Chapter 16 A Hill To Die On #2
And they're fucking hot as hell, each one of them.
Including the two women. I'm straight, but I can recognize a gorgeous woman, and these two are goddamned stunning.
The men, now. The men.
Whoo, boy. The men.
Where to start?
The tall brown-skinned god with the short mohawk? The shorter powerhouse with the badass blond beard? The seven-foot-tall Polynesian behemoth? The Brazilian beefcake? The brothers who could be triplets, each of them hotter than the last, regardless of which order you put them in?
I need a fan. Or a cold plunge.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter. "Do you guys have a calendar?"
Nicolae frowns at me. "A calendar? Why would we need a calendar? I do not understand your question, I am afraid."
I snicker. "No, like…the firefighter calendar? They do them to raise money? The firefighters get their photos taken in various states of undress, like only wearing turnout pants or with a helmet covering their junk." I feel myself going red in the face. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."
Nico is grinning as he swaggers to meet his brethren, exchanging back-slapping hugs with the men and gentler, "she's one of the guys, but she's a girl" hugs with the women. "Miss Bennett was wondering when we are going to do a sexy calendar."
I blush so hard you could fry eggs on my cheeks. "Traitor."
One of the brothers—he bears a wicked scar on his face—raises his arms and flexes like he's competing against Columbo and Schwarzenegger. "I'm down. That shit would sell like hot cakes. We could do a whole merch line. Like a li'l gift shop. Plushy version of us."
The entire group turns to stare at him.
“You're a real dumbfuck, you know that, Sax?" This is one of the other brothers—a Robert Redford look-alike. "That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard. Do you ever stop and think before you open your fuck-tarded mouth?"
"That's offensive, Sol," the behemoth says—Big Voice. "Can't say shit like that."
"What? Fuck-tarded? What's wrong with it? It's not the R-word."
"It's close enough. No." Behemoth Big Voice pronounces "no" with a booming finality; the topic is closed.
Sol shrugs. "Whatever. Fine. But if anyone deserves to be called a fuck-tard, it's Saxon. And that's a hill I'll die on."
"Sol?" Big Voice's rumble is a warning.
"Alright, alright."
Saxon, when his brother turns his back to him, flips him off with both hands—the double bird also includes a hip-thrust. "You're a fuck-tard."
Big Voice turns on Saxon, now, then addresses the group at large. “Next person to say that word is gonna be pickin' their teeth outta their turds."
“Yeah, Sol," Saxon says, sticking out his tongue.
"Are you people ever serious?" I ask.
"No." This is from everyone, in unison.
"I see," I say. "Well, your boss may want you to, like, lock in a little so we can rescue him. Need I remind you, he's been shot?”
Solomon approaches me. "Brys Bennet, I'm Solomon Cabot.
" We shake hands, and he steps back and stands with his hand hooked in the neck of his vest. "I assure you, despite the shenanigans, we are taking this very seriously. Humor is how we cope. I promise you, the constant jokes don’t mean we're not the best in the business at exactly this. "
"I dunno, man," the short, stocky, bearded one says. "Alpha One does some damn fine rescue work. I wouldn't wanna tangle with those cats."
"I'll take us over them any day. They're all old now, anyway." This is from the brown-skinned one with the mohawk—a hairstyle I've rarely seen work, but on him, for some reason, it just looks badass.
"As fun as that theoretical matchup sounds," I interrupt, "can I get some introductions, or do I have to guess as to who is who?"
Nico stands beside me with a friendly hand on my shoulder; he points at each man as he names them. "Rev, Kane, Silas, Chance, Saxon, Solomon, and Lorenzo." He points at the women, next. "Scarlett—sorry, Maria, I am still getting used to that. And Sophia, also known as Inez."
"Nice to meet you all," I say, mentally repeating each name a few times, trying to pin the name to the face; I've never been good at remembering names, although I never forget a face.
"So, Nico, Brys." Solomon breaks the brief silence. "Sitrep."
Nico answers for us, obviously. "They are holed up in the south end of an abandoned manufacturing or bottling plant just under click over that ridge. There are six soldiers, plus Pugli, each of them armed with MP5s and sidearms."
Solomon frowns. "Only six? I don't like it."
I eye him. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"If you believe there's only six of them to our ten, then yes."
"Eleven," I correct. "Don't think I'm gonna be sitting in the truck twiddling my thumbs while you guys rescue Jakob."
Sol opens his mouth to argue, but a glance at Nico has him clicking his mouth closed again. "Fine. Just…follow orders, okay?"
