Chapter 14
14
Zorro knew a goat fuck when he saw one, an ugly mother of a fucking goat fuck that was going to fuck them over without even one goddamned bleat. He closed his eyes, the rain coming down so hard it was even difficult to breathe. Taking a steadying breath, he looked down and slowly tilted his hand away from his side.
Yep, a bleeding goat fuck was even worse than a normal goat fuck. Ten times more painful than a regular goat fuck but still way baa-baa baaad .
Okay. He was a little chewed up, but that wasn’t enough to stop a frogman. He was never out of the fight, bleeding goat fuck or not. If he could aim and shoot, he was going to ram his M4 down someone’s throat. Okay, blood was running through his fingers, the bullet still inside, just under his skin, dancing around in there like it was Mardi Gras, the fucker—pinging off a rib or two which answered the question, Why the fuck did it hurt so much?
The biggest problem wasn’t those guys out there gunning for them, it was the blood. As a medic, it was his job to keep the blood on the inside from getting to the outside, and he was failing. Crack, crack, crack. The sounds of gunfire rang all around them. A round hit the tree they were sprawled against.
“What the fuck happened?” Buck asked, his voice low and weak. He lifted his head, and his eyes traveled from Zorro’s grave gaze down to his side. “Ah, shoot. What do you need?”
“An umbrella would be good about now, or a portkey, or a squad of Marines fighting toward us like it was Iwo Jima.”
Buck heaved out a sigh. “We don’t have time for your type of levity, Martinez. Frogmen have no use for umbrellas, and what the fuck is a portkey? I wouldn’t say no to QRF right about now, but it's unlikely anyone knows where we are right about now.”
“Hmm, no Harry Potter fan here, and um…low on a sense of humor. Okay, check.”
“What can I do?” Buck growled in a very grumpy way.
“You have double vision, there, cowboy.”
“Yeah, so what? I can see.”
Zorro let out a half laugh. “True, my battle boo. I guess that’s better than a blind man. Grab my pack.”
Buck struggled up, his breathing suddenly labored. He groaned softly through gritted teeth as he dragged the heavy pack toward them. “Call me that again and I’ll fucking punch you in both faces,” Buck said through gritted teeth.
“Ooh, a little cowboy joke. I might have to reassess the sense of humor angle.” Buck glared at him. “But I’ll take my chances since you can barely move, and you still have double vision.”
“Martinez!” Buck growled again as he dragged the pack toward them.
“Get the med kit, you grumpy bastard.”
“I swear I’m going to rope and tie you and kick the shit out of you in the near future.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t tempt me with a good time.”
“Goddammit, Martinez.”
Zorro needed his humor right about now because Buck was about to get some revenge. “I need the antiseptic, a pack of antibiotics, and battle dressing.”
The man did most of his digging by feel. Zorro was always amazed with what they could do when they had to do it. Buck crawled back toward him with the three items. “These them?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Zorro said as a gray shadow seemed to press in on him from all sides. “Give me the antibiotics,” he said, deciding it was a good idea to take them before Buck treated the wound in case Zorro passed out. “Pour the antiseptic on the wound, then slap on the dressing.”
Zorro dry swallowed the tablets in the package, his eyes going to Buck’s. He was struggling to see Zorro’s wound in the gloom while everything was blurred. Zorro took a hard breath, grabbed his wrist, and centered it over the bullet hole. “Pour.”
Buck tipped the bottle and a burning, searing pain blazed across his left side from the edges of the wound to deep inside. His vision blurred, agony making his whole body convulse, and that shadow monster closed in. If he hadn’t been spreadeagled on the ground, he would have collapsed.
Through a roaring in his ears, he heard Buck say, “Come on, partner, you’re tougher than this.”
He caught his breath, fought off the fog, and blinked against the downpour. Geezus, was the sky going to drop all of the rain on them in a span of minutes? Buck splashed him again, the son of a bitch. Zorro started swearing in rapid Spanish.
“I know you’re calling me every name in the Spanish book, but we’re not done yet,” Buck murmured, peering down at Zorro’s exposed waist.
