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

by Anne Conley

  It was surreal. This wasn’t her life. Then again, she’d had that thought before, hadn’t she? It was her life, and she wasn’t going to lay down and play victim again. She took a deep breath, filling herself with resolve, hoping to block out the fear. This was a mind over matter mission.

  Misty caught the eye of a young man—a hostage like her—and pleaded with him to understand her. She flicked her eyes back and forth to the gunmen and him and his buddies. His eyes widened, as if she were crazy.

  Taking a deep breath, Misty tamped down her frustration. This was two men against maybe twenty-five customers. The guns were just machines, and she understood how they worked. As long as the barrel wasn’t pointed at anyone, she could take one of them down if she had a little help.

  The only thing stopping these people from doing it was fear. The gunmen were banking on their fear to make them pliable. Well, Misty had been scared before. It wasn’t going to work this time.

  She exhaled all the air from her lungs, then filled them with a cleansing breath. Saul had his back to her.

  Big mistake.

  With a primal roar, Misty launched herself at his legs. Miraculously, the other man followed suit, tackling the other man to the ground. With that, the father of the boy joined in, and soon enough customers were dogpiled on top of the gunmen, their useless guns flat beneath them.

  “Someone open up the freight door and get us some help,” Misty gasped from under the people who had piled on top of her. The mother of the little boy cradled him tightly and mouthed thank you to Misty as another woman got up and did as she asked.

  ***

  Chris let out a roar of fear and frustration when he saw the sign taped to the door of Misty’s shop. He yelled Ghost’s name as loudly as he could, hoping against hope the superhero could hear him. There was a gaggle of police officers clustered around him, talking into their shoulder mounted walkie talkies, hopefully getting some help.

  Knowing there was a back entrance in her kitchen, he took off at a sprint around the block to get to the alleyway behind the row of shops. Chris had to guess at which was hers but went based solely on the smell of the garbage behind it. When he saw the coffee grinds and familiar cups, he knew he had the right one.

  He looked around for more explosives, but seeing none of the freight doors on the alley had blown, he could only make an educated guess that these weren’t targeted. He held his breath, thinking wildly. If he opened the door and it was wired to blow, he’d be killed, as well as any innocent bystanders nearby. He couldn’t have that. What if Misty was standing right there?

  Shit.

  Before he could think too much, the door opened on its own, and a woman’s tear-streaked face poked out. She gave a yelp and opened it wider, running out as if the devil himself was on her heels. Chris took that as a sign and pushed through the other people trying to get out. Like a salmon swimming upstream, Chris made it inside Misty’s shop.

  He stopped, frantically trying to find her amid the chaos inside.

  “Misty?” he called out. There were piles of bodies and people racing for the doorway he was standing in front of. Chris moved inside the kitchen and finally saw a headful of curls under a bunch of people.

  His eyes took in the scene. People were yelling and screaming and crying. Some hysterically so.

  “Everybody that can get out, move!” His training took over. “Get away from the building. I think there’s a triage station set up a couple of blocks that way!” He was gesticulating, hoping he was right as his arms waved at the people he needed to get out of his way.

  “We need something to tie them up. We can’t get off them.” Misty’s voice came from under one of the piles of people, and Chris’s knees went weak with relief. She was alive. She was okay. And he’d be damned, but she’d taken out the gunmen. Of course she had. His girl was a badass.

  “Get those people out of here,” one man grunted from his pile.

  Methodically, he began peeling people off the pile with Misty on it, giving instructions to them to leave. He only needed a few to stay and help until the police or more military arrived. He needed to get the rest to safety.

  The closer he got to Misty, the better he felt, calmer. They had this situation under control.

  Until they didn’t.

  Chapter fifteen

  Misty didn’t know what happened. One minute she was on top of Saul, with his hands under her and the gun out of sight while Chris peeled people off her.

  The next minute, she was being held in front of Saul with his gun to her head.

