Dark Tide, page 12
They aren’t just a bunch of mindless thugs. Not even close. These men are intelligent. They’re prepared. Preacher's room has the kind of capabilities I would expect from a professional hacker, not just guys taking whatever they want for their own gain by whatever means necessary.
There’s more going on here. A complex system. And seeing Valentina brought all of this to a whole new level. This isn’t some kid’s game of Chinese checkers. This is a masters’ game of chess. Only I didn’t even know who I was playing against—just that I needed to win.
But how can Rion be involved in this?
The man who makes me laugh and scream in the best way possible. The man who made me forget—even if only momentarily—the bullshit and agony Robert brought to my life. The man I completely lose myself in. He’s not a thug. Far from it. I can’t reconcile those two visions of him.
Pirate versus lover.
Killer versus friend.
And now that I know the truth, things are so entangled there may not be any way to unravel them. At least not without someone getting hurt, or worse.
I need time to get my head around everything. Time to formulate a plan before I do anything. A rash decision now could lead to catastrophic results for everyone. The kind of fallout I don’t want to have to witness.
It’s the only thing going through my head as I turn into the parking lot of my apartment building, pull into the spot outside my place, and drop my head against the steering wheel. I suck in several deep breaths, but I can't calm my racing heart.
Do I tell Robert? How do I explain what happened?
This is such a huge fuckup on my part. One that could cost me my life and this entire operation.
But I may be able to salvage it somehow. The most important thing is getting some information to the bosses. It doesn’t have to be everything. It doesn’t even have to be anything big. It just needs to buy me some time. They just need to see some progress to be appeased. I can give them progress without giving them Rion.
No one would understand what happened between us, especially Robert, and things are already borderline volatile where he’s concerned. If he knew the truth, he’d probably kill me himself and then go after Rion with a vengeance.
It feels like I’m standing, holding a lit fuse, just waiting for something to detonate. Once that fuse is lit, there’s no putting it out. The deed is done.
The countdown has started.
All I want right now is a drink before I have to go meet with Robert. A few minutes to calm my nerves and figure out what to tell him. Enough to keep him off my back until I form some sort of a plan, but not so much that he wants to move now.
I shut down the engine and climb from the car. Warm summer air swirls around me, and I rush up the stairs to my apartment, fumbling for my apartment key on the ring.
“About time you showed up.”
Fuck.
I should have expected this after he had the audacity to appear at the bar, but coming to my apartment really is a fucking stupid move, especially for Robert. He’s not thinking clearly—blinded by jealousy and his own arrogance.
His humorless eyes scan behind me then up and down the hallway, ensuring we’re alone. I shove my key into the lock and push open the door. His hand curls around my bicep, and he pushes me into the room with such force I’ll probably have bruises.
“Ouch! Careful!”
Fucking asshole.
He snorts and kicks shut the door with his foot. “I’m always careful.”
I jerk out of his hold and whip around to face him. “You sure as hell weren’t when you came to Smitty’s.”
It was stupid to come to the bar just like it’s stupid for him to be here now. He’s taking risks with his own life and mine. The only way this mission works is under complete secrecy. He knows that. It’s why his inability to trust me and let me do my work alone aggravates me so badly.
But I don't want to have this argument with him again. Not when there’s something more important to discuss. Once I give him what he came for, he might be willing to give me some space. “I may have found something.”
He freezes, whatever he was about to say dying on his lips and narrows his eyes. “What do you mean you found something?”
“I mean all of this,” I wave at our surroundings—the shitty apartment in the small dot on the map, “may have finally paid off.”
“Well…” One of his eyebrows wings up. “What is it?”
My stomach clenches. Looking at the man I once shared a bed with while trying not to throw the one I’m currently sharing one with under the bus isn’t easy.
Shit. What do I tell him?
There's no question Valentina being there with Cutter means those guys are connected. Well connected. To a very powerful organization. They’ve likely been working for her—not just some independent operation—which means this is much bigger than we ever imagined.
Yet, it’s all just supposition at this point. It’s a few pieces of a much bigger puzzle. And I don’t have any proof of anything. I don’t want Robert rushing to judgment before things are clear.
I can’t jump the gun. The thought of Rion getting caught up in all this makes bile rise in my throat. I swallow it back and steel my expression. Robert knows me too well. He’ll be able to tell if I’m lying to him.
Whatever I tell him must be a form of the truth. “I can't give you specifics now. I have a potential source. Someone who may be able to lead us to who we’re looking for. It’s new. Not something I can rush. But know, I'm making progress.”
“Bullshit, Gabriella. I don’t believe for one second that you actually have something for me. It’s just an excuse to convince me to stay away. I get that you don’t want to be with me right now—”
My jaw drops. “Don’t want to be with you right now? Are you serious?” I clench my jaw. “Do I need to remind you what you did to me? You cheated on me, and then when things got tough at work, you blamed your failures on me rather than accepting the repercussions you brought down on yourself. You almost got me fired.”
“Water under the bridge.”
