Chapter 1 Hell #2
The high-pitched whine of a bullet sounded moments before ricocheting off a rock to her right.
Lyons leaped up, plowed into her, and slammed her to the ground.
Her helmet hit a rock and cushioned her head from impact.
Lyons’s entire body covered hers, every rock-solid muscle clenched with murderous intent as he protected the sole female in the group.
“Take cover,” Collins called out.
The team flattened themselves against the ground, providing minimal profiles to whoever had them in their sights.
She shoved at Lyons, not moving him an inch. “Move,” she said.
As he lay on top of her, his jaw clenched. “Not on your damn life.”
His gaze lingered on her face, radiating his primal need to protect.
Time slowed down as the lethality of the moment sank in.
A crescendo of what-ifs passed through her mind.
What if she’d been a little more to the right?
What if the shooter had better aim? What if she’d been hit? Or worse, what if she’d been killed?
Fear was a mind killer, and she had no time for it.
So, she turned her fear into anger and directed it at Lyons.
She could damn well take care of herself, but what she hated most were the vibrations humming in her veins with him lying on top of her.
Perhaps he felt them, too, because his grin grew impossibly wide, even as the furrow in his brows deepened.
The man was a master at expressing disparate emotions within the same glance.
His left knee pressed between her legs, spreading them and making their relative position entirely too intimate.
Under different circumstances, it might be considered a prelude to something more.
Whomever their sniper was, the bastard had either run out of ammunition or bravery because, after ten minutes, there were no more shots fired. Ten long minutes of Lyons lying on top of her with their faces entirely too close.
Tia’s team was armed and packed some heat, but medical gear filled their rucks, not bullets.
It was impossible to know who was shooting, so they could be pinned down by a band of insurgents or a goat farmer with a rifle and a handful of bullets.
Either way, that shooter had her team hunkered down and her trapped beneath Lyons.
Insurgents had been in the area. That was the reason they’d been sent out.
There’d been a firefight, and men were down.
Reports said the enemy had been neutralized.
There shouldn’t be a shooter. Helicopters would be sent in soon, but before that, she and her team had lifesaving surgery to perform for two of the men attached to the special operations unit they’d been sent to assist. One had a collapsed lung.
The other had his guts torn up. Their field surgeries stabilized and saved lives but weren’t pretty.
Getting to their target quickly couldn’t be more important.
Instead, they found themselves plastered flat against the heat of the rock. She found herself sandwiched between the hard ground and the unmoving physique of Lyons. His eyes bore into her, green fire lashing out, and the bastard refused to budge.
“Get off me,” she said, trying yet again to roll him off her body.
“No,” he said.
He was a man of few words, so she was surprised to get that much out of him.
“You’re making yourself an easy target,” she said.
“All the important bits are covered,” he said with a grin.
“Not your ass.”
“Oh, glad you care about my ass, T,” he said with more sarcasm than that comment deserved. That was the way with Lyons. He had no filter and no idea how to turn off inappropriate thoughts.
“The only reason I care about your ass is because, if something happens to you, we have to split your ruck.”
“You mean,” he drew out his words, toying with her, “the others will pick up the slack. You’re maxed with what you can carry.”
She’d punch him if it wouldn’t hurt her fist. Not only was Lyons packed with muscles, but his battle gear was also hard Kevlar. The ceramic ballistic plate on his chest pressed against hers, putting painful pressure on her breasts. She bit back a groan.
“I pull my weight,” she said, exasperated. Like his sarcasm, her words were threaded with more defense than they should be.
With a shove, she moved him enough to wriggle out from underneath his weight. He landed with a thud and a whoosh of breath. Served him right.
“What’s wrong T?” he teased. “Get nervous when the man’s on top?”
Her glare could’ve frozen hell, but with Lyons, it only amped up the heat simmering in his gaze. The man simply didn’t know how to turn off his fuck-me eyes. Fortunately, she had the best defense.
“You wish. I’m taken, Lyons, so stop trying.”
“Oh, everyone knows you’re taken,” he said. “You talk about your douche-bag boyfriend all the time.”
“Fiancé, Lyons,” she bit out. “Scott is my fiancé.”
“Right,” he said with a cheeky grin. “A douche bag who’s sent you what? One letter in the last two months. I’m telling you, if I had a woman like you, I’d send a letter a day with flowers and chocolate, minimum. I’d probably write a poem or sing you a song.”
“Well, good thing you don’t have a woman like me because I hate flowers. They wilt and die. Is that really what you want to tell your girl?”
He arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
“That your love for her is as fleeting and fragile as a wilted flower? Scott doesn’t do crap like that because he knows what that kind of gesture means to me.”
“You’re fucked in the head, T,” he said. “Can’t you just let a guy be a guy? Or is it always about who has the bigger balls? I feel sorry for the douche.”
“Stop calling him that.”
“What? Douche?” He shook with a soft laugh. “Hey, I just call it like I see it.”
“And how is that?”
“That guy has to be a total pussy—”
“You don’t know shit.”
“Really? You’re telling me there’s a heart under those brass tits?”
“Sergeant!” Collins cut Lyons off. “Show a little respect.”
She didn’t need Collins’s interference but appreciated him putting an end to Lyons’s shit-talk about Scott. Lyons shutting the fuck up topped high on her list of priorities, right after not getting shot.
There weren’t any more shots fired, but Collins wouldn’t risk his team until he was certain it was safe. Until they had eyes in the air, they were stuck on the ground. Good thing they had drones.