Chapter 23
Anita
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“I 'm not sure whether we’ll have enough time,” Wicked Mal says to Ronan. Pedro stands guard at the door while the others try consoling the kids.
Shit, what's going to happen.
Ronan's jaw clenches as he ponders. Boone strolls toward the kid who’s quivering like she’s been standing out in the cold. His tall frame towering over her with a grim expression probably terrifies her more than being strapped to a chair.
“Alright, you got this,” Ronan says encouragingly, trusting his friend to know exactly what to do. Then, he lets out a harsh breath and shakes his head.
Okay, this can't be good.
“To get it done faster, we’ll watch him do it, then we’ll deactivate the others.”
My throat tightens with widened eyes. Mal only grins, excited about the news. I want to speak about my discomfort with it, but he believes in me to keep my head on straight. I won’t lie and say it doesn't scare me half to death. What if my hands become so sweaty that I slip up and hit the wrong wire?
Then we all die.
My heart beats faster, like a jack rabbit hitting that stupid drum. I dip my head, facing the opposite wall, away from prying eyes to hide my reaction. I close my eyes and breathe. Just like what Scarlette would encourage.
Breathe .
It doesn’t take long for my scattering heart to slow down. I swallow the lump, and switch back, as if nothing happened, and walk over to where Boone kneels in front of a child.
The young girl starts to tear up. “It’s okay, little one.” He speaks softly, the baritone in his voice present, but it’s warm enough to make her sniff and gaze into his eyes like he’s a superhero.
He treads, reaching up to the bomb. She goes rigid like ice.
“My name is Boone. What’s yours?” His hands stay up to show he’s not moving until she’s comfortable enough. Her eyes shift back and forth on his face.
“I’m Scarlet,” she whispers.
I can see him stiffen, and I do too, pretending that name means nothing to me. How ironic.
“Scarlet. That’s a pretty name.” Besides the stiffness that he showed, his voice doesn’t show it.
Her eyes scan his fingers, then back to him. “Thank you. My mom tells me to always say thank you when someone says a nice thing.” Little Scarlet starts to become comfortable, although there are people hovering over her with guns. “And your voice is funny, Mr. Boone.”
I snicker, pursing my lips. I agree with her on that. It is similar to my Scarlette, but different in every way. When he said pretty, he sounded like ‘pree-eh.’ I continue admiring the girl's bravery and the bomb in Boone's fingers.
He nods lightly. “I know. I constantly hear it.” He clicks a wire, and she winces. “Do you know what your name means?” He begins fiddling with the bomb, carefully distracting her again.
Her head shakes.
“It means red, for courage, passion, and joy.”
I contained my reaction. H e knows what her names mean, and that confirms there is something going on so much deeper than I know. No matter how sweet that is, he’s still on my radar.
Her face twinkles like a star. “Really?”
He nods. “Yes, and you are very brave, Scarlet. What’s your favorite thing to do?” he asks gently. I watch as his fingers lock around a loop that’s made up of live wires.
She doesn’t answer; she sniffs with a stuttering breath. “I-I love playing with my dog. It’s my favorite.” Her voice is small and heartbreaking. I have the urge to hug her once she's out of this chair.
He hums, touching a green wire, his movements measured with care. “I have a dog, too.”
I look up quickly to see her reaction before staring back at Boone’s movements.
“You do?” Her voice raises with some excitement.
“Yes. But he’s massive.”
“I have a small dog. I like big dogs, too.”
He touches the red wire, examining it. “I don’t know. My dog may scare you. He’s taller than I am.”
She giggles. “That’s not possible.” She continues laughing, unaware that Boone has taken out clippers and hovers them around the red wire. I watch his finger roll over the two black buttons.
My chest caves as the scissors slowly close. The sweat forms up my back, the air thins, and we all become stiff with fear.
“Very possible.” He clips the red wire.
Nothing.
I release a short breath, my mind whirling for oxygen now. Everyone in the room releases a heavy breath of relief. I glance at Ronan, who has the exact reaction.
Hope. The relief is enormous, but it’s short lived.
