Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Redemption for Misty (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Pierce Securities Book 5)

by Anne Conley

  Chapter seven

  On Wednesday, Chris left the coffee shop early to get ready for poker night. It was at Crash’s house for the first time ever, since Chris was keeping himself close to Misty. Of course, as soon as all the guys got to her house, he second-guessed himself. Crash didn’t have the guys here for a reason—a reason that was all too clear as soon as Ace walked in the door, eagerly looking around for Misty.

  “I’m finally allowed into the Princess’s domain. Where is she? I could use some eye candy tonight.” Ace was a pig, gave men everywhere a bad name, and Chris felt a protectiveness well up inside him. He wished he’d had the foresight to tell Misty to hang out with some girlfriends tonight. Although he wouldn’t be able to watch her if she was out with friends, and no telling what sort of trouble she could get herself into.

  “She’s not home from work yet,” Chris answered tersely.

  “You are a lucky fucking dog. That’s all I gotta say.”

  Hopefully, it would be all he would say, but Chris doubted it.

  When Gollum and Vegas got there, and they all had drinks in hand, Vegas lit up a cigar, prompting Chris to open up the window.

  “Dude. Not my house.” Ace snorted something about it really being Crash’s house, but Chris ignored him.

  Vegas, earning his name for being from Nevada, sneered at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Will the little woman get pissed at the smell?”

  “No, I’m just thinking there may be a reason Crash never let you guys play here, and that may be it.”

  The noise of the front door opening, followed by, “Chris, what the hell is that stench?” made them all turn to watch Misty walk in.

  Ace grinned wickedly. “Riii-iight. I’ll bet that’s it.”

  Chris wanted to throw a blanket over Misty and bundle her into another room to keep the three pairs of eyes off her but knew that would only open him up for a round of teasing. So he held his breath, gritted his teeth together, and hoped for the best.

  She stood there, with her hands on her hips, eyes on Vegas and the offending cigar. Dressed in her typical knee-length skirt and top, Chris knew she was tired from working all day, but she was tense with the aggravation. Her eyes floated to the open window, and then landed on Chris.

  “Did you tell him he could smoke in my house?”

  Vegas rolled the cigar between his teeth, scooching it over to the corner of his mouth before speaking around it. “It’s Crash’s house, so I don’t see how Nova has any say in what I do in it.”

  Stomping over to Vegas, she took the offending cigar from between his lips, smashing it to smithereens in the ashtray in front of him before taking the entire ashtray and throwing it out the window. “Well, he’s not here, and I’m saying you do not have proper authorization to put this shit in my lungs.” Her tone of voice would have brought a drill sergeant to his knees. Spinning on her heels, she continued her stomping into the hallway and down to her room.

  The men sat speechless and all jumped when her door slammed shut. Chris chuckled under his breath. And then Ace echoed his thoughts.

  “Damn. She’s hot when she’s mad.” He turned to Chris. “You tapped that yet, man?”

  Ace’s words, even though they very effectively mirrored Chris’s own ideas on the situation, still made him see red. His entire body was hot with rage, but he just clamped his teeth together. He wanted to tell Ace to shut the fuck up but knew that would add fuel to his incessant rambling about Misty. And he just wanted the dude to keep his trap shut.

  “Raise,” he managed, tossing a chip blindly onto the pile in the center of the table. Maybe if he could get their head back on the game, they would change the subject. Of course, in that moment, when they all went back to studying their cards, the shower started running and Chris groaned under his breath.

  Vegas started making suction noises with his lips and tongue, and Ace laughed at him. Gollum, to his credit, only smiled weakly at Chris. Gollum had earned his nickname for his attachment to the wife he had when he’d enlisted, threatening to cut anyone who talked about her, and then he made the mistake of calling her “Precious.” Chris suddenly understood exactly where he was coming from.

  “You guys aren’t following the bro code very well,” Chris managed to grit out. “Do you not remember what the fuck happened to her? And you guys are acting like she’s a prized heifer at an auction.”