  “Everybody on the fucking ground, now!” Saul’s voice was cracking as he saw his plan unravel. Misty watched everything in slow motion as Chris remained standing while everyone else dropped to the ground. He held his hands out in a gesture of compliance, even though it was plain he was not doing as he was told. The other gunman waved his little machine gun around, trying to cover everyone.

  “Easy, man. None of us are armed. I’m gonna show you, okay?” His eyebrows raised in question, Chris lifted his shirt and boldly turned his back to the gunman holding Misty hostage. Saul’s gun shook as it pressed against her cheek and his other arm tightened around her. She felt lots of other hard things strapped to his body, probably more guns. Squeezing her eyes shut, she didn’t open them until she heard Chris’s voice again. “What’s going on? Are you guys wanting some refugees in, man? You got family over there you’re trying to get here?”

  Chris’s voice was reassuring, unbelievably calm. Misty couldn’t see how he was so placid in this situation. He hadn’t moved, but he was buying some time. Hopefully, he was coming up with a plan.

  “My wife is over there.” Saul’s accent had always been faint, and Misty hadn’t ever really cared to place it, but now it was thicker, and a hint of the Middle East shone through. Not that it would have mattered. Austin was a multi-cultural place, and he still would have blended in, even without the suit and tamed hair and his skin tone. He was olive-complected, but Misty was darker than he was.

  “I’m sorry, buddy,” Chris continued placating him, one eye on Saul but still watching the other gunman. “That sucks. But do you really think this is the way to go about getting her over here? By blowing up Austin?”

  Misty wondered how many stores on the square had been blasted. Her mind went to dark places, envisioning a post-apocalyptic downtown area filled with people covered in concrete dust. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and her body convulsed in a shudder.

  “A lot of us have family over there. I’m a citizen. I was raised here. My wife’s family has been killed and she’s in a camp, being treated abominably. I want to bring her home to me, but the government won’t let me. There are so many of us.” Saul’s voice choked on tears, and Misty would have felt bad for him under any other circumstances. But sympathy was hard to come by when she had a gun to her head.

  “Can we sit down and talk?” Chris asked, his hands still in the air. “Like normal people?” He should have been a hostage negotiator. Misty could feel Saul’s body relax behind her.

  ***

  Chris’s heart was in his throat throughout the entire exchange. He felt for the guy, but not enough to let him put a bullet in Misty. He was panicking on the inside but forcing an exterior calm because it seemed to be working. He tuned out the sobs of the man on the ground next to him.

  “You love this one, right?” Saul’s voice held an edge of madness to it—a madness only a man led to desperate measures could attain. “Imagine if she were in living in a tent, sick, with no food and no water.”

  “I get it. I really do. You want her here with you, where you can take care of her. I would want the same thing.” He watched in horror as Saul jolted the Uzi against Misty’s face. Again. The irony wasn’t lost on him that the Syrian was using a Jewish-made weapon. But the weapon was perfect for hiding under a suit jacket like the one Saul had on. Thank God for small weapons. He had one of his own, strapped to his ankle. He just needed to get to it. But first, he ha
d to get that gun out of Misty’s face.

  Saul’s counterpart, the other gunman, didn’t look like he had much patience left for this charade.

  Chris looked to the other man and started making shit up off the top of his head. “Look. I’m former military. So is my dad. We’ve got some connections. Maybe we can work something out. Let me and Saul here go in the other room and sit and talk a minute. Okay?” He was amazed at his voice. He sounded so calm. Where the hell had that come from? Looking back at Saul, he repeated. “Just talking. Okay?” It was like talking to a child.

  The only problem was, if he got the gunmen separated, there was no telling what this one would do in the kitchen with all the other people. There were eight other people here, and if that other gunman had explosives strapped to him, they would all die.

  Saul’s expression showed his internal war. His plans had been thwarted. Whether he intended for people to die on this mission or not, it was clear he wasn’t leaving unscathed now. But Chris saw when he made his decision to take Misty to the main seating area to talk.

