Firethorn (Discarded Heroes)

by Kendig, Ronie

  Aching over her fractured mental state, Marshall coiled his arms around his sister and pulled her close, smoothing her hair. “Shhh.” He held her as she sobbed in his chest once, then pushed back, repeated the rhyme, and spun toward the door. “Melanie, please—go home to the children.”

  “Gone, gone away to school. He’s the one who is the fool.” She giggled, then her face went serious. “It’s about time someone figured it out,” she whispered.

  At his side, he felt more than heard Rel. Something pressed into his hand, but he could not tear his gaze from his once strong, beautiful sister. The one with their father’s wit and favor. The Vaughn said to take Washington by storm. The only family member who had ever believed in him—completely.

  “Here.” Rel shook the envelope in his hand.

  Marshall stuffed it in his shirt, then started for his sister. He couldn’t just leave her here. What if she told them he’d been in here? With Rel? It’d be over before they could hit the road.

  “Out for a spin, out for fun, time for Marshall to run,” Melanie said as she tossed the keys to him. And with that, she tossed a thumb drive. “Run, Marshall, big brother Marshall. Only come back to end it all.”

  If a meat cleaver ripped through his heart, it would not have hurt as much as seeing the state to which his sister had been reduced. “Melanie.” He started forward, reaching for her—

  Thud! Thud!

  He stopped short as she spun toward the door, eyes wide, fingers curled around her lips.

  “Go,” Melanie hissed and nudged him.

  Marshall darted to the door and flung it open. He and Rel sprinted into the dual hedgerows lining the sprawling lawn. Pain tightened like a vise around his ribs and side. Fire leapt through him, but he pushed himself. Anger and agony writhed within. His father had said Melanie wasn’t feeling well, that she wasn’t herself. But this…this was madness. Literally.

  Why? Why hadn’t his father told him?

  Right—just like the pictures?

  More of the same. His father was a monster, so consumed with his career that he didn’t care what happened to his own children. He’d never been a hands-on parent, but this? Melanie falling apart beneath his own nose and nothing was done?

  There—ahead he saw the white colonial home looming against the still-barren landscape of winter. Leaf-stripped branches waved craggy fingers toward the stately home. Breathless, Marshall paused where the hedgerow stopped at a grassy knoll that seemed to desperately escape the black-paved driveway that arched back toward the home.

  “Are you okay?” Cold, delicate hands touched his as Rel gasped. “You’re flushed.”

  He grinned through a heaving breath. “A little exercise never hurt me.”

  “It might with those injuries.”

  “You can dote over me when we get back to the team.” He scurried across the lawn. Gravel crunched underfoot as he half limped toward the rear door to the garage. Through the side door, they slipped into the pristine interior of his sister’s Lexus SUV.

  As he reached for the key, Marshall paused. Looked at Rel, then grinned again. “Can you drive—on the right side of the road?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve lived in the States for the last ten years, Marshall.”

  “Take the wheel.” He dove into the rear.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “You look like my sister. They won’t stop the car.” He pressed himself against the floorboard. Vibrations wormed through his back and legs as sunlight spilled into the vehicle. The gears shifted, then pulled forward.

  “Two men are waving me down.”

  “Just honk and make a lot of hand motions.”

  “Uh…okay…” Soon, a nervous laugh carried through the car, then tires gained traction and screeched away from the house.

  Marshall hauled himself into the passenger seat as they sped down the road. “Don’t stop for anything.”

  “I don’t know where I’m going.”

  “Crazy,” he muttered and plucked out the photos again.

  “No, seriously, Marshall.” Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. “In case you’ve forgotten, everyone’s missing—including Lambert.”

  Roughing a hand over his face, he groaned. “I forgot he went MIA, too.” He sighed and looked out over the road. Where would they go? What resources or unknown locations did the team have that he could tap into without alerting every combatant after them? Somewhere the team could go without heavy eyes…

  “There!” He stabbed a finger toward a sign.

