by Xavier Neal
I can’t help but wonder if she suspected something like this from me or if, maybe, having seven men compared to the army she supplied, didn’t seem worthy of a second thought.
“We will move the ship inward towards the dock. When we reach this point,” Roth’s dark-skinned finger points to a spot on the map, “the east aquatic team will disperse.” He drags it across the map to the island itself. “Lopez will make his way to the power supply that feeds the house, which is located here. You wait here for the signal to cut it.” His finger taps a new spot. “Burns and Cable, you take out the security housing,” the extended index is moved once more, “here. There should be seven men inside. Cut any camera feeds you find. Jaffee and Otto, you are on assistance and control. Cobb’s security has your standard premier pacing pattern. Take down threats. Deal accordingly with unidentified individuals. Do not allow for contact to be made with anyone inside the house.”
The five men to the left dressed in wet suits collectively nod.
“Simultaneously, the west aquatic team will disperse. Swann, Gomez, and Crumley, you are to arrive, here.” Roth touches a spot on the opposite side of the island. “The dock cameras need to be immediately deactivated and the three men patrolling the area disarmed. White and Williams, Cobb has several guests on the island that were brought over on two separate yachts. You need to sweep and detain the crews of each. Again, contact cannot be allowed to be made to anyone inside the house.”
The five men to the right, who are also dressed in wetsuits, acknowledge their understanding.
“Once given the green, I will bring the ship in.” Roth swiftly switches from the map to the blueprint of Cobb’s mansion. “Tactical team alpha,” he calls for them to come closer, “Lopez will cut power and you will enter through the front, taking out the two members of security guarding the door in the process. Your job is to eliminate any and all threats. Tactical team Beta, your job is to subdue and neutralize bystanders. The guests. The girls. The staff that isn’t a physical threat – some will be, so be prepared for that. Tactical team Gamma, you are to assist with the aquatic teams in patrolling the perimeter and taking out or down any unforeseen issues.”
There are a few mumbled respective responses of comprehension.
“Bennett,” our leader turns over his shoulder to allow me a chance to address those that are left.
“Sweep and rescue is your main priority,” I promptly state to the men I brought along. “Find. Her.”
They enthusiastically nod.
“The instant you do, announce it, where you are, and I will come get her.” My arms fold firmly across my vest-protected chest. “She is only to be touched if absolutely necessary. There is a probability-”
“High probability,” Miko casually inserts.
“-she will label you as an attacker before you’ve had the chance to inform her you are an ally. Do not underestimate her skilled capabilities in defending herself. She is…” a smile threatens to reveal itself during the presented pause, “a lot more dangerous than she appears.”
My second lightly chuckles, “Just saying that shit gave you a stiffy, didn’t it?”
No.
But only because I know now is not the time to imagine how fucking sexy I’m sure she looks subduing an adversary.
I toss him a chastising glance prior to continuing, “Cobb is my main focus. He’ll, most likely, seek one of his three panic rooms for refuge. With the power cut, he can’t properly barricade himself inside, making it easier to eliminate him and the security attached to his hip. Miko will-”
“Be with you,” my best friend instantly proclaims without room for argument. “I’m still your second. It is still my job to watch your ass or front depending on defensive positions until the goddamn clock runs the fuck out.”
The counter that clings to my vocal cords is swiftly swallowed.
It wouldn’t matter if I ordered him to join the others in searching for Chantal.
He’d still be exactly where he stated he would.
By my side.
Ready to give his life so that I can have mine…
The same way he did by sacrificing himself to let me be happy.
I nod to Roth that I’m done speaking. Afterwards, he glances around the room at the number of men waiting to storm the island. “Questions?” The lack of reply is what prompts him to state, “Good. Let’s bring the girl home.”
Everyone respectively takes their places.
To my surprise, Miko finds his serious nature faster than normal, tempting me to ponder why.
Does he fear we’re in more danger than we normally are?
Has his concern for Chantal’s well being finally snuffed out his humor?
Our approach to the drop point begins, and I banish all other thoughts from my mind. The only thing that matters now is getting Mia Bella and killing Cobb. As much as I wish it weren’t such a desperate priority, it is. Cobb alive could result in him taking vengeance for us storming his private sanctuary. That could create a new problem on an uncomfortably long list of problems I do not need. His existence could, also, result in him idiotically trying to recapture Chantal – inspired by the notion that since he purchased her, she’s now his, which would force me to murder him anyway. Why not save ourselves the worry and hassle?
Also, I know he’s touched her.
I may not know exactly how, but I do know he has, and for that sin, penance must be paid.
Roth steadily studies the watch on his wrist, the clock stationed on the table, and the map.
I anxiously wait at his side for the proper code word in our earpieces while, needlessly, reexamining the MP 5 in my grip. Confirmation is given within the appropriate window, and Roth doesn’t hesitate to push the plan into the next phase. Those of us on the ship adjust vests, night vision goggles, and prepare to storm off the yacht to the front door the second the signal is presented.
