Chapter 22
Kipp
Unfathomable frustration rips through my tone, “Why don’t we have more guns?”
Nolan doesn’t pause his tool tossing to answer. “’Cause this isn’t your favorite movie of all time.”
Garcia quietly chuckling pushes my irritation over to him. “And why don’t you have more ammo for the one you’ve got?”
“Perhaps because I’m not in my car but Zero’s.”
The answer – while understandable – fails to calm my frazzled nerves. “So, they’ve got our girl, more guns and definitely more manpower than we do.” I fold my arms firmly across my chest, doing my best not to wince at the pain it conjures. “ Fucking. Fantastic. ”
“At least you’re using full words again,” teases the man I’m a little less concerned about now that I’ve witnessed his “Sir” side come out for someone.
And I get it.
Zero has the same vibe to him that his bike does.
Exceptional.
My type?
No.
Still.
One in a few ever made is the style he revs.
“Not sure those last two are true, Woods,” Post unexpectedly announces upon his strolling into the garage.
“What are you doin’ here?” Surprise has my head slightly tilting to one side. “I don’t remember Nolan calling you.”
“I did,” my fiancé promptly clarifies.
“This is my town, Woods,” he casually informs on a crooked grin. “Of course, I’mma answer the call to help protect it.” Before I have a chance to ask any more questions, he gestures to other faces, I wasn’t expecting to see. “And so are they.”
Garcia and Nolan both halt their actions to join me in assessing the new arrivals.
“Mornin’,” warmly greets Norm Cotterell prior to adjusting his hunting rifle Suzie bragged about snagging him for Christmas this year. “Heard our town has a little trouble that needs to go.”
“And I heard you found the man responsible for giving my girl Posie a bad scare,” states the well put together, almond beige skinned male that joins his other side.
Seeing Paolo fills me with unanticipated pride.
Glad the man Posie’s picked has a pair.
She deserves that.
For all that she’s done for our girl, for all that she’s done for us, I’m glad she finally has someone willing to strap in and go the distance for her.
“And I heard…” begins a voice I barely recognize, “you’re dealin’ with my kind.
” The muscular male dressed in all black places himself in line beside Post at the same time he shoots me a shy grin.
“Long time no see, Woods.” It’s impossible to ignore the swipe of his lips his tongue takes. “ Too long. ”
“ Those are come fuck me eyes, ” jovially pokes Garcia.
Bewilderment immediately pushes my brow down. “ Brax? ”
“Little November?” echoes Nolan during his relocating to the situation.
“Jus’ November now, sir,” he politely corrects while offering his palm for shaking.
“Nolan,” my grumbly protector insists as they clasp palms. Once they’re grips split, he wraps his arm around my shoulder and states, “Sorry about your old man. Would’ve said somethin’ to you day of the funeral but…” He innocently shrugs. “You weren’t around.”
“I was on an assignment.” His sun kissed chin kicks a little higher into the air. “Contact for non-mission reports was prohibited.”
“Marine?” questions Garcia alongside his arrival beside me.
“ Former , sir,” retorts the retired soldier I hate myself a little for imagining looked pretty damn good in his uniform. “I now work in the private sector.” His open palm is extended towards our attorney. “Braxton November.”
“Victor Garcia.”
Post their cordial gesture, he returns his attention to my partner. “I hate that I wasn’t around to bury him. I hate that he had to be buried too soon even more.” His crystal glare darkens. “I appreciate the opportunity to aid in delivering a bit of justice that the law could not.”
A smug smirk is attached to our sheriff announcing, “Little November here-”
“ Jus’. November. ”
“-kindly brought along quite an arsenal for us to choose from.”
The duffle bag containing the weapons is slightly lifted for display. “There are way more fucking benefits to doin’ what I do best in the private sector.”
“I wanna test my own,” Norm offhandedly declares with a head tap towards his rifle.
“Guns are messy but more importantly, they’re loud,” announces the blue-eyed addition I can’t deny is periodically glancing at me like I do a new Ferrari when I pass them by.
“On a rescue mission, which I was informed this was, you want quiet. You wanna do big things with minimal mess.” Another glimpse at me precedes him speaking to the rest of the group. “And even less noise.”
Okay.
Yeah.
I see the eye fucking now.
First that dude at the car store.
Now this?
Does being engaged somehow make me hotter?