I scoff and shake my head. “For you, maybe. But there is no ‘right now,’ Robert. We’re done. And once this is over, I’m going to seriously rethink our working relationship because you can’t seem to not interfere.”
Another office in another city might be my only option. That, or a completely different career altogether.
“I was worried about you not reporting in. I had to check up on you. I’m not interfering.”
“Not interfering?” My voice rises a little too loud, considering this place probably isn’t insulated very well. “You came to the bar. That sure as hell looks like interference to me.”
He advances on me so fast I don't have time to back up to avoid him. His large hands grip my biceps, and he shakes me. “This isn’t a fucking game, Gabs. You know what will happen if we fail.”
“I'm not stupid, Robert.”
“You’re sure acting stupid right now.”
I jerk my arm out of his grasp and slap him across the face so hard my palm stings. “Don't make the mistake of thinking you can touch me or talk to me like that. I didn't let you do it when we were together, and now that we aren't, I'm not about to start.”
“What do you mean now that we aren't?”
“You heard me.”
His eyes darken. “But I thought—”
I know what he thought. That this time away was just a “break” to give me a chance to evaluate what I want. He thought I’d come crawling back to him when all this is over. It was a mistake to let him see me snap. I need to maintain my cool during this, or I’ll miss something else important.
“I don't care what you thought, Robert. If you really believed I was going to come back to you after this, then you are more delusional than I thought.”
He grabs my shoulder and spins me back to face him. “Do you think you're just going to walk away when you’re done here?”
The way he says it makes it sound like it’s the craziest idea in the world. Like anyone willingly walking away from him is impossible to wrap his tiny brain around. He isn’t who he once was. When I started working on his team, he was different. Always arrogant, but with reason. He was so good at his job, but now, the job has taken a backseat to his personal desires and hurt feelings.
“Yes,” I grit out between clenched teeth. “I am going to walk away. Now, I'll tell you when I have more, but until then, stay the fuck out of my way and out of my life.”
I jerk open the door and hold it for him. He eyes me and the hallway, about to continue the argument, but I wave a hand, ushering him out. He chooses to bite back whatever he was about to say; maybe because we might have an audience out in the hallway that he wouldn’t want to overhear any of our argument more clearly than they could through the thin walls. I slam the door behind him and lean back against the wood.
My heart beats wildly against my ribcage. This whole situation is out of control. It’s going to take a miracle to get out of it alive. And I haven’t believed in miracles for a long time.
All I can do now is pray that an opportunity will present itself. A way to salvage the clusterfuck I’ve found myself in. Because if it doesn't…I can't even imagine the consequences for everyone involved.
Those men are killers. When they find out what I’ve been doing, I’m going to move to the top of their hit list. When Rion finds out…
Oh, God.
Tears sting my eyes, and I swipe them away and push off from the door on shaking legs.
Deep breaths, Gabs. Think. Think.
Only, all I come up with is a blank slate. My mind can’t process all the implications and factors, and time is running out.
17
Rion
Sheets rustle behind me, and I take another long drag on my cigar, letting the smoke fill my lungs and the nicotine rush through my blood.
I didn't think she'd be awake this early. Dawn barely casts any light through the open window yet, but I've been up for hours. Or rather, I never really went to sleep. I couldn't. Not knowing what today is.
The mattress creaks slightly as Gabriella climbs from the bed. Her soft scent hits me first. The same warm, sweet smell I’ve been trying to lose myself in for the last few days while we've been in limbo just waiting for this damn meeting to happen.
It’s so easy to do that with her—forget the danger and the drama. Even though she’s been quiet, turning something over in her own head recently, she’s still one hundred percent refuge. When we come together, it’s like finding that shelter in the storm. That harbor in the rough seas.
I never thought I’d find that anywhere, least of all in a woman, and there’s too much going on in my life and head to consider what that might mean in terms of any future for us.
Right now, sitting here in the dark with a cigar and memories is the only plan. But Gabriella waking may throw a wrench in that. She shouldn’t be seeing me like this. No one should. Yet, I couldn’t send her away, even knowing what today would turn into.
I sense her behind me before her soft hand finds my shoulder and squeezes gently.
Fuck. Who knew such a simple touch could feel so fucking good?
She leans down and kisses the back of my neck, lightly brushing her lips across my skin. “I didn't know you smoked.”
I take another pull off the cigar. “I don't.”
Her fingertips drag along the myriad of ink on my arm, lingering for a second on the fresh scar there, and she slowly steps around me and kneels between my legs. “Then what are you doing up at five in the morning smoking a cigar?”
That's a very good question.
Though, one I'm not sure I want to answer. I opened the window to try to avoid waking her with the smell, but now she’s here, running her hand across my leg and staring up at me. I could drink down her bourbon eyes for eternity, but the true concern etched on her beautiful face sends a pang to my chest.
We’ve only grown closer each day we’ve spent together. Things have fallen into place, like this is the way it’s supposed to me—Gabriella and me.