Roth’s meticulousness is something I would appreciate in any other circumstances; however, in this one, it’s shredding the miniscule amount of patience I somehow still possess.
Being this close, yet this far, from my mate has the lion inside of me roaring and huffing to pounce.
I need us to get inside that building.
I need this feeling as though I’ve been food poisoned by life itself to finally subside.
We’re suddenly given the tactical wave to get our asses in gear, and I can’t move my boot-covered feet fast enough. Everyone darts down the dock for the mansion like an impenetrable unit. Teams break up accordingly upon infiltration, and the speed at which every member moves to execute their role re-instills the relief that reaching out for Shay’s help was the right decision.
Miko and I gracefully maneuver through the bustling situation straight towards the first panic room. We complete a swift sweep to discover nothing. No one. Not even a sign that he moved this direction. The two of us quickly veer around the teams taking down staff and security alike for the next location, only to endure the same results. Complaints about locked doors and hidden passageways having to be searched flood the earpieces, but our dedication to eliminating Cobb remains untouchable. Arriving at the last option, we’re baffled to find it empty as well with no sign of the target.
Fuck!
I can’t stop myself from barking out, “Does anyone have eyes on Cobb?!”
Rounds of “negative” rip through my ear, feeding the unleashed rage more scraps it doesn’t need.
What if someone tipped him off?
What if that fat fuck manages to weasel his way out of here?
What if…what if he took Chantal with him?
My fist rams through the nearest wall in frustration before spinning on my heels and stomping over to the closest guest that’s just been finished being zip tied. In one harsh pull, I yank him off the couch, shove him onto his knees, and place the barrel to his temple. Miko does his best to explain to the team member trying to stop me what the situation is, but I can’t hear anything over the madness rushing through
my veins.
“Letting you live is a courtesy,” I announce in a low growl, “not a fucking obligation. Tell me you know nothing, and I will kill you. Hesitate to tell me what I want to know, and I will kill you. Lie to me, and I will come back in here and kill. You.”
The combination of the threat and the darkness has the guest at my mercy trembling.
“Where. Is. Cobb?”
“H-h-he…he had his g-g-guards go with him that way!” The man points one direction. “Or, that way!” His additional pointing the opposite direction receives a hiss. “I can’t see anything, so I don’t know!” Right as my finger prepares to pull the trigger, he cries out, “The garage! I-I-I overheard h-h-h-him say something about flashlights and a car! Cars are in the garage! C-C-Cars are in the garage!”
Rumbles rattle my chest at the same time I hastily jog the direction I recall it being on the map. It takes busting through a few wrong doors and causing a couple of maids to faint to find our target. Sure enough, him and two members of his security team are loaded into an SUV preparing to drive straight through the door in an attempt to escape.
Our weapons are whipped up in tandem.
Shots fired in synchroneity.
Both guards fail to draw quick enough to get off a single round, and the one in the driver’s seat fails to even start the ignition.
We lower ourselves closer to the ground in case Cobb decides to fire; however, upon our approach of the vehicle we discover one of bullets pierced his shoulder, preventing him from moving without agonizing pain.
There’s a mirthful grunt out of Miko, “Finally got to shoot you.”
Rather than waste time asking why he assumes it was his bullet as opposed to mine, I merely instruct, “Open the door.”
He keeps his weapon aimed at Cobb’s white dress shirt-covered chest instead of his head, knowing how important it is to me to have the kill.
I effortlessly transfer the gun from my dominant hand to the other and remove my Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife from the holster at the small of my back. The strike of shoving the blade in the space underneath his chin to anchor it inside his mouth is as swift as it is severe. Metal breaks his teeth and blood begins to seep past the corners of his closed mouth. Using the wedged weapon, I tug him out of the vehicle, him having to follow the action or risk losing the front of his mouth. Cobb clumsily stumbles out of the vehicle in choked cries. I remove the knife in the opposite motion I inserted and watch him collapse face first to the ground. Mere seconds after his nose crashes into the cold cement, I straddle his wide frame and swing the blade into his side, successfully piercing his right lung.
“That’s for trying to buy Mamma from Father,” I growl during its removal.
Gargling shakes his frame while I busy myself with cutting through the fabric of his dress pants to attack his thighs.
Miko fires a round at Cobb’s extended hand, shooting off a piece of his index finger. “Hard to eat all the fucking bacon at a party without your,” a second bullet tears off the tip of another appendage, “fingers.”
Untethered rampage overrules any urges to laugh. His exposed upper legs grab all of my focus. I slice the skin of the left one and tear it off like the useless hide on a pathetic animal. Screams are muffled due to sounds of gunshots being fired into his remaining fingers one by one. Swift slices of the muscle have it bunching up in barbarically therapeutic ways. I repeat the mutilation on the right side, muttering insults in Italian. My second entertains himself by adding holes into the arm until we’re torturing in tandem. Working through the resistance I meet during the carving, has me channeling the madness that’s lacked an appropriate outlet, and providing it with a release. Euphoric feelings filter through my system for the first time in almost a week causing me to chase the high. Shallow stabs are delivered to his calves. Back. I avoid the areas I know will end his suffering too soon and relish the satisfaction his misery is providing.