“There’s other gear in here that can assist in the operation.
Knives. Smoke grenades. Flash grenades – although they make noise but stun the enemies’ senses long enough for a quieter takedown.
Earplugs – those are recommended if we’re plannin’ on firing weapons at any point.
Brass knuckles. Hatchet. Rope. Zip ties. Mace. Mini shovel-”
“Is that a wet work bag or a serial killer kit?” Garcia good naturedly goads getting the group to grin.
Brax merely winks in return.
AintnowayinNASCARcountry that he’s a serial killer.
Killer?
Without a doubt.
Killer for fun?
No.
That’s just not a decal I ever see him sporting.
“Do you have a plan?” inquires Post on an adjustment of his jeans.
“I had a plan,” grumbles the man that’s got his arm around me, “but it only took into count for the four of us.”
“Mind if Little November-”
“ Jus’. November. ”
“-tells you what he’s got?” Post casually asks. “I gave him a rundown on the situation as I knew it on our way to grab the others.”
Rather than wait for Nolan to answer, I investigate, “Whatchagot for us, Brax?”
The arm around me tightens just the slightest.
“Basic SS setup.” He drops the duffle beside him and splays an open palm.
“That stands for sweep and strike or strike and sweep depending on the scenario.” Brax taps the air next to his hand.
“Two vehicles. Three teams. We park on the dirt road on the far side of Steel’s property and travel the rest of the way on foot.
Trees provide good coverage for us, although being cautious of the ground that managed to catch ice is imperative.
” We dedicatedly watch his finger draw imaginary lines.
“Team Alfa – that’s gonna be Post and Nolan – you’ll head for the main barn.
” A new route is drawn. “Team Bravo – that’s gonna be Norm and Paolo – you’ll head for the sheds she had renovated into bridal and groom suites.
” One last stretch is sketched. “Team Charlie – that’s gonna be me and Woods – will head for the stable.
While you,” the casual pointing captures Garcia’s full attention, “will be left with transport. Your objective is to transport the target-”
“ Our fiancée, ” I harshly bite.
“Their fiancée,” quickly corrects Brax on a surrendering of his hands, “to a safe, undisclosed location until a codeword has been given at which point you can reveal the address.” He shoves his hands into his black pants pockets. “You have somewhere secure you can take her?”
“Yes.” Nodding is accompanied by him further insisting, “Absolutely.”
“Not a bad plan,” the love of my life concurs. “That’s actually a really fucking good plan.”
“Why am I not partnered with Nolan?” My stare is met by Brax’s. “Why can’t you go with Post and I go with him? It’s our girl we’re there to save.”
“That’s part of the reason,” he informs without reluctance. “Worst case scenario is that something happens. It’s better that it happens to one of you rather than both, leaving your fiancée only one body to bury.”
“She’s not burying either of us,” I unhappily huff.
“We will do everything possible to make that true,” Nolan agrees, gathering my gaze. “ But- ”
“ Don’t. ”
“ But ,” he reiterates harder, “November 2.0 makes a valid argument. Better Rabbit and our son have one of us rather than neither.”
Defiance revs in the back of my mind, yet I keep my mouth shut.
Nothing is going to happen to us.
Maybe a few more bumps or bruises, but we’re all walking away from this alive.
I’d bet our garage on it.
“ The other reason ,” Brax resumes speaking despite my glaring, “is because neither of you have any military or tactical training in your background. Splitting you up allows every person in the field to be accompanied by someone who has experience.”
My attention snaps directly over to the Norm and Paolo. “Which one of you has that?”
“Squid.” Norm proudly kicks his thumb inward. “Not self but country.” Pride positions itself undeniably in his expression. “And I feel that motto applies to our town.” His shoulders push themselves back. “ Our. Home. ”
Post delivers an encouraging pat to his back before declaring, “Let’s go defend our town, men.”
Grunts and cheers of determination are the sounds we separate ourselves in.
Transitioning from the shop to our planned location isn’t physically difficult – minus the broken or bruised ribs begging that I don’t go through with this – and the ride is primarily filled with silence.
Tension.
Concern.
Occasionally, Nolan shoots me an adoration flooded glance; however, it doesn’t steady my system.
Doesn’t put it into cruise mode.
No.
It drains me of crucial coolant needed.
Has me shifting between overheating and damn near freezing to death.
