Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Heads-up!” the Delta Force team commander, Colonel Colton Robinson, yelled when he stomped into the meeting room the team was in. “That downtown bank has been held up again. Robbery still in progress.”
Within seconds, Ghost, Fletch, Coach, Hollywood, Beatle, and Blade were on their feet and running for the door. As they ran for their vehicles, their commander told them what he knew.
“Shit’s hit the fan in the city. Fires, robberies, shots fired, and general chaos.
The police are in way over their heads and can’t keep up.
Dispatch called me when they got reports of something going on at the same bank that was hit last month.
Doors are locked and there’s a crude note on the door saying something about training.
But one customer saw someone with a gun inside and called it in. ”
“Fuck, is this the bank Mary works at?” Fletch asked.
“Truck’s wife? Yeah,” their commander said grimly.
“Truck was there having lunch with her today,” Ghost said. “He called to tell me he’s been getting some of his memory back. He remembers being married to her. Was going to see his doctor after lunch then let me know what he said.”
“Could be good if he’s inside,” Hollywood said.
“Or bad,” Beatle countered. “If whoever is in there knows he’s Army, they might kill him outright.”
“Truck doesn’t exactly look nonthreatening,” Blade added.
“Take the truck,” the commander ordered, throwing a pair of keys to Ghost. “I’ll round up the other team and we’ll meet you there.”
Ghost nodded but didn’t bother to respond. He and the rest of his team peeled off and headed for the deuce-and-a-half truck assigned to their unit.
No one spoke much on the way to the bank. Partly because Ghost was driving like a bat out of hell and they were all holding on for dear life, but also because they were all worried about their friends.
Truck and Mary were like…peas and carrots. Peanut butter and jelly. Cookies and cream. They were meant to be together. They might’ve had their ups and downs, but no one ever doubted they were soul mates.
Mary didn’t seem to see Truck’s scarred face or his big scary countenance, and Truck didn’t give one little shit about Mary’s prickliness. From the first time Mary had stood up to Truck on behalf of Rayne, he’d known she was it for him.
No one could fathom one being without the other. It was unthinkable that neither would be around. It was bad enough Truck had gotten hurt and lost his memory, but at least he was there.
Little Annie needed him. She needed Mary to teach her how to take no shit from anyone.
Fletch’s new baby needed his uncle Truck to look up to.
Casey needed Truck to help with her PTSD because he knew exactly what she’d been through in the jungle.
And Rayne. Fuck. Rayne needed Mary as much as Mary needed her. She wouldn’t be the same if Mary didn’t make it out of that bank in one piece.
No one spoke, lost in their own heads, until the truck pulled into the bank parking lot. Within minutes, a second deuce-and-a-half pulled in and Trigger, Lefty, Oz, Grover, Lucky, Brain, and Doc hopped out. They were all armed and quickly passed out the extra rifles they’d brought for Ghost’s team.
Doc had just headed off to herd the bystanders away from the building when there was a loud explosion from inside the bank.
Without hesitation, the thirteen men headed for the doors. They hadn’t had time to make a plan, but they didn’t need to. They were Delta Force. They each knew what the others were going to do without having to ask. Without having to plan.
Mary struggled to breathe. Truck was lying on top of her, covering her from head to toe. Her head was under his chest and he had his arms wrapped around it, protecting her from debris. Her ears were ringing, but that was the least of her worries.
She’d been so scared when Truck had walked toward the explosives rather than away from them after Deuce left them alone in the vault. But he hadn’t lingered, had just fiddled with some of the wires before coming back for her.
Currently, she couldn’t breathe. The smoke in the vault was thick enough she couldn’t see anything, and Truck’s weight was bearing down on her, heavier than when he’d first thrown himself around her.
“Truck,” she croaked, then immediately started coughing.
He didn’t respond. In fact, she couldn’t feel him moving at all.
Frantic now, Mary wiggled until she was able to get an arm out from under her body.
Not thinking about how close she’d come to being raped, or how she’d practically thrown her fake boobs at Deuce, or that he might return any second to gather what valuables he could, Mary kept doing whatever was necessary to get out from beneath Truck.
When she was finally able to get her torso out from under him, she realized why he was so heavy. Through the smoke, she saw the table he hadn’t been able to manhandle over to their corner had been blown off the floor and had landed on top of him.
