard down, been distracted by the reception and had gotten complacent.
As soon as the thought, who the fuck would be dumb enough to rob a party with the most badass soldiers on the planet in attendance, ran through his mind, Fletch heard his daughter exclaim, “Oh goody! Now Daddy Fletch can kick some ass!”
4
The man who had spoken the threat gestured with his rifle. “Women and kids over there, men over there.”
Fletch felt Emily tense in his arms and her head immediately turned to look for Annie. He liked that her first concern was always for her daughter. When they had children together, she’d be the best mother. He just had to convince her that sooner rather than later was good. After he got rid of these fuckers trying to ruin his reception.
“Now, assholes!” the man barked.
Fletch let go of Emily and lightly pushed her toward Annie. “Go on, love. Stay calm, this’ll be over before you know it.”
She didn’t speak, merely nodded before squeezing his arm tightly once, her nails digging into his skin, before walking toward her daughter without looking back.
Fletch immediately moved to the area where the gunman indicated the men should congregate. He and his teammates gathered together to one side of the group of men. Watching. Waiting.
He noted that Wolf and his SEAL teammates had done the same thing. The Special Forces operatives were on either side of the group of men, the PX employees and some of the civilian contractors from Fort Hood stood in the middle.
Three of the gunmen came over to where the men were standing and stood guard around them. Each had a finger on the triggers of their rifles and looked more than ready to shoot at the slightest provocation.
“Here’s the deal. No one will get hurt if you follow our directions to the letter. We’re not fucking around. One by one, come forward and put your watches here,” he pointed to the table about five feet off to the side. “Your wallets, phones, and any other jewelry you’re wearing as well.” He paused and pointed to Fletch specifically. “Wedding rings too. All of it. If you try to hide anything, I’ll shoot one of the women. If I see anyone with a phone in their hand trying to call nine-one-one, I’ll shoot you on sight. Don’t be a hero and you’ll live.”
Fletch ground his teeth together. There was nothing he and his fellow soldiers hated more than someone threatening women and children. Bastards.
Slowly the men around him began to do as the man demanded, removing their wallets from their pockets and taking off any jewelry they were wearing.
As the gunmen were distracted by the guests coming forward one by one, Fletch murmured, “Plan?” to Ghost.
Ghost and the other Deltas were waiting their turn to place their belongings on the table and sizing up the situation. One glance over at the SEALs showed they were doing the same thing.
“For now, we wait,” Ghost replied.
“These assholes are not going to crash my wedding reception and rob everyone,” Fletch said, pissed way the hell off.
“If it was just us, we could rush them,” Ghost said calmly, “but it’s not. Look.” He gestured to the women with an almost imperceptible jerk of his head.
Fletch looked over to where the women were standing and every muscle in his body locked. The fourth gunman was standing behind Annie and had one hand resting on her shoulder, holding her tightly. The other still held the rifle, and his finger was on the fucking trigger. He was standing sideways, so he could see both the women he was guarding and the men on the other side of the yard.
“Easy, Fletch,” Coach warned from his other side. “She’s okay for now.”
“For now,” Fletch ground out. “If one hair on my daughter’s head is damaged, I’ll fucking kill him.”
“We all will,” Truck agreed.
“Shut the fuck up,” one of other gunmen ordered, speaking up for the first time. He had a heavy southern accent and his voice was deeper than the original man’s tone. “You, get your ass over here, and put your shit on the table” he ordered, gesturing at Fletch.
Wanting to rip the rifle out of the man’s hands more than he wanted anything else in his life, Fletch took a deep breath and obediently walked over to where the other men had begun to pile their belongings. He laid his wallet on the table, then slowly, ever so slowly, removed his watch. Then, without losing eye contact with the man, telling him without words he was going to regret picking his party, his house, and his friends to rob, Fletch tugged off the wedding ring Emily had placed on his finger hours before. The ring he’d sworn never to remove unless it was absolutely necessary during his top secret missions. He placed it carefully on top of his wallet, then backed up.
“That all?” the man with the rifle asked snidely.
Fletch held his arms out to his sides and answered in a quiet and deadly voice, “You want to frisk me to check?”
The man hesitated for a fraction of a second before sneering, “If I find out you’re holding back, you’ll regret it.”
“It’s you who will regret this night,” Fletch told him in a low, even voice, standing stock still but vibrating with an intense kind of anticipation. The type he only got right before a mission. Right before the shit hit the fan and they had to kill or be killed.
They had threatened his woman. His child. They would not be leaving his property uninjured…or at all. He had no worries about anyone going to jail if the men were killed, the cameras on his property would back up the fact that they’d acted in self-defense.
“Get the fuck back over there, big man,” the guy with the rifle finally ordered, gesturing back to the group of men.
Without a word, Fletch did as he was ordered, his arms still out at his sides, not taking his eyes from the man as he walked backward toward Ghost and the rest of his team.
One by one, the other men in the group walked forward and emptied their pockets, put their precious wedding rings on the ever-growing pile of valuables, visibly hating every second of staring down the barrels of the weapons.
