Firestorm

by Rachel Grant

  She kissed him, her tongue doing to his mouth what he was doing to her with his cock. She was slick and hot, and their joining was urgent and un-fucking-believably perfect. He was drenched in sweat thanks to the thick moisture in the air and the press and exertion of urgent sex.

  They’d escaped death and now were claiming their reward. She was his. Now. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Always.

  Her body tightened, and her breathing changed. She released his mouth and tilted her head back to rest against the trunk of the tree, exposing her neck for his mouth. He kissed her throat as he thrust into her, then lifted his head to watch her in the gray light as pleasure lit her expression. He was doing that to her. She was giving the same to him. She cried out, the raspy sound a cousin to the calls of wildcats of the rainforest.

  The sexy noise, the sensual expression, the wild feel as her inner muscles tightened on his cock, pushed him over the brink. A powerful orgasm rocked him, the feeling so intense, his knees turned weak. He leaned into the tree, sandwiching her between hard wood and his depleted body as waves of pleasure continued to pulse from where their bodies joined.

  They’d barely said a word since he’d shut off the engine of the bike, and now he felt a rumble of laughter rising in his chest. No words, just laughter at being buried deep in her while on the run in a Congolese equatorial rainforest.

  Joining the Army had led to some interesting experiences, and this was one he’d carry with him until his dying day. When he was ninety-five, he would close his eyes and think about this moment. How she felt. How she smelled. The look on her beautiful face as she came.

  His laughter escaped, and she joined in. Her body quaking, her inner muscles contracting on his penis. He kissed her as he laughed and slid from her body. He stopped laughing long enough to say, “You’re amazing,” then kissed her nose and released her, still chuckling.

  “So are you.” She grabbed her pants from where they lay, draped over a vine, then bent to search for her panties, which must have fallen from their perch.

  He tucked himself away, watching her ass and loving the view. “We’ve gone far enough that we could try to find a village. Maybe we can rent a bed for a few hours and do that again but conventionally.”

  She stood, underwear in hand, and shook them out, likely to rid the panties of forest creatures. He’d tried to prevent that by hanging them on the vine, but he’d been too eager to get inside her to pay attention and do it right.

  “Unconventional was pretty great.” She stepped into the panties. “And I don’t think we should linger too long. I was thinking on the ride that we should head to Lisala and try to get a flight out of town. Fitzsimmons is paying Lubanga for a school. I want to try to find it.”

  “It’s probably a diamond or other mining operation. The payment could be a bribe for the mining claim.”

  “Yeah. And I’m worried. What if children are involved? What if children are doing the mining?”

  The idea had crossed his mind more than once too. “It makes the school the perfect cover then, a great way to round up kids as workers.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Most diamond mines are in the south, but there are some—like my mom’s childhood village—that are closer to Kinshasa.” He considered their options. Before they could try to find a nonexistent school, they needed to get out of this area. In Congo, travel was rarely easy. “Like you, I’ve been thinking. The airport in Lisala is tiny. If anyone is looking for us, that’s where they’ll be. But we could hop on a cargo barge. Tourists travel on them occasionally, so while we’ll be noticed, it won’t be that strange. My Lingala and your French will help us to blend. We could head upriver to Kisangani or downriver to Mbandaka. Those airports are bigger. From there, we could fly to Kinshasa, or out of Congo.”

  “The barge—in either direction—would take what, five days?”

  He nodded. “Probably longer.”

  She cocked her head. He loved the way she looked when she did that. He’d bet she was running a dozen different scenarios in her mind, like a chess player, working the odds of failure or success. Finally, she said, “Do they check ID on the barges?”

  “I think they do at some of the ports along the way. Our fake passports will be fine. As far as I know, it’s just cursory. A way to collect tolls—bribes. No one reports the names of passengers up or down the line unless there’s an issue.”

  She frowned. “Can we afford five days or more of travel time?”