“You’re at the top of my shit list.”
His gaze tried to center on Zorro’s face. “It’s going to get ugly if I have to carry you out of here.”
“You couldn’t carry this goat fuck out of here,” he said, his tone wry, but his voice weak as shit. “If we wait just a tad longer, we could paddle out of here.” Zorro eyed the dressing as Buck did his best to dry Zorro’s skin, every pass bringing that shadow monster back.
Buck looked him straight in the eyes. “I will, amigo, if I have to, and you know it.” He did. Buck was a tough son-of-a-gun, even with a head injury. With those words, the dressing came down on the wound, and this time Zorro saw black as Buck smoothed the edges around the bullet hole.
While he was handling passing out, he heard Buck on the radio. “TOC this is Buck.” He rattled off some coordinates, and Zorro had to wonder how he’d even seen his dive watch through the rain, the gloom, and his double vision. Zorro fought his way back to consciousness, his disappointment sharp at nothing but static from the radio. Were they still out of range or was the rain fucking with the reception?
Suddenly, a gun barrel pressed into his shoulder, and he looked up to find a man’s grim face. Zorro said, “ Kaibigan. ” But the goat fuck just laughed at him, and Zorro’s stomach dropped. A wave of dizziness washed across the back of his skull, and he fought it, focusing on his breathing, making it deep, making it count, and he held on for Buck, so he wouldn’t be alone. “Looks like you won’t have to carry me out of here, Buck. We’ve got a ride with the fucking NPA.”
Every protective instinct ran through D-Day like a primal wolf in a frenzy of protecting what was his, savagely, viciously, with every wild, alpha bone in his body. Her body was warm against his, warm and vulnerable, and she shivered with fear, her scent flooding his senses. Her battered face, split lip, and bruises made him want to make Lando pay, but he had to tamp all that down for the sake of the mission, no matter how much he wanted to kill the fucker.
He lunged at Lando, catching the man totally off guard, and pressed him to the wall. Sticking his face right into the warlord’s, he twisted the fabric of Lando’s shirt until it was bunched tightly in his fist. “No fucking way. She’s mine…every inch of her fucking body. You don’t look at her, you don’t touch her, you don’t fucking breathe on her,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “If you do, I’ll fucking kill you. I don’t share, especially with little assholes who don’t understand what’s good for them.”
Helen backed up as if she was going to run, the terrified look on her face hurt him down to his core. She sobbed softly, then her jaw hardened. He kept his body between Helen and Lando, his peripheral vision also watching that woman who had knocked Helen in the head. She wasn’t just a simple bystander.
D-Day hauled fresh air into his lungs, his rage so intense that his judgment was impaired. He wanted to kill them both, eliminate any threat to Helen, that precious, beautiful soul who had somehow found something in him. It was as if a lifetime of rage had broken loose in him, all of it focused on the greedy, soulless man who held his own country in such disdain that he was willing to take his money while everything around him burned.
“Are we clear?” D-Day roared.
Lando nodded, his eyes still defiant, but he kept them off Helen.
D-Day let him go.
“Fuck her and get out. There will be no more deals between us. NPA paid for six triggers, and that’s what they’ll get. All six.”
His rage accelerating, D-Day moved, and before the last word was out of Lando’s mouth, D-Day hooked his arm around his throat, whirled him around, and sent him crashing to the floor. His strength fueled by his rage, he hauled the man to his feet, jerked one arm behind his back, and slammed his face into the wall. His jaw clenching in murderous fury, he gave Lando another sharp shove. “Who do you think you’re dealing with? I run this fucking business, and you know it. Don’t make an enemy of me, Lando. You will regret it.”
“Okay, okay, Butler. Back off. I get it. I have something you’ll want. We can talk about it after you calm down. It’s just that those triggers belong to the NPA, and they will kill me if they don’t get what they paid for.”
“Fuck you, Lando. You cover your ass and play it safe. That never got anyone anywhere, mate. But good on ya for offering me something else, and it better be worth my time.” He let Lando go. “You or anyone else comes through that door before I’m done with her, and I’ll shoot to kill.”
