Out of Luck

by Kendall Talbot

  Two men stood next to Charlene, but they obviously didn’t trust her as their weapons, though relatively loose, were trained in her direction. They were his first plan of attack. The engine noise was his greatest ally, and one look at the lowering beacon had him guessing he had all of about one minute till touchdown.

  Hunched over, he dashed for the next jeep. Charlene was twenty yards away, but it might as well have been fifty. Marshall sucked in a huge breath, let it out in a steady stream, then ran straight and hard at the nearest man. He crossed the distance in about six seconds and didn’t dare look at Charlene. His focus was on the man. The man’s focus was on the jet.

  Marshall was on him and whipped his head around with a vicious crack before the man even saw him coming and tossed the body aside. The second man, though, was a different story. His weapon snapped from aiming at the ground to aiming at Marshall within a millisecond.

  “Marshall!” Charlene screamed.

  Marshall shoved her screams from his focus and ran straight at the scrawny asshole. He was banking on both inexperience and surprise to get him through the next three seconds. As a soldier, he’d been taught how to simultaneously ignore the threat of imminent death and finish the job at hand. Didn’t make it any fucking easier. With each step, he expected to be shredded to bits by the rapid fire of the AK-47. By the look on the man’s face, he was just as surprised as Marshall when Marshall got there first.

  In the same instant, Marshall’s left hand slapped the gun away, while his right slammed fist-first into his rival’s nose. Despite the heavy rumble of the plane’s engines, he heard the crunch that marked the bones breaking beneath his blow.

  He heard something else too. Shouts from the other men.

  Marshall rolled to his side and grabbed hold of the battered Kalashnikov, and as he prayed there were still thirty rounds in the magazine, he pulled the trigger. In a tenth of a second, the man running toward him went from upright to flat on his face in a cloud of blood. Marshall shot the next Cuban before the others had even moved. The remaining two scattered like mice, and Marshall’s breath caught in his throat as he picked them off one after the other.

  The gun’s sights were off, and instead of hitting them dead center, he took out their legs and hips. It was effective enough. The jet still hadn’t touched down before Marshall had reduced the men to bloody messes on the dirt. Marshall wanted to look Diego in the eyes as he took him down. But with no time to spare, he had to settle with the sounds of Diego’s agony, as Marshall carved a spray of bullets up the length of his body. Marshall got to his feet and pumped a few more rounds into each of them.

  The squeal of tires striking the tarmac had Marshall forcing back the urge to get up close and personal with Diego and confirming the asshole was dead. Instead, he turned to Charlene. Her gaze locked on him so intently that he had to remind himself to breathe. As he dashed toward her, he tossed the used weapon aside and paused to gather the first thug’s weapon from the ground. He slung it over his shoulder as he approached her. “You okay?”

  “Oh, Marshall. Thank you. Thank you.” Tears streamed down her bloodstained cheeks.

  He stepped in behind her and worked on the ropes. The jeep’s headlights provided enough light to see both the knot and her messed-up hands. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  “I can’t believe you found me.”

  “Got lucky. That’s all.” The knot was proving a bitch to unravel, and it was time they didn’t have. “Come on,” he hissed under his breath. Finally, he wrestled the knot free, and Charlene stepped from the pole and twisted around to face him.

  She curled her arms around his neck. “Thank you.” Her embrace made every second of the last twenty-four hours’ worth it.

  He wrapped his arms around her delicate waist for the briefest of hugs, then he eased back. Despite everything she’d been through, the goddamned woman still looked as sexy as hell. “Come on, we’ve gotta go.”

  He grabbed her hand, and after a quick glance to position the downed plane, he dragged her toward the nearest bushes, praying they remained hidden behind the cover of the shed.

  Charlene’s gait was erratic and, based on her groans, painful too. And it probably wasn’t just because she was in bare feet. Considering the beatings he’d witnessed, it was a wonder she could move at all. The rugged terrain off the gravel wasn’t any better, and they weren’t anywhere near as far as he’d hoped when the roaring engines were replaced with the whir of the easing turbines.

