CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
“Okay, okay. Let’s work out how we do this.” Rodriques stared back out across the terrain and then back at me. “We’ll need to line this up as we have three targets in there.”
Yeah, it was a logistical mind fuck.
I had a visual on mine but knew I couldn’t do anything before Delta Force had their green light. A dead body suddenly falling to the ground is going to have them scattering like dust.
By the time the sun had sunk into the golden desert sands we’d still been waiting hours.
“The fuck are they doing?” I muttered wiping my brow for the millionth time.
“No idea.” One guy shakes his head.
It had felt like the longest day of my life and given me way too much time to think of all the ways I could convince Trina to date me.
Unfortunately, each one ended with her telling me to take a hike.
Which made me smile.
And more determined.
It almost gave me time to ponder what I knew about her. I didn’t even know what she did for a job. Or if she had siblings. Where had she grown up? Her accent was Californian, but it wasn’t pure. Like maybe she’d moved around a bit.
How old was she exactly? I knew she was much younger than me. By at least eight or nine years.
Over and over, I’ve wondered what has caused her to be so anti-military. Or rather, dating men who served.
But the more important question...was she as affected by our kiss as I was? Did she crave my body pressing against hers again? Want my cock inside her as much as I wanted to slam into her hot body?
There’s no way I can walk away from Trina after last weekend. The timing of me heading offshore was terrible but I figure the space and her having time to miss me aren’t bad things.
Fuck me, Marshall.
The stubborn and wild little wolf can stop pretending.
I know she wants me, and when I get home it’s time to stop playing.
I’m going to grab her around the scruff, showing her I’m her alpha, and slam my mouth between her legs.
Then let my tongue slice through her slit and work her hard nub until she creams on my face
Specifically.
Until then, I have a mission to complete. Lying here waiting for command to respond is taking much longer and I’m starting to think something is not right.
My instinct is waving a red flag in front of my face. I’m not the only one. Rodriques, who has the ability to remain still more than most fucking statues, has been wriggling.
“Update,” one of the Delta Force guys requests and I take my eyes off the target for a moment, eager as the rest of us to get the job done and get back home.
“Nothing yet,” Miller replies, and his boot slips on the rocks and a bunch fall over the cliff.
We all go still as fuck, while the soldier closest grabs him and shoves him away from the edge.
Jesus.
Is he trying to give away our location?
“Fuck, thanks,” he mutters.
My eyes narrow, watching as he smirks. Rodriques catches my response and glances back at Miller.
Then I remember a scent I’d caught the day before and wonder. I thought it was something cheap and nasty, so I kept my thoughts to myself. But now... Jesus. Was it whisky?
“Do we have any update?” I asked, pulling my sniper rifle out and starting to assemble it.
A slight slip wasn’t enough proof to start asking if I could sniff Miller’s water, nor was I the commanding officer on this mission. But his behavior has been weird from the start.
I thought it was me—and maybe it is—but now we were down to a handful of men, leaving the others to the humanitarian tasks, I was getting concerned. Especially as he was responsible for communicating back with command.
“Yeah, the drones are above us.” He points to the sky. Pulling out his water bottle, he gives it a shake and glances around. “I’m going for a piss.”
Rodrique snaps his eyes back up.
“Fuck me,” he mutters when Miller disappears behind us.
I give him a knowing look and then focus on the site of my weapon, getting my target in scope.
What the fuck is taking so long?
Unless something is going pear shaped elsewhere, we should have been given the green light to take out these targets hours ago.
I lean on my shoulder, glance at the comms unit and then back at the compound. Fuck this. Something is not right. I lay down my sniper riffle, scuffle over and reach for the head piece. I press it against my ear and listen.
Nothing.
Silence.
Frowning, I start playing with the buttons. I’m highly familiar and experienced with the equipment.
That’s when I hear, “Echo zero five, please confirm your position.”
Jesus fucking Christ!
