by Rose O'Brien
Glancing to the passenger seat, he saw she’d pocketed one of the grenades somehow. The woman had deft hands, that was for sure.
Theron’s heart was in his throat as he watched Jen approach the barricades. He hung back about twenty feet, his finger on the trigger of the M-16 and a killer fireball brewing in his palm.
Two men appeared from one of the vehicles and approached, wariness written in their body language. There was no telling what they were going to think of a woman in pants and a niqab asking them to let her pass.
He flipped the weapons compartment shut and hoped like hell they didn’t want to search the SUV.
Jen was talking with the men, and the tension in Theron’s body as he watched them was painful. She pulled something from her shirt pocket and flashed it.
One wrong move and he’d burn the fuckers to ashes. But he’d have to worry about hitting Jen, too. Gods damn it!
What seemed like hours passed, but was in reality only seconds.
Jen turned and walked slowly back toward the SUV, her hands in the air again. When she reached the vehicle, she opened the back passenger-side door and pulled her bag toward her.
She pulled her laptop out, opened it up and clicked a few times, her eyes roaming quickly over the screen. Shutting the computer, she pulled a memory card out and stowed it in her bag. Next came her fancy cell phone. She pushed a few buttons, then killed the screen and added it to the pile along with the device’s charger. Next was her digital camera, which she had always handled like it was something precious. She popped a memory card out and stowed that in her bag before adding the camera to the pile of electronics.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
“Paying our toll.”
Before he could stop her, she turned on her heel and marched back toward the bandits with the electronics in her arms. A sick feeling invaded his gut as he watched her hand the items over to the bandits.
Those three items were her prized possessions. She didn’t have much in the way of material goods. He’d seen that when he’d been in her apartment searching for some way to track her down.
Her laptop allowed her to write. Her camera allowed her to record the way she saw the world. And her cell phone was her connection to the outside world.
And she’d just given them all up. To save them both. The enormity of what she’d done hit like a punch to the chest and he was left momentarily in awe.
In that moment, as he watched her walk bravely into a dangerous situation to hand over the last pieces of her old life and her only tools for escape, he felt something move through him. It wasn’t a feeling he had a name for. It scared the hell out of him.
Focusing on what was happening ahead, he watched as the electronics disappeared into one of the vehicles. Jen motioned with her hand for him to drive forward. As he rolled up, the two men moved the barricades and the tire spikes.
Theron’s left hand was on the steering wheel, his right was on his 1911, ready to bring the smaller weapon up and empty the clip before moving on to the M-16 if necessary.
As he got closer, he could see that each of the vehicles had at least four men, all likely armed. He was really glad they hadn’t tried to charge through. They probably wouldn’t have made it. Jen had likely just saved both their lives.
As he rolled up, Jen climbed in, her expression unreadable beneath the fabric of the niqab.
The SUV accelerated to about forty as he watched the rear view, ready for the bandits to change their minds.
***
Jen sat in the passenger seat, her face numb and her hands and feet tingling. She knew what it felt like to come off a sudden adrenaline burst, and it always left her a little spacy.
Theron held their speed steady and slow, the silence tense and yawning between them. She glanced at him. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his eyes nervously darting between the road and the rear view mirror.
After about ten miles, he pulled the SUV to the side of the road and threw the thing in park. He leaned forward until his forehead rested against the steering wheel between his hands. After a deep inhale through his nose, he let the breath out just as slowly from between his teeth.
Reaching out a hand, she asked, “Are you o—”
In a swift movement, his hand went to the back of her neck and he brought her mouth to his.
Surprise flared within her for a split second, before it was replaced with raw heat. His mouth was hard against her lips, his hand an unyielding pressure on her neck. Neither of them had buckled their seat belts, so as his other arm locked around her waist, she was hauled against his chest.
His mouth moved against hers, possessive, owning. She could feel his fear, the helplessness and anger he must have felt during that handoff burn off him in the heat of the kiss.
His arms relaxed ever so slightly and the kiss shifted. His mouth softened against hers and his hot tongue slid against her lower lip, sending a delicious electricity zinging between her thighs.
She realized with a start that she was frozen with her hands by her sides. She skimmed her hands over his stomach and up his chest until she was gripping his shoulders. At her touch, he groaned against her mouth and deepened the kiss.
Jen had lost count a long time ago of the number of men she’d kissed in her thirty years on the planet. In all that time, she’d never been kissed like this. She’d never felt this kind of raw need, this naked power, this unapologetic taking that was simultaneously incredibly giving.
Without warning, Theron broke the kiss and released her, leaving her at once chilled and feverish back in the passenger seat. She suddenly missed the feel of him.
“I know what you did back there,” he said quietly, not looking at her. “I know what it meant to give up those things.”
