Olivia wanted to rip the asshole’s hand away, but was afraid Jake would pay the price if she did. Blinking back tears, her eyes desperately searched out Jake’s, but he wasn't looking at her. His expression was deadly as he stared at the back of Shorty’s head from behind.
Part of her wished he would do something to stop the assault. At the same time, she was terrified he would. As much as Olivia wanted to see Jake take on these two assholes, she knew he would never do anything to jeopardize her safety.
If given the opportunity, however, she had no doubt he’d kill both men without hesitation. She just prayed that chance came sooner, rather than later.
Shorty finally removed his hand and turned around to face Jake. Searching him, Shorty removed three full magazines and a huge knife she didn’t even know Jake was carrying. Olivia couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed them, given how close they’d been just moments before.
Walking over to Jake’s backpack, Shorty put his new cache inside before returning to stop directly in front of Jake again. Without warning, the bastard rammed the butt of his rifle into Jake’s gut, taking him down to one knee.
Olivia was forced to watch helplessly as Jake wrapped an arm around his midsection and started coughing loudly.
“No!” she yelled loudly.
Shorty punched Jake in the side of the face.
“Stop it!” She tried again. “Why are you doing this? He’s not even fighting you!”
Olivia started forward, but Tall Guy moved behind her, wrapping his free arm tightly around her chest. She went crazy when Shorty’s boot collided with Jake’s ribs, sending him over onto his back. Screaming, she started twisting her body, trying desperately to get free of Tall Guy’s grasp.
The animal lifted his foot, ready to kick Jake again. Fearing he’d break Jake’s ribs and puncture a lung—or worse—Olivia tried to turn the attention back on her.
“You’re nothing but a fucking coward! I can’t wait to see him put a bullet between those beady little eyes of yours!”
Using all of her strength, she pushed against the arm across her chest one more time. It gave way, and for a second, she thought she was making ground. But as Olivia took a step toward Jake, Tall guy yanked on her hair so hard, she cried out and stumbled backward against his chest.
Clawing at the hand trying to rip her hair from her skull, Olivia attempted to free herself. It was no use.
Shorty turned around, his disdain for her obvious as he came toward her. She didn’t see his hand flying toward her face until it was too late.
He backhanded her so hard, Olivia’s head snapped violently to the side. Pain exploded in her jaw, and tiny, white dots flashed before her eyes. She fought to remain conscious, refusing to leave Jake to deal with these bastards alone.
“You son of a bitch!” Jake roared, jumping to his feet.
He’d pretended the asshole’s blows hurt more than they actually had. If these two thought he was weak, there was a better chance they’d let their guard down. The dickhead had been buying his performance. Unfortunately, so had Olivia.
Having no way to know Jake was faking, she’d started screaming and calling the guy names. She’d recognized the short fuck, confirming his suspicion that these were, in fact, Cetro’s men.
The bastard had clearly done something to make Olivia fear him, yet, she’d purposely drawn the attention onto herself so he’d leave Jake alone. And she’d been hurt as a result.
Fuck this shit. Jake refused to stand idly by and watch Olivia get hurt while trying to protect him.
Ready to unleash the animal within, he took a step forward. He’d only covered a few inches of ground when that fucking gun was pressed against her temple again.
“Ah, ah, ah. I would not do that if I were you,” the taller dickhead warned from behind her.
Goddamn it! Jake froze. His chest heaved and his nostrils flared as he worked to control the murderous fury vibrating through him. He slid his gaze to Olivia, which only made matters worse.
The soft skin on her jaw—the same jaw he’d kissed just moments ago —was now red and already beginning to bruise. There was a split at the corner of her bottom lip, and a trickle of blood dripped down onto her chin.
These men had just signed their own death warrants. Too stupid to realize it, Jake decided they needed to know.
With his teeth clenched together painfully, he glared at the man who’d struck her. In a low, menacing voice he vowed, “You’re dead.” He then looked at the other man. “You’re both dead.”
