by Zoe Dawson
Adrenaline slid into his bloodstream. He’d know those eyes anywhere. Holding back his excitement, he realized that he had found at least one of his teammate’s wives. The rest of them couldn’t be far behind.
Anna worked at keeping her gaze neutral. They were so close to Fast Lane and the crewmembers of the chopper she could have spoken to them. One of the mercs used his rifle to clear them out of their way, but not before she met Fast Lane’s eyes. He recognized her. Perfect. She and Karasu stepped away from the path so the merc and prisoner procession could enter the tented compound. Anna had already noted the weapon’s cache. With the Pakistanis coming straight at the camp, it would give them the distraction they needed to get to Fast Lane.
Anna’s hand shook as she noted the blonde woman amongst all the burly men. Beneath her robes were her automatic rifle and her handgun. Instinctively, she started for it as Zasha passed, Anna’s gaze boring a hole in the back of Zasha’s skull.
Karasu grabbed her wrist and pulled her further up the small incline. Anna let out a pent-up breath as she watched the bitch move away from them. “Keep it cool,” Karasu said. “Mak,” she said into the comm. “Take care of that chopper. When the bullets start flying, make sure our terrorist friends don’t get away.”
“Copy that,” Mak replied. “Shea is set. She has a perfect view of the camp.”
Anna nodded. Retribution was closer than Zasha guessed. With her advantage gone, she was going to have to play by the rules. Their rules.
The smile Solace had given Fast Lane faded as one of the mercs prodded her in the back. She bit down on the urge to talk to him, each step feeling like a dead man’s walk. There were six mercs keeping them surrounded. They led them like prizes, silent and armed.
Her ex-husband had asked her to marry him, and she was still reeling with that unexpected proposal. How could she be so happy and so terrified at the same time?
The consummate commando, Fast Lane took in everything, every face. From his position beside her, he let his gaze travel over the camp, his neck craning, but he never moved his body, only his head, his eyes. It made their captors nervous enough that one poked him with his rifle barrel and told him to look at his feet. Fast Lane didn’t and turned his head, leveling a stare so chilling she felt the bite. The man didn’t retreat, but his cockiness was certainly punctured, and Solace smothered a smile, her fear ebbing a bit. In a situation like this, Fast Lane was the best weapon to have. He came with some pretty intense brothers who all had his back.
A man dressed in traditional garb came out of the largest tent. He took in the scene and started bellowing at Zasha. She shook her head, but he didn’t relent. Finally, with exasperation, she bit off an order, “Watch them. Don’t underestimate any of them.”
She shoved her handgun in the waistband of her pants and marched toward the shouting, bearded man.
Fast Lane stiffened, his stare intent as he took in the man from head to toe. It was clear her ex recognized him. Could this be the leader everyone was after? Muhammad Angar Said? She studied the tall, broad-shouldered man, then nodded imperceptibly. Yes, she recognized the leader of Al’Irada or The Will.
Zasha slashed down with her good hand and ended the conversation. She started back toward them, and Solace figured this was when the torture would begin. Then, in the distance, the sound of automatic weapons echoed in the valley and men started running toward the sounds of fighting.
The blonde was about halfway to them when she started running and shouting for her mercs to get them inside. The big men started shoving her crew and Fast Lane into the tents. Several things happened at once. Suddenly the two mercs near her dropped one after the other. A man stepped out of nowhere, and Solace recognized him right away. Lieutenant Michael “Tex” Penn. He put a gun to Angar Said’s head and pulled the trigger. The terrorist leader dropped like a stone. Then seven more men came barreling from the same direction as the man, automatic rifles raised. The team! They were here.
That’s when all hell broke loose, bullets flying.
The chopper they had flown in exploded, sending shrapnel, debris, dust, and black, oily smoke into the cold sky. Solace flinched, hunched, and ducked. Several other explosions rocked the compound, louder and stronger than the chopper. She felt stinging on her face and hands and a heat blast. Had to be weapons and ammo being destroyed. The biggest threat seemed to be coming from the large number of armed uniformed men running toward the camp.