  “Just because we talk doesn’t mean we’ll act. We know the code, Nova,” Vegas spat out, emphasizing his name. “Do you?”

  Did he? He’d been fantasizing about Misty since… forever. Since he’d first seen her picture. But that didn’t mean he would act on those fantasies, did it? The boner in his pants nearly every time she was around told him he totally would if she made a move. But the framed pictures of Misty and Crash together with their parents told him he wouldn’t.

  “Games before dames, asshole.” He tried, once again, to get their mind back on poker and off the naked woman in the bathroom down the hall.

  “Fold,” Gollum said before slapping down his cards and getting up from the table. “I’m going outside for some air. That cigar smoke smells like shit.” He looked over at Chris meaningfully before leaving out the back door.

  “Yeah, me, too.” He tossed his cards on the table and followed Gollum out, allowing Vegas and Ace to talk shit without him.

  The night air was warm and muggy, and walking outside was like getting slapped with a wet towel. Gollum sat on a chair outside, swigging from his bottle in silence. Chris sat next to him, and he looked over with fake surprise on his features.

  “Hey, Nova.”

  “I still hate that name,” Chris responded wryly.

  “Yeah, and I hate mine, but it’s mine. And I’m sort of proud of it. It certainly made Theresa happy when I explained it to her.”

  Chris didn’t say anything because Misty’s distaste with him was too busy flashing in his brain. Why did every thought center around her? He couldn’t do anything without fucking wondering what she would think about it, and that was so out of character with him, he didn’t know what to make of it.

  “You know, I notice things,” his buddy said quietly.

  “Oh yeah? Like what?” Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to know but was making conversation.

  “Like the fact that you had the picture of her hanging by Crash’s bed memorized because you stared at it every night we were in Iraq. That you quit talking about sex after she’d been attacked. And that you were about to spit nails in there just now.” Gollum ticked the shit off on his fingers as he spoke, and with each finger, Chris got a little antsier.

  He shifted in his seat, re-crossing his arms. “So?”

  “You like her, dude,” he stated the obvious. “Who’s the last chick you banged?”

  That was an easy one. “I don’t know. Some random chick when we got home.” He remembered it only because he’d hated it. He’d come home from the deployment horny but couldn’t get into any of the girls at the bar he went to. He’d finally just picked one and took her to back to her place for something completely meaningless. The entire thing was so typical of him, but he hated it. And hadn’t done it since.

  “Necessity?”

  “What’s your fucking point?” Chris tried not to be mad at his friend—they’d been through too much together—but he was stepping on Chris’s dick right now. Way too close to the mark.

  “You’re in love with Misty, and staying here with her without telling her is killing you.” The simplicity with which he spoke the words only served to make Chris angrier. Of course, he was angry with himself, not Gollum. Gollum was right. But there was an image to uphold. If word got back to Crash that Chris was having carnal thoughts about his sister, slamming his dick in a door wouldn’t be enough.

  “Are you for real right now? Did you leave your dick at home with Theresa? Does she carry your balls around in her purse?”

  Gollum just laughed at him. “You’re not talking about her like the other guys. If you didn’t like
her, you’d be talking about banging her four ways to Sunday like those guys in there are doing.”

  Chris looked back in the window to see Ace and Vegas making crude gestures and laughing their damn asses off. Vegas had lit up another cigar, probably in an attempt to get Misty to come back out and yell at him again.

  “Just think about it. I gotta go. I promised Theresa I wouldn’t be late tonight.”

  “Yeah. Cool.” Chris didn’t know what else to say.

  Chris had no idea how long he sat outside thinking. He was vaguely aware of the guys laughing, and then later the putting up the chips and leaving. Still, he sat.

  Thinking.

