Rescuing Carmen, page 8
This woman is important. She means something.
But what?
Whatever that is… Whatever importance my father attaches to these men, I need to know how it impacts my plans.
I’m nothing if not my father’s daughter. I, too, play a dangerous game.
In refusing marriage to Artemus, I force my father to question my loyalty. No longer demure and obedient, bending to his wishes, that move plants a seed of doubt in my father’s mind.
But I did come back.
I didn’t refuse marriage to Artemus. I asked for a few years of reprieve to work on my graduate degree. Not to mention, the engagement caught me by surprise and forced a reckless move.
Time to recover and show my father how devoted I am. How I’ll risk my life to save his. If nothing else, he must believe I will do anything for him. My survival depends on it.
One of the men in black opens the door leading into the kitchen. He throws another grenade, or smoke bomb, disabling our servants.
Where are our guards?
They should be swarming the place.
Protecting my father.
Protecting me.
But they’re not here.
No response from any of my father’s men.
With my ears still ringing, I crawl to my father’s side. Spots dance in my vision as it recovers from the blinding flash of light. The dense smoke stings my eyes, forcing tears to blur what little vision I have. The men fade back into the smoke, leaving me and my father alone.
Why would they do that?
From the steady rise and fall of my father’s chest, death is not the outcome of this rescue. Papa is not their objective.
They mean to keep him alive.
Me too.
Too many questions swirl in my head, but one thing is certain. Now, more than ever, my father must not question my loyalty, but after Rosalie's hurried whisper, staying here may be far too dangerous.
I disobeyed when I refused Artemus. That puts me at odds with my father. To accomplish my goals, he must trust me implicitly, but I need time to figure out my next move. Only, there’s no time to think.
Leaning down, I cup my hand over his ear and raise my voice. If his hearing is anything like mine, and it’s got to be, I need to be certain he hears me.
“Papa, I will avenge you.” I take his hand in mine. “I’ll find them and make them pay.” Tears spill from my eyes.
I’d like to say I’m a great actor, but it’s the smoke irritating my eyes. Those tears mean nothing.
When I lean over my father, my hand reaches down to grasp his. I restate what I said, yelling louder than before. If he doesn’t hear me, the recordings he’ll view later will reveal my distress and my vow. I only hope he’ll believe what happens next. Lifting the back of his hand to my lips, I place a tender kiss over his knuckles.
“No matter what it takes, I will find out who did this to you.”
His lids flutter and he tries to speak. Before he can forbid me, I shift from my knees to my feet, knowing there’s no time to spare.
His hand drops to the floor as I kick off my four-inch heels and give my father one last look. In that look, I promise retribution. Turning toward the corner of the room, where the hidden surveillance camera sits, fury and vengeance fill my expression.
In this game, adaptability is the key to survival, and I’ll be damned if I’m not the epitome of a survivor.
I leave my father to process my words as he sees fit. All I care about is getting out of this hellhole and reestablishing contact with those who promise to make the nightmare that is my life end for good. With those four-inch heels left behind, I hike up my dress and race behind the men who rescued Isabelle LaCroix.
Nine
Rafe
With the noise we make, the few guards who aren’t tranq’d come running. Pops of gunfire sound all around us. Brady and Booker move out with me and Hayes right on their heels. We pass Alec and Zeb, who protect our retreat.
With Booker encumbered by Izzy, Brady stays tight by his side, protecting him. This leaves Hayes and me to race ahead and clear the way.
It’s chaos, but this is where years of intensive training come into play. Men rush us from behind and are taken out by Alec and Hayes. Another group assaults from the front. I fill them with tranquilizer darts until that gun empties, then switch to a real weapon.
The only person we’ve been expressly ordered not to kill is out cold in the dining room. We navigate through the long halls until reaching one of many courtyards. It’s the biggest and, unlike the others, this one is empty.
Booker places Izzy on her feet. Brady covers them. The rest of us take care of the last of the guards.
