Chapter 1 #3
Monica pressed her lips together, her mind racing.
If he hadn’t brought up August, she would continue resisting…
but the last thing she wanted to do was traumatize the little boy more than he probably was already.
The fact that August had even thought about her in the midst of a rescue made her give in.
“I won’t shoot you,” she said honestly. She didn’t mention the fact that he’d disarmed her of her one and only gun.
“Trust me,” Stuart said quietly.
“I don’t trust anyone,” Monica shot back.
He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to read her mind, or somehow get her to change it simply by gazing into her eyes.
Wasn’t going to happen. Monica hadn’t lied. The only people in her life who’d never let her down were the children she’d looked after throughout her career. They hadn’t been jaded or corrupted by life yet. They were open and honest.
Every single adult in her life had let her down in one way or another. Starting with the two people who were supposed to protect and shelter her from everyone else. Her parents.
Her dad had only taught her that military men were scary and untrustworthy, and her mom taught her that she was completely on her own.
“You might not believe it, but you can trust me,” Stuart told her. She couldn’t think of him as Pid. It was a ridiculous nickname. Despite knowing after he’d delivered her to wherever they were going, she’d never see him again, she refused to use the name his military buddies used.
“They’re at the front of the house,” Slate said.
Monica was amazed not to hear any panic in the other man’s voice.
Without another word, Stuart let go of her arms and turned slightly, tucking the fingers of her right hand into the waistband at his back. “Whatever you do, don’t let go,” he told her. “If the shit hits the fan, stay right with me. No matter what.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll take that big K-BAR out of its sheath on your side and use it against you?” Monica asked.
Stuart shook his head. “No.”
“Why?” she insisted as they quickly headed out of the master bedroom and down the stairway toward the back of the house.
“Because if you do, we’re both dead. You worked hard to stay alive this long, I figure I’m safe at least until we get out of the house and away from the mob closing in.”
Monica sighed. Damn the man. He was right. She might not like soldiers, or the fact that she needed Stuart and Slate’s help, but she didn’t have a death wish.
Use the assets you have at your disposal.
It was something else her dad had drilled into her head.
And right now, as much as she hated it, Stuart and Slate were assets.
Time would tell if they continued to be of use or if they’d morph into liabilities.
Monica wasn’t convinced they weren’t with the other SEAL who’d shot out her door.
Maybe the two pairs of men were working together, taking advantage of the unstable situation in the city to steal whatever they could from the American Embassy households while the occupants were evacuated.
Without a word, Monica held onto Stuart’s belt as he and Slate led the way out of the house, over the broken glass from the door. She shivered as she remembered the look in the other SEAL’s eyes as he stared at her from the other side of the pane.
She suddenly realized why he’d freaked her out so badly. He reminded her of her father. There was something simply…unbalanced in his eyes.
She hadn’t seen anything in Stuart’s eyes that reminded her of her father, but that didn’t mean much. Her dad had been able to hide his crazy from the world most of the time. It was only when he was home with his family that he’d let his true self show through.
“Hold on,” Stuart reminded her. “No matter what.”
Monica nodded. She could hear the shouts of what sounded like hundreds of people.
They were close. Too close. There were no fences around the houses in this neighborhood, and she’d never been so glad for that as Stuart and Slate led her into the darkness, away from the house where she’d lived for the last year.
Less than a block away, a loud whooshing sound made Monica turn her head as she stumbled after Stuart.
If they’d been even thirty seconds later leaving the house, they would’ve been inside when someone threw the Molotov cocktail into the living room. She saw dozens of people cheering and jumping up and down in glee as the beautiful house caught fire.
All her belongings were inside. Her clothes. The pictures August and Remington had drawn for her. But she’d started over with nothing before. She could do it again. She had her IDs with her; she always had them on her. She even had a bit of cash too.
Darren Collins had been an asshole, a horrible father, a paranoid and abusive man, but he’d taught her a few useful things over the years. The biggest lessons of all: never let down your guard, never trust anyone, and always make sure to have identification and cash on hand, just in case.
Monica had no idea what would happen in the future, but she’d manage. She was a survivor.
Flexing the stubs on her left hand, she took a deep breath as Stuart led her into the darkness of Algiers.
It was only a matter of time before she could say goodbye and good riddance to the man and his teammate.
The farther she could get away from anyone and anything related to the military, the safer she’d feel.