  Rel darted him a look. “An airport? Marshall, we can’t—“

  “Trust me. My bad boy days are about to pay off.”

  “You mean they’re over?”

  His laugh faded as they turned onto the private, two-lane road leading to the hangar. If only Mario was here…

  “Last building on the left is his.”

  “The whole building? How can he afford that?”

  Marshall laughed. Did she really not have a clue how much he was worth, that men of the same color—green, as in greenbacks, in this case—stuck together? Of course, he’d tried to keep the rich-kid persona hidden with Nightshade. He wanted to be respected, to have value beyond the stock markets he’d dabbled in. The fortune he’d made copying his father’s moves. He might not be into politics the way Warren Vaughn was, but Marshall had inherited one promising thing from his father: intelligence.

  “There.” He pointed to a sleek plane, his blood chugging through his veins. It’d been years since he’d spoken to Mario. “He’s here.” Out of the car, he strode into the hangar. Darkness descended upon him, momentarily leaving his vision affected.

  A curse from the side flung him around. Dressed in an OD flight suit, an Italian stalked toward him, a part clutched in grease-slicked hands. The olive-drab garb made his friend look like a jungle monkey, especially with the jet-black hair dangling in his face.

  “Mario.”

  Another curse. “Should’a known.”

  “That I’d come to collect?” Marshall kept the smile in place, determined not to let his friend know this was more than just a pleasure visit.

  Mario hesitated as his gaze hit something behind Marshall, who checked his six. Rel stepped from the car, the sun glinting off the red in her chestnut hair.

  “That’s screwed up, man. Even for you. Getting a chick involved.” Mario shook his head. “But don’t think that will change my mind.”

  “What mind is that?”

  “They told me not to help.”

  Marshall’s gut tightened. “Who?”

  Mario shook his head. “They all over you, man. Said they’d make me beg if I helped.”

  “Who?”

  “The cops…your dad.”

  “That never stopped you before.”

  Mario’s gaze bounced between Rel and Marshall. The toothy grin that had been the preamble to many illegal adventures gleamed in the midafternoon sun. “I know, right?” He thunked Marshall’s gut with the steel part. “They said not to take you anywhere in my planes.”

  Marshall chuckled. “Still got that Black Hawk?”

  “Yeah, but if you want fast and stealth, I’ve got something better. Picked it up off an Arab prince.”

  Marshall followed him around the plane graveyard and straight toward a beauty of an aircraft. Boeing 727. Glittering in the sun, it sat as if ready to spirit them away to safety. Finally, something had gone right.

  Bread & Butter Club, London

  Griffin stalked the halls pulsating with bodies and revelers. Too many people. Too many witnesses. This wasn’t a good place to enact their plan. ‘Sides, where was Kacie? Then there was the muzzle pointed at his back. That wouldn’t be a problem if it were the only one. But there were two armed men to his six and twelve. And Colton had more of the same.

  It’d been four or five hours since Kacie had left their cell. No word of her since. No sight. Had she abandoned them? No, she wouldn’t do that. Even if she didn’t have any loy
alty to a person, to him—why did that bother him?—the girl was hard-core focused on the mission, the money she got for saving his black hide.

  Directed through a low, narrow door, Griffin tucked his head and stepped through. It was like a door to an attic in Madyar’s old ‘hood house. Light dimmed and stank rose. Griffin slowed, his hackles rising, automatically drawing his gaze upward. He stopped, stunned that the entire wall rose fifty maybe sixty feet. About every ten or twelve feet a pipe poked out one side and stabbed the opposite wall. Beams supported the building without interruption. A rat hole—the man had an escape tunnel to get out of the building. That meant they were probably taking them out the back alley to shoot them and dump their bodies.

  “Keep moving,” a guard said.

  Griffin shot him a sidelong glance and felt something shift in the air. He hesitated.

  The guard shoved him. “I said move!”

  Two steps forward and he heard Colton behind herded through the same shrimp entrances. Where were they taking them?

  A soft noise thumped nearby.