When it was Tex’s turn to give up his valuables, the former SEAL limped up to the table.
Fletch’s facial expression didn’t change, but since he’d never seen Tex limp in his life, it was obvious, at least to the soldiers in the group, that he was faking an injury. The only question was why and what he had planned.
“You some sort of cripple?” the man with the southern accent jeered.
“Missing part of my leg,” Tex admitted in a high-pitched voice.
“Let me see,” the first gunman demanded from off to the side.
Without hesitation, Tex lifted his pant leg and showed off the prosthetic he was wearing. It was one of his metallic ones, not a realistic flesh-colored one. The gunman had the audacity to walk up to him and tap his rifle against the metal, the resulting sound ugly and harsh in the night air. “How much that cost?” he asked, the greed easy to read in his eyes and tone.
“Please, I can’t afford to replace it,” Tex whined, indicating without saying exactly that it was worth a lot of money.
“Take it off,” the first man demanded.
“But I can’t walk without it,” Tex complained.
“Do I look like I give a shit?” the gunman asked rhetorically. “Take it off. Add it to the pile. You can crawl your ass back to the others for all I care.”
“I’ll need help walking,” Tex replied
The third guy guarding the men spoke up for the first time. “You, come help him,” he ordered.
Fletch looked over to see who the man had indicated and barely held back a grin as Fish took a step forward. He wasn’t sure what Tex had planned, but he’d bet his house and everything in it this was exactly wha
t Tex wanted.
“Looks like you’re a crip too. Take off your fake arm,” the gunman told Fish. “We’ve got a group of crippled motherfuckers here.”
Keeping his eyes to the ground, Fish didn’t say a word, merely walked forward to where Tex was standing and stopped when he was shoulder to shoulder with the other man. Still without words, Tex helped Fish unstrap and remove his shoulder harness and take off his prosthetic. Fish added his wallet and watch to the table, then put his good arm around Tex’s waist and assisted him back to the group of men.
Fletch smiled grimly. Fish was pissed. The anger and hostility was coming off the man in waves. He’d put money on both Tex and Fish any day of the week over the assholes with the weapons. It didn’t matter that Tex only had one leg and Fish one arm. They could take any one of the men down, but they all needed to bide their time. Wait until the right moment to act. The more the gunmen underestimated the group, the sooner the operatives, past and present, could make their move.
And there was no doubt a move would be made. The SEALs were standing at the other end of the group of men. They seemed as if they were relaxed, but Fletch knew by looking at them they were ready to pounce. Wolf’s hands were moving in a way Fletch knew he was communicating with his men. Signaling. And the others were communicating back to Wolf. Whatever happened, they’d move as one.
Fletch’s own teammates were standing the same way. Loose and ready. They didn’t have a secret way of talking to each other, but they’d worked together for so long and had trained for this kind of situation enough, they all had plan A, B, C, D, and probably E and F already down pat, and could switch from one to the other within seconds.
TJ, the former Delta sniper, was standing in the middle of the group of men, his arms crossed over his chest, not hiding the pissed-off, you-don’t-scare-me look on his face.
Different scenarios ran through Fletch’s head. The three men guarding them were spaced evenly apart. The table of their belongings was in the middle, the man with a southern accent guarding it. TJ, Tex, and Fish could take him out. The man who’d first ordered them to separate from the women was standing near the Delta team, and the third man was on the side with the SEALs.
If it was only them, without the civilians and women in attendance, the men would already have the assholes disarmed and laying on the ground, wishing they’d passed by this house and this party. But it wasn’t only them. The last man was with the women. And while Fletch knew his wife was brave, as was Mary, Rayne, Harley, and probably the other women too, they weren’t soldiers.
But Penelope was.
Fletch took his eyes off Annie as she stood in the grasp of the last gunman and found the Army Princess. She was looking at him as if her life depended on it. Not at Annie. Not at the gunman. At him.
They stared at each other from across the lawn for a long moment. Then Penelope gave a tiny chin lift, acknowledging him and his team. Then she brought her hand up to her chest and laid her palm over her heart and nodded in the direction of the man essentially holding Annie hostage.
Fletch didn’t like it. He really didn’t, but if Penelope could handle the gunman on her side of the yard, his team, and the SEALs, could handle the three on their side. He didn’t particularly like not being able to take out that fourth man himself, but he was too far away…and Penelope was a trained soldier.
“No,” Moose ground out from next to him.
Fletch shuffled until his body was turned toward the firefighter and moved his eyes, not his head, to look at the man.
He was pissed. And his eyes were glued to Penelope’s. He’d seen the nonverbal signals she’d sent to Fletch and wasn’t happy about it. Way not happy.
“It’ll work,” Fletch said tonelessly.
“She’s too small,” Moose argued.
Fletch had concerns about that himself. Tiger’s five feet two inches weren’t ideal to try to take down the six-foot-plus man threatening Annie and the rest of the women. But instead of arguing about it, he said, “Have her six.”
