Firethorn (Discarded Heroes)

by Kendig, Ronie

“The pout in your words is disappointing, love. It tells me you’d do something stupid if he showed up.” Carrick motioned to the guards flanking him. “Secure her.”

  Kazi’s stance stiffened, her arms drawn up to her sides.

  “Fight me, and I promise—you’ll watch as I kill him.”

  Her arms lowered ever so slightly. But enough. He had her. “You’ll kill him regardless of what I do.”

  Carrick smiled.

  A shout sailed on the hot air. “Chopper!”

  Downwash from the rotors whipped the dry earth into a frenzy. Sand peppered his face, and once again, Griffin was grateful for the sunglasses that shielded his eyes. He hopped from the jump seat of the Black Hawk. On a knee, he scoped the perimeter as the team of ten filed out of the chopper. A pat on his shoulder sent him to his nine, following his team, but even as he moved he continued to sweep his weapon back and forth searching for unfriendlies.

  According to the mission briefing, the trailer he was heading toward was an office. The mine he could see to his two o’clock. And to his three and five stood a community of tents. The Aussies were headed that way to contain and protect the villagers. A dozen paces and he noted Frogman, Max’s brother, and Aladdin streak toward the mine.

  Griffin flanked to the side to come around the south side of the trailer with the Kid. It gave him comfort knowing Cowboy was out there, sitting atop an old safari bus less than a mile out with a sniper rifle so he could take a bead on anyone who got hostile.

  “Entering mine,” Squirt said as he took point.

  “Copy,” Griffin said. “Approaching trailer.” The methodical recitation was for the benefit of the Old Man, who was monitoring via live-feed satellite.

  Griffin’s boot hit the first step of the rickety temporary stair and rail platform bumped up against the trailer. He skipped the second and drew himself to the side of the half-glass door. A holey curtain hung over the glass on the inside. Griffin pulled out his baton as the Kid flanked the other side of the door, M4 at the ready. With a firm nod, he indicated his readiness.

  Throwing his weight behind the stick, he rammed it into the glass. Griffin tossed in a flash-bang. “Flash out!”

  Clink. Clink. Boom!

  White flashed through the day.

  The Kid took a step back, lifted his leg, and rammed the heel of his boot against the spot just above the knob.

  The door flung backward.

  The Kid rushed in, tense. Ready. His face to his weapon as he banked left.

  “Entering trailer,” Griffin said as he rushed into the smoke-filled room. He crisscrossed with the Kid and went right then buttonhooked. With a nod to continue, Griffin moved along the south wall and curved to the left toward another door. This one open. Pulse booming, he bobbed in taking a split-second recon. Bathroom.

  “Clear.” Swiftly, he traced the wall around until he was exactly opposite the point of entry where yet another door waited. His gaze kicked to the Kid, who kept his back near the wall to cover his six, his weapon trained on the new entry. Ajar.

  With a breath, he nudged it open and tucked himself inside. A split-second recon revealed to his three a desk against the east wall with a chair and filing cabinet. He jerked back to the door, the perfect place to hide behind. He sidestepped, his weapon stuffed comfortably into his shoulder. Couldn’t help but wonder which door Kazi would hide behind.

  Kazi Faron, come on down. You’re the next contestant on the Price on Your Head.

  He bobbed and found the corner empty. “Clear.” He rushed back out, and the Kid moved to a small hall where a plaque marked a closet. They cleared that, which inevitably led them to the last door.

  Flanking the door, he and the Kid looked at each other. The Kid blew out a breath. Griffin signaled his readiness. Fingers on the handle, the Kid mouthed, Three…two…

  Griffin aligned his sights not on the door but on a spot straight through it. Ready.

  The Kid flicked it open.

  Griffin hurried in to the left, again crossing over the Kid who went right. Steps softened beneath the thick rug that covered most of the fifteen-by-twenty room. He slipped around the thick leather sofa on the east-facing wall, checked the corner where a lamp hovered, around an ornate glass coffee table, then along the south wall and behind the desk. In the corner, he met the Kid’s gaze.

  “Clear,” Griffin said, the tension sliding out of him. “Not here.”