Disorientated from the flashbang, Izzy sways on her feet. She points to her ears when Booker attempts to brief her how we’re getting out of here. No surprise, she’s temporarily deaf.
Undeterred, Booker pulls nylon straps out of his utility pocket. While we wait for the helicopter, he fashions a harness for Izzy, working efficiently while the rest of us stand guard and wait.
Whomp, whomp, whomp.
Deep vibrations pulse in the air as a helicopter approaches. I fire off a few shots down the hall, taking out two guards, while a thick rope drops out of the sky. Brady grabs the rope and pulls it over to Booker.
Izzy’s eyes widen as she takes in the helicopter hovering overhead. While Booker clips into the line, Brady double-checks the carabiner attaching Izzy’s makeshift harness to Booker’s solid frame. Once he’s satisfied, Brady moves down the rope where he attaches himself next in line.
The intense downdraft from the helicopter kicks up grit and sand. Thankful for the helmet, which prevents any of that from getting in my eyes, I focus down the hall, defending my team as they hook into the line.
Alec, Hayes, and Zeb snap in. As the team sniper, I’m last man on the rope. Falling back, I stow my weapon, clipping it to my tactical vest, but only long enough to hook into the line.
Above me, Hayes takes over my role. Assisted by Alec and Zeb above him, they pick off the last of the guards.
The solid snick of the carabiner is felt more than heard. Double-checking the attachment, I hold out my hand, thumbs up, stating I’m set.
The helicopter rises, lifting Bravo team into the air one-by-one, beginning with Booker and Izzy. A blood-curdling shriek from above brings a grin to my face. I don’t know Izzy very well, but we all know about her fear of heights.
I glance up the line to where Izzy clings to Booker feeling a little jealous of the intense bond between them. When the rope pulls on me, getting ready to lift me off my feet, I grab hold over my head and brace for the spin that invariably comes next.
Motion in my periphery catches my eye. I turn as a streak of red rushes toward me. Before I can react, the woman from the dining room throws herself at me. Hands loop over my head and clasp around my neck. Legs wrap around my hips, gripping tight.
Acting on instinct, my free hand goes to her back, pulling her toward me. I should yank her off of me and toss her down, but she desperately clings to me as we’re lifted up into the air. The helicopter jerks me off my feet and climbs fast. Before I know it, we’re ten, twenty, thirty feet in the air. I take my other hand and grab hold of the woman’s waist, securing her in my grip.
A fall from this height will kill her if I let her go, and there’s no way she’s strong enough to hold on by herself. Which means, I’ve got to keep her from falling. Maybe my initial thought about her is wrong? Maybe she is one of Angelo’s victims? It would make sense, and if that’s the case, there’s no way I’m letting her fall.
My hands move from her waist to her ass. Grabbing tight, all I can think of is: What the bloody hell?
My weapon, which should be back in my hands, is clipped off at the D-ring near my shoulder, which leaves me defenseless.
Her too.
Pops of gunfire sprinkle the air. As last man on the rope, my position is to fire back, covering the team above me. With my hands full of the woman, I can’t free my weapon.
Her grip tightens and her terrified shriek pierces through the chop of the helicopter and the gunfire below. My teammates take over, peppering the ground with bullets while the muscles in my arms protest the awkward hold I have on the woman.
Her thighs tighten around my hips, pressing the heat of her core against my belly. It’s distracting and overwhelming. She’s barefoot, ditched the heels, which was smart. Her feet cross behind me as she clings tight. There’s a little shifting of our respective grips on the other as the helicopter speeds away from the walled estate. That shifting leads to various parts of our anatomy brushing against each other. I suppress a groan as my dick wakes up to take notice.
Down, boy.
The subtle perfume of lilac and rose floods my nostrils. I take in a deep breath and close my eyes before I realize the scent comes from her. Talk about a fucking aphrodisiac? My mind goes to a million different places, all of them sexual.
My cock rises to the occasion. Starved after a year of zero action, it’s ready and able.