  “I don’t think we have a choice. I can’t call in a ride from SOCOM. Even if I did, they’d fly into the Republic of Congo—probably Brazzaville—and expect us to meet them on the river.”

  Brazzaville, the capital of the Republic of Congo, was right across the river from Kinshasa, so unless they could get to where the river split the two Congos, calling for help was useless.

  “A flight would save us days, though.”

  Freya was operating on US time, where it was so easy to jump a thousand miles. This was Congo, where it took weeks—sometimes more than a month—to get from Kisangani to Kinshasa.

  “The airport is too big a risk.” He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t want you doing anything suicidal like when you shot the hard drive.” He kissed her to let her know he wasn’t angry—at least, not anymore. “And running headfirst into a trap is suicide, no matter how much you think you can beat it.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry—about shooting the disk without warning you first. It was a split-second decision. I should have warned you, but it was also the right call.”

  He knew that. As a former analyst and current operator, she knew how important the data was. Her training revolved around protecting the data and protecting herself, but he didn’t doubt she considered protecting herself secondary.

  As a soldier, for him, people came first. She came first.

  In that moment, everything was crystal clear. She would always come first for him.

  He imagined being ninety-five, remembering wild sex against a tree in an equatorial rainforest in Congo, and looking to his right, seeing Freya by his side, and sharing the memory with a naughty grin.

  And damn, now he wanted that.

  24

  After eating protein bars and topping off the gas tank, they set out again. Freya clung to Cassius’s back, her cheek pressed to his spine as they passed through the forest. This was a rainforest of fantasy and fairy tale. Sultry, wild, and achingly beautiful.

  It was a shame they couldn’t hear the natural sounds of forest over the bike engine, but they weren’t tourists hoping to hear the call of exotic birds and big cats. Lowland gorillas were unlikely to be found in this forest—they were in the rainforests farther east—but still, this fulfilled a long-forgotten dream. That she was with Cassius Callahan only made the experience sweeter.

  It didn’t matter that they were on the run or that the Russian Mafia was likely after her for stealing half a billion dollars. In this moment, she allowed herself to forget Seth had betrayed her. She’d dwell on that nightmare later.

  Right now, she held on to Cassius and breathed in his scent. If she pressed her face just so, she didn’t notice the exhaust smell from the bike, and it was just the two of them in a vast, wild rainforest.

  Indigenous people lived in these woods, she knew. Hunter-gatherers who’d been here for thousands of years. They were short of stature, dark skinned, and sometimes offered their services as guides through the forest. It was unlikely they’d meet any Twa on this rapid trek, but she wondered if any were nearby, alerted by the loud motorbike, watching their passage.

  If so, they likely thought them a couple of fools, crossing the rainforest without guides. And they’d be right, except that Cal was a Green Beret and trained not just to survive but to fight in this heat, darkness, and terrain. And she’d had similar training. If they lost the bike and had to cross on foot, they could do it, but it wouldn’t be easy. She wasn’t about to get cocky and disrespect the hazards of the forest.

/>   They reached the edge of the mature forest; the ground cover became thick and impenetrable in places. Rainforest transforming into overgrown jungle. They agreed to press on, searching for a passable route through the woods, forced to walk the bike and cut a path with machetes.

  The forest lightened with increased sunlight that fed the growing plants. Insects swarmed, attacking all exposed, sweaty skin. They fought their way through for hours with little conversation beyond deciding on when to cut through and when to turn back and find an easier path.

  Welts covered Freya’s arms and face from both insects and the whipping of branches. She ignored the pain as she sipped from a water bottle and passed it to Cal. They were running low on water and would refill at the next stream. It was tempting to fill the canteen with rainwater collected on broadleaves, but those small, static pools were likely to contain mosquito and other insect larvae. If they got desperate, they wouldn’t be picky. They had purification tablets. After last night’s rain, there was no shortage of water.