  Training awakened, Griffin jerked to his left. The guard gasped, then slid along the wall to the floor. A feathered dart stuck out of his shoulder.

  Thump!

  Soft and quiet yet decidedly unnatural, he heard something above him. He glanced up—Kacie! She leapt from one beam to a pipe, catching it and swinging around as if she were in a gym. She swung up and around, her foot nailing the guard in the face.

  The guard stumbled back.

  Griffin seized the man’s confusion. Rammed his fist into his gut. Grabbed the man’s weapon as he did. Griffin yanked it forward while driving his arm backward. The man’s face connected with his elbow. The HK 9mm popped free. Griffin spun and aimed the gun at him. The man raised his hands.

  In his periphery, Griffin saw Kacie approaching with a weapon in her hand.

  The guard went for something.

  Kacie fired a dart into the man’s neck. He sucked in a breath and went limp. “Secure them. We don’t have much time.”

  Colton gathered weapons, stuffing one in the back of his pants, another in his boot, then he tossed another to Griffin.

  Beside him, Kacie fired a dart into each guard’s thigh. Retrieved a weapon.

  Stretching to his full height, Colton looked at her. Then Griffin. “Remember our conversation?”

  Griffin nodded. He couldn’t forget it. He’d been convinced Kacie had given up on them.

  “So do I.” She turned to them both. “I get you not trusting me, but if you want to debate it, then you’ll have to wait.”

  “Trust is one thing; believing in you another.”

  “Semantics, Griffin.”

  “What changed, Baby Girl? Why are you here, putting your life in danger?”

  “I’m not in danger.” Her cool green eyes hit his. “You are. Both of you. These men”—she motioned to the unconscious guards—“were under orders to bury you. Permanently.”

  “So you care?” Griffin asked.

  “I care about making sure Carrick doesn’t kill people I’m charged with protecting. That he doesn’t kill anyone I…” She wet her lips. “Are we going to chat all night, or are you ready to get out of here?”

  “Let’s go,” Colton said.

  She hurried down the hall that dumped into another door. She kicked it open and crouched through it. Griffin folded himself through the opening and made room for Colton as he came through. Kacie was already in motion as Colton closed the gratelike door. They jogged over the steel grate walkway that rose steeply.

  “We going up?” Griffin glanced below his feet, seeing several walkways through the tiny octagonal holes. “Why up? I thought this led to an alley.”

  “It’s one of his escape routes. Unexpected, so it goes unnoticed.” She hauled herself forward.

  She moved quickly onward and upward…still going, not slowing, as if the thing were going down instead of rising. His thighs burned as he dragged himself onward.

  “Woman, what are you made of?” He gulped as they rounded a corner—nothing but a hundred-foot drop to the right. No wall bracing the catwalk. Only steel girders that rose into the ceiling. They were wide open.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder with a wry expression. “I thought you were blue ops, Riddell.”

  “Black ops,” he grunted.

  “By the lack of oxygen you’re suffering from, blue fits better.”

  He stopped and looked up at her. “You messin’ with me?”

  She smirked and moved on. “Just watching out for your aorta.”

  No. He would not smile. Would not.

  Tsing! Thunk!

  Cement coughed in his face. Dribbled down, tinkling against the grate.

  “Taking fire!” Griffin shoved himself to the grate, realizing with the holes in the grate and the open drop, they were exposed. “Go, go!” Scrambling, he lunged forward, eyes locked on the door at the end.

  Bullets sprayed along the wall, raining down dust and cement. Ahead, Kacie ran hunched, moving quickly. Almost to the door she went down. Yelped. Then pushed on, plunged through the door, and vanished into the darkness.

  Griffin plowed through and pushed to the right to clear the path for Colton, who dove through. “Kacie?’ “

  “Here,” she said with a hiss.

  He groped to the left, to the sound of her voice, and caught her shoulder. “You hit?”

  “A graze. I’ll be fine.”

  “But you’re not now,” he said, sliding closer.