But by then Zasha was close enough to Solace. She stuck her gun in Solace’s face and she stared down the barrel of the weapon, the muzzle looking as big as a dark tunnel. Her heartbeat staggered painfully, hollow in her ears, fear growing and engulfing her.
Men ran for cover, terrorists screaming orders no one would follow.
On the ground, bodies littered the area.
Zasha grinned. “Party’s over.”
17
Shea Sinclair kept her scope on Zasha. Part of her mind was focused on the sniper rifle, the anger that needed to be tamped down, and the sight in her mind’s eye of her gorgeous husband lying in a hospital bed wounded because of this bitch. The other mercs had disappeared into the tent, but Anna, Mak, and Karasu would take care of Fast Lane and the crewmates.
As the blonde woman dragged the dark-haired captive from the tent, Shea carefully followed her with the scope. Zasha turned and lifted her gun into the captive’s face. Shea took a breath, let it out, and pulled the trigger. Her bullet caught the gun, and it flew out of Zasha’s hand. With a cry, she dragged her bleeding hand toward her chest.
The captive balled up her still-bound hands and hit Zasha with a stunning blow that made her stagger back a few steps.
Now it was a matter of time. She held her fire for Anna’s order.
Inside the tent, the mercs were unsure what to do. Zasha had given them their orders, but with all the gunfire, they were disoriented. Phil, Kenny, and Lonnie had all hit the deck as soon as they were inside, Fast Lane following them down. Then automatic weapons discharged from the shadows, mowing down the four guards. Two burka-clad women moved into the open.
“Hello, boys,” Anna said, her voice a bit muffled as she cut the ties securing their wrists. “Grab your poison. We’re getting out of here.”
Hands scrabbled for weapons, but Fast Lane saw that Solace wasn’t inside with him. His insides went liquid with fear. He grabbed up one of the handguns and, ignoring the women, bolted out of the tent just in time to see Solace punch Zasha and send her reeling. A woman appeared out of the dust and smoke, also dressed in a burka. Anna and the other woman emerged from the tent. They surrounded Zasha.
“No!” Zasha screamed. “You’re all going to die!”
With quick arm movements, each woman flung the burkas from them, revealing slim, steely-eyed warriors. The burkas floated in the air as Anna said, “Now, Shea.”
A shot slammed into Zasha’s shoulder, spinning her as each of the women opened fire, red blossoming on Zasha’s torso. She dropped to the ground, writhing in agony.
Without any emotion in her face, Anna walked up to her and put a bullet in her head.
Zasha stopped moving and stared up at the sky with sightless eyes as the burkas floated to the ground and were taken and blown away by the wind.
Zasha had gotten out of this life easy. Way too easy.
It was over. It was finally over.
Until it wasn’t.
His heart stopped as Solace turned toward him, a pained, surprised look on her face. One of the men broke away from the pack of his team. It was Saint. He was sprinting toward Solace. What the hell was wrong?
Then her knees buckled, and everything seemed to slow down. Saint reached her, catching her against him, cushioning her fall. Then he was ripping open her jacket, then unzipping her flight suit. Fast Lane started to move, his wound exploding in pain. He hobbled as fast as he could until he reached her and dropped down to his knees, pain in his leg, agony in his heart.
“Solace?”
She was looking up at the sky, blood on her chest, her mouth open, but she wasn’t breathing. Saint was moving fast, never stopping, never hesitating.
In a fog, Fast Lane heard, “Pneumothorax. Left side.” His sure hands stabbed a needle into her chest. In the distance, Fast Lane could hear the sound of a chopper, piercing him with an overwhelming sense of loss.
She would not die. Saint wouldn’t let her.
Then snow started to fall, quiet and otherworldly, looking beautiful in this place of death. The flakes floated from the sky, falling all around him and Solace like a silent prayer.
“Oh, God, Solace,” he whispered as Saint worked feverishly, slapping a cellophane-like patch over the bullet wound. He started an IV, slipping a needle in at her collarbone.