  “Wait! Wait.” Charlene released his grasp and crouched down.

  “What?” He snapped his eyes to her.

  “I have to see.”

  “What?”

  Her eyes were a feisty combination of determination and anger. “I need to see who’s on that plane.”

  Chapter 24

  The headache that had begun nipping behind Noah’s eyes when he’d stormed from the courtroom had hit a whole new level by the time he’d hung up from that wretched call from Diego. But the downward spiral didn’t stop there. When he’d called his pilot, the narrow-minded asshole had insisted on triple his normal fee to make the urgent illegal flight to Cuba. His two bodyguards had done the same. The greedy fools had just written themselves off Noah’s payroll; they just didn’t know it yet. It would be the first topic of discussion when they returned to New York. If they returned. Who knew what they were flying into? And more to the point, what that conniving crook Diego had planned.

  At least Madam Athena hadn’t let him down. She’d provided Stella without debate. The Swedish bombshell was usually booked up months in advance, and even then she was very fussy about whom she was reserved for. Stella was beyond stunning, with eyes the color of a cerulean pool and lips like cotton candy. She was five foot eight, had a figure that would have any men’s magazine editor drooling, and spoke with an accent that oozed sensuality.

  It’d been a whirlwind of an afternoon as he deflected calls from badgering reporters and his soon-to-be ex-partner, and also made urgent arrangements to get himself to Cuba. By the time Noah sat in the plush leather seat on the jet, he was mentally drained. Just two hours had elapsed between ending the call with Diego and taking off from JFK.

  Once the pilot extinguished the fasten seat belt sign, Stella poured Noah a glass of cognac over ice and gave bottled water to the others. Then she led him to his private office at the rear of the jet, stripped down naked, and attempted to take Noah to a whole new set of heights.

  Normally, his time with Stella was mind-blowing, and he’d savor every single second with the kinky minx. Not tonight, though. When he’d decided to book her, he had hoped the exquisite blonde would take his mind off the unpredictable mess he’d slipped into. He’d also hoped her magical touch would release the tension jamming up his body. She hadn’t done either.

  His climax was disappointing, more whimper than mind-blowing release, and the entire time, he was trying not to focus on the exorbitant fee Madam Athena had charged for her top performer. Stella had outdone herself, though, and Noah commended her for her efforts with a promise of an additional bonus.

  He returned to the plush seats in the middle of the jet and glanced at the time. Two more hours to go. And the worst part was that the configuration of the plane meant he had to sit opposite the ugly twins. His identical twin bodyguards no longer looked alike. Colt had broken his nose so many times it faced his left ear, and Steele had a jagged scar across his left eyebrow that stopped just above his eye. They were both beefed-up chumps, though, all muscle no brains, and were more the Bruce Willis style of bodyguard than the Bond type. He’d used them on and off over the years…whenever someone needed to be reminded of who was in charge.

  Noah hated that he needed the overpaid thugs at all. But he did.

  The twins had also been there twenty-two years ago when things had gotten out of control. And he’d paid them well to keep that unexpected incident confidenti
al. They had. This time their mission, other than to protect Noah, was to finish what they should’ve done last time…to kill Diego.

  Noah would handle the girl himself. Just the thought of wrapping his hands around her neck had his heart rate tripping.

  Stella stepped from his office dressed in a designer pants suit and topped up his cognac. As he sipped the succulent nectar, Noah dwelled on the last time his life had spiraled out of control so quickly. It was in Cuba…twenty-two years ago. The one night that had changed the course of his life forever.

  After the incident, he’d berated himself a few times over his stupidity. Only a few, though, because his reckless decision had come with some surprising advantages. He’d been twenty-eight at the time. Young, foolish, with the world at his feet, and driven to make a name for himself. So when a friend’s bachelor party morphed into a stupid illegal midnight run to Cuba, he’d decided to up the ante and, in an effort to impress them, went in search of quality cigars and rum. He could never have envisaged the devastating repercussions that decision would have.

