Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Bang for the Buck (Kindle Worlds Novella) (SWAK Series Book 1)

by Margaret Madigan

  The sheer enjoyment they got from hitting him made her dizzy with nausea. Buck was nothing more than a meat sack punching bag for them, not a human being. The more they hit him and laughed and kicked him and his blood sprayed and his body swelled and broke, the angrier she got. She went from horrified and sobbing, to enraged.

  “Enough.” She yelled it so loud it echoed off the steel walls.

  The goon taking his turn at Buck turned, his knuckles red with Buck’s blood. The rest of the crowd stared at her. Nikolai’s greasy evil smile made her stomach flip as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the man with bloody knuckles.

  “Learn your lesson yet, sweetheart?” he asked.

  Indeed she had learned something—that anger and hatred could overcome her fear and caution. Still, she played it down, opting for submissiveness. She didn’t even have to imitate it. Tears flowed freely. “Yes. Now, please, let him down so I can take care of him.”

  “Better not,” Ivan said. “Don’t want him escaping again.”

  She huffed a laugh of disbelief. “Seriously? Look at him. He’s not going anywhere. And you know I won’t go anywhere without him.”

  Nikolai looked at Buck, whose head hung to his chest, a bloody mess. The only thing holding him up was the zip ties on his wrists.

  Nikolai gave a dismissive wave to Ivan. “Fine. Let him down.”

  While the rest of the men filed out of the room, congratulating each other on the spectacle, and Ivan cut Buck down, Nikolai pulled a knife from a sheath hidden at his belt under his jacket and approached Melinda. Using the flat of the knife under her chin, he tipped her head up to look him in the eyes. “Remember this the next time you decide to think for yourself.”

  His breath smelled stale as it puffed in her face and it took willpower not to puke on him. Or spit in his face.

  He moved around behind her and cut her hands and feet free as Buck collapsed to the floor with an incoherent groan.

  Melinda rushed to him and cradled his head in her lap.

  One of his eyes cracked open just a slit. “Did I win?” The words were barely a whisper, and sounded wet and sloppy on his swollen, bloody lips, but she didn’t miss the attempt at a smile.

  A sobbing laugh escaped her lips as she patted his chest. “Not this time, big guy.” Nikolai was already at the door, but Ivan and a couple of his minions lingered behind. “Ivan,” she said. “Take him up to my room where I can care for him better.”

  His eyes went wide with surprise at her audacity to command him. She didn’t give a shit what he thought. He was only a lackey.

  He glanced to Nikolai for permission, but Nikolai had already left the room.

  “You can just stay here,” he said, puffing out his chest as he made a decision.

  “No,” she said. She lay Buck’s head gently on the floor and stood, making her way to confront Ivan. She stood an inch or so shorter, but not so much that she couldn’t look him in the eye. “You had your fun beating him up, and you made your point. I’m sufficiently intimidated. But you should also know that if you want me to cooperate and become part of your little cabal, you have to give me something in return. Right now? I want him in my quarters. Lock us in if you feel the need, but we’re not going anywhere.”

  Ivan stared at her, his lips thinned to a grim line. He clearly didn’t like being told what to do by a woman who was also a prisoner, but finally, he huffed and said something in Russian to the other guys who stalked over and grabbed Buck—one manhandling him from behind under the armpits and the other taking his ankles—and hauled him to the door.

  Melinda followed behind. When she caught up with Ivan, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  It galled her, and she almost gagged on the words, but if they ended up stuck with these people in the long term, it couldn’t hurt to start building some alliances, although remembering Brent made it difficult for her not to tremble with fury.

  He harrumphed and shrugged her off, but not before she saw a hint of blush in his cheeks. He probably got no appreciation from Mikhail or Nikolai. Everyone wanted to be noticed and appreciated once in a while. Maybe being nice to him could cultivate him, despite the fact that he still wore Buck’s blood on his fists and he was nothing more than a murderous thug.

  In her room, they tossed Buck on the bed. She rushed over and knelt on the floor, reaching for him but afraid to touch him.