The answer comes out before I have a chance to think about why I’m telling her. “It's tradition. I have one every year on this day.”
She considers me for a moment, her head tilting sideways, sending her long, dark, silky hair cascading over one shoulder. It only draws my attention to the fact that she’s still wearing that outfit—the one that almost gave me a fucking heart attack when she showed it to me last night.
The silky, black negligée leaves nothing to the imagination. It barely contains her breasts, and the short hem lets her luscious ass cheeks hang out the back. Were I in any other mental state—one not ruled by anger, regret, fear, and loathing—I might be taking her again right here, right now.
She shrugs slightly. “I assume there's a reason for the tradition…”
One of her dark eyebrows rises, but she leaves it at that and gives me an opening to fill her in on whatever kept me awake and makes me do this annually. She doesn’t push, even though she clearly wants to know. It would have been impossible for her not to notice my state of mind. After last night and this morning, I should've been so tired I couldn't keep my eyes open, but every time I closed them, I kept seeing it over and over again.
I tossed and turned. Sleep wouldn’t come, and even if it had, I wouldn’t have actually stayed out. It’s the same every year.
The memories. The dreams. They always come…
Which is why I’m always alone today. It’s safest for everyone. The way it should be. The way I’ve always wanted it.
Until now.
I take another drag and blow the smoke over my shoulder away from her. “It's an anniversary.”
“Of what?”
An expected question. An innocent one.
There’s no way she can know what asking it means for me, though. Reliving all of that in my own head is one thing. Talking about it with someone else is another. I’ve always done my talking with my hands—healing people or hurting them. Saving or killing. Letting out any frustration or rage on something physical.
It’s less painful than actually using the words, but just like so many times I’ve spent with Gabriella, they seem to flow out of me unbidden, like she’s opened a dam that can’t be closed again.
I rub the back of my neck with my free hand. “Of the day a lot of good friends of mine lost their lives.”
Her hand tightens on my leg, her lips twisting into a frown. “Shit, I'm sorry, Rion.”
“It's not your fault they died. No reason you should be apologizing.” I stroke my hand over her bare shoulder, her silky, soft, smooth skin such a contrast to my rough fingertips.
It’s a natural human reaction for people to say they’re sorry for things they have no control over or involvement with. It’s common courtesy, but it always rubs me the wrong way and draws forth something dark from inside me, something I fight against constantly. I don’t like people feeling sorry for me. I don’t want them imagining all the ways I’m fucked up because of what I went through.
She reaches back to place her hand on top of mine and brushes her thumb over my tattooed knuckles in a rhythmic, soothing motion. “What happened?”
The same question I’ve been asking myself for six years.
In all that time, I’ve never found an answer. Not one that quells the agonizing burn of grief over the events of that day.
“RPG attack. In Iraq. We never even saw it coming…”
We never saw it coming then, but now, years later, I can still feel it all…
The heat of the sun beating down on me and radiating off the hard, sandy desert floor.
The sweat-soaked uniform and heavy equipment weighing me down.
The sting of the sand battering my face in the wind through the open window.
The boom of the explosive.
The pop of semi-automatic gunfire.
I've managed to keep these memories at bay for the most part over the years, primarily with alcohol.
But never on this day.
I want to remember this day. I owe it to them.
“It should have been a routine mission. My Ranger unit was part of a joint operation task force with Delta team and the CIA. We stopped in a village. They ambushed us.” I pull my hand from under hers, clench my fist, and bring the cigar to my lips with the other to suck more nicotine into my system. My hand shakes as I remove it from my mouth. “One minute, I was sitting in the Humvee, waiting for the order to head out, and the next, the world exploded, and the Humvee flipped.”
Her hand tightens on my leg, and unshed tears shimmer in her eyes. “Oh, God…”
“I was stunned for a minute, but the gunfire and explosions brought me to very quickly. By the time I climbed out of the wreckage…” I swallow thickly. “I was too late. It was a slaughter. Bodies everywhere. Constant gunfire coming from the hills around us. We were sitting ducks. I grabbed my gear and checked on the men closest to me, but it was pointless. They were all dead already.”
Wide, lifeless eyes staring up at me.
Blood pooling on the sand beneath them.
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to suck in a breath against the vise constricting around my chest. My throat is so damn dry, it’s almost like I'm still there.
“I moved to the next Humvee and found Preacher. He’d been thrown from the vehicle and pinned underneath it. His right leg was stuck.”
“My God.” Her voice cracks, and she presses a hand over her mouth.
“The Humvee was already on fire. Burning on the side furthest away from him, but it was only a matter of time before it would reach him.”
That same urgency sends my heart racing now, just like it did that day.
“I could hear some of our men returning fire, so I knew others had survived, but I couldn’t see them. I called out for help. Two other Rangers who survived came running, Max and Gabe. They tried to lift the Humvee off him, but it was too heavy, and the metal was too hot. The fire was spreading close to the gas tank and closer to us. I knew I had to amputate his leg and get him out right away, or he would die.”