I grin. "I'll try. That's not something I typically do very well with."
"What, taking orders?" he asks.
"Yeah," I answer. "I have a serious case of 'fuck authority.' "
"I bet that goes over well with Jakob," Sophia/Inez says. "That man has one setting—command."
"It has been a point of contention between us a few times, yes," I say, trying to keep the blush off my cheeks.
Sophia's eyes narrow at me; she knows. Shit. I don't know how, but she knows. She approaches me, scrutinizing me closely. "You and I are going to have to find time to speak in private."
I scrutinize right back. "Oh?"
Her eyes are dark and hard and cold, and the stare she gives me is icy and venomous and threatening.
I bet it makes lesser mortals—namely, men—quake in their boots.
I'm stepping on her territory, I think, somehow.
I doubt she and Jakob are or ever have been a thing, and I know she's with the Brazilian hottie who has yet to speak.
But I still get the sense that she doesn't like the fact that I'm encroaching on what she considers her territory.
I hold her gaze without flinching or looking away, and give her my own Ice Queen stare-down.
Saxon steps between us, pushing us away from each other as if we were moments from coming to blows. "Okay, okay, ladies. Enough of that. Keep staring at each other like that, and you're gonna start a nuclear winter or somethin'."
Lorenzo pulls Sophia aside, murmuring in her ear in Spanish or Portuguese or both, and Nico pulls me aside as well.
"She was his first…project," he says to me. "She cares about him quite intensely, in a platonic sort of way. Also, I should warn you, she is not someone you wish to get into a pissing contest with."
"Takes big brass ones to get into a staring contest with La Víbora," I hear someone mutter—I don't see who said it, however.
"La Víbora?" I ask, loudly.
Sophia/Inez whirls out of Lorenzo's embrace. "I am not her anymore," she snaps. “All those stupid names. No more. Please. No more."
"I feel like there's a backstory I'm missing here," I say.
Her gaze is droll when she turns it on me. "You don't say."
"Well, how am I supposed to know? Nico told me his story, but yours are yours to tell, not his."
Her gaze softens. "True." Her eyes shut, and she seems to soften, just a touch. "You are right. I apologize. I just…I am worried for Jakob."
"As am I."
She exhales slowly, eyes closed, chin to chest, and then straightens and meets my gaze. "We want the same thing, here, Brys. It's just…Jakob is…"
I take one of her hands and squeeze. "I know. I mean, I think I can fathom, at least. Almost three days in extremely close quarters, going through trauma together, you learn a lot about a person in a short time.” There's a short silence, and then literally everyone bursts out laughing, leaving me more puzzled than ever. "What did I say that was so funny?"
Nico pats my shoulder. "You have just succinctly summarized how literally everyone here met their lover."
"Dude, no. Lover just sounds weird." Saxon is frowning like he tasted something sour.
"Perhaps," Nico replies, "but even though Tatiana is not my legal wife, to call her my girlfriend feels insufficiently adult and serious. It is more than that. For all of us, no? What other term applies? Significant other? Partner?"
Saxon's frown only deepens. "No, you're right, but…I dunno, man. Lover just feels weird and wrong in my head for reasons I can't explain."
Solomon snaps his fingers several times and hisses. "Shut up! Everyone shut up!"
He creeps up the ridge, lies down on the crest, and remains motionless, watching and listening. After a full minute, he slithers back down and gets to his feet.
"There's an argument down there. Big time.
Shouting, fighting. This is our moment." He points while snapping out orders, and everyone listens without question; this guy is the leader, then.
"Chance, Rev, Kane, close in from the east. Stay low.
Nico, Silas, Brys, you're overwatch from the ridge.
Maria, Inez, Saxon, and I will take the frontal assault.
" He stares at everyone in turn. "This is it, folks.
No prisoners. No fucking games. Pugli dies, here and now.
" He looks at Nico. "I know you want to be the one to end him, Nic, but if any of us has a shot, we gotta take it. We can't risk him getting away again."
Nicolae nods. "I agree. If anyone has a shot, take it. End him. His death is all that matters."
Sol claps his hands once. "Move out."
I find myself clutching a handgun in two shaking hands, jogging between Nico and Silas, who both carry rifles—Nico's is the sniper kind, while Silas's is an assault rifle.
I glance back at the place where we were all gathered just moments ago, but it's empty. Everyone is gone as if they were never here.
My heart pounds in my chest as I jog after Nico as he follows the ridge, angling south.