“This is echo zero five. Confirming we are in position and awaiting authorization,” I say, and the entire team swivels their heads at me.
I return their bewildered stares, shaking my head. Rodrique curses, points to one of this team, Taylor, to take over from me.
I hand over the headphones.
Miller comes back around the corner and skids again on the rocks.
“The fuck, Miller.” I hiss, grabbing his vest and steadying him. I press him against a boulder and he wobbles.
“Hey!” he says too loud.
I smack my palm across his mouth, but it doesn’t make a difference. I can smell the alcohol.
I grab his water bottle, twist the top and take a sniff, then toss it over to Rodriques.
“Jesus Christ.” I hear him say as I shove Miller to the ground. “He’s drunk.”
“Sit the fuck down and shut up.” I growl.
At this point in time, I don’t give a flying fuck about rank. He’s putting all our lives at risk, including mine.
“Do as he says.” Rodriques growls.
He doesn’t stay silent though. Unsurprisingly.
Miller starts mouthing off. “You going to let this civilian tell you what to do? He’s been out of action for months.”
Blah, blah, blah.
Lieutenant Taylor gets to his feet and punches him in the face. “Shut the fuck up.”
Miller is out cold.
I crawl back to the edge, lower myself back on my belly, then line up my scope. My target has moved so it takes me a couple of minutes to find him.
“Update,” I say quietly to Rodriques.
We both know I can’t go until they do. It will be a millisecond after, but it has to be after.
“Confirmation,” he asks Taylor.
“Still waiting.”
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
So much of this job was waiting. When it’s over you have to move like the fucking wind. The body doesn’t like that after being in one position for so long. It’s just one of the reasons we spend so much time and effort keeping it strong and at peak performance.
Sure, girls like my six pack, but the purpose is actually to stay alive.
I guess it’s a win-win.
I watch the uranium dealer as he draws on a cigarette and wonder if he’ll sense the bullet coming in the milliseconds it takes to cross the distance between us.
Ahmad Al-Kharafi.
Will he feel pain as it rips open the skin on his forehead, or does the brain not have time to register what happens before it’s blasted into millions of pieces?
Dark thoughts, but when you are the one holding the weapon about to take a life you can either go into the macabre or denial.
I’ve done both.
I can’t care. I don’t care. It would fuck me up beyond belief if I started thinking about him having a mother, a family. Little children.
But you do.
Even if you don’t admit it.
Right now, I’m just trying to pass the time.
I hear a groan behind me and the sound of boots scraping on the dirt and I realize Miller is coming around.
Fuck, we need to get out of here. The guy is drunk and a liability.
“Roger that. Approval to take the shot,” Taylor says.
Finally.
My finger pressure increases on the trigger, and I listen carefully for Rodriques, his breathing already as steady as mine, to take out his three targets.
Ping.
Ping
Ping.
The shells leave his weapon.
Then I press—
A boot connects with my leg. “Hey, piece of shit, did you punch me?”
My bullet goes wide. My target leaps to his feet as the bodies around him fall and flesh splatters on the walls behind him.
“Fuck.” I curse and reload, the metal of my weapon slamming against metal.
“Miller!” Rodriques is on his knees and tackling the guy. “The hell do you think you’re doing.”
Jesus.
Where are you Ahmad Al-Kharafi?
Looking through my scope, I scan the area anxiously ignoring the scuffle behind me. I go left. I go right. I lift my head.
Shit.
If I’ve lost him, I’ll shoot Roger fucking Miller.
A second later, lights turn on in the compound as people go running. I can see the bodies on the ground and quickly count.
Three down.
“Get him out of here.” Rodriques hisses.
I continue seeking out Ahmad Al-Kharafi. He’s there but there’s a high chance he’s disappeared out back or worse, into an underground tunnel.
“Shit.” I get up on my knees and then duck back down as the first bullets fire our way.
I lie down on my back.
Goddamn it.
Looks like I need a new plan.