“Where the fuck is that medevac?” Saint yelled as everything came back into focus and time sped up again.
“On their way now.”
Men suddenly appeared with a stretcher, but Mad Max and Iceman shoved them out of the way. Saint and Dragon helped set her on the stretcher, then all of them were running, leaving Fast Lane behind.
Another stretcher appeared and this one was also commandeered by Dragon, Tex, Bondo, and Easy. They easily lifted Fast Lane and ran full-out to the chopper.
They loaded him inside as the flight docs started working on her. He reached out for her hand, curling his fingers around hers.
Strength there in those small fingers. His Solace had strength. Feeling how tightly she held him, he knew she wouldn’t die. All that sass and spunk couldn’t end like this. They had a second chance.
Willing her to fight, he tightened his grip.
Then Saint was there, slipping an IV into a vein in his collarbone. He must have given him morphine because his leg went numb; blessedly, the hot, burning, throbbing pain was gone. Only the agony was left in his heart.
His teammates, the newcomers, and the women who had saved their lives sat in silence watching the medics work, frustration and sorrow etched into each face.
“Come on, babe. Hang on. A little longer. Yeah, hang on.” Over and over he spoke to her, his voice the only sound beneath the noise of the rotor. “You’re alive, babe. I’m with you. Don’t give up. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”
She turned her head and looked at him, a deep, depthless look that hooked onto his soul and squeezed. “I love you, Ford,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed as the morphine took him under.
Hospital night sounds filtered in through the open door of Pitbull’s room. Mak shifted her head on Pitbull’s good shoulder, then slowly smoothed her hand up the thick wall of his chest. He trapped her wandering hand beneath his, and she smiled, finding it incongruous that someone as big and male as Errol Ballentine should be ticklish. He caressed her hand, then raised it to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. “What are you smiling about?”
Rising up on one elbow, she looked down at him, glad that she could see his face in the muted illumination from the hall light. “I’m smiling because I’m happy, and I’m smiling because I’m glad to finally be in your arms.” Her breath hitched a little as she gazed at the terrifying starburst bruise on his chest, thankful for the armor plate he’d been wearing that had saved his life. He had been given the green light to go home, until Saint of all people had discovered that he was favoring his shoulder. After x-rays, they discovered a small tear. Left unattended it would have caused problems down the road. But after minor surgery, it was now mended. His hand squeezed hers. “We’re going back home tomorrow, and I can finally have alone, intimate moments with my sexy, warrior husband—as soon as he’s healed.”
Pitbull grinned like a pirate. “There’s not a thing wrong with my hips or my junk, babe. I can go all night.”
“Okay, studmuffin,” she said, leaning down and kissing him on the mouth, running her freed hand back up his rib cage. “I’d believe you were a tough badass if you weren’t so ticklish,” she whispered against his mouth.
He gave a huff of laughter and caught her hand again, holding it secure against his chest. “Stop it, or I’ll throw you on the floor.”
She’d told him everything about what she, Anna, Chry, and Shea had done with the help of Karasu. Once he got over his anger at the risk she’d taken, he begrudgingly agreed that she had a right to protect him as much as he had a right to protect her.
The only thing she hadn’t told him was that she was pregnant. She had found out after she’d gotten to Landstuhl, when morning sickness kicked in and she’d gotten the test.
There was a reason she was holding out.
She’d wanted everything else out of the way. She wanted that bit of news to be the beginning of their new life without the threat of Zasha. She wanted it to be special, and it seemed right that she should tell him now.
Her excitement rising, she stroked his cheekbone with her thumb, a funny little flutter unfolding in her chest. Shaking back her hair, she grinned down at him. “No, you won’t.”
“Why is that?” He smoothed back her hair, then met her gaze, his expression full of amusement.
“Because you’re a dad,” she said quietly.
He frowned in complete adorable confusion.
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
Mak smiled. She knew what kind of dad he was with Samantha, and she had no doubt he would wrap her up in cotton wool, not throw her onto any hard surface. She leaned down and kissed him again. “Well, we’ll see in, oh, about nine months.”