A voice speaks calmly over the com, “The package has been located.”
Five little words.
Five little words that pack more power than anything else I’ve ever heard in my entire life.
I’m barely able to still my chest enough to inquire, “Where?”
“Second floor. Second hall. Third door.”
I swing the blade around to deliver the final two strikes. The first is to his left lung. The next blow is to his kidney and given at the same time I bite, “That’s for buying my fiancée.” Upon standing up, I spit on his twitching frame, mucus landing directly on the back of his pudgy neck. “May your torture continue in hell, you sick fuck.”
Not another word nor look is wasted on him.
I put away my bloody tool, and the two of us hustle from where we are to where we were informed Chantal has been found.
Our arrival isn’t at all what I’m expecting.
My future wife doesn’t shout my name or lunge into my arms.
She doesn’t take a defensive position.
In fact, she doesn’t move an inch on the bed she’s sprawled out on, igniting worst case scenarios to swarm through my mind.
“Is she…” There’s no finishing the question.
“She’s breathing,” Thomas Jennings, one of the mercs I brought with us, informs, “but it’s irregular.”
“What the fuck does that mean?!” Miko immediately barks.
“Without proper examination, I don’t know.”
Near panic pierces my chest.
“Could be anxiety triggered. Could be poison. Could be a fucking collapsed lung.”
My jaw tightens in my greatest attempt to stop it from trembling.
“You want answers, we’ve gotta move her. Now.”
Reluctance doesn’t bother occurring. Questions on her possible response to being picked up don’t factor into my actions. I stomp across the childlike-decorated room to retrieve her yet momentarily stop at the sight of a restrained man rocking back and forth near the bed. Rage rears its ruthless face again as I lift my weapon and unleash several shots into his skull. There’s no doubt in my mind what he was in here to do.
Or, possibly doing.
Or…had already done.
The idea we didn’t save her in time from a violation no person should be subjected to has me firing off more rounds until what is left is unrecognizable as human.
Resentment tangos with remorse for not finding her faster, yet I force myself to cast them both aside to grab her. I abandon my weapon on the side of the tiny bed to swoop her up into my arms. Like a rag doll, she wilts against my chest, something that should fill me with relief, but somehow simply instills more sorrow.
What if we are completely too late?
What if she’s already lost the fight for her life?
For our son or daughter’s life?
Tears swirl around my tongue as I squeeze her closer. My lips plant a soft, small kiss against the side of her forehead prior to me whispering, “Adesso ti ho, Mia Bella.”
I have you now.
“Ti porto a casa.”
I’m taking you home.
Her lack of response has a new lump of sorrow refusing to be swallowed.
“Elemental,” Miko states into his device to summon the planned air support. Afterwards, he commands, “Let’s move, Capo. You carry her. We’ll cover you.”
I’m not entirely sure how I successfully nod, but I do.
The four of us exit the room to head for the helicopter pad outside; however, every step I take, hope that the worst is over dwindles.
Why do I get the feeling that finding and rescuing her wasn’t the hardest part of this war?
Chapter 7
I lovingly stroke the exposed skin on her arm. It lacks the softness it once possessed and the sweet aromas of body butter. My finger can no longer flawlessly glide across her flesh without stumbling upon wounds. Dark bruises are formed beside her collarbone. Abrasions anchored to her stomach. Her knees. Next to the faint moles that I’ve kissed and licked and bit, that I’v
e worshipped, are needle marks.
Sadly, only one of which has my blessing.
Jennings’ examination began the minute we got onto this flight. There were, thankfully, no signs of a severe internal injury, but it was more evident in the light that something else besides just anxiety was wrong. He explained how on occasion those being held as sexual prisoners are sometimes injected with mixtures that can induce memory loss, confusion, or even death to prevent the victim from being able to make credible identifications. I allowed him to draw a bit of blood to do some sort of on-site test for more information. Despite obtaining it, he didn’t provide me with more answers or comfort. Simply fiddled with things in his emergency kit, mumbled to me medical words I am ashamed to admit I don’t understand, and told me to steadily watch her for changes, particularly to her breathing.
Which is what I’m now doing.
Ceaselessly.
Watching.
Stroking.
Watching more.
I trace patterns while making silent promises to never let her out of my sight again.
Out of my goddamn arms.
I maintain my tight hold around her waist and pretend that she’s curled against my chest out of love, not lifelessness.
Miko’s mouth moves on and off again, yet his words never reach my mind. They never latch onto my consciousness that can’t bother entertaining any ideas that aren’t the love of my life. Eventually, he stops talking, at least to me, and I’m left to ponder the answers to the pressing questions regarding her health.
Our possible baby’s health.
What happens next?
What if whatever Jennings gave her doesn’t work?
What if in spite of all this hell we went through to get her…she went through to survive…she dies here.
In my fucking arms.
“Capo,” Miko successfully cuts through the emotional fog and grabs my attention.