“You have done a fantastic job, Scarlet. See, very courageous.” He forms a weak smile. He removes the bomb cautiously from her waist. Chris comes up, taking the bomb from Boone and navigates to the wall to set it down.
She looks down, then her face brightens even more over the tear stains. “You did it?” She leaps off the chair, crushing him with her small body. I can’t help the subtle touch of delight bursting in my heart. I never would’ve thought this man would be able to comfort a child, but he did.
His shoulders slumped, patting her back before releasing her and standing up and turning around to walk off.
“Boone's a softie, who would’ve thought,” Wicked Mal says with surprise.
“Fuck off.” His face’s back to the hardened face he normally wears.
The kids began chattering all at once. “Please help me next. Me get me. Please.”
I step in. “Don’t worry, we will remove every bomb,” I say reassuringly.
“Alright, we all saw what Boone did, let’s get the ball rolling. The countdown is now at ten minutes. Don’t touch shit if you don’t know which wire it was,” Ronan says, walking to the next kid.
My heart bangs into my throat, but I get to work, replicating Boone’s movements. The colors are bold in my mind, and the precision is used to cut the wire.
I lick my lips, looking up at the kid who seems a bit more confident than I am. Then I push the two buttons while clipping the red wire. Nothing explodes, no screams, or darkness.
My shoulders sink as I wipe the sweat from under my hairline.
“Shit. This is fucked,” Red says, strolling forward and carefully untangling the bomb from my grip.
The rest of the team help the others put the deactivated bombs to the side. I help the kids stand up, Mal does the same, gathering them together.
I help the kids who are already out of their restraints, their eyes sunken with fatigue, the pungent scent of urine stings my nose from their dingy clothes. “You're safe now.”
Once they're all free, we lead them out of the stuffy room. They’ll never have to see this ever again.
I count each kid as they pass me; Ronan swipes his hand to the front as they follow Boone and the men in front with their guns raised. Mal walks at the back. Some kids gasp seeing the dead men sprawled out on the floor and blood pooling around them—it’s unfortunate. Not for the men, but the kids. They shouldn’t see this side of the world. Blood and death. The only blood they should see is the common scrape on the knee.
“Okay, that’s all twelve of them,” I say, walking up to Ronan, who’s intently focused on the kids.
“Alright, let’s go.” He touches my waist before walking to his crew.
By the time we make it outside, the shot of cold air swarms over me. It’s like a breath of fresh air. A weight off our shoulders. We actually did it. My first extraction. I don’t settle in my joy yet. We need to get them on the bus and out of here—then, Victor is ours.
A young girl cries in the row, touching her collar bone. “I left my necklace. I need it.” She shoots out from the line, and I immediately step in, holding out my hand.
“You can’t go back there, we have to get you into that bus,” Mal says, blocking her from going back too.
Ronan looks back to see what’s going on.
“Please, it's my father's ashes.” Her face distorted in pain.
Ronan steps forward now. “I’m sorry about your necklace, but we can’t go back.”
“Please.” Tears fill her eyes. Something from her cries lurches a pain in my bones. It’s the only thing she has of her father. I understand. It’s risky to go back in, but...
“I’ll go and get it,” I speak up, gripping my gun.
Ronan turns to me with sheer destruction pouring from his hard stare. His jaw’s so tight that I’m worried it’ll break. “What?” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re not going.” The fury in his voice could erupt a volcano.
I hold up my hand to calm the magma spewing from his flaring nostrils. “I’ll be fine. All the men are dead—it's only Victor and Jax now.” I gaze up, challenging him.
“Thank you so much, thank you,” she continues, holding her hands flat against her chest.
“Not happening. I’ll go,” he states, but I press my hand to his chest.
“No, you get those kids on the bus. They need you. I’ll be fine and back in no time.” I give my best reassuring smile. His teeth grind together. I can see the resistance shielding every spec of his honey eyes. But if he knows me well enough, then he knows I won't back off.
His eyes shut with a hard roll before tossing me another look. “In and out.”
“Of course.”