Corey (All Guts, No Glory #4)

Prologue

W ar never smelled good, but it was a scent he knew well.

Explosions rocked the building as Corydon “CD” Emerson’s right boot unexpectedly slid through a wet patch of…

something. He glanced down and saw the puddle of blood he just stepped in.

The crimson stream was still spilling from a nearby body on the hospital’s laminate floor.

Somehow the stench of bodily fluids and death mixed with smoke and gunpowder seeped through his gaiter.

Pulling it higher over his nose, he pressed forward.

Their target should be three doors away, and his SEAL team was closing in fast. Another blast shook the Kabul hospital as they reached the door, and sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

The building was fucking hotter than a sealed coffin buried beneath the desert sun.

It was also strangely quiet inside, which put him more on edge than the continuing blasts outside where British Special Air Service (SAS) were currently engaging rebels on the joint mission.

Tasked with rescuing an American hostage, Corey’s team moved down the corridor in single file.

Lone Star, the officer in charge, gave a nod and their breacher—better known as Muskrat—stepped forward.

The guy could stay underwater for a crazy long time and was an excellent swimmer, just like the animal that lived in his small-town Minnesota lakes.

Before reaching for the explosives on his belt, Muskrat tried the handle.

It turned with a squeak.

Corey stiffened, his gut screaming. So far, the entire op had gone off a little too smoothly. With the kind of ease that made him think the enemies were welcoming them into hell with open arms and perfectly-aimed AK-47s.

Just a little further, frogs. Come right in. And don’t worry, we’ll blow your heads off fast.

Outside the hospital, war might be raging, but inside it was like a crypt.

Eerily quiet, the halls strewn with dead bodies, the ominous ticking of a clock somewhere had him on edge.

As though it were counting down to their doom.

It put all of his senses on high alert, and he exchanged a quick look with Weston “Murph” Murphy, his closest friend.

Murph was the best man he knew, deeply in love with his wife Ellie, and always rock solid when the shit hit the fan.

Which Corey had a sinking feeling might be about now.

But Muskrat pushed inside the room without incident, and Corey, Wes and the others filed in directly behind him, quickly clearing the space. Corey’s focus zeroed in on another door. A bathroom?

Lone Star communicated with a hand signal and his team flanked the door in question. When Muskrat threw it open, Corey’s gaze dropped to the woman huddled on the floor, arms wrapped around herself, and visibly trembling.

They’d found her.

The woman stared up at them with wide blue eyes. “Cassidy Lee Lawrence?” Lone Star asked, and she gave a jerky nod.

Corey dropped to one knee. “Can you walk, Miss Lawrence?”

Those incredible blue eyes went wide as dinner plates. “I-I think my ankle is broken.”

Her voice sounded rusty, parched like the Afghan desert, but there wasn’t time to hydrate yet.

“I’ve got you,” Corey said, extending his gloved hands. He helped her to her feet and she wobbled. Why is no one guarding her? The thought made him nervous. Unless the insurgents had fled after the hospital was attacked?

“Target acquired,” his Lieutenant relayed through their comms. “Now let’s get the hell outta this shithole.”

“Roger,” a voice responded. “Use the tunnel.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Bean said. Beneath all his gear, the blond was skinny as a string bean. But, damn, he could move like greased lightning. “This place is giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Corey muttered.

“Who are y-you guys?” she asked. Even through his gloves, Corey could feel her fingers trembling.

“Just your friendly neighborhood Navy SEALs,” Bean answered.

“Red Squadron, at your service, ma’am.” Her grip on Corey tightened as she limped a step closer. “Murph, gonna need you to check that ankle.”

Their combat medic stepped forward, then paused when Lone Star raised a hand. “No time, Murph. It’ll have to wait til we’re on the helo. Carry her, CD.”

CD, Corey’s nickname, was a result of his unusual first name—Corydon. During BUD/S, the guys had purposely mispronounced it, saying Corey-Don instead of Cor-i-din. Eventually, it got shortened to CD. Those closest to him usually just called him Cor, but he pretty much answered to anything.

There was no time to ask for permission. Corey slung his rifle across his back and swept her up into his arms, noting how light she felt. Fragile and delicate like a flower. She let out a small gasp, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Let’s go,” Lone Star ordered.

Muskrat took point, Corey fell into the middle between the others, and Lone Star guarded their six.

“Anyone else ever wish TA meant tits and ass?” Bean asked as they proceeded back into the hallway. “Sure beats target acquisition. Don’t you think?”

“I think you need to get laid, Bean,” Muskrat stated.

Murph, directly in front of Corey, shook his head. “Can we please not talk about Bean’s sex life? This place is depressing enough.”