It was a military term which meant to have someone’s back. Fletch had no idea if the firefighter understood or not, but it wasn’t as if he could have an in-depth conversation with the twitchy-fingered thugs nearby.
Moose’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth together, but he nodded once.
Fletch sighed silently in relief. He’d understood.
It was tricky. Penelope was all the way across the yard and they’d only have seconds to all work together, but it would happen.
The only wildcard in the plan was Annie.
5
Emily was pissed. This was her wedding reception. It was supposed to be a fun time. A time to celebrate new beginnings with her husband and hang out with their friends. And it had been fun. Lots of fun. Until these assholes decided to take what didn’t belong to them. And to threaten them.
She glared at the man holding her daughter against him with all the hatred she’d had no idea she had in her heart.
“Easy, Em,” Rayne said in a quiet voice. “Don’t do anything rash.”
“If he hurts her in any way, I’ll kill him,” Emily replied.
“You won’t have to, because Fletch will get there first,” her friend returned immediately.
“Shut up,” the man holding her daughter said sharply. “No talking.”
They stood silent, watching as the men across the yard came forward one by one and laid their belongings on a table in front of one of the men holding a rifle. Emily stood in front of the group of women, Rayne on her left and Harley on her right. Mary was standing next to Rayne and Penelope was on the other side next to Harley. They were all standing in a row in front of Melody, baby Hope, and Akilah. Shielding them, keeping the gunmen from getting their hands on any other children to use as hostages.
Emily watched as Fletch came forward to drop his wallet on the table, and she flinched as he slowly took off his wedding ring. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew he’d need to remove it when he went on a mission for his safety, but seeing him take off the symbol of their love hours after she’d slipped it on his finger hurt. A lot.
But it was obvious he was just as unhappy with the situation. Emily watched as her husband held his arms out from his sides aggressively, as if he was goading the gunman to hurt him. She held her breath. After a few words, Fletch backed away, his arms still out, until he was back amongst the group of men. She blew out a relieved breath.
“Looks like your lover’s cooperating, little bride. Smart.”
Emily glared at the gunman. It was obvious they’d scoped out the reception before making their move. She and Fletch had cut the small wedding cake they’d ordered and had their first dance together, as all couples did. If this guy knew she was the bride, then they’d probably known about the reception before tonight. It couldn’t have been random. Fletch’s house wasn’t exactly on a main road. She wondered how many other parties and receptions they’d done this at. Fuckers.
Annie took a deep breath, as if she was going to mouth off to the man with his hand on her shoulder, but Penelope spoke up before she could. “You’re scaring that little girl,” she announced in a voice loud enough for the gunman to hear her, but not the others across the yard.
“Do I look like I care?” the man drawled, tightening his grip on Annie’s shoulders.
“If you make her cry, it’s just going to piss off her daddy,” Penelope told him.
Emily looked over at the other woman, not sure why she was saying that. Then she looked back at her daughter. Annie didn’t look scared at all. She looked angry. She had a look on her face that Emily imagined was mirrored on her own.
Annie’s eyes went from Penelope to her mom, then back to Penelope.
“She’s almost shaking, she’s so scared,” Penelope enunciated carefully.
At her words, Annie sniffed loudly and Emily could see her small body begin to shake.
Emily narrowed her eyes and tried to read her daughter. She’d never seen her shake like tha
t when she’d cried before. In fact, Annie wasn’t really a crier. She was tough and could usually shake off her tears when she got hurt. Before she could examine the situation further and see if Annie really was hurt in some way, and if she needed to take action, Melody gasped from behind her and whispered, “John!”
Emily’s eyes whipped up to the group of men and saw Melody’s husband limping badly; it was obviously his turn to approach the table and hand over his valuables.
“What in the world?” Melody said under her breath as they all watched the strong and capable former SEAL speak with the gunman. His shoulders were hunched and his head was down. They couldn’t hear what was being said, but within moments, Fish sauntered up to Tex.
In contrast to the SEAL, Fish didn’t look cowed at all. He kept his eyes glued to the man with the gun as they spoke. Then, almost in tandem, the two men removed their prosthetics and added them to the growing pile on the table. Fish then helped Tex back to the group.
“Tex hurt?” Akilah asked her mother softly.
“No,” Melody whispered. “It’s a plan. Your dad is just as strong with one leg.”
“Like Baby,” Akilah said, the relief easy to hear in her voice.
“Exactly, like our dog, Baby,” Melody confirmed. The coonhound only had three legs, but she got along just as well as a four-legged dog. They’d left her back home with Melody’s best friend, Amy, and her family. They all loved Baby as much as Melody did…almost.
They continued to watch the men empty their pockets one by one. The testosterone emanating from across the yard was thick and dangerous. Emily had no idea how the gunmen didn’t feel it. Yet she knew without a doubt they didn’t, because if they had, they’d be as far away from this yard as they could get.
Emily’s attention was divided between her daughter and husband, and she was almost ashamed to realize that she was looking at Fletch more than Annie. When she looked at Annie, she felt scared and powerless because she couldn’t help her. But when she looked at Fletch, she felt reassured, safe, protected.