  “Oh, Jesus, Grady, what did they do to you?” She swallowed hard to quash the quaver in her voice as she traced his brow, his temple, his lips, with her thumb. Tears burned her eyes again, and slid down her cheeks unchecked. She’d thought she’d shed all she could watching them beat him.

  As Ivan shut the door he paused and looked back in. “I’ll bring you something to eat.” The words were gruff, but he didn’t have to offer, so maybe she’d made tiny inroads with him. She tried for a sweet smile, but it felt more like a grimace, especially with the tears wetting her face. At the moment all she wanted to do was assess Buck’s injuries.

  Ivan left and locked the door behind him.

  ***

  “Is he gone?” Buck asked, his voice thick and gravelly in his throat. Probably all the blood and adrenaline.

  Mindy sat back on her heels, her face screwed up in skeptical confusion. He couldn’t blame her. He’d played nearly-dead well enough that the Russians believed it, and apparently she had, too.

  “Yes. What’s going on?” she asked. “You don’t sound as close to death as you look.” She didn’t sound grateful that he’d fooled her.

  He sat up, making a mewling sound and holding his head. “Damn, they hit hard.” He dropped his hands to his lap and moved his jaw back and forth, tipped his neck side to side, rolled his shoulders, and took a deep breath, flinching at the end when his ribs screamed in protest. Trying hard to open his eyes, he peered at her through one half-opened lid. “Does my nose look broken?”

  She gaped at him, open-mouthed. “How are you even conscious, much-less sitting up and talking?”

  He shrugged, wincing as he did. “I can take a beating, but that was kind of a lame effort.”

  Even he didn’t believe that lie. They’d made a pretty damn good effort. Those guys had all been eager to take a stab at hurting him.

  “What do you mean lame effort? They seemed pretty determined.”

  “I think they were only trying to scare you. If they’d been concerned about really hurting me, incapacitating me, they would have used weapons, or broken fingers or feet.” He wiggled both to prove they were intact. “I’m still fully mobile. Lucky for us.”

  “Right. Lucky for us,” she said. He didn’t miss the sarcasm. “Lay down so I can assess your injuries.”

  She tried to push him down by the shoulders, but he brushed her away. “I’m fine. Is there a bathroom in here?”

  She shook her head in disgust, and pointed to a narrow door. He leaned forward to get to his feet, but wobbled and faltered, grabbing at the air for balance. Mindy shot to her feet and placed her hands on his chest to help him stay upright. Her fingers on his skin made it tingle with gooseflesh.

  “Careful,” she said. “Ready to do as I say now and lay down, Superman?”

  As luxurious as it sounded to have Mindy fuss over him, he preferred to take care of himself. It was one thing to be with her just to be together, or to have her bring him, say, breakfast in bed. But for critical situations, he could rely on himself. “Ha ha. I’ll be fine. I want to dunk my face in cold water.”

  Mindy planted her fists on her hips and glowered at him. “That sink isn’t even big enough to dunk my face, much less your huge head.”

  He squinted at her through his one semi-good eye, sizing her up. What was she angry about? He was the one who’d been beaten up. “Are you saying I’m a fat head?” he asked.

  “I’m saying your swollen ego might make the sink a challenge. Plus, Ivan will be back eventually with food. What happens if he finds you up and about? He might take it as
a personal affront to his masculinity that you’re not incapacitated.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want to damage Ivan’s ego,” he said, grumpy that she’d insinuated he was arrogant. He drew in a breath, ready to launch into his own defense, but a wave of dizziness rolled through his head, and he lost focus and his knees buckled.

  “Stupid men,” Mindy grumbled, guiding him down onto the bed. “Lay down and let me take care of you.”

  “I can do it myself.”

  “Oh really? All evidence to the contrary,” she said as she went to the bathroom.

  Buck lay back on the bed and listened to her running water and wringing out washcloths. When she returned, she squatted down by the bed again and started the process of cleaning him up. He didn’t like being fussed over any more than she did. He could wash off his own damn face.