  The relief flowing through Chris was palpable as he followed Saul, backing through the swinging door and out of the kitchen. He barked a few words to his cohort in a language Chris didn’t speak but recognized from his months in Syria.

  Months he’d hoped to have left behind when he came back stateside.

  The windows across the storefront showed a buzz of activity. People were everywhere—bleeding, crying, covered in dust from explosions, covering their heads as they scurried around. They were seeking cover, looking for loved ones or someone in charge. Police were barking orders, trying to find sense in the madness. Some hardcore protesters were still yelling at everyone, trying to get attention for whatever cause they championed—it was hard to make sense of it anymore. Chris saw teams of people working on explosive devices on doors around the square through a cloud of hazy smoke, but no one worked on the one on Misty’s door.

  But one man stood still in the midst of the bedlam. A man in black fatigues, like everyone else, covered in gray dust—unrecognizable to anyone who didn’t know him.

  Ghost.

  Saul led them to a small round table, forcing Misty into his lap, gun still trained to her head, and Chris followed, sitting across from him, his profile to Ghost. Saul hadn’t seen the man; he was focused solely on Chris.

  Leaning back in a forced gesture of casual nonchalance, trying to portray a visual of confidence, Chris rested his hands on his thighs. He flashed the number two with his fingers, followed by his pointer and thumb in the shape of a gun, to let Ghost know there were two gunmen. He pointed to Saul and then the kitchen to tell him where they were. Then he flashed four fingers and tapped his leg twice before pointing to the kitchen to convey there were eight hostages back there. Ghost took off at a controlled run around the building.

  “So… is this a Muslim thing? I’m not sure I can garner a lot of sympathy with the powers that be over a religious turf war on American soil.” Chris spoke calmly, and to his relief, Saul put the gun down on the table. Misty practically sagged into Saul’s lap as the gun came down from her face.

  Chris crossed his legs to have better access to his ankle holster. Sitting so casually next to the bomb on the door was freaking him out, but he could only handle one thing at a time.

  “No. I told you,” Saul raked his free hand through his hair, “it’s about the refugees needing a home to come to.” The hand resting on the Uzi twitched. Misty sat calmly in his lap, eyes wide, waiting for a signal from Chris. He wasn’t going to give one. He didn’t want her to do a damn thing but stay alive.

  “So tell me about it. How many are we talking?” He felt sick talking about this so calmly while his girl sat across from him in so much danger.

  Saul scratched his chin while he was considering the answer. “There are thousands in the camps, but we just want our families here.” Chris held back his disbelief that Saul actually believed he could do something. He couldn’t do a damn thing, and he wasn’t about to try. He just needed a distraction, which seemed to be working.

  When the gunshots went off in the kitchen, Chris took his opportunity. Misty reacted by jumping to the side and diving to the floor, and Chris’s gun was out of his ankle holster and in his hand in a nanosecond, trained on Saul’s face before he could tighten his hold on his Uzi.

  Chris swept it off the table—toward Misty—and stood, towering over Saul. Misty grabbed the gun and held it like a novice, which scared Chris more than almost anything. He held his free hand out for her, and she rushed into his arms.

  Checking the weapon, he trained it on Saul instead of his pea-shooter, feeling the familiar heft of the firearm.

  “He has more guns under his coat,” Misty whispered.

  “Okay.” To Saul, Chris said, “Hands up. I need to see them.” He wanted to know what was going on in the kitchen but needed to keep an eye on Saul. And the bomb on the door was an ever present reminder that there was a cluster-fuck happening outside.

  “Misty?!” Andrew’s voice carried through the kitchen, and Chris answered him with a yell. He guessed that answered the question about what was happening in the kitchen.

  Crash came barreling in the seating area, panic all over his face. “I heard you had a bomb on your door they haven’t gotten to yet. Why the fuck are you still here?” He looked at the scene before him, and Chris saw the minute dawning struck. “Saul? You’re part of this?”

  Saul nodded, his chin held high, eyes defiant. Crash’s eyes went from Saul to Misty to Chris before striding over to Saul and grabbing the front of his collar.