  “But he was.” The Kid pointed to the coffee table where three glasses with ice and an amber liquid sat, sweating. “That’s my dad’s.” He rushed to a chair and toed a black monogrammed briefcase. The Kid cursed. “He’s here.” Kicked the chair. “He’s here.”

  Lord help the senator, because if one of the team didn’t take care of him, the Kid certainly would if the red face and balled fist were any indication.

  “Who’s he drinking with?” Griffin stared at the glasses. “Your father, Carrick—who’s the other? The overseer?”

  “Nah, that’s beneath my dad. He’s good with talk but not with face time.” The Kid snorted. “I know.”

  A flicker of something out the too-clean windows caught Griffin’s attention. He bent and looked out across the grounds. The open lot that stretched wide served as an anchor with the trailer on the south side, the mine entrance on the west, and the tent community on the north. Near the mine is where he’d seen something. Had someone gone in there?

  Dressed in a dark suit, a man emerged. He glanced over his shoulder back in the direction of the mine. Not running. But definitely in a hurry.

  “That’s him!” The Kid bolted out of the room, his steps thudding through the trailer.

  Griffin took a second to gauge where the good senator was running off to. Beyond the slight bulge the mine created, he saw the long, thin blades of a chopper. Backing up, Griffin leaned to the side, searching for the minefield Scott had mentioned in the briefing. Sure enough, he saw a lopsided sign with a big STAY OUT—MINES! on it.

  As he spun around, movement stilled him. And his heart.

  Kazi. Hair illuminated in the early morning sunlight, she ran straight into the mine. Dark shadows enfolded her in its greedy embrace.

  Griffin turned and rushed from the trailer, chiding himself for not sticking with his fire buddy. He ripped open the door, leapt onto the wobbly landing, then vaulted over the rail that protected the stairs. He landed, skimmed the ground with his fingers, then came up running. He rounded the corner—

  “Yimirira!” A muzzle nearly poked his face.

  He skidded to a stop, nearly slipping onto his backside. As he drew himself up, instinct registered that the combatant was smaller than him. He could take him. He’d been trained in disarming unskilled warriors. But what froze him—no, paralyzed him—was the stunning similarity the boy bore to Dante.

  Griffin hauled up straight. Arms raised. “It’s okay.”

  The boy rattled something in his native Lugandan, his face ablaze with fury.

  He should take him. He could.

  “He left us, you know?…What kind of hero does that?” Dante’s words riveted Griffin’s boots to the Ugandan soil. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop the image of his fifteen-year-old nephew’s face from morphing onto the shoulder of the AK-47-wielding boy.

  Griffin shook his head. “Dante—” The name tasted acrid. “Don’t. It’s okay.”

  More shouting. The boy jerked the weapon straight at Griffin. Curled his finger around the trigger.

  CHAPTER 37

  Take the shot! Take the shot!”

  At Max’s shout and seeing him hurrying, shouldering his weapon, Marshall checked his six. Griffin wasn’t there. “Son of a batch of cookies.” The Kid swung around, brought his weapon up, and retraced his steps. As he rounded the corner, he chided himself for leaving Legend, who was now staring down the muzzle of an old AK-47.

  Marshall couldn’t get a bead on the boy, who wasn’t wearing a vest, without putting Legend in danger.

  Max rushed forward. “Now, Cowb
oy. Now!”

  The telltale thwat of a bullet piercing flesh stopped Marshall. Watching a kid get taken down was wrong every day of the year. But necessary to keep Griffin alive. Terrorists put weapons in the hands of children, sacrificing them much the way religious zealots did for centuries.

  “Target down,” Cowboy’s smooth voice carried through the coms and eased Max’s tension.

  Marshall exhaled and closed the gap between him and the others.

  Max turned on him, brows knitted and lips flat. “Where were you! Never leave your buddy, Kid. Never! “

  “Hold up,” Legend said. “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Explain that.”

  Legend shrugged, his gaze coming to Marshall’s. “My bad. He exited the building. I saw something through the window and hesitated. Cost me time.” Legend removed his shades, wiped the sweat from his face, then put them back on.

  “Almost cost your life.” Max grinned as he took in Legend’s face. “I think you’re whiter than me right now.”