Thoughts raced through her head, but she didn’t know what to say to him. She hadn’t given it a second thought. Those electronics were valuable and easily sold for a hefty sum in this part of the world, where those items were hard to come by. They had been important to her, but they were just things. Their value was nothing when compared to her life...or his.
He was silent for a moment, before he met her eyes and said, “Thank you.”
His voice was low and soft and she thought he might be thanking her for more than just giving up her gear.
“It’s not a big deal,” she said. “I wiped the memory on the phone and I was able to save my files and photos on those memory cards before I wiped the hard drive.”
He was quiet for a long time, his eyes searching her face. “I’m sorry I kissed you without asking. I was so scared during that handoff and the adrenaline had me wound up and I wasn’t thinking, but that’s no excuse.”
He looked away, turning his gaze out the driver’s window.
She smiled and reached out, cupping his jaw in her palm and turned his face gently toward her. Meeting his gaze for a moment, she closed her eyes and leaned in, placing a feather-light kiss beside his mouth. She felt the vibrating tension leave his body on a sigh.
“Don’t be sorry,” she whispered. “I liked it. More than I should.”
She pulled back.
“But we need to keep driving.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, putting the SUV in gear and hitting the gas. ===
***
Jen stared into the flickering flames in front of her and studiously avoided looking at the man across the campfire from her. That kiss kept replaying through her head and the thought of it kept sending blood rushing to her cheeks. And other places.
She and Theron hadn’t said much to each other since it happened. They’d rode in silence, Theron concentrating on the road and Jen pretending great interest in the lyrics of the heavy metal songs pumping through the speakers, until they hit the tiny village of Rutba around sunset.
It was worse than she’d expected.
Rutba had been hit hard, first by an ISIS occupation, then by airstrikes from the Syrians. It was virtually abandoned now. The town used to
boast seven thousand residents and was the last stop before hundreds of miles of empty desert between here and the border. Some of the buildings were intact, but not many. Most were broken, spilling rubble from partially standing walls. The open doors and shattered windows looked like the empty eye sockets and gaping mouths of shattered skulls. The broken walls appeared as skeletal fingers reaching from the sandy earth.
The streets of Rutba were a haunted place. Spirits of the dead wandered aimlessly, taking no notice of the newcomers in the rumbling vehicle. The living peeked out of heavily fortified doors set in the few intact buildings. Stray dogs drifted between the houses, picking at scattered garbage.
Every shop was shuttered and even the lone gas station was out of commission.
She and Theron had found a mostly intact cinderblock house that had lost one corner in the bombing. Jen had looked it over and declared it spirit free, and Theron had pulled the front end of the SUV into the gap in the walls.
They’d made camp for the night, Theron collecting a pile of broken furniture in the middle of what had probably been the living room at one time. He’d set it on fire with a thought.
Jen had arranged a couple of carpets she’d found in another room so they had something to sit on instead of the dusty tile floor. The thing had cracks running through it that were wider than her hand.
Theron’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“What did you say to those guys back at the checkpoint?”
“Huh?” she asked, not following his words.
“Back at that ‘tollbooth,’ how did you talk your way out of that one?”
“Oh. I, uh, I just kind of told them the truth. I said I was a journalist and I was trying to get to the Syrian border and that you were my bodyguard.”
“And that worked? We’re lucky they didn’t take you hostage right there,” he said.
“I just flashed them this,” she said, pulling a laminated badge from her shirt pocket. It was black with white letters that said “VICE” and “HBO” and “PRESS.”
Theron looked at it, his brows drawing together.
“You’re kidding,” he said.
“I know one of the producers and I did some reporting for them a few months ago. I discovered that this baby will get you past just about anyone. It’s like the trump card of press badges.”
VICE was doing some of the best journalism about the Middle East these days, and with the backing of a network like HBO, they had the budget to make it happen. This little laminated badge had got her interviews with warlords, insurgents and rebel commanders.
“Turns out,” she said, “those bandits back there are big ‘Game of Thrones’ fans.”
He looked at her for a beat with wide eyes and then burst out laughing.
Breathing hard and clutching his side, he said, “Jen, you never cease to amaze.”
There was something in his eyes as he looked across the fire at her. Jen realized it was respect, deep respect.
“I’m just glad you decided to work with me instead of against me,” he said. “When I took you out of Baghdad, I did it because I thought I needed to protect you. Have I apologized for that, by the way?”
“No, I don’t think you did,” she said, her mouth stretching in a smile despite her best efforts.
“Well, good. I wish I’d handled all that better, not gonna lie, but I’m not sorry you ended up here with me.”
Jen felt her skin heat and it had nothing to do with the fire. Embarrassed at her reaction, she turned away and rummaged in her pack. There wasn’t anything in particular that she was after, she just didn’t want him to see her blush.
Because the truth was, if she was really honest with herself, she wasn’t sorry she’d ended up here either.
She’d been living a tiny fraction of a life in a grim and brutal place that had her existing in a constant mode of survival.
