Trap: A Salvation Society Novel

by Jennifer Rebecca

  I can only pray that the Reaper finds me quickly, because I’m not sure how much more I can survive along with the devastating knowledge that no one is coming for me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kyle

  Tactical Retrieval of Aircraft and Personnel

  The rotor blades of the helicopter whir overhead, and my brain is a mess of thoughts that I can’t seem to control. Usually, when I’m on a mission, I’m the epitome of calm, cool, and collected. But when Jackson Cole stood in his office and told me that I wasn’t going to get to come if I couldn’t lock it down, I did the only thing I could. I lied.

  In reality, I’m a mess, and a mess is dangerous. I need to lock all the feelings and emotions that riot through my head and my heart away in a box in the back of my soul, one I can access later to sort out. Whether the outcome is good or it’s bad, I’m going to need to address whatever happens.

  Once I promised to be a good little soldier, things moved rather quickly. Sean let go of me so I was free to move about the cabin, but it was also clear by the posture of the other men in the room that I was not free to throw any more punches or office furniture. So I did what I was told and I locked it down. Which, as it turned out for the time being, was a good thing, because Surfer turned out to be a wealth of information.

  He and I had been ships passing in the night when we were both with the teams. We ran only a handful of missions together before he was transferred to parts unknown and no one had a clear answer on where he had gone. It was always whispered in dark corners that he’d been recruited for one of the cloak-and-dagger agencies that operate under initials, but still, no one knew for sure.

  Now, I’m still not one hundred percent, but I’m sure enough to guess. I’m also pretty certain that I do not want to voice those thoughts out loud for fear that someone really will issue a notice to ice me because I know too much. Surfer is into some deep shit. And I mean deep with a capital Don’t Ask Questions because you really don’t want to know the answers to them.

  I say this only because he just so happened to know exactly where MacKenzie is being held, by who, and why. He also had a plan to get her back that involved him—off the books, of course—and Cole Security. Not to mention the involvement of a handful of active SEALs no one was ever to speak about being there and were also off the books.

  Black stood in the corner with Cole and supervised. With his high-ranking position, he was a ghost in the mix of all this. He couldn’t do anything more than observe, and I could tell it was killing him to not be the one to storm the fort and bring his sister back home safe and sound.

  When the planning meeting breaks and we all split to grab our ready bags and gear to hit the airstrip, he stops me with a hand to my arm. “Just a minute.”

  “Yeah,” I snap, not wanting to waste a minute more before I get to my girl.

  “Bring her home safe,” he begs, and it just about kills me to see a man like that plead for the protection and wellbeing of such a strong woman who has been brought low.

  “I will,” I assure him. Just before I walk out the door, I vow, “Or I’ll die trying.”

  We leave shortly after, making the airbase where MacKenzie’s squadron had been deployed to just after sunrise. Posing as American troops, we’re given barracks space and a makeshift ready room.

  Earlier in the evening, I pass by Cinco and Hooter in the chow hall, and I can tell they recognize Sean and me, but they know better than to say anything. Even though we’re not completely sure how deep the mole in Squadron Two goes, I’m sure they can be trusted, mostly because I have the sinking feeling that one of them cared more for Mack than just strictly friendship. And even though I got the girl in the end, they still care enough for her that they’re happy enough that she has someone to love her. They want her safe at any cost, and we’re all going to see that happen.

  After sundown, we make our final preparations. We dress in all-black gear and paint our faces with pitch to help camouflage us in the dark of night under the moon. The whole time, I mentally go through the motions. Instead of being precise and exacting, I’m struggling to breathe knowing that she’s so close and still I can’t get to her… yet.

  We meet the helicopter pilots at the airstrip just after midnight. There’s never anything good that happens this late at night, and I should know. I spent years doing dangerous and deadly things in the name of God and country, and now I’m going to do it for the love of a good woman. There’s a lot of dark marks on my soul from the sins of my past. They don’t usually bother me, but every now and then, something creeps up on me in the middle of the night. Not often enough for it to be a problem, just occasionally on my darker days. But I also know that whatever happens tonight, it won’t leave a mark on my soul as long as Mack makes it out alive, and if she doesn’t, all hope for me is lost.

  Climbing aboard the SH-60 is like coming home to old friends. I can’t count how many times I’ve hauled my gear onto one with a squad so they could fly us to parts unknown. On one hand, it’s second nature, and on the other, this is all new.

  One by one, we take seats on the chopper. The crew chief gives the all-clear to the pilot, and we take off. The running lights are low in the chopper, and I stare at my worn boots on my feet. My ankles are crossed out in front of me as I sit slumped in my seat. To anyone looking, I’m relaxed, I’m ready, but really, I’m nothing but chaos inside.

  We fly out toward the barrier, away from the airbase. According to Surfer’s intel, Mack and her team found a building while they were flying patrol, but when they reported it to their command, it was, according to Hoots and Cinco, determined to be nothing. Mack’s guys were not impressed to find out that their concerns were dismissed after she went missing. They repeatedly tried to bring up their concerns with the squadron commander but he, for whatever reason, wasn’t listening.