  Mostly, he thought about Crash. Dude would be more than pissed if he came home to find out he’d been unable to keep his hands off his kid sister. They’d gone through BCT together, and Chris didn’t think he’d have made it without Crash’s encouragement. Chris hadn’t wanted to be there. His dad was career Army and believed every young man needed to serve his country in at least one tour before going on to manhood, or some shit. Chris was born with a dick, so he enlisted at his dad’s insistence. Crash was the one who wanted to be all he could be. Crash was the one who convinced him to apply to Ranger school, and lord, it had made his dad proud.

  In Iraq, they’d been beside one another for some pretty hairy shit—roadside bombs, kids with guns, women being treated like abominations. They’d come out of it brothers. And Crash was trusting him to take care of his sister without fucking her.

  He couldn’t let his brother down.

  Going inside to clean up, Chris’s thoughts continued to wander. He opened more windows to let out asswipe’s cigar smoke and continued along his same train of thought.

  Gollum was right. He did like Misty. A lot. He loved her brother, but his feelings for her were different, and he couldn’t explain it. But he would do anything for her he would do for her brother. Dodge bullets? Check. Dart into traffic? Check. Sacrifice himself for her safety? Absofuckinglutely.

  She’d been weird with him since he’d burned her. Chris supposed she was still mad about it, even though she’d said it was okay. Typical female—saying one thing and meaning another. But that thought felt shallow. Deep down, Chris didn’t think that was it. So that meant there was something else bothering her, and since she’d been so standoffish with him, it had to be something Chris had done. Right?

  But what had he done?

  He slammed the dishwasher shut, trying to avoid his own thoughts. What the hell? He’d never been in love before and didn’t know that’s what was happening here, and if so, what the next step was supposed to be. Their situation was unique, and he was prone to overanalyze on a good day. He didn’t know what to do with his feelings right now.

  He was overwhelmed to say the least, and the woman he hadn’t seen since her shower was feet away, sleeping soundly.

  Which was what he should be doing, too.

  Chapter eight

  Misty knew this dream, and as soon as the dirty clothes filled her vision, she screamed at herself to wake up, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t make a sound.

  The dirty bandana filled her mouth, and had for days, the duct tape keeping it from slipping. Her mouth was beyond dry, and her gag reflex had given up a long time ago. Her jaw was probably dislocated, too. Her arms and legs were bound, so as much as she struggled, she was pinned. Panic rose from her insides, radiating outward in a debilitating wave.

  She couldn’t move if she wanted to because everything hurt. Every part of her body seemed bruised or broken, her insides and her outsides. She was beyond hungry and thirsty. The worst part of this was she had no idea what had happened to her. She knew she was dreaming, but that didn’t make it any better. When she was awake, she knew what had happened. In her dream, she didn’t. She couldn’t remember anything.

  She fucking hated this dream.

  Misty couldn’t tell where she was, nor could she remember what had happened. All she could do was look around her limited view. She was on the floor, a cold one, concrete by the look from her peripheral vision. Smells assaulted her, too. Not pleasant ones. Sweat, grime, stale, musty odors, like the bottom of a gym bag. She’d tried to roll over yesterday, onto her back, so she could at least see the ceiling, but sharp stabs of pain had flown up her arms and legs, ending in her torso to radiate outward, pulsating like electromagnetic waves.

  So she laid still and tried to figure out what the fuck had happened to her.

  It looked like the floor of a garage. There was unused gym equipment in the corner and a bicycle hanging from a rack next to a canoe with paddles dangling off the sides.

  Then she heard the other woman screaming. She wasn’t alone in this hell. As soon as Mia’s muffled cries filtered into her consciousness, Misty knew she would die. Knew it with a certainty that stunned her. In her dream, she didn’t know that was Mia, but she knew. The other woman was suffering horrendously, and she would, too. She would never see her parents again, her brother would never tease her, she’d never get the opportunity to break up with her boyfriend and meet a new one.

  Misty had been left out here to die a slow, agonizing death, complete with broken bones, lacerations, and God knows what else.

  She screamed. Not outwardly, no. That would be too simple. Besides, she was gagged. No. She screamed inside her soul, which was far worse.

  Her screams filled her head until they took over her vision, in a way that was only possible in dreams. Red filtered the dirty clothes she was piled in, then black.