The taller man chuckled, and Jake fought the urge to shove his fist down the guy’s throat. Still holding onto Olivia’s hair, Asshole One —what Jake decided to name the tall fuck—pulled two, thick strands of rope from one of the side pockets in his cargo pants.
Handing them to his partner, he said, “Tie their hands behind their backs.”
It took everything Jake had to not turn on Asshole Two —a.k.a. the short, pudgy bastard—when he came at Jake with the rope. If he’d been alone, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but the man behind Olivia looked as though he wanted nothing more than to pull that trigger. Not willing to risk her, he obediently moved his hands behind his back.
Olivia’s were tied next. She flinched when he pulled the rough ropes tightly against her skin, giving Jake just one more reason to put a bullet between the fucker’s eyes. Not that he needed one.
After picking up the two guns Jake had tossed out onto the ground earlier, the men lead them back out into the jungle’s humid air. A couple hours later, Olivia began to move at a slower pace, her exhaustion noticeable. Asshole Two pushed her from behind, and she stumbled, falling to her knees.
“Watch it!” Jake snapped. He was really looking forward to killing these two.
Ignoring him, the guy yelled, “Get up!” and yanked on Olivia's arm to pull her to her feet.
She only let out a tiny whimper, but Jake knew the prick’s tight grasp had to hurt. He schooled his temper, forcing back the need to kill. Over the next several minutes, he imagined himself torturing both men. Slowly.
Jake knew a dozen different ways to kill a man with his bare hands. These two had no idea how lucky they were that he couldn’t put action to his thoughts. Even with his hands behind his back, Jake would do whatever it took to protect her.
Yeah, ’cause you’ve done a bang-up job so far, asshole. She wouldn’t even be in this mess if you’d been thinking with your brain instead of your dick.
Never, not once in all his years with Delta or R.I.S.C., had he ever made such a monumental fuck-up. Jake had let his emotions take over—something he never allowed on a job.
This time was different, though. With Olivia, everything was different. Because of that, he’d acted like a fucking teenager in heat, and these men had gotten the drop on them. Some hero he turned out to be.
“Walk faster,” Asshole Two said, pushing her again. Olivia stumbled, but thankfully didn’t fall.
Jake gave her another glance. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable, but she gave him a small, reassuring smile anyway. Christ, she was amazing.
For the next few hours, Jake’s mind worked overtime to figure a way out of this mess. He played out several different scenarios in his head, walking through each one, step-by-step, until he came up with a plan of action.
Neither of the two men had radioed anyone else yet, so Jake assumed there was no one left at their camp to contact. If that was truly the case, then these guys had no reinforcements coming in to help. It was a huge fucking assumption to make, but Jake could only go by what he knew.
If all went as planned, he’d make his move the next time they stopped for a break. He’d take these two out quickly, and then, he was getting Olivia as far away from this place as he possibly could.
Jake couldn’t tell her his plan, for fear they’d overhear, but he needed her to trust that they were going to be okay. Turning his head, he bent it down toward her and spoke low.
“I’ll get you home, Liv. I swear
to God I will.” For him, there was no other option.
Olivia looked up at him, and with more faith than he deserved, said, “I know.”
“We need to call Ryker,” Derek grumbled again. It was the third time he’d made that statement in the past hour.
Trevor sighed. Sitting on the bed with his back against the cheap headboard, he tossed the TV remote onto the nightstand to his right. He glanced over at Derek.
The Texas native was currently sitting at the small, round table next to the room’s one window, playing what had to be his hundredth round of solitaire today.
A former SEAL, D was dressed in his go-to downtime attire—well-worn cowboy boots, faded jeans, and one of his many, many graphic t-shirts. Trevor didn’t know where the man shopped, but his supply of smartass nerd T’s seemed endless.
Today’s pick was a simple white V-neck with black lettering that read, Geeks do it better. Between his choice of wardrobe and shaggy blond hair, the guy looked nothing like the tech genius he was.