Why?
Because they’re the same type of looks main characters from my movies always give their person before they go off and do dumb shit that results in them dying.
I don’t want Nolan to die any more than he wants me to.
And I don’t want him idiotically sacrificing himself to get out of sequels.
I want him for our sequels.
I want him for our spinoffs.
I want him from the first film to the last.
I’m not sure I can do any of this without him.
I know he can .
That’s why if one of us can’t make it out of this, it should be me.
Once we’ve safely parked, we raid Brax’s bag for preferences including the ear protection, strap on the extra bullet resistant vests Post brought, and pair off to begin the mission.
I’ve barely made it two steps away before Nolan is yanking me back to him by the piece of armor and smashing his mouth on top of mine. Our tongues ruthlessly collide, both determined to have the last word.
The last promise.
The last stroke.
I whimper first, a sound he not only labels as a surrender, but one that encourages him to lovingly grasp the back of my neck during his pull away. Our foreheads briefly rest together on a whispered, “ I love you, Kipp. Never forget that. ”
“ I love you too ,” escapes in the exact same anxious tone. “ You never forget that, Sir. ”
His lips gently plant themselves in the middle of my forehead prior to us splitting ways.
Following Brax’s lead, we wordlessly cross the terrain, keeping low to the ground, with me landing in his exact footsteps to prevent accidentally creating additional, unnecessary noises.
I do my best to keep my breathing quiet and pain-filled groans stuffed down.
While the pain killers are technically doing their job, they’re not exactly NOS.
They’re not giving me the advantage I could desperately use right about now.
Our destination to sweep and strike creeps up on us sooner rather than later along with the need to act.
The guard near the back entrance of the stable manages to spot Brax peering his head around the corner the instant it happens.
He reaches for his weapon pushing my field partner to swiftly strike him in the face, stopping the action from being completed.
The hit bounces the enemy’s head backwards, exposing his throat, an area that the military trained male leading the way takes advantage of.
In a single, effortless execution, he jams his knife into the side of it – right at the middle – to the point the tip comes out the other end and then sharply pulls it forward, crimson spraying his face as the attacker desperately gasps for air.
His hands fly to his neck to stop the bleeding – a useless effort considering every important artery appears to be severed – split seconds before Brax plants the bottom of his boot in the center of the man’s chest to kick him elsewhere.
Unfavorably, there isn’t time to comment or compliment the assault.
I’m grabbed by the shoulders and violently thrown into the side of the stable.
One knee to the abs becomes two.
And two becomes three.
And by the time the third arrives breathing feels like the most difficult task in the entire fucking world.
Fighting past the wheezing occurs in order for me to shove his arm off, breaking the grapple, ultimately allowing me to execute an elbow to his face during my spin away.
Grumbled swears seep into the early morning air as he swings an arm in my direction not expecting me to catch his wrist with one hand and grab his neck with the other.
Forcefully throwing him down onto the ground is followed by me dropping a knee in the middle of his chest and placing the Baretta I’m borrowing against his forehead. “ Where’s. The. Girl? ”
He makes an attempt to get up, leading Brax to aggressively stomp down on his arm, breaking the bone it has contact with. “ Fuckkkkk! ”
“You were asked a question,” Brax emotionlessly reminds. “It would be in your best interest to answer.”
“ Where. Is. She? ” I coldly repeat while pressing the barrel deeper into his flesh.
Answering is abruptly interrupted by my high school peer looking up at the sky and muttering, “ Helo. ”
Confusion crossing my expression is brief courtesy of the helicopter noise growing louder.
“We need to go to where it’s landing,” he declares, abandoning his original sweep the perimeter plan. “ That’s where she’ll be. That’s where-”
“ Noooooooooooo!!!!!! ” howls Bunny, yanking my attention over my shoulder into the open distance, near the front of the stable. “ Nooooo!!! ”
“ Move it. ”
The assailant underneath me tries to use my temporarily distracted nature to his advantage, a decision that results in my squeezing the trigger twice without hesitation.
Quickly deserting the dead body doesn’t require even a thought, however, not pulling the trigger on the person using her like a human shield does.
“I can’t take that shot, Woods,” Brax informs, weapon now drawn and aimed like myself, our bodies cautiously approaching the moving situation. “I mean I can. ” Our eyes momentarily meet. “ But not without risking her life. ”