  Hours later, they broke free of the jungle. Freya had a new appreciation for the ease with which they had entered the rainforest, but then, the path of the old railway had cut through the thickest part of the jungle, and they’d had a relatively thin swath to breach to reach mature forest.

  This had been straight-up bushwhacking. Her arms ached, her skin itched, and her throat was dry. But damn if she didn’t feel exhilarated upon stepping out of the jungle into a clearing and seeing a road in the distance.

  The sky was cloudy as another storm threatened, but warm, thick air embraced her. She felt a surge of energy.

  They hadn’t exactly conquered the jungle, but they’d survived it. Plus, they’d escaped Gbadolite, recovered millions of dollars, found and hidden yellowcake, and struck what could be a devastating blow to Lubanga’s finances.

  She’d take it as a win.

  She reached for Cal, who was as sweaty, sticky, and welty as she was, and slid her arms around his neck, being careful not to irritate either of their wounds. She grinned up at him. “I feel like we should get a jungle bushwhacking scout badge or something.”

  He laughed and dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “My mom sews. She can make us badges when we get back to the States.”

  She laughed, liking the idea of meeting his mom. “Deal. Now, let’s get to that road and head to Lisala.”

  They’d chosen their route out of the jungle using Cal’s GPS and came out more or less where they’d expected. Lisala, with a large port on the Congo River, was just sixty-five kilometers—about forty miles—to the south. Traveling by road, they would arrive in town in just over an hour.

  Her butt was sore from the endless riding over bumpy ground, but her arms were grateful for the break from bushwhacking, and the road felt smooth as silk after the forest floor. In no time at all, they were on the outskirts of town and heading toward the river.

  Lisala had suffered with the loss of infrastructure over the last twenty years. The town was a mix of traditional thatched-roof buildings and concrete construction with sheet-metal roofs. Everything was worn and battered and many of the once-paved roads were being reclaimed by nature.

  Cal parked the bike near the river, where buildings clustered and an informal market neared closing time at the end of another sweltering day. The rain had stopped, but the air was thick with moisture. They both climbed from the bike to stretch their legs. He rolled his shoulders, which had to be tight from controlling the bike on the slippery, muddy road, going faster than conditions allowed.

  The smell of grilling fish had Freya’s stomach clenching with hunger. She made a beeline for the vendor, a woman who looked to be in her twenties who had two children—identical twins—playing in the dirt next to her grill.

  With the first bite of fresh, hot food, Freya let out a groan of pleasure. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this hungry. “This is the best fish I’ve ever had,” she said with a mouth full of food.

  Cal laughed at her garbled speech, then bought more fish from the woman, emptying her grill so she could pack up. “From the river, straight to the grill. Fish doesn’t get any fresher than this.”

  Freya finished her first piece, then moved on to the second. After her initial hunger was down to a manageable level, she said, “We should ask about barges.” She nodded to a vessel visible downriver. “Is that one leaving tonight or tomorrow?” she asked the woman in French.

  “That barge should leave tomorrow,” the woman said. “It arrived yesterday and has been unloading and loading new cargo all day.”

  “Which way is she headed?” Cal asked.

  “Kinshasa. If you want to go to Kisangani, another barge is due tomorrow or the next day.”

  Cal gave the woman a tip for the information, and they quickly finished eating, then hopped back on the bike to hurry down to where the barge was moored.

  Less than an hour later, Cal paid the skipper to secure their spot on the barge and paid for their bike to be stored with the cargo. Their place on the deck was only a few square feet, but it would be theirs for the next five days until they disembarked at Mbandaka, the next major port.

  “A lot of couples traveling together sleep on shore at night, when they can,” Cal said. “Camp out by the river. We’ve got the tent and sleeping pads we picked up in Dar. It’ll be a lot more comfortable than the deck of the barge, and we’ll be protected from insects and rain in the tent.”

  “Sounds good to me.” If they had to sleep on the barge, they’d only have a tarp as protection from the rain, there wasn’t enough room to set up even the small two-person tent.