  “We have to move. I saw them—they’re one level below us.” She toed the door closed. As she did, light erupted, illuminating the room.

  Griffin saw the streak of blood on her leg. A little deeper than he’d have preferred, but she was right—a graze. A few inches to the right and it could’ve shattered the femur.

  Kacie stood and pointed down the small hallway. “That leads to the roof. There’s a hidden door in the pool supply shed. That will take you down and out the alley. Get to the Thames—the Eye. I’ll meet you there.”

  Griffin’s hardwired protective instincts erupted. “Meet us? No way. We’re all going.”

  “No.” The stance she took, the determination sparking in her green eyes, told him she would brook no opposition. In so many ways she reminded him of Madyar, though a league of differences separated them. “I’m going to finish this.”

  “That don’t need to happen. Get out of here, get out alive.”

  “I have to.”

  “Why?”

  Kacie looked toward the far door.

  He waited for her to answer, to come clean. Something had changed. He wanted to know what.

  The floor vibrated and they all turned toward the grate they’d just traversed. She threw herself against the door. “Do it. Go!”

  “Not without you.”

  “I have to stay.”

  “Why?”

  “My brother is here.” She raised her chin as if to ward off the feelings that bubbled to the surface. “The only one who should have died is working with Carrick—if they find you, he will execute you right here, right now. Let someone else be the hero for once, Griffin.”

  What did that mean? Was she expecting to die here?

  The door banged.

  “Go!” Kacie flinched. “I’ll meet you at the Eye.”

  “I’m counting on you…” Griffin backed away as Colton tugged him onward. “Don’t let me down, Baby Girl.”

  But somehow…walking out of there, leaving her behind, he felt like he was letting her down. As he slipped through the final door, he glanced back.

  Kacie opened the steel panel. Men flooded in. Pinned her to the wall.

  CHAPTER 1

  Airfield in Maryland

  The jet hummed, waiting for a chance to leap into the sky and spirit them to safety. Like the numbing vibration coming off the wake of the engines, another vibration wormed through Marshall—worry. Could he get this done, get out of here before the cops or his fath
er figured out his plan?

  If his dad had no compunction against trying to kill the only friends—no, family—Marshall had known, then it stood to reason his father wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Right? The thought pushed him around in the hangar. He paced. Raked fingers over his stubbly jaw, a groan working its way up his throat.

  “They’ll be here,” Rel said.

  “It’s been nearly thirty minutes.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and paced some more. “If we don’t bug out…” His father could catch up with him. Stop him. Interfere. Or…worse.

  Rel came to him and touched his arm. “Sydney said they had a tail. Her brother would lose them, and the rest would get to the airstrip.”

  More trouble. Caused by his father. Why? What was the point? What did his father seek in this venture? He’d never approved of the military, even though it was the one thing Marshall felt clicked in his life.

  “What is he doing?” Misery coated every word, and even though he felt weak and ashamed of what his father had done, Marshall didn’t care that Rel saw him like this, raw. “He’s always hated me, but this…this is insane. It makes no sense. Why didn’t I see this?”

  She caught his arms as he raked his fingers through his hair again. “Marshall, stop.”

  The strength in her words stilled him.

  “You can’t take the blame for what he did.”

  “Yes.” He huffed. “I can—I have to. What if one of the guys is dead? What if I could’ve stopped him, seen it—“

  “Don’t look back,” Rel said. “Look forward, at what you’re doing now. You’re getting them to safety. You’re protecting the families of the men you love.”

  He choked down the emotion swelling in his throat. “Would you want to face Max and say, ‘Dude, I let your wife and kids die’?”

  Rel smirked. “Your tough-guy talk doesn’t work with me.” Her fingers traced the side of his face, blazing a path straight into his chest. “You’re a hero, Marshall.”

  “Tss,” he muttered and stepped out of her grasp. Heroes didn’t come in packages like him.

  Mario burst out the side door. “Dude! We got heat. Bing called—the whole boulevard is swarming with lights and—“