He didn’t move a muscle. He stared up at her, and when she smiled, he closed his eyes and hugged her fiercely against him. His chest expanded, and he tightened his arms even more.
“Errol, your shoulder.”
“It’s fine,” he whispered. “Are you sure?”
She chuckled. “Dead sure. And I’ve got the morning sickness to prove it.”
He didn’t say anything. He just held her like that, and Mak could feel his heart hammering beneath her hand. She knew he needed time to assimilate the news, to digest it. She gave him a few moments, then she kissed the curve of his neck, and Pitbull inhaled deeply. Catching her under the chin, he lifted her head and stared into her eyes. “Are you okay with that?”
She smiled and touched his mouth. “Thrilled to bits is more like it. I will always miss my son, but this is a new life, and I’m going to be sharing it with you. I love you, Errol, so much.”
He closed his eyes and drew her hand back down against his shoulder, his fingers tangled in her hair. She felt him swallow, then he pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Right back at you, babe.” He shook her a little. “Wait. What the hell? You skydived with my kid in vitro. Fuck, he’s going to be a SEAL for sure.”
“He, huh? How about her?”
He thought about that for a moment, then said, “Hell, yeah. Hoo-yah!” then he smiled like a pirate again and held her for a long time. It was time to go home.
Shea stood in the doorway to her husband’s room. His dad, sister Paige, and her husband Kid had been keeping Hemingway company while she talked with his doctor. She locked her arms in front of her, the feeling of being isolated from him making her just a bit crazy.
Hemingway’s deep, husky voice broke through the darkness, “Come here, babe.”
Her heart pounding in her chest, she paused beside his bed, feeling shaky and grateful. Her pulse was thick with relief. He stared out, the muscle of his jaw tensing, his expression so rigid he appeared angry. His jaw flexed, then he said, “What did the doc say?”
“Nothing but good things. Most of the shrapnel caused minor injuries, and your leg is healing extremely well. There’s minimal scarring, and you will be back to operating in no time. As soon as they release you, we’re going home.”
His breath whooshed out of him. “Other than seeing your beautiful face, that’s the best news I could get.”
Deciding he should get some rest, she started to turn away, to take the chair near his bed and stay with him until he fell asleep, but he cau
ght her wrist, palm sliding against palm as he gripped her hand with his uninjured right hand. The instant his fingers slid through hers, she understood, and she closed her eyes against the wild surge of emotion that made her shiver. With a low moan, she turned blindly into his arms, sliding her hands up his chest and around his neck as she settled on the bed next to him. He remained so still for a moment as if he was absorbing every bit of her presence against him. Then between one heartbeat and the next, he buckled, and he caught her against him in a viselike embrace, releasing a ragged groan as he found her mouth with a kiss that shattered her senses. His hand supporting the back of her head, he locked his other arm around her, and she was so worried about him being in pain.
“It’s all right, Shea.”
His dad, Paige, and Kid slipped out the door unnoticed as his mouth opened hungrily against hers, feeding the need that raged in him, and Shea sagged in his arms, the relief in her chest making it impossible to breathe. He cupped her head, asking for more, desperate for more, and she yielded more, giving him access, as if he were famished for the taste of her. They kissed for a long time, then lay tightly in each other’s arms. She told him about Zasha and everything that she had done.
And he only pulled her closer, giving her his support in taking out the woman who had almost destroyed her life. Atticus survived and that was all that mattered.
Awareness returned in fragments—like slivers of light infiltrating her mind—and Shea tightened her arms around him, twisting her face against his neck, the firmness of the bed beneath her and his weight beside her the only reality. A tremor coursed through her, the rush of emotion so intense it was almost unbearable, and she clenched her jaw against it, tears of profound joy slipping down her temples. God, but she loved him. So much. So very much. Drawing a deep, painful breath, she slid her hand up the back of his neck, cradling his head with infinite tenderness. Hemingway shuddered and pressed his face against the curve of her shoulder, his hold on her fierce.