The words barely left his mouth when their comms blew up, informing them the SAS had to pull back. “Tangoes breached the main entrance. You need to get to that tunnel!”

“How are we supposed to get to the goddamn tunnel when we have to pass the main entrance?” Murph asked.

“Fuck,” Lone Star hissed, and everyone halted. “New plan.”

“What about the southwest exit?” Corey asked, shifting Cassidy in his arms.

They all knew leaving that way would put them in a dangerous position.

Once they exited the building, it would lead them out into the open.

Sniper nests were always a threat. But what choice did they have?

While Lone Star informed the higher-ups they just changed their exfil point, Cassidy clung to Corey so tightly, she was inadvertently tugging his neck gaiter down.

“We’re trapped, aren’t we?” she asked, blue eyes filling with tears.

“We’re just rerouting,” Corey assured her. “It happens sometimes.”

“I’m so scared,” she whispered.

Corey met her terrified gaze. “We’ll get you out. I promise.”

Because that’s what his team did. They were the world’s most highly-trained and skilled warriors. And he had no doubt they were about to turn any rebels waiting for them into mulch.

Except that’s not what happened.

Instead, they were halfway down the stairs when an RPG blew open the wall next to them. Cassidy screamed as the blast tossed them forward, and they tumbled down the rest of the stairs.

Somehow, he held onto her frail body.

Cassidy began coughing and Corey squinted through the smoke and flames. Murph lay sprawled next to him and Muskrat not too far away. He didn’t see Lone Star or Bean.

“Murph!” Corey dragged himself and Cassidy closer to his friend. A dazed Murph opened his eyes and coughed. Muskrat groaned then let out a curse.

“You guys okay?” Corey asked.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Murph said, sitting up.

“My leg is fucked up,” Muskrat growled, and Corey couldn’t miss the blood oozing from his thigh.

“I’ll help you,” Murph said, sliding an arm under the other man’s shoulder and helping him up.

“Where are the others?” Corey stood, lifting Cassidy into his arms again. The air was so heavy with smoke and debris, he could barely see.

“Fuck!” Murph hissed, and Corey moved closer to see what caught his attention. Two bodies lay in a broken heap in the corner—Lone Star and Bean. With their OIC down, Corey was now in charge as their second-in-command.

And his job was to get them out safely. There would be time to mourn later.

“We’ll come back for them,” Corey said. “Let’s get Cassidy and Muskrat out first.”

Another explosion ripped through the building and they stumbled forward, hurrying down the hallway toward the southwest exit.

“Southwest exit is a bad idea,” Muskrat gritted out, arm wrapped around Murph’s shoulders and limping along. “Too many tangoes out there.”

A chunk of ceiling came hurtling down, missing them by mere inches.

“Do you have a better idea?” Murph asked.

Muskrat didn’t comment, just hobbled onward.

When Cassidy began coughing, Corey pressed her face against his vest. “Keep your head down. Try not to breathe the smoke in.”

He tried to be careful and not jostle her ankle too much, but time was of the essence.

“This way,” Corey said, leading them through the debris.

When they finally reached the exit, they halted and checked the situation outside. The majority of the fighting was happening on the other side of the building, giving a false sense of safety where they now stood. Blood pounded in his ears as Corey shifted Cassidy in his arms.

“I don’t want to die,” she whispered.

“You’re not going to,” Corey stated. “I promised you, remember?”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes so haunted it sent a chill through his body. Almost as if she knew.

Because, unfortunately, saving Cassidy was a promise he couldn’t keep.

“Let’s go,” Corey said, pushing the door open.

The sunshine temporarily blinded him, but he didn’t let it slow him down.

His boots kicked up dust as he jogged forward, and the sound of a helo’s rotors cut through the air.

It was their ride out of this hellhole, no doubt flown by a Night Stalker.

The elite Army pilots were the best of the best, and Corey was always grateful to know they were in the air supporting the special operations forces.

Corey led the way, Cassidy cradled against his chest, and Muskrat leaned on Murph. Blood oozed from his thigh, but he’d push through. They all would. Because it’s what they were trained to do.

But something felt off. Corey’s gut had been warning him since they’d stepped foot inside the hospital. And now it was suddenly screaming and clenching with dread.

Out of nowhere, a crack split through the air. Thrown off his feet, Corey landed hard on his back. His rifle slammed against his spine and his chest burned. Dazed, he stared up at the blue sky.

Fuck . He’d been shot. Stars swam at the edges of his vision, and when he glanced down at Cassidy, searching out those blue eyes…

They were gone.

She was gone. And in her place was blood. So much blood.