He looked at the woman and she cowered, backing up. Lando, his face sullen, nodded. D-Day was thankful for Butler’s reputation. It was the only thing keeping the warlord in check. If he burned Butler, there would be repercussions from his people, and Lando didn’t want that kind of heat. The realization that he’d just let his emotions control him made D-Day take a hard breath, then let it out. Needing to keep his thinking untainted by another shot of fury, he glanced away, trying to get himself back into mission mode. Lando was always going to jack him over regarding the triggers. D-Day was going to have to take matters into his own hands and force the issue with the warlord, but right now, he needed to follow through with Helen. His only hope was that she got something out of Lando’s twin.
Helen stared at his erection tenting the loose fabric of his pants. Not a thing about this turned him on. He had to let himself grow hard for the show while he’d held her, the flimsy pants hiding nothing. “Look, no hard feelings about the triggers. We’ll let bygones be bygones.”
“Okay, deal.” Lando glanced at Helen with a hateful expression but looked quickly away. “Make her suffer.”
“You both are despicable,” she said, lifting that defiant chin, the stark understanding of what was going to happen to her in the sick expression on her face. She was very convincing, and he hated the thought that she had to go through this.
“I have something you can do with your mouth,” he said, grabbing her hair, but mostly cupping her scalp as gently as he could. He dragged her with him as he propelled her down the hall, her distress evident. “Have something ready to eat when I’m done with her. I’m sure I’ll have an appetite.”
He opened the door, let them see him shove her onto the bed, then with his heel, he slammed the door shut, then locked it.
He leaned his back against the door, opening his arms as she flew into them. “We’re going to have to go through with it, aren’t we?” she asked softly.
“What? Fuck no!”
“We have to, Drew, or you’ll look tense and unfulfilled. We can’t afford to allow them to get suspicious.” She cleared her throat. “You’ll have to rough me up a little bit, so it looks convincing.”
He groaned softly in refusal, and she cupped his jaw. “It’s all right,” she said smiling. “I know what kind of man you are and that nothing about this arouses you.”
He closed his eyes, telling himself that this wasn’t a violation of Helen. They were lovers, but there was still something unsavory about taking her here and making it sound like he was raping her. It went against everything he stood for, but he suspected she was right. There were just some things a guy could hide, but blue balls weren’t one of them.
“Only you, darlin’. Just you. I’m sorry about this shitstorm. But I am forced to agree with you. I’m a pretty good actor, but not that good.” He pushed the ripped T-shirt material from her body, tossing it away, his eyes going to her sweet, firm breasts. He searched her chest thoroughly, relieved he hadn’t broken her skin, not even a scratch.
She slipped out of her pants, then reached for the tie at his waistband. He held up a hand, and slipped by her, grabbing his sidearm. He walked to the bed and set it down on the nightstand.
She looked up at him. “Locked and loaded in many different ways.”
He had to bite back a smile. “This isn’t funny, Helen.”
“I know,” she said from under her lashes, “but I can’t think rationally around you.”
Catching him by the back of the head, Helen closed her eyes, and he crushed her closer. “Tell me no, and struggle, scream, whatever you think works for this sham.”
She ripped out a scream and started to push him away, and he grabbed her arms, knowing he was too rough, and he was going to leave bruises. Her heady, feminine scent wrapped around him, infusing his every breath. He wanted to take this slow, but rape was fast and brutal, not long and gentle.
“Please, no,” she screamed as he pushed her down to the bed, and after grabbing her wrists in a punishing hold, he reached down to check her sweet core to make sure she was ready for him.
His aching erection was cradled against her bottom, and he groaned when she wrapped her hands tight around the straining length. His entire body shuddering with the pleasure she gave him, he pushed her knees apart, spreading her wide, and swept his hand down her smooth stomach. He was relieved to discover that she was already incredibly wet and aroused. Unable to prolong this performance, he moved up and over her body and felt the head of his dick glide along her core as he pinned her beneath him. Their eyes met and held, hers filled with something so sweet and soothing, and he shoved inside, thrusting into her. She gasped, then cried out for effect. He grabbed her hips again more roughly than he wanted to, ravaging her breasts with his mouth and teeth, making her cry out again. His rough stubble turned her skin pink. With her knees bracketing his hips, the urge to possess her in the most elemental way possible overwhelmed him. Tangling his fingers in Helen’s soft, thick hair, he held her head in his hands and slanted his mouth across hers in a hot, deep kiss.