  “Approaching the drop zone,” Surfer calls out. He’s Det Commander for this motley crew.

  We all stand up. The running lights shut off, and I pull my night vision down from on top of my head. I pull gloves from my pants pockets and slide my hands into them. He signals for us to line up, and one by one, we lean out the door, grab the rope, and jump. One after another, we hit the ground and take position with rifles ready. Hot roping used to be a fun pastime, but now it’s just a necessary step to get my girl back.

  I’m not the front man, and honestly, that’s probably smart. They jokingly call me Tarzan, but I could easily forget all my training and run in like Braveheart, screaming for MacKenzie.

  We fan out with precision like figure skaters at the Olympics. Dreamboat and Surfer breach the door and take out a guard in the process. In teams, we clear rooms, neutralizing the captors as we go.

  I’m beginning to lose hope.

  She’s supposed to be here, but she’s not.

  My heart stutters and my vision dims, and then I think, I’m not going to make it out of here. I don’t know how to give up on the idea that she’s here and coming home with us. My legs threaten to give out when I hear Surfer whistle, and everything changes. My energy is renewed, and it’s like I’ve been given a second chance at life, because that one whistle means he’s found her.

  She’s here, and she’s alive.

  We make our way through the back of the house and find a concrete cell sealed up with a locked metal door. There’s a small window on the door, but no one is letting me look through it. They just work quietly to clear the door, rolling the charge strips down the side. Sean and Quinn stand as lookouts, making sure no one else hiding in the building can get the drop on us.

  When the door releases, they pack up their equipment and pull open the steel door. My heart about gives out when I see her. MacKenzie—my strong, beautiful MacKenzie—is lying unconscious on the cold concrete in dirt and her own filth. Her fair skin is mottled with gruesome streaks, from purple to green. Someone beat the shit out of her, and the thought makes me want to rage, but I have to lock it down to get her out of here.


  Surfer takes Sean’s place as guard so Sean can come into the cell with me and assess what needs to be done in order to transport her.

  I crouch beside her and delicately trace my fingertips over her brow. Her beautiful green eyes flutter open, and she looks at me. There’s a haze in her eyes like she’s not really here in the moment.

  “Pretty dream,” she mumbles.

  “It’s all going to be okay, baby,” I tell her softly. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

  “It was all just a dream,” she mumbles as Sean looks her over and nods. It’s safe to move her. “It’s not a dream, it’s a nightmare.”

  “I know, honey. You’re safe now,” he says to her. Sean has a deep gruff voice but with Mack he’s gentle and quiet.

  “I’ll never be safe,” she whispers. “I’m going to die here.”

  I lift her into my arms like a bride, like the precious cargo she is, and she cries out in pain. I try to readjust her, but she gasps and her eyes slide shut. As terrifying as it is that she’s no longer conscious, it’s also not a bad thing, because now we can move quickly through this building and back to the chopper.

  Sean, just as he promised when we walked into the meeting the other day in the office, has my back. He runs with me and the rest of the team to our transport. He and the others take point and are ready to protect me and my girl, and I will forever be thankful for this brotherhood.

  We jump up into the SH-60, and I hold her in my arms as we take off. When we land back at the airbase, we rush her into medical where they look her over, but Sean and I refuse to leave her side. Hooter and Cinco make their way inside and look at her lying there in the hospital bed. Each one places a kiss to her cheek before nodding to me and then leaving.

  Their squadron is being pulled from this mission, their deployment scrubbed after this incident. There will be an investigation once they’re stateside. Allan Woodruff is dead. He ate a bullet in the hangar when he was notified that authorities located the dead bodies of his wife and daughter. He left a messily scrawled note apologizing to Mack.

  Once MacKenzie is stable, we load up on a C-130 heading back to the U.S. We keep her comfortable on a cot in the back. But the war isn’t over.

  Two hours into the flight, Mack wakes up screaming. I pull her into my arms and try to comfort her, but she can’t be consoled. There’s a wildness in her that I’ve never seen before. The sheer terror in her gaze is enough to cut me to the core.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I tell her over and over again, but it’s no use. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I look to Sean when he moves closer. I don’t know what to do as she screams and thrashes, much like I did two days ago in the office before I knew she was still alive.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers to her. “I promise, honey, it’s going to be okay.”

  And then he injects her with a sedative. She mellows immediately, and it’s a stark contrast to the palpable fear that permeated the flight.

  “I’m sorry,” he says to me. “I had to.”

  “I know,” I reply, though I can’t help but feel like I don’t know anything anymore. But no matter what, I’ll protect her. I’ll see it through.

  Chapter Twenty

  MacKenzie

  Who’s sorry now?

  “I’m sorry,” Kyle says over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

  I just keep screaming and screaming. Thrashing my body around, clawing and grasping for anything and anyone that can get me off of this God forsaken airplane because I can’t be here. I can’t be on a plane—this plane or any plane, ever again. I know without a doubt to the very pits of my soul that if I do, I will die.

  I don’t just panic; the chaos and fear of crashing make up every single molecule in my body. I can't do it. I can’t be here.

