Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Her whole world had narrowed to horror and pain. If she had anything left in her stomach, she’d be puking from the gruesome sight of Maria’s body.
Enya bit down the sob that heaved silently in her chest. Instead of punishing her for escaping, the horrible men had taken their anger out on poor Maria.
I’m so sorry, Maria.
God would have to be the one to forgive her, because she never would forgive herself for being the reason the other woman was dead.
She’d hear Maria’s screams and her pleas for her mama to save her, every time she closed her eyes for the rest of her days. Enya almost wished they had done everything where she could see, so she witnessed what had happened. Because what her imagination provided her with was horrific.
She’d learned over the last few days that when the sounds of the jungle night went quiet, bad things happened.
When the chorus of insects stopped mid-chatter, Enya scrambled back into the corner and wedged herself into the space between the wall and a crate.
She drew her knees up and tried to make herself as small as possible.
She knew it wouldn’t stop the men from finding her, but every second of respite she had was a second she didn’t have to face reality.
I want to go home.
Daddy, please find me.
Pleas—
“Got her.”
The first touch on her head, and Enya launched herself off the ground. She would never give in. Never. If they wanted her dead, then they would have to work for it. She closed her fist and swung hard, biting, screaming, kicking, and punching at the man who pulled her out of the corner.
“Hey. Hey. Enya. Damn it. Fuck. Ouch, goddammit.”
Hard hands managed to catch her wrists.
“Stop it, Enya, I’m trying to help you, damn it.”
Confusion bled with fear as her brain struggled to catch up with what was happening.
She fought harder to get free. The man who held her shook her hard, and something snapped free in her mind.
It was then she realized the voice had spoken in English.
She stopped struggling and blinked at the dirty face of the man holding her. “What?”
The man peered into her face, “My name is Rowan. Your father sent me to bring you home.”
Am I dreaming?
Is this what dying is?
Your wishes come true?
“Daddy sent you?”
“Yeah.” The man helped her to sit down and crouched in front of her. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re going home.”
Struggling to catch up, her voice cracked. “Maria—”
“I know.” He signaled to another man. “We’ll take her too. But we have to move fast. Can you walk?”
She didn’t care if the whole road to where they were going was strewn with burning hot coals. If it meant getting out of here, then she’d walk all over them and cry about it later. She grabbed his sleeve and whispered, “Home?”
The man, Rowan, nodded. “Yeah. I swear, you’re going home.”
This time, she believed him. She flinched away from the sound of a zipper. Just past Rowan’s shoulder, she could see Maria being closed into a body bag.
“Do you need help putting these on?”
“What?” She blinked in confusion at the question.
Her gaze dropped to his hands, and it took longer than it should have to figure out that he was talking about her boots.
The soldier must have decided she wasn’t capable of doing it herself, as he reached for her leg and slid the first boot on and then the second.
Enya winced and bit the inside of her lip when he hauled her to her feet, and each foot settled into the boots.
“Roger that, TOC. We’re moving to Priority One, now.”
“Wha—?” She cut off when he held up one hand, silently asking her to wait. “Seahorse, move your asses.” She figured out he was speaking into some kind of headset attached to his helmet. “We’re RTB. Stat.”
When it looked like he’d finished talking, Enya whispered, “Does that mean we’re going home? I really hope that means we’re going home.”
The whites of Rowan’s teeth shone in the dimness of her prison. “It does.” As if he were some fancy prince at a ball, he gave her a sweeping bow and pointed to the door. “Your chariot awaits, milady. Shall we?”
She nodded, “Yes.”
I love this dream.
Because it had to be a dream. A solace her brain offered her from the horrors of the camp.
I don’t want to wake up from this dream.
***
“Seahorse, move your asses. We’re RTB, STAT.” They’d found her; she was battered, bruised, traumatized, and probably would never fully get over what had happened in this place. But she was alive, and Rowan was taking the win.
Now you just have to keep her that way.
“Seahorse One, I got a squirter,” Jericho said on comms.
“Take him,” Rowan confirmed immediately. The last thing they needed was for that runner to make it to the incoming convoy. They would need every ounce of speed they could manage to make it to the extraction point.
“Got him.”
“Copy. Fall in.” When he saw how she hobbled, Rowan wrapped an arm around Enya Moore and made a decision. “Ma’am, can we put you on a stretcher, because we’ll move faster?”
“No. I—”
“You’ll endanger my men.” He tried to soften his tone, but knew he failed when she flinched away from him. “We’re going to need to hotfoot it for at least thirty minutes through the jungle. If not a stretcher, then I can carry you on my back, but I’m afraid of hurting you.”
“Piggyback?”
He didn’t blame her for sounding confused. “Yeah, a piggyback.”
“Okay.”
“My brother will help you climb on.” Rowan hoped she didn’t freak out when Gael lifted her.