She was still in survival mode, more so than she had been in a long time, but something had woken up in her. She was laughing again, smiling again, cracking jokes again. She’d been funny once, and she’d almost forgotten that.
For the past five years, she’d been living in a bubble of pain, anger, and sadness, but mostly boredom. As disruptive as Theron’s appearance in her life had been, she was glad for it because it made her realize how little she’d been living.
Her hand landed on a protein bar, make that two, and she pulled them free of her bag, tossing one to Theron.
“Dinner’s on me,” she joked.
He caught it in midair and tore the crinkly wrapper open.
“I get to choose the restaurant next time,” he said around a mouthful of protein bar. “The food here is terrible.”
She smiled. “Yeah, and the service is atrocious.”
A smile flashed across his handsome face, the firelight catching in the golden stubble that was starting to come in around his jaw.
“The atmosphere leaves a lot to be desired,” he added.
“I give it one star,” she said. “We should have checked the Yelp reviews before we showed up. Oh, well, live and learn.”
They both dissolved into laughter, laughing so long and hard that Jen’s side hurt.
***
Theron watched Jen throw her head back and laugh, and it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.
They were in a mountain of trouble, running from a death cult that was not only hell bent on getting their hands on Jen, but was now gunning for revenge for the death of their priestess/leader. They were in ISIS-controlled territory, running low on food and fuel. Desic’s latest text said the temperature was expected to drop near freezing tonight.
Cold never bothered him, but Jen was a different story. He’d managed to snag two sleeping bags from the supplies back at the Baghdad HQ, but they were not designed for cold weather. To top it off, they didn’t even have jackets. Jen was currently huddled close to the fire, hugging the long-sleeve cotton button up shirt around her and rubbing her biceps.
The sun had set, and the temperature was dropping fast.
As he eyed the sleeping bags sitting rolled up next to the fire, his thoughts turned to the night before. He’d never felt anything like what he’d felt holding Jen in his arms. Well, arm. They’d talked for hours in the dark, her head on his shoulder, the warmth of their bodies wrapping around each other, their breath mingling.
He hadn’t slept that soundly in, well, he couldn’t remember. There was a kind of peace and comfort in her arms that let him relax and let his guard down.
A voice in the back of his head said that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. They were in an extremely dangerous position and they both needed to keep their guards up. If he was smart, he’d keep her on the other side of the fire tonight and sleep with one eye open.
But ever since he’d woken up to find her scrambling off the bed, there had been a small ache in the center of his chest. His arms felt her absence. He was hungry to feel her pressed against him again. He wanted that connection, that closeness, needed it.
The tactical part of his brain, that thing that had kept him alive through hundreds of sticky situations, told him he should stay away from her. They should set a watch, sleep in shifts.
But she’d be cold. And if she was beside him, he could protect her more easily. He’d just keep his guns close and not sleep at all. That would work. Sure.
A part of him that was about as far from the tactical part of his brain as it was possible to be, reminded Theron that there were other things they could do in that sleeping bag besides hold each other.
That ill-advised kiss popped into his head and had his blood heating. He still didn’t know what had possessed him to put his mouth on her. It had to be the combination of adrenaline, stress, anxiety and, if he was totally honest, raw desire.
Iron control and force of will were as much a part of him as the skin he wore. A fire mage couldn’t survive without them. He refused to let himself lose control. Not again. It had cost him too much last ti
me. But he’d also never felt anything like this connection with Jen before.
That kiss hadn’t been a conscious decision. It had just happened, almost before he’d known it. It scared him a little. Her mouth against his, her breasts pressing into his chest, the heat of her, it was one of the best things he’d ever felt. One kiss from Jen was better than the sex he’d had with anyone else.
And she’d kissed him back.
A part of him was screaming at him to kiss her again, pull her against him, strip her naked and make love to her. But he couldn’t afford the distraction, couldn’t afford to lose control like that.
He watched Jen chewing through her protein bar and was struck again with how lean she was. Last night, he’d seen how pronounced her ribs were and the way her hip bones stuck out. She was too thin. When he’d been in her apartment, he’d seen the distinct lack of food and she’d barely eaten since they left Baghdad.
That was going to change. From here to Damascus, he’d make sure she ate. And when they got to the Citadel, he’d make sure she didn’t miss a meal. For a military installation, the Citadel had some of the best chefs this side of the Fey Realms.
He was really going to enjoy spoiling her. For a moment, a mental image of the two of them invaded his skull, them hanging out on a couch in one of the standard living quarters in the Citadel, surrounded by popcorn, pizza, and other junk food while Netflix played in the background.
He slammed the mental lid on that thought. In his experience, it didn’t pay to fantasize about things like that. They never came true. For him, at least.
One minute, one hour, one day at a time, that’s how they had to play this. Survival first, movie night later.