Grant sat across from Derek, cleaning one of his many guns. With the exception of a few grunts and short, to-the-point responses, the guy had been silent. No surprise there.
Like D, Grant was a former Frogman. However, the similarities between the two men stopped there.
Grant kept his light brown hair almost military-short, and the man’s square jaw was covered in a perpetual, five-o’clock shadow. Unlike D, who loved a good joke, Trevor couldn’t remember ever seeing Grant smile, or show any sort of feelings at all, for that matter.
Even now, with one teammate injured and their boss’s fate up in the air, Grant’s face was void of all emotion. Trevor wondered—and not for the first time—whether the man ever felt anything about, well, anything.
Everyone else on the team swore the guy was more machine than man. Maybe, they were right.
Nothing short of a demolitions badass, Grant’s military record was impeccable. After a few years spent blowing the shit out of the Taliban, ISIS, and whoever else proved to be a credible threat, he’d needed a change.
Thankfully, that change came in the form of joining R.I.S.C. Given the numerous times he’d saved their asses, Trevor was damn glad he had.
As far as sharing feelings went, Derek was a different story, altogether. There was a reason he normally worked their operations from behind the scenes. The man wore his emotions like some women wore their cleavage—out there for everyone to see.
One look was all it took for anyone to know what the computer genius was feeling. Put him undercover, and he’d be made within minutes. Right now, it was clear that D was frustrated as hell. Trevor couldn’t blame him.
A pang vibrated through Trevor’s chest. It had been over twenty-four hours since the team attacked Cetro’s camp, and they’d lost contact with Jake. Their boss—and Trevor’s best friend—hadn’t shown up this morning as planned.
Trevor had complete faith in Jake’s abilities, but couldn’t seem to rid himself of the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. As tough as Jake was, it wasn’t like him to not follow a plan. And Plan B for this particular operation was to meet back up at this no-tell-motel…this morning.
Trevor looked at his watch. Damn. It was almost three p.m., and there was still no sign of him.
They’d all missed deadlines before. Shit happened, and they’d learned a long time ago to roll with the punches. But Jake had never missed a deadline by this much. None of them had.
So, yeah, Derek having ants in his pants was understandable. As Jake’s friend, Trevor was worried as hell. As his SIC, it was up to him to make decisions for the team in Jake’s absence.
Trevor couldn’t allow his emotions to cloud his judgment. He damn sure couldn’t out them to Homeland, just because he was getting a little nervous.
As hard as it was to put his concern for both his friends aside, Trevor also had to consider the entire team. Not just Jake and Olivia.
“We’re not calling Ryker. Not yet.”
Derek’s entire body became stiff. He was about to lay another card on the table, but stopped, mid-motion. Trevor counted down silently in his head.
Three…two…
Right on cue, Derek threw the cards he’d been holding down onto the table and turned to face him. “Goddamnit, Trevor! Jake’s never been this late. How long are you gonna wait before askin’ for help?”
Trevor swung his legs off the bed and put his feet on the floor, scrunching his sock-covered toes into the dingy, brown carpet. With his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hung loosely between them as he looked Derek straight in the eye.
“I know he's late. I also get that you’re worried. You think I’m not? He’s my best friend, D. Olivia’s my friend. I still think we need to give Jake more time.”
Derek stood abruptly, the cheap chair nearly toppling over behind him. He ran a hand through his almost-too-long hair and began angrily pacing the tiny room.
“How much more fuckin’ time are we gonna give them? He was supposed to be here first thing this morning for Christ’s sake.” Derek stopped at the foot of the bed and rested his hands low on his hips. “What if he’s hurt, Trev? Olivia sure as hell didn’t look like she was in any position to carry his ass outta the jungle. And we know there were at least two of Cetro’s men who took off after them when we split up. If we call Ryker, he could get us some damn eyes in the air within the hour.”
D’s southern accent grew stronger with every syllable. Yeah, the guy was pissed.
Like a good team leader should, Trevor ignored the fear churning in his gut, and responded with his own question.