  The screams got louder.

  “Shhh… Misty… It’s okay… It’s a dream…” That voice. She knew that voice, but it wasn’t her brother. It was someone else.

  “Wake up, honey, it’s okay…” Steely arms wrapped around her, and as Misty fought for consciousness, she fought the arms, too. But they were too strong. “He’s dead. You’re safe with me.”

  Suddenly, her eyes flew open to the darkness of her room and Chris’s piercing blue gaze.

  “Chris?”

  “Yeah, honey, it’s me.” He tucked her head into the crook of his chin, shushing her and rubbing her back. She tried to relax into his embrace but failed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to apologize for. We’ve all had them,” he murmured into her hair, still stroking her back. She curled her body into his embrace, his warmth, his safety—remembering the day she was rescued.

  “I was too loud.”

  Chris spoke in a low murmur, almost a whisper, “What?”

  “That’s why he didn’t…” She couldn’t say the word this time. It was too dark in the room. The nightmare too close. “…do anything with me. I was too loud. He gagged me, but I kept yelling. Then he decided he couldn’t break me, so he dumped me in the garage floor, with all the garbage and dirty clothes and stuff. I was too loud. He beat me.” Chris’s grip on her tightened, but he didn’t say anything, instead leaving her to her own thoughts.

  Jordan had found her, and then Ryan had stayed with her until the ambulance got there, but neither of them were focused solely on her like Chris was right this moment. She was eternally grateful for them because without them being there she would have certainly died.

  When her heartbeat calmed, she tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but he didn’t release her. She gave in and wrapped her arms around his slender torso.

  “Chris?”

  “Yeah?” His voice was gravelly, probably husky with sleep. She’d woken him up.

  “I’m sorry for waking you up. You can go back to bed now.”

  He pulled his head back so she could see his face. “What does Crash do when you have these nightmares?”

  Of course, he was here for her brother. Not her. She tried to shrug, but he was still holding on pretty tightly. “Nothing much. He sits on my bed and pats me awake, makes sure I know where I am, hugs me, and goes back to bed.” She tried again to get out of his grasp. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a b
ad dream.”

  “Misty, you were screaming like a damn banshee. You scared the hell out of me. Just let me hold you a minute.” His voice was fierce, and she again felt bad for scaring him.

  “I’m sorry.” She was nearly asleep or else she surely wouldn’t be apologizing so much. She hated people who apologized for stuff they had no control over.

  “Just… shut up and let me hold you.” He clamped his chin over the top of her head, and she satisfied herself with smelling his neck.

  God, he smelled good; nothing like the heap of dirty clothes she’d been found in. His scent dissipated the remnants of the dream.

  So she’d just go back to sleep. Misty was really comfortable right then, curled up in Chris with her arms around him while he lazily stroked her back. Idly, her arms traced the contours of his back while she inhaled his clean scent. He’d showered before bed, and the smell of his body wash drifted over her while she calmed down.

  When he spoke again, his tone was still soothing, and she almost missed what he said, thinking it would be more platitudes.

  “What have I done wrong, Misty? You’ve shut me out.” She pulled her head back to see his eyes squeezed shut, as if he was actually scared of something.

  “I thought we might be getting too close. You seemed to want me to pull back. I don’t know.” This was a weird conversation to have right now. She’d just come out of a freaky fucking dream and he wanted to talk about her feelings?

  He opened his eyes, the confusion in them vivid. His grip on her tightened, and she curled around his body, not ashamed of her reaction to his strength. She needed it right now. “I don’t know what I want, Misty. Sometimes I have to remind myself you’re my best friend’s sister, but hearing you scream like that just took ten years off my life.” Pain radiated from his voice and he rested his head on top of hers again. “So, fuck Andrew and his patting. I’m going to hold you tonight.” His voice cracked with emotion, and Misty felt awful for scaring him.

  “Okay,” Misty whispered, not about to put a stop to this. She liked it too much.