  It hurt, but he shoved himself back up to sitting and reached for the cloth. “Let me.”

  She plopped onto her ass on the floor and crossed her arms, her face falling into straight, hard lines. “You know, I’ve noticed you’re more than willing to take charge and boss other people around, but you’re not so good at accepting help yourself.”

  “I don’t need it,” he said, swiping at his face with the cloth. It hurt like hell, but damned if he’d tell her it did.

  “Yes you do. Nobody can function alone forever. It’s lonely. And heartbreaking. I didn’t like you helping me after the barbecue, but I let you.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “To rescue the fainting damsel at a barbecue? Isn’t that stretching the SEAL hero thing a little too far?”

  “No, it’s not. Being a SEAL is about courage and integrity and doing what’s right. It’s about helping and protecting people who can’t do it themselves. Mama and Daddy taught me about honor and I swore when I joined the Navy I’d spend the rest of my life making up for…”

  Buck slammed his mouth shut and bit his tongue. Godammit. The Russians must have really rattled his brains to make him babble about stuff he never, ever talked about.

  “Make up for what?” Mindy cocked a curious eyebrow.

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “No. You started to say something. Finish it. Unless,” she said with an offhand shrug. “You’re too afraid to share.”

  “I know what you’re doing. I’m not stupid.”

  “I didn’t think you were. The thing is, you put on this aw shucks, perfect nice guy act, but I want to know the man behind that. I told you about losing my dad. And you’ve seen me literally naked with grief and you held me in your arms and made me feel safe. All I really know about you is that your mom made blackberry jam for you as a kid.”

  Although in his heart he knew she was right, she’d hit the nail on the head when she’d said he was afraid. After leaving home, he’d never talked to anyone about his life beyond the basic information. He’d buried all his feelings about the past so deep he never thought about them anymore. But Mindy pushed his buttons. She made him remember.

  “Okay, fine. When I was a senior in high school, mom was diagnosed with cervical cancer. It was bad, but she did all the chemo and radiation and I watched that disease consume my mama until there was nothing left.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to say the rest. It was too humiliating.

  “And?”

  He shook his head and forced himself to his feet so he could go rinse out the cloth. Once in the tiny bathroom it was difficult to avoid the mirror, but he didn’t want to look into his own eyes.

  Mindy followed, leaning in the doorway, blocking him in. “I think there’s more to the story than your mom dying of cancer.”

  He peeked at her reflection through his swollen eye. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

  The words about choked him. They came closer to the truth than he’d ever admitted.

  Mindy reached for his arm and turned him to face her. “Why is it easier for you to suffer this kind of pain,” He closed his eye as she caressed the bruises on his face. “Than to tell me about something that hurts your heart?”

  “Because I deserve it,” he whispered.

  She took his hands in hers. “Tell me.”

  He swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe he was even considering it, but she made him want to. It felt safe, like shelter or refuge.

  “When I graduated from high school, I joined the Navy. Mama was still sick, and we all knew she was going to die, but I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t watch her wither and die, so I ran away. I choked and I wasn’t there to take care of my dad and sisters.”

  Mindy placed s hand on his chest, over his heart. He could feel it beating against her palm.

  She looked up into his eye. He expected pity or disgust, but all he saw was kindness and wonder. She said, “Do you think your mother wanted you to sit by her bed and watch her fade away and die? I did that with my father. It was awful. Your father and your sisters didn’t need you to take care of them. It wasn’t your responsibility.”

  “I should have been there to help. It wasn’t fair to leave it all to them.”

  “Maybe not, but if they’re anything like you, they’re strong, capable people. You can’t let something you did when you were a scared kid define the rest of your life.”

  “You did.”

  She smiled. “Well, sort of. My dad’s death has defined my career.”

  “It’s driven you to help other people.”

  She laughed and said, “So you’re saying we’re both hopelessly dedicated to saving others?”