“And what would you have me tell him? There was a reason Jake didn’t bring Ryker in on this from the get-go. He didn’t want anyone from our government to know we’re here.” Trevor paused, taking a deep breath before adding, “Hell, maybe they took a wrong turn somewhere and are going to walk through that door any minute.” Trevor glanced at the door, wishing those words were true.
Derek looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind, and Grant actually stopped cleaning his gun to look over at Trevor with one eyebrow raised. Okay, fine. It was a dumbass comment. Jake McQueen did not make wrong turns.
Ignoring his teammates’ skepticism, Trevor continued on. “Look, you said yourself that Olivia didn’t look as though she was in that great of shape.” A thought that tore him up, but he had to remain focused. “Hell, before Coop and Mac headed back to the States, Coop told me that he’d gotten a good look at her through his binoculars. Said her dress looked like it was covered in blood. Now, we don’t know if it was hers or someone else’s, but if she is injured”—and God, Trevor prayed she wasn’t—“then, that would almost guarantee a longer travel time for her and Jake. We just don’t know.”
Derek threw his hands into the air, “Which is the exact fuckin’ reason we need to send somebody out there! We don’t know what shape she’s in. Or Jake for that matter.” His chest heaved as his breathing picked up. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and began pacing again. “Goddammit!”
Trevor could see the wheels in D’s mind spinning, and knew he was about to go into full geek mode. He didn’t disappoint.
“Okay, look. Just hear me out. Cetro’s camp was sixteen miles from our bird. My contact has the boat waitin’ three miles downriver from there, so that makes it a nineteen mile hike for Jake and Olivia. The average person walks three point one miles per hour. Now, we know from Coop that Olivia was barefoot when he spotted her, so that’s gonna slow things down for them a bit.”
Derek paused long enough to take a breath and then continued. “And let’s say, for argument’s sake, that she is hurt. I’ll be generous and bring their pace down to half the speed of the average person. So, about a mile and a half per hour. That’s over a ten hour trek to the boat.”
Trevor piped in then. “And you really think Jake would make Olivia hike non-stop through the jungle without resting someplace along the way? She’s not one of us, D.”
Cl
early exacerbated, Derek huffed out a breath. “Fine. Add a fuckin’ six hour nap to that time. That’s still only sixteen hours. It’s been damn near twenty four since we saw them last.”
Derek gave him a few seconds to let those numbers sink in. “Come on, man. My gut’s screamin’ here. Somethin’s not right, and you know it. We need some fuckin’ eyes in the sky, and we need them up there now, before it gets dark.”
“He’s right.” Grant’s deep voice cut through the thick-as-hell tension in the room.
Trevor glanced over, shocked when he saw some honest-to-God emotion behind the other man’s eyes.
“If it were one of us out there, McQueen wouldn’t give two shits about anything other than bringing us home.”
Trevor ran a hand across the dark stubble on his jaw. Grant was right. So was Derek. And with Coop injured, and Mac having gone with him back to the States, they were down to just half their team. Shit.
“Ryker’s gonna be pissed. Jake, too, if he and Olivia come walking through that door after I’ve already called.”
Grant shrugged one shoulder before going back to the business of cleaning his gun. “They’ll get over it.”
Trevor hesitated only a second more and then, “I’ll make the call.”
Some of the tension left D’s shoulders. Though the guy looked like he wanted to say more, he simply gave Trevor a slight nod before walking back over to the table and resuming his game. Derek’s way of letting Trevor know they were okay.
Feeling a sudden sense of urgency, Trevor reached for his phone and dialed the number they all knew by heart. If, God forbid, something bad had happened to Jake and Olivia, and these last few hours he’d waited could have made the difference? Trevor knew no one on the team would ever be okay again.
Chapter 14
Jake watched as the chopper flew high above them before vanishing over the jungle’s tall canopy. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if it was his team. Knowing the chances of that were slim, he ignored those hopeful thoughts and looked over at Olivia.
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