Have I mentioned it’s been a year?
With the way her legs wrap around me, her pussy rubs against my groin. The friction between us is distracting to say the least.
With the infrared enhancements of my helmet, the world is nothing but shades of black, white, and gray. Her face is a spectral glow. She stares back at me, or rather the visor of my helmet.
Her grip slips and she shrieks.
My grip tightens. She’s not going anywhere. No way am I letting her fall.
Her eyes flare and her lids pull back. She twists to look down, which changes my grip. I squeeze her ass—hard—then slowly shake my head as her head whips around to look at me. With a lifting of my helmet, I tell her to look up.
A winch in the helicopter slowly draws up my team. Booker and Izzy are already inside. Brady is next. The moment Brady is up, the line draws up the next man.
Getting this woman safely into the helicopter isn’t going to be easy. If I drop her, that’s where it’ll happen.
The slow twirl on the rope makes the canopy of the rainforest slowly spin beneath our feet. Arms aching, I try to figure out how I’m going to get this woman to safety inside the helicopter.
Another glance upwards reveals Booker and Brady standing on the helicopter skids. They move to the side as Hayes, Zeb, and Alec are winched inside. Looks like they’ve already given it thought.
The winch draws us up until we dangle a foot below the skids.
We’re next.
“Coming down to tie her to you.” Brady’s voice calls out through my helmet.
The moment Zeb is inside, Brady and Booker lean away from the skids and rappel down until they’re even with me. Booker locks himself on the rope, level with me. Brady does the same.
With my arms aching, I hold tight as the two of them weave a modified harness around me and the woman’s chest, waist, hips, and legs, tying us together. Once done, Brady gestures asking if I’m good to go. Releasing some of the tension in my muscles, I test the modified harness. It holds, so I nod, letting them know we’re good.
The winch slowly draws me and the woman in. Booker and Brody hang below us. If the harness doesn’t hold, they’re the last defense between the woman and certain death.
There is nothing easy about getting on board the helicopter. If I was alone, it’s a matter of maneuvering up and over the skids with a pump of my muscles. By myself, not a problem. It’s a simple pull up. Lift my leg over the skid. Place my foot down, then repeat. Finally stand, reach out to the interior, and scramble on board.
I can’t do that with a woman tied to me.
Brady and Booker do what they can from below to stabilize the spin on the rope. Alec and Zeb tie off and stand on the skid, ready to assist. Hayes waits inside. As we’re lifted to the skids, Alec and Zeb reach down and deadlift us up onto the skid. With the way her legs wrap around my hips, it’s not a simple yank upward.
They have to improvise, swinging us out, up, and in. It’s awkward as shit.
After a couple of false starts, they hike me up as far as my ass and set me down on the skid. They climb back up inside while Brady and Booker climb their lines and join me on the skid.
With Brady and Booker helping from below, and Alec, Hayes, and Zeb pulling from above, we finally get the woman safely inside the helicopter.
The muscles of my arms burn, nearly cramping. I sit on the floor of the helicopter and do my best not to think about this weirdly intimate embrace, or the way the woman’s dress hikes up and around her hips.
Or what she’s not wearing underneath.
In addition to my teammates, CJ and Sam are on board. CJ cocks his head. Sam calls in our unexpected passenger back to Command and Control.
“Got yourself a cling-on.” Zeb extricates the woman from the straps tying her to me. “She’s a looker, too.”
“Only Rafe would have a woman jump his bones in the middle of a rescue.” Alec gets in a dig, but his eyes cut to my leg. “About damn time.”
“Ha ha, good one.” I’m blessed in life. God gifted me with a handsome face, and I work hard to match it with a body pushed to achieve peak physical condition. I don’t consider myself conceited, but Alec isn’t wrong. I’m a chick magnet.
Or, at least, I used to be.
They tried to get me to go out after I recovered from my injury. I did, at first, a few times until I could no longer take the rejection of the women I tried hooking up with, as if the loss of my leg means I’m no longer whole.