Her hands slid to his shoulders, and her fingers dug into his muscles as he surged into her, again and again, tearing a moan from the back of her throat. His strokes came faster, longer, ruthlessly demanding, and wholly raw. With each thrust he felt himself grow harder, thicker, until lust and need collided into white-hot heat.
Lost in the rush of sensation, lost in her, he wrenched his mouth from hers, tossed his head back in pure ecstasy, and arched into her one last time, high and hard and infinitely deep. A guttural growl tore from his throat, and his entire body shuddered as he came.
His scorching release went on and on, wringing him dry and leaving him weak and panting. He buried his face in her neck as he gradually recovered.
He lifted his head and slipped to the side, and she turned to him. He gathered her up and drew her head onto his chest, a heavy tightness unfolding in him. In spite of everything, that one unconscious act affected him like little else had. He snuggled her head closer and reached for his sidearm, racking the slide and chambering a bullet, then he set the gun back down.
“I take it you didn’t get the location of the triggers.”
She shook her head, her eyes sad. “No, he didn’t know.”
D-Day had a nearly uncontrollable urge to go after Lando right then and there. Locking his jaw against the rolling sensation in his belly, he clenched and unclenched his teeth, trying to bring the new burst of anger under control. The hot violent surge of adrenaline finally abated, and he looked at her, affecting a calm he didn’t feel.
Every step of the way through this whole masquerade, Helen had played her part so well, but he was humbled by her instinctive trust, wincing inside at his inability to fully trust her. He hated that, wanted to give her every last bit of him, but he held back. He had to. He hadn’t settled anything in his mind or his gut. Until he faced what he needed to face at home, he was in limbo in this relationship.
For a few minutes, he worked at trying not to back off but push himself to the brink.
She lifted herself up on his chest, turning his head toward hers. “Why do you get that bruised, haunted look in your eyes, like now? What is it?”
“I’m wrestling with allowing my emotions to surface, to deal with them, and make sense out of my thoughts.” It was as if he was stranded on a high, narrow ledge. No matter what she did or said, it didn’t matter a damn unless he let go and took that first step. Nothing would change for him until he did. “I don’t want to hurt you. God, that would kill me, but I also can’t make any promises about the future.” Lifting a thick strand of hair from her damp neck, he tipped his head and kissed her shoulder. “I can only think of now, until I get you out of all of this.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you.” She rubbed her palm over his chest, the caress soothing and warm. “I just care about you, and I know this is so hard for you. It’s just like you to be straightforward and shoot from the hip and tell me you can’t make promises instead of glossing it over and telling me everything is fine when it’s not.” A glimmer of humor lit her eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “I appreciate your honesty, and I just want you to know that I’m waiting for you, Andrew. Not exactly patiently, but I’m waiting.” There was the brush of her hair spilling against his skin when she leaned over and gave him a soft, seeking kiss. D-Day let his breath go in a shaky rush and took her face between his hands, moving her head in counterpoint to his as he took control and thoroughly explored her mouth. She let him take what he wanted, then with an unsteady sigh, she drew back. “And when you’re ready, I’ll be ready. That I can promise.”
He nodded, a tender feeling filling his chest. They stayed in the room adding in more noises that would be appropriate to the unspeakable acts a man could do to a woman, then he loosely tied her to the bed, leaving the sheet carelessly thrown over her lower body. She was lying on her side, just the way he’d left her, with her head turned slightly away from him, eyes closed. Her face was flushed, her breathing still choppy, and she’d draped one arm over her exposed breasts in a show of modesty. She looked ravaged, mauled, taken, and used.