  Diego had been young too, and his eventual rise up the criminal ranks was still in its infancy. It was hard to believe the two of them were similar in any way. Yet they were when it came to drive and determination.

  Stella stepped out of the jet’s bathroom, and as she strolled toward him, Noah cast his mind back to the Cuban woman who’d changed his life. Diego’s sister. He’d only touched her twice, and yet the impact of each of those times had been life changing.

  Her body was that of a temptress…luscious olive skin, silky hair, youthful flesh. But it was the fire in her eyes that remained the pillars of his recollection. When he’d first seen her, he’d been sharing a rum with Diego to celebrate a deal that was set to make the pair of them a decent amount of money. Benita had silently stepped into the room to place another bottle of rum on the table. It was obvious she was under Diego’s instructions, as she was in and out of the room in a flash. But it’d been enough to mesmerize Noah. Enough so that he’d asked Diego about her.

  When he’d declared Benita as his sister, Noah had thought that would be where any attempts at seeing more of her would end. But he was wrong. It turned out Noah could handle his alcohol much better than his new Cuban partner. So when Diego passed out drunk, Noah had raped Benita.

  From the second he’d grabbed her, he’d known it was wrong. But he couldn’t stop himself. He’d had plenty of women before Benita, but they’d all been willing sluts who’d practically thrown themselves at him. It was the Cuban woman’s rejection that’d driven him wild.

  Even while he’d had her pinned down, raping her—his hands around her neck, her fingers clawing at his flesh, hatred burning in her eyes—he still couldn’t believe he was doing it. But he had.

  It was the most brutal, shocking, unexpected, yet utterly powerful experience in his life at that time. In the space of five minutes, he’d become a different man.

  Empowered. Invincible. Dangerous.

  What he hadn’t envisaged, though, was Diego using that moment to blackmail him.

  For five years, he heard nothing, and Noah had thought he’d come away from the incident unscathed. But evidently Benita had kept the rape a secret too.

  That all changed when Diego overheard his sister confessing the rape to a friend. Consequently, five years after that fateful night, Diego made his first attempt to blackmail Noah. Today Diego had made his second attempt. Noah would ensure it was his last.

  He swirled the amber liquid around his crystal tumbler, then swigged back a large gulp of the top-shelf cognac. It stung his throat and put fire in his belly. A fire that would rage until he’d finished off Diego and his Machiavellian tactics forever.

  The twins began snoring at exactly the same moment, as if they’d choreographed it, and Noah was torn between pegging his tumbler at one of them and being grateful that he didn’t have to endure their blank stares anymore. Opting for the latter, he picked up his phone and opened it to the photo Diego had sent him.

  When he’d killed Benita twenty-two years ago, Noah had thought he’d eliminated that blackmail threat. But before she’d died, she’d mentioned the daughter who was apparently his. At the time, Noah had cast aside her comment as a desperate plea for mercy, especially given that he was strangling her.

  Now it appeared that Benita’s deathbed confession was true. Noah hadn’t believed Diego until he’d sent the picture. He stared at the photo, expanding it to look directly into her eyes. Claudia looked exactly like her mother. Noah’s missing finger twitched as though the damn bitch was haunting him again. He shook his hand and rubbed his stub with his other fingers. He was going to enjoy killing Claudia. The fact that she was potentially his daughter made it even more thrilling. But he’d take his time with her. He needed answers first.

  He had to know why she’d turned up now, after twenty-two years in hiding.

  When the pilot announced they were coming in for a landing, Noah cast all his tumbling thoughts aside, clicked off his phone, and finished his drink in one gulp.

  Speculation was over. It was time for answers.

  Stella buckled into the seat beside Noah.