Which, I’m not.
The only thing bionic about my leg is the speed with which it sends chicks away, screaming.
Despite Piper’s perpetual positivity and her comments about being better than before—I think she calls it bionic—nothing is better than before.
I’m less than what I once was and nothing will change that.
“Yeah, but this is the first time he caught one with the new leg.” Booker can’t help but join in on teasing me.
“I knew that leg of his came with perks.” Hayes chuckles while CJ and Sam try to untangle the mess Brady and Booker made with the straps.
“I’ve heard of tying a woman to your bed, but Rafe takes it to a whole other level, hooking one with your bionic leg.” Zeb’s laughter brings a frown to my face.
I don’t talk to the guys about my leg. We kind of ignore the whole thing. We put that explosion in Cancun on the shelf of don’t touch it, but the truth is—none of us are the same.
Brady’s burned. I lost a leg. Hayes lost two fingers. Zeb and Alec were peppered with shrapnel. Sounds like nothing, except that shrapnel almost cost Zeb the use of his lower legs as it nestled right alongside his spinal cord.
Zeb is closest to me, so I haul off and punch him in the arm. He dances away laughing. “Now that he caught one, who wants to bet on how long he keeps her?” Fucker isn’t letting it go. “If she’s like any other chick, she’ll be gone by morning.”
CJ and Sam finally get the woman and me separated. I scramble to my feet as CJ guides her to one of the webbed seats, putting her in the middle. He buckles her in while I try to keep the others from noticing my stare. The woman is stunning.
“Y’all are jealous.” I feel a need to defend my manhood. “My women come in the morning and keep coming through noon.” I grab at my crotch, making a rude gesture.
None of them know how dry my dry spell really is. If they knew it’s been over a year, they wouldn’t believe me. Out of us all, I’m definitely a bit of a Casanova with no woman being off-limits. As long as she’s over eighteen…
Tapping the side of my helmet, I switch from night vision to normal vision. The woman sits rigidly in her seat in a body-hugging, hot as sin, red silk dress. Damn, but she has curves I’d love to get lost in.
She trades stares with Izzy, then looks at me. With a lift of her chin, the woman gives a sniff of disdain. Did she notice my leg?
Well, screw you.
So much for gratitude.
Don’t know if it’s because I grabbed at my crotch, or something else, but I take offense at the dismissal. Is it because she noticed the difference between my two legs? I’m good enough to cling to, but now that she’s safe, I’m beneath her?
Not that I expect thanks, but would it hurt to show a bit of appreciation for saving her life? I try to force her from my thoughts, pretending she’s no longer my problem.
But then, she has to go and curl in on herself, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, looking forlorn, lost, and so very afraid. The Guardian within me stumbles. I’m genetically programmed to defend, to save, to shelter, and to protect.
I’ve never seen such vulnerability.
She looks like she could use a hug. I take half a step toward her, thinking to provide some kind of comfort, but she looks away.
Okay then, I tried.
Ten
Carmen
¡Madre de Dios!
I didn’t think this through.
Hands shaking, heart slamming, my breaths saw in and out. I left my stomach and common sense somewhere in the jungle canopy far below. But I survived that dizzying, harrowing ride over the treetops with nothing but a stranger keeping me from plummeting to my certain death.
I’ve heard of people’s lives flashing before their eyes. Mine didn’t do that. Instead, it played on an endless loop while I cried out in my head.
My work’s not done.
My penance remains incomplete.
I vowed to destroy everything my father’s built, and I refuse to die until that’s done. Instead, I find myself here, with these men, and the force of the helicopter pulsing deep within my chest.
Whomp, whomp, whomp.
One of the men who’s not wearing the face-concealing helmet taps me on the shoulder. His mouth moves, but no sound reaches me. Pointing to my ear, I shake my head. He seems to understand because he gestures toward a row of webbed seats. Extending his hand, he helps me to my feet. With his assistance, I separate from the man who held me on the rope with an odd feeling in my chest.