  From a store near the dock, they purchased food and other supplies—a bowl and fork for each of them. A bucket for drawing river water for bathing and drinking. Rope, because rope was always needed. A better pack for storing and disguising the AKs. As they shopped, weariness settled into Freya’s bones. It had been more than thirty-six hours since she’d slept, and the time in between had been…active, to say the least.

  Adrenaline had faded. She could see Cal drooping too. They both could rally if they had to—they’d been trained for it—but there was no need. She’d planned to boot up the computer and work tonight, but she’d have plenty of time to comb through the computer on the barge. Now, more than anything, she needed sleep.

  It was full dark by the time they were setting up the tent. The flashlight, necessary for reading the directions, drew biting insects, so Cal tossed the laminated card aside. “We can wing it.”

  “You have to stake it down first,” she said when he started sliding the poles through the loops.

  They continued to bicker; Cal was doing it all wrong and needed correcting. He let out a frustrated growl when the rain picked up. Lightning flashed in the distance.

  One of their fellow travelers chuckled and asked in French, “How long have you been married?”

  “Too long,” Cal said.

  Freya laughed and tossed the rainfly over the top of the tent. “Eternity,” she added.

  Cal snapped the rainfly straps in to the corner posts on his side while she did the same on hers, and the tent was built.

  They said good night to their amused neighbor and crawled inside, dragging their packs and the bag with the AKs inside with them. More lightning flashed as Cal gathered her against him and his mouth covered hers. She squealed as she bumped the side of the tent, and it tipped, rolling to the side.

  “Huh. Guess we should have staked it down,” he muttered as he pinned her on her back—rolling the tent upright again. He grabbed her hands, pulling them above her head and holding them there with one hand as he lifted her shirt with the other. He pulled down her bra, and his mouth found her nipple.

  She’d thought she was too exhausted, but his mouth on her body woke all the important parts. Lightning flashed, followed by a rumble of thunder.

  The image of him sucking on her breast was burned in her mind in the pitch-black darkness of the tent. She tried to free her
hands—she wanted to touch him—but he held her tight. He moved up until his lips were pressed to her ear. “Do you want this, Freya?” he whispered.

  Rain pummeled the tent. They were hidden in a dark cocoon. Sheltered from the rain. One couple in a sea of tents. She hadn’t felt this safe since before Harry arrived at Camp Citron.

  No one in the world knew where they were.

  There was a lot to be settled between them, but one truth was he wanted her. He cared for her. This might be a fling, but it didn’t feel like one. She’d thought the sex in the rainforest had been an impulse, not necessarily the start of something.

  “I always want you, Cal,” she whispered back. “But…can we get out the sleeping pads first?”

  He laughed. “Still directing tent construction.”

  “Hey, I was right about the stakes, and water is soaking through the floor. For a Green Beret, you don’t seem to know how to camp.”

  She felt his body shake with laughter. “Sure I do. But it’s hella fun to play with you.”

  And she liked the way he played. This was the man she’d watched him be with everyone at Camp Citron but her. Playful. Congenial. Warm. Fun. And oh so very sexy.

  He released her hands and pulled out the thin sleeping pads from his pack. He inflated one while she blew into the other. It wasn’t much padding, but it would keep them off the wet ground and offered insulation.

  Bed made, he made love to her silently, so as not to disturb the neighbors. She couldn’t hold back her pleasured gasp as he penetrated her, thick, smooth perfection. The rain covered the sound of his body slapping against hers as he thrust, hard and fast.

  She wrapped her legs around him, loving the feel of his skin against hers. She got lost in the feel of him, the stroke and slide.

  So good. So perfect.

  He was everything she’d ever wanted. This moment was every fantasy come true. He was her Cassius. Her soldier. Her partner.

  She let out a cry as she came. His mouth covered hers, silencing her as she felt his body quake with his own orgasm.