He paused for effect at the door before he closed it and went out to eat, knowing that Lando expected that D-Day wasn’t done with her. They were playing such a dangerous game with so many unknowns, but the NPA would be here tomorrow, and it was time to end this.
Dakota “Bear” Locklear put Flint through his paces as the Malinois twined through his legs, mimicking his every move, his focus locked on Bear’s face for instructions. He couldn’t stand being inside one more minute while the time ticked by on the three missing members of his team.
The door to TOC opened and closed, but he was intensely working out Flint and didn’t even look.
A female voice said, “That’s pretty slick. He’s extremely well trained.”
Bear stopped moving and turned toward Bailee Thunderhawk. Not one to give anything away, he acknowledged that he’d noticed her right away. It wasn’t often that he came across a Lakota woman in his line of business, especially one with an intelligent spark in those fierce eyes of hers, and he sensed a strong spirit.
She was the first Native American spook he’d ever encountered, and he had to admit that it surprised him. Their people weren’t big on subterfuge, plain and simple, but what Bailee did took cunning, and hiding secrets was a way of life.
“He has to obey me immediately since both our lives could depend on it.” He crouched and rubbed at the dog’s face. With a hand signal, he gestured for Flint to stay as he walked over to Bailee.” He’d be lying if he said that she wasn’t one great beauty. Long silky black hair tamed into one long braid down her back, exquisite features, her skin smooth and brown, and he would see that mouth in his dreams along with those smoky silver blue eyes like a she-wolf. He often was careful of his partners, mostly because he was gone so much it was difficult to keep the kind of relationship he craved deep and meaningful long distance. So, add to the mix of his attraction to her, the fact that they were now working together.
“Why aren’t you inside waiting with your teammates for word?”
He shrugged. “Activity moves the body and the mind. I’m confident my teammates are working on the mission and will contact us soon.”
She leaned closer as if he was drawing her into a more personal space, her lashes thick fringing her blue eyes. “You're not worried about them.”
He smiled, giving her a sidelong glance. “They are my brothers, so my strength and my heart are with them.” Yeah, he was worried as fuck, but he trusted in their training and in them.
She smiled. “Spoken like a true warrior.” She reached out, gestured at his hair. “Navy regulation, huh?” She would never touch his hair without his permission, but the thought of her hands on him tantalized and intrigued him.
One of the many things important to his cultural identity had been his long hair. It was considered sacred and significant to who he was as an individual, a family member, and related to his community. Hair was considered an extension of the spirit, signifying personal strength and connection to the Great Spirit. It was disrespectful to throw hair away, so he burned it with sage in a ceremony, representing the end of something that once was and celebrated a new beginning.
He cut his hair to enter the Navy because of a significant loss in his family. His older brother had joined the Marines, but when he died, Bear made the decision to pick up the fight his older brother lost. “Yes, but there is a difference. I chose the Navy, and I chose their customs as my own. I wasn’t forced to cut my hair. I stay connected to the sacred ways in my own way, but we are part of this world, and evil lurks outside our borders. Again, I chose to be part of that fight. Our past is all about the sharpness of arrows…so being part of the tip of the spear is appropriate.”
He gave a hand signal, and Flint rose and rushed over to sniff at her. “Can I pet him?” she asked.
“Give him a moment to catch your scent,” he said, managing a cool, indifferent response while breathing in her fragrance, earthy, strong, and arousing.
“Pine Ridge,” he offered. Telling her where he was from.
She tilted her head, that thick braid falling off her shoulder. “You’re part of the Oglála. Cheyenne River for me,” she responded, giving him her place of birth and her tribe.
“Blackfoot.”
She nodded.
“I am surprised you chose a life with the CIA.”
She smiled. “Of course, that’s understandable,” she said cryptically. “Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it.”
“I would consider that an honor,” he murmured.
“Bear!” Gator shouted. “Buck gave us coordinates to their location. We’re spinning up.” He jumped up immediately and called Flint to him. Their conversation was over…for now. He was going after his brothers, and that was all he could allow to occupy his mind as she lingered like a sweet aroma in the air, one he couldn’t quite shut out. Damn her.