  The Kid wanted to laugh, but nearly getting a buddy killed shook him up too much.

  Legend grunted. “Not funny.”

  Guilt harangued Marshall. Seeing his dad through the window told him he had the chance to settle the score. So focused he broke protocol. “Sorry, man,” Marshall said to Griffin. “I didn’t realize you weren’t with me.”

  “It was my bad.” Legend popped the back of Marshall’s head. “We all know you a little slow.”

  Had to admit—with Legend locked up, he actually missed the man’s taunting. “Slow?” Marshall laughed, enjoying the camaraderie he’d established with these men, his brothers. “You were the one who couldn’t keep up.”

  “I think you both have your heads in the wrong game.” Max glanced around the open area, then at them. “We find Vaughn. That’s it. We’re not here for anything else.”

  Legend nodded. “What did you and Squirt find in the mine?”

  “Miners,” Max said with a snarl. “One-hundred percent perfectly legit miners.”

  Legend frowned. “Then where’s Aladdin?”

  “He and Squirt are keeping the miners corralled till we have Vaughn.”

  Vaughn. My dad. And that’s exactly what Marshall wanted. To find his father, beat a confession out of him, then leave him for the vultures. Okay, maybe the vultures on the Hill would be more merciless. He didn’t care as long as there was little of the Warren Vaughn he knew left at the end of the day.

  But everyone here knew Legend was after the girl—the same one who now stood directly behind Legend and Frogman as they talked strategy about their next move. Marshall eased his weapon to the front as two men emerged from the mine right behind her. She whirled on them, words unintelligible but fierce.

  “Guys…”

  Legend turned.

  A gun fired. One of the men fell. Kazi screamed—not in a girlie sort of way, but in an “I’m going to kill you” sort of way.

  “Kazi!” Griffin rushed away.

  Max thudded Marshall’s vest. “C’mon.”

  “Go away, Griffin.” Kazi squinted at Carrick. Not trusting him long enough to take her eyes off him.

  “Put the gun down, Kazimiera.” Carrick’s condescension scraped along her spine. “I’d hate to have to carry through on my promise to end the lives of these men.”

  “Not happening, slick,” Griffin said as he eased into her periphery.

  On her right, Frogman and the Kid—all with weapons trained on him.

  Griffin came closer, his hand resting on the fully automatic dangling across his chest. “Kazi, remember what I said.”

  Her gaze never left her brother’s body. “Roman apologized—right before Carrick put a bullet in his brain.” Something dropped on her face. A tear, she supposed, but she was too numb to care. Her brother came here, not to help Carrick, but to try to rescue her. And Carrick figured it out. Killed him. In cold blood. Now, she’d return the favor.

  As if in slow motion, the world blurred as Kazi came around, lifting the handgun toward Carrick. Staring down the length of her arm, she aimed.

  Carrick sneered. “You haven’t got it in you, love.”

  “Watch me,” she bit out through clenched teeth, her heart pounding. “Bit by bit”—the words were the most painful she’d spoken—“you’ve ripped everyone I love from me. My sisters. Brothers. Roman. Tina.” Me. He even took who she used to be and killed that naive girl.

  “Roman sold you to me!”

  “Because you convinced him he had no choice.” Her teeth chattered from the adrenaline spiraling through her mixing with anger to form a furious cocktail. “You took advantage of that. But that’s what you always do, isn’t it, Carrick? See a weakness, leap in and cripple the person. That’s what you did to the senator.” Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away. “What you did to me.”

  “Kazi, no!” Griffin’s terse words made her flinch.

  Words thickened by saliva and emotion, Kazi tried to swallow. “I thought I’d be happy if you just left me alone—that’s why I have all your computer files, recordings of your phone conversations, video surveillance images hidden—but…I realized your power is in possession. You would never leave me alone.”

  “You belong to me.”

  With a growl, she aligned the sights and brought her other hand up to cradle the weapon properly to ensure an accurate shot.

  His hands came up, that slick disgusting smile faltering. “Kazimiera. Love.”

  “You don’t know what that means.” But I do. “So long, love?

  A shadow fell over her, blocking the sun as a dark hand touched her forearm.