He sighed in relief when her arms wrapped around his neck.
Having her on his back meant his access to his weapons would be limited.
But right now, he was willing to take the risk.
He shifted his stance so her legs were over his arms. “Two, you have command. Let’s roll.
” His men fell in around them, and they moved faster toward the pinpointed location where the helicopter would meet them.
Over his headset, he could hear the conversation between Gael and Ghost’s pilot.
“Skillet, this is Seahorse Two, over.”
“This is Skillet, over.”
“Skillet, Seahorse One has control of our package. We still have a convoy inbound, and we have wounded. How far out are you, over?” Gael gave the pilot the intel fast and efficiently.
“Seahorse Two, I’m ten mikes from the primary. How many pax, over?”
“Seven effectives, one wounded. One deceased non-primary hostage. Plan for a hot extraction, over.”
“Seahorse, I copy seven effectives, one wounded, and one deceased for a total of nine pax, and a hot extract, over.”
“Good copy, Skillet. Seahorse Two, out.” Gael caught a branch that would have swung back to hit Rowan in the face. “Did you get that?”
“Yeah. Thanks, bro.” Rowan quirked up the corner of his lips when Gael nodded, but didn’t bother answering. But his brother was focused and engaged in the mission; he’d take it.
Not bad for the first time out since the shit hit the fan.
They moved fast, following a path Dawsyn was cutting for them with a machete through the jungle.
They’d found her. Enya was alive, and he was bringing her home.
Rowan almost couldn’t believe it. But Enya’s head on his shoulder and the hot puffs of her breath against the skin of his neck reassured him she was alive.
“Thank you for coming for me.” She whispered.
He couldn’t suppress the shudder at the husky voice against his ear and squeezed her leg lightly, “You’re welcome.”
He knew they were getting close to the extraction point when he could hear the whoop, whoop of the rotors of the Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk.
Rowan and his men put on a burst of speed, because if they could hear it, so could the tangos.
The second they broke through the final wall of foliage, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Skillet already had the Black Hawk hovering in a tight, disciplined hold.
The rotor wash flattened out the grass in violent circles.
The downdraft slapped hot air and debris against Rowan’s skin, but he kept moving.
Enya’s arms tightened faintly around his neck, as a tremor passed through her thin frame.
“Seahorse One, visual on the bird,” Gael called over comms as if he hadn’t seen the massive war-machine rumbling in the sky.
“I see that, Seahorse Two.”
Knowing his men would secure the area, he was able to keep his focus on the woman clinging to him.
Her breathing was ragged, her fear almost a living thing pressed against his spine.
He wasn’t used to rescuing people, never mind civilians, but he figured, considering the shit she’d mostly endured over the last week, that maybe hearing a friendly voice or some reassurance wouldn’t go astray.
He snorted in his head. He had no freaking clue how to do the soft crap, but for this woman who lay against his back without complaint, he was willing to give it a shot.
“It’s okay, Enya, these are the good guys.”
“Ok.”
She didn’t sound as if she believed him. But he decided that as long as she wasn’t actively fighting him, it didn’t matter. When they were in the air, and she had food, water, and medical attention, she’d start to realize she was safe.
The winch line snaked down from the belly of the helicopter. Dawsyn reached it first, clipping in with quick, clean motions. Jericho and Bronx took up defensive positions, muzzles trained toward the tree line.
The jungle had gone too quiet again, and he could almost feel the convoy that was chasing them get closer and closer.
“I got her.” Gael reached for her.
“No.” Enya yelped in his ear, her arms almost strangled him. “Don’t let him touch me.”
“Easy.” Rowan knelt, allowing Enya to slide off his back. “Back off, bro. Give her some space,” he warned Gael before turning back to Enya. “He’s not going to hurt you. I swear. I’ll break his kneecaps in his sleep and then complain to momma and his husband if he does.”
She blinked up at him as if she was trying to make sense of his words. Then shook herself and asked, “Is it going to land?”
“No, ma’am.” He squatted in front of her. “I’m going to strap you to me, and they’ll winch us up.”
“What?”
He could see the panic in her eyes, and rushed to put it into context she’d understand. “Think of it like Rain bunchin’ his haunches as he comes down the aisle waiting for the bell before he explodes into the arena. That’s the adrenaline rush being winched up is for me.”
“Rain?” Enya’s brows wrinkled in confusion, “My Rain?”
“Yeah.” Rowan started fitting the harness around her. “Did you know my momma bred him?”
“What?”
“Yeah.” He clipped her harness onto his belt. “Your boy was born in a stall on my family’s ranch.” Without giving her time to protest, he shuffled them toward the winch rope and kept her distracted while Gael connected them to it.
“You’re Salieri?”
“That’s right, Rowan Salieri at your service.” As the winch pulled them off the ground, he wrapped his arms around her, and Enya buried her face into his neck.