  I can’t crash again, because I won’t survive it. I’ll never survive it. You think you’ll know what to do, that you’ll be okay if you’re ever taken, but there is not one thing, not one ounce of training, that can prepare you for being a prisoner of war.

  “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I try to get the words out, but it’s no use. My mouth won’t work. Please, please, please, I want to beg. Help me get off this flying death trap. People weren’t meant to fly like birds. We shouldn’t tempt fate or God or whoever, because when they turn their back on you, you will know absolute fear and darkness.

  Kyle holds me in his strong arms, and his scent envelops me, but what once made me feel safe and secure cannot penetrate the terror that seizes my mind and my body.

  His friend Sean approaches and lays a hand on my arm to comfort me, but it’s no use. Nothing helps.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers to me. “It’s going to be okay.”

  But is it? Nothing is ever going to be okay again, because if I can’t fly, then who am I? And if I don’t have that, what is there even for me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  I feel a sharp pinch, and then warmth seeps into my veins, spreading out, over, and through every inch of my body, and I slowly slip below the surface of the waves of consciousness. As I go, I hear Sean whisper, “I’m sorry.”

  He’s sorry. Kyle is sorry. They think they can protect me, that they can heal me. That if they wish it away, it’ll all be better. But terror, like I felt when I woke up on this plane, is not something that can ever be wished away. I’m not even sure it will ever go away. It lives inside me now like a cancer, and I don’t think I will ever be free of it. And as a pilot who always lived to fly high in the sky, that’s no life to live at all.

  So who’s sorry now?

  Me. The answer is me.

  And then I let the darkness take me again, because what else is there to do when I have nothing left. Not one thing.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kyle

  Beautiful and broken

  I knock on the door, even though for weeks I lived off and on at this house. MacKenzie’s condo is as still and silent as a tomb.

  I use my key and open the door. It’s been days since I’ve seen her. She won’t answer the phone, and she won’t come to the door. I know Cinco and Hooter have seen her, and it kills me. It fucking kills me that she’ll let them in—to her home, to her space, even her personal thoughts—but not me. Never me.

  When I walk through the door, she’s there, lying on her side. The bruising on her face is healing in shades of grizzly yellow and green, but it’s still jarring to see. She’s endured so much, and here she is, silently suffering. I want her to let me in, let me be here with her, to hold her and help her heal inside and out, but she won’t cave. Finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I just came over.

  I don’t know how long she’s been here like this, but she hasn’t showered in a while. Her hair is limp and greasy, and quite honestly, she smells. Even through the filth and the grime and the heavy depression that blankets her, she’s still beautiful. She’s still my MacKenzie. I know it down to my bones, I just have to make her see it too. That I’m here, she’s still here, and there is so much to live for. I know she’s hurting, but I need to be here with her, to love her. If she’ll let me.

  Her eyes flit from the wall to me for a second before flitting back again. I have no idea what could be so appealing about some cream-painted sheetrock, but there she is, staring at it like it holds all the secrets to the universe.

  “Hi,” I say as I make my way into the living room. MacKenzie says absolutely nothing. Not one fucking thing. She doesn’t even look at me. “Mack, baby, look at me please.”

  And finally, she does. Those gorgeous green eyes come back to my face and hold my gaze, and then she breaks my fucking heart into a million pieces.

  “You should go,” she says quietly, and her voice sounds rusty like she hasn’t used it in a while. Like maybe the last time she used her vocal cords was to scream her terror on the flight home.

  “No,” I reply. “This is exactly where I want to be.”

  “I don’t want
you here.”

  “You can’t mean that,” I say, and I know I sound wounded, because I fucking am. After everything we’ve been through, she wants to cut me out just like that? Doesn’t she know that I’m in love with her? That I can’t live without her and I don’t want to even try.

  “I don’t love you, Kyle,” she whispers.

  “You’re lying,” I bite out but then again, didn’t she do just the same thing the night before she left? Didn’t she try and show me that this was exactly what she wanted?

  “I’m not lying.” She twists the knife in my heart even deeper. “I’m not. Just… just go.”

  Suddenly, I can’t get out of there fast enough. All the times I was upset that I hadn’t told her I loved her, when I thought she just needed more time and everything would be okay, that we would be okay, it was all bullshit, because while I was pining away for her, she never loved me at all.

  I nod in her direction and then walk back through the front door, letting it slam behind me. It shudders on its hinges before settling and the noise echoes through the block. Hooter and Cinco are on their way in with a bag full of takeout. Again, she’s letting them in and not me—another sign she didn’t give a shit. All I felt for her, and just… nothing. She didn’t feel the first thing for me.

  “Hey, man,” Cinco says warily. “Long time, no see.”

  “Yeah,” I reply, and I want out of here. I don’t want to stand here on her doorstep and shoot the shit with her friends like a lovesick little bitch. They know. They have to know—even with everything I went through to get her back, and how much I love her—that she was just going through the motions the whole time.

  “You coming back?” he asks me.

  “No,” I say after a moment. “I’m not coming back.”