  He wished he was as calm as the Swedish beauty appeared to be.

  The approach to the runway looked exactly the same as it had two decades ago. Unwelcoming. There was nothing but darkness below. And above, for that matter. Except for the scattering of stars, there were no lights anywhere.

  The damn backward country hadn’t advanced at all.

  Noah leaned into the curve of the jet’s window, hoping to get a glimpse of the landing strip. At first, he saw nothing. It was like they were landing in the middle of the ocean. It was a good minute or two before a light appeared. He squinted at the scene, trying to establish the layout. A rumble beneath his feet confirmed that the landing gear had been lowered, and the roar of the wind increased as it buffeted against the tires.

  At a clicking sound, his gaze shifted from out the window to the twins. Both had their weapons out, checking the magazines and clicking them back into place. It was obviously something they’d done many times over as they were almost synchronized to perfection. Stella was checking her phone, and if she was at all worried about the display of weapons, she didn’t show it.

  The squeal of tires announced the jet’s touchdown, and Noah glanced out the window in time to see a pair of car headlights shining onto a rusty old shed. He also thought he saw a few bodies lying on the dirt. But it all whizzed by too fast. He squinted again, trying to confirm his vision, and what he saw had his heart invading his throat. Two people were running toward the bushes. One was a woman in a red dress.

  Fury shot through him like a raging inferno.

  He was not going to let her slip away this time.

  But the image was so fleeting he couldn’t be certain. He snapped his eyes to his bodyguards. “Get those guns ready.”

  “Yes, boss,” they answered simultaneously.

  The pilot slowed the plane to a crawl and turned it around at the end of the runway, ready to take off. Noah glanced out the window again, but the view was nothing but darkness.

  Noah and the twins stood up before the fasten seat belt sign was extinguished, and he allowed them to lead the charge off the plane. After all, he’d hired them to protect him. Colt opened the door that doubled as the stairs and lowered it to the tarmac. Steele climbed down first, followed by his twin, and Noah was the last to step on Cuban soil.

  The threesome strode around the front of the plane and entered what looked like a war zone. Colt and Steele raised their weapons, angled their bodies into what Noah could only assume was a defensive move, and ran toward the side of the shed.

  “Jesus!” Noah’s heart was in his throat as he crouched down and raced after them.

  At the edge of the shed, he had a close-up view of one of the bodies. What was left of the blo
ody mess looked more like roadkill than a human being. And it was lit up in the jeep’s headlights as though it’d been arranged for maximum effect.

  The acrid smell of gunfire and bodily fluids invaded his nostrils, and Noah had to fight the urge to flee back to the plane. He’d never seen a dead body before, except for the woman he’d killed himself. But that had involved zero blood. Now there were eight of them covered in blood. And none of them were female.

  Colt and Steele stepped out from cover and played their weapons over the area. It was as silent as a mass suicide. When the twins lowered their weapons, Noah assumed it was safe and stepped out from behind the shed. “What the hell happened?” He cast his eyes from one body to the next.

  “Looks like an ambush,” Colt volunteered.

  “More like a bloodbath,” Steele said.

  “Same thing, dickhead.” Noah strolled to the nearest body and kicked what was left of the man’s foot. He jumped back when the body groaned. “Hey, this one’s alive.” It was impossible to see the man’s face. “Anyone got a flashlight?”

  “Nah, boss.”

  Colt strode over, picked up the hand of the groaning man, and dragged him into the beam of the jeep’s headlights. The wounded man howled the whole way, but Colt’s ability to care was nonexistent. Yet another reason Noah had hired him.

  The ugly brute tossed the bloody man down, and Noah leaned over him. “Huh, it’s Diego. Go check the others; see if anyone else is alive. And find that damn woman.”

  The twins strode away, and Noah turned his attention back to what was left of his Cuban nemesis. “Hey, Diego, you still alive?” Noah nudged his foot into Diego’s ribs.