Using all her strength, Mary was able to shove it off his back. It thudded to the floor next to him—and Mary stared in dismay at the blood on the back of Truck’s head.
“Shit, Truck,” she wailed. “Not again!”
She wanted to turn him over, but didn’t want to hurt his head any more than it already was.
Her hand moved without thought and she pressed it against the cut on his scalp, feeling the wetness of the blood there.
She carefully turned his head to the side so he could breathe, hoping like hell she was doing the right thing.
That she wasn’t paralyzing him for life.
She waved her hand in front of his face, trying to clear the air of the smoke. Mary continued to cough herself, not able to pull in a deep breath. “Come on, Truck. Breathe,” she ordered.
The door to the vault was pushed open, but she didn’t even turn around.
A flashlight flickered over her and Truck, but Mary’s attention stayed on the man lying so still next to her.
“It worked!” Deuce shouted. “Motherfucker, it worked!”
Mary spared a quick glance up and saw that the explosives Truck had set had indeed done exactly what he’d designed them to do.
The boxes that were directly next to the explosives were mangled beyond recognition, but the ones around those merely had their fronts blown off.
She could see jewelry and cash strewn about on the floor.
There were lots of papers too, but Deuce obviously didn’t care about those.
He opened a backpack and began to stuff as much as he could into it. “Hey, Shoebaloo!” he yelled, looking up toward the door.
Mary looked toward the door instinctively—and gasped.
Ghost and Trigger were standing there.
She remembered the other Delta from the last time the bank had been held up. Neither man had made a sound. Both Deltas had their rifles up and pointed at Deuce.
Before she could do anything, Deuce had obviously looked to see what she’d gasped at and had dropped his backpack and raised his weapon to point it at her.
“Drop it,” Ghost ordered.
“Now, motherfucker,” Trigger added.
“Back away—slowly,” Deuce countered. “Or I’ll blow her away.”
Mary held her breath, not liking that she was in the middle of the standoff.
She was fairly sure Ghost and Trigger would take care of Deuce, but just in case he got off a lucky shot, she threw herself over Truck’s back, trying to protect him as much as she could.
Just as she’d covered him, Trigger fired and Deuce fell to the floor.
Unmoving. A hole in the middle of his forehead.
Ghost strode over and kicked away his pistol, even though the man was obviously dead.
“Dammit, Trigger,” Ghost complained when he’d stood up. “You know how much paperwork we’re gonna have to fill out now?”
Mary could hear the humor in his voice. She could tell that Ghost didn’t really care that Deuce was dead. She’d make sure the cops knew that Trigger didn’t have a choice. The gang member could’ve easily shot her, or Truck, or either of the Deltas.
Trigger shrugged. “Don’t care. They call me Trigger for a reason.” He smirked. “Trigger-happy, you know. Besides, he pointed a gun at Mary. No one points a fucking weapon at a teammate’s woman and gets away with it.”
Mary wanted to smile at the other man, but didn’t have it in her at the moment. She looked at Ghost and said, “Truck won’t wake up. The table hit him in the head and he’s bleeding.”
Ghost didn’t say anything, but immediately came over to where she was kneeling over Truck. Trigger slipped out of the room, but Mary’s attention was on the man lying still as death beside her.
“Lift your hand,” Ghost said.
“He’s bleeding badly,” Mary told him.
“I can see that.” Ghost looked her in the eye. “I got this, Mary. Trust me.”
She nodded and slowly slipped her hand away from Truck’s head.
She watched as Ghost parted Truck’s hair and checked out the wound before reaching into a pocket and pulling out a pair of gloves.
He put one on his hand and covered the wound on Truck’s head once more.
“He’s going to be okay, Mary. It’s not that deep.
A couple stitches at the most. Maybe even only one staple. ”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Ghost told her. “I’m more worried about his brain. It hasn’t been that long since he rattled it the first time.”
Mary chewed on her lower lip and couldn’t think of anything to say. Truck had to be all right. He had to.
Just as she had the thought, Truck moaned.
She leaned down and asked, “Truck?”
His eyes fluttered, and Mary said his name again.
This time his eyes opened all the way. He saw her, but then closed them again immediately. “Fuck,” he swore. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“You’re okay,” Ghost told his friend. “Just a little bump on the back of the head.”