  Sincerity radiated from her like a soothing balm. She didn’t blame him, she didn’t recoil at his cowardice or sneer at him for abandoning his family. Instead, she comforted him with her touch and her words. She shared herself with him and for the first time since he left home, a tiny bit of the guilt he’d carried with him all that time, lifted.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he said. Vertigo washed over him and he grabbed at the sink to steady himself.

  “Okay, Superman. Enough self-reflection for now. Time for you to lay down and let me look after you,” she said, guiding him to the bed. “No arguing.”

  If it was possible to feel green, he did. “Okay, fine,” he said. “But only for a bit. We have to get off this ship before it gets to Russia, or we’ll be in deep shit.”

  He laid back on the bed and she patted his chest. “I figured that out, already,” she said. “All by myself.”

  “Mphm,” he grunted. “It’s almost as if you don’t appreciate I took a beating for you,” he teased.

  She sat on the side of the bed, and went to work cleaning him up, swiping the cold wet cloth over his skin. Maybe having her fuss over him wasn’t so bad, after all. He closed the little bit he’d managed to open his swollen eye, and relaxed at her touch.

  “That feels good,” he said. The water and caress of the cloth cooled his hot, sore skin and leeched some of the tension from his muscles.

  “You’re a mess,” she said, scooting closer and leaning in to work on him.

  The heat of her bottom snug against his ribcage coupled with the leftover buzz from being hit, and confessing his sins, sent a surprising spike of lust surging through his veins. He felt alive and wanted to do something prove it.

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down. “Come kiss me,” he said.

  She sat up, surprised. “Are you serious?”

  “Fighting makes me horny.”

  With the corner of the cloth she wiped a gentle path across his forehead, and down his temple, cheek, and jaw, stoking his need for her. His cock twitched in agreement. Not a convenient time, but he pretty much didn’t care. He wanted her. Now.

  A corner of her mouth twitched into a smirk. “I hate to break it to you, hotshot, but you didn’t fight so much as take a beating.”

  He shrugged and grinned as best he could. “Still horny.”

  Holding her wrist, he pulled her down and he liked how willingly she followed his lead. It only inflamed his desire, opening the floodgates
. She pressed her lips to his gently at first. Probably didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t care. The pain added to the pleasure.

  Maybe being hit so many times had impaired his good sense, or maybe talking to her had eased the burden he’d carried for so long, but whatever it was he couldn’t help but ride the high.

  He took her lips with a hungry growl, snaking his other hand behind her neck to hold her in place as he devoured her.

  She braced her hands on his chest as he swept his tongue in to meet hers. The metallic taste of his own blood mixed with the sharp taste of her fear for a surreal need to prove he was alive, dammit. He exerted pressure on her neck to try to roll her over onto the bed with him, but she resisted. Heat and some primitive thing roiled in his blood, hardening his cock.

  Mindy broke their kiss and leaned her forehead on his, panting for breath. “Ivan. He could be back any time.”

  “I don’t care,” he growled.

  He shifted his hands to her waist and lifted her over the top of him. She scrambled and flailed, but in the end he got her where he wanted her—laid out belly to belly on top of him, his erection poking her between the legs and forcing a lusty moan from her lips.

  “Jesus, Buck,” she said, her voice a breathy protest.

  He rocked his hips upward, driving himself into her. “Mmm. You feel good.”

  There were way too many clothes between them, so he slid his hands down to her waist and under her shirt, sliding it upward. She wore a sweet expression of pure pleasure, her eyes closed, her mouth open, her head upturned to expose her long, beautiful neck.

  He leaned up to nip her neck, only for the pressure of her elbow in his side to send a jolt of pain through his ribs, and a grunt from his lips.

  Her eyes flew open in panic and she clambered off him and the bed, falling onto the floor with an “oof.”

  “Where’d you go?” he asked. The bed and his body were empty without her.

  “Your ribs,” she said. “I was hurting you.”

  “Hurts so good.” He reached down to undo his pants. God, he was out of control, but the pain and pleasure and her right there—he couldn’t remember ever experiencing such blind need.