  “No,” she snapped—her voice squawked with piqued emotion. She sidestepped, hands sweaty against the grip of the weapon, hot tears sticking against her cheeks. “Back off, Griffin. Stay out of my business.” Throwing his words back in his face hurt her more than she ever could’ve realized.

  “Kaz,” Griffin said with a light touch at the small of her back. “Don’t do him. Not like this.”

  “I have to. Have to.” Throat raw, she ground out, “He took everything from me.”

  Air near her ear swirled. “If you do this, he takes the last thing you have—your soul.” Dirt scrunched as Griffin’s chest pressed against her shoulder. “I’m not going to lose you to him.” The pressure on her arm increased. “Let go, K.” His hand on her back curled around her waist.

  Like a tumble off a cliff, the fury within collapsed. In the second she lessened the tension in her arm, Griffin plucked the gun from her. Hauled her into the strength and safety of his hold.

  Kazi pressed her nose to the tactical vest that hid the heart of a man so amazing he’d talked her down from the singular goal she had in returning: killing Carrick. Tears streamed down her face, remembering Roman’s face, his words. His apology. Now he was dead. She’d get no resolution, no way to hold him accountable for what he’d done to her. No justice.

  “Legend!” A shout made her tense.

  Griffin’s chest expanded. His grip on her tightened. He lifted. Turned.

  Crack!

  Kazi felt herself swirling around. Each thump of her heart beat like a cannon blast.

  Back arched, Griffin brought both hands around her.

  Thump!

  Griffin’s chest rammed into her face. Pushed her backward.”Oomph!”

  CHAPTER 38

  The blow to his back slammed him forward. His legs buckled. Hand on the ground, he braced himself on one knee. Fire wove through his spine and muscles. He couldn’t breathe. Saw stars. Eyes bulged at the deprivation. Instinctually, he reached for Kazi as she stumbled backward.

  Arms flailing, she yelped and hit the ground. But her face was locked on his, a mixture of shock and panic.

  He blinked, waiting for oxygen to seep through his chest.

  She scrambled forward. “Griffin?” Cool hands gripped his face. “Griffin, tell me you’re okay. Please.”

  Painful breaths expanded his
lungs. Around him he heard shouts, gunshots, angry epithets as he waited for the blood to trickle between his shirt and the Interceptor vest. And waited…Maybe the bullet hadn’t pierced his vest.

  Kazi tugged on his face, drawing his attention back to hers. Tears streaked her face with dirt. But she was the single most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He hauled in a breath—filled with molten lava. “I’m good.” He felt around the back of his vest. And fingered the hot case of the bullet lodged there. It hadn’t penetrated. No blood.

  “Legend, you with us?” Frogman called as he trotted over.

  “Yeah.” Drawing up his courage, he shoved aside the prickling sensation—he’d have a trophy of a bruise to take home—and started to rise.

  “The snake shot you in the back!” Max’s words held a snarl he hadn’t heard in a long while. But he turned to the Kid. “Good shooting.”

  Griffin winced and arched his back, gaze hitting where Kazi’s brother lay—with Carrick. Lifeless. “I feel like A-Rod took a bat to my back.”

  “Aww,” the Kid said with a snicker as he slapped Griffin’s shoulder. “Did the poor baby get shot?”

  Griffin widened his eyes. “I know you didn’t…”

  Blue-gray eyes sparkled with the taunt. “Oh, I see. It’s okay to call me a baby when I’m bleeding out on a mission, but you get a bump on the back and you’re whining.”

  He lunged toward the Kid. “C’mere. I’ll show you a bump!” Wait. Kazi. He circled round and reached for her.

  Unmoving, frozen in time, Kazi stared at the body on the ground. “He’s dead.” Her shoulders sagged in relief. “I never thought I’d be free of him.”

  Griffin wrapped an arm around her small shoulders, and she fell into his arms as naturally as if she’d always been there. “I told you God would help get him off your back.”

  “By taking a bullet to yours?” She peered up at him. “Is that how God handled it?”

  “Baby Girl, do you see me hurt? I’d take that bullet every day if it meant you were free. That’s what God did for you—He sent me.” A wide grin filled his sweaty face.