  “You son of a bitch,” Crash seethed.

  Chris knew what was going to happen. “Can you disarm him before you clock him? He’s got weapons all over him.”

  But apparently Saul didn’t know how to use them, if the fact he made no move to stop Crash was any indication. Or maybe he knew he was totally defeated.

  Holding one of his own guns on him, Crash doubled Chris’s cover. “Police are on their way. Ghost took care of the guy in the kitchen. He won’t be holding anyone else hostage. How long have you been here?” As if it were a normal day and they had this conversation all the time. Chris rolled his eyes.

  Saul had gone pale at the mention of his buddy being incapacitated, and Chris was sure he was wondering if he was dead. Chris didn’t care much.

  “Andrew, I need to tell you something,” Misty interrupted. Chris was still holding her around the waist, unwilling to let her go as he kept the Uzi trained on Saul. “I love him, too. I didn’t say it back because he caught me off guard, but I wanted to thank you for choosing Chris to take care of me. He’s been amazing, and I’m looking forward to a lot of time in our future.”

  Andrew grimaced. “Now really isn’t the time, Misty.”

  “I know, but I wanted you to know, since you have a gun in your hand. I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

  “I’m not pointing the fucking gun at your god-damned boyfriend, Misty. Chill.” Crash’s words were gritted out of teeth clamped shut. It was like his jaw was wired closed, and Chris grinned at him, taking Misty’s lead. The cops had come to take care of Saul, so there wasn’t anyone to cover anymore.

  Pressing her closer, Chris grinned at Crash, who was staring at both of them. “I betrayed your trust. But I still love you, too, man. You’re my brother. And she’s my girl. It’s actually kind of perfect when you think about it. Not that this is a great time to be thinking about it…” But he did. As a bevy of police officers took Saul out in handcuffs and cataloged all the guns he had in his coat, it was all Chris could think of.

  Andrew went with them—still on the clock—but before he left, he turned to Chris. “Try and take her back to the house, would ya?” His expression softened a bit as he tossed Chris his truck keys. “I still need to talk to you guys, but just keep her safe for now. I don’t know how long this is all going to last.”

  “Will do.” Chris hadn’t let go of Misty si
nce he’d gotten his hands on her. He needed to feel her under his fingers, to make sure she was really here, really okay.

  And he didn’t let go the entire way back to Crash’s truck, where he’d parked it blocks away. They drove home in a heavy silence as their adrenaline bottomed out. He could barely hold his eyes open as he made his way through the traffic, news vans, and police cars to get out of the downtown area. There were roadblocks set up, but Chris managed to talk his way out of them, practically signing over his first born in the process. This was an unprecedented situation, one without protocol, and he was sure he’d be talking to the police, government, and military, explaining what had happened for the rest of the calendar year.

  But right now, he had to get Misty home.

  Epilogue:

  One month later…

  “This one?” Misty was biting her bottom lip as she thought, and it was sexy as hell. If she would stop that, he’d be able to focus on actually eating on the table, but instead, he was envisioning spreading her out on top of it. Jesus. Every dining room table they had looked at, Chris had based his likes on whether or not it was sturdy enough to have sex on.

  Ignoring other shoppers and the pushy salesman who he’d already told to fuck off, he crowded Misty against the table. Boxing her in, he palmed the table top while he nuzzled the exposed skin of her shoulder. She tasted so sweet, it made his head swim.

  “Okay, so we’re trying it out?” He heard the laughter in her voice before grasping her hips and lifting her onto the top of the table. Yup. His hips fit perfectly between her thighs.

  Truly, the idea of fucking her on their dining room table was very important, but the symbol of the table was even more paramount. They were moving in together, into a place with a dining room. He was going to eat dinners with her every night, and eventually they would have a family who would eat around the table, too. Not that the relationship had gotten that far, but Chris was all in. Misty was it for him. He was done fucking around and just knew she was the rest of his life.