Zoey gave her a soft, supplicating smile. “You’re going to be okay, but I need to take a look at what you got going on here. Okay?”
She nodded, wanting to close her eyes and save herself the horror of seeing the hole in her belly and the blood dripping down her skin. It was already touch-and-go whether or not she would go into shock. But if she was going to go out, she was going to go out knowing what was in store for her.
Zoey lifted her black T-shirt gently, the fabric tugging on her skin as she pulled it up. Blood oozed from her stomach and as Zoey dabbed away the blood, a swollen black bruise was already rising on her skin. As Zoey inspected the wound, she smiled. “It’s a flesh wound.” Zoey looked up at her, her smile widening. “I bet you’re glad you both took a break and put on the bulletproof gear.”
Shaye inspected the wound. As she touched the bruised skin around the angry red circular mark, she winced with pain, but Zoey was right. She pulled the skin back a bit—there were definitely some lacerations, and she was going to be sore for a week or so, but she was going to be fine.
The bastards had failed to take her down.
She looked up at the normally calm and emotionally repressed Chad. Tears were streaming unchecked down his face. Though she didn’t know whether they were from fear or relief, she didn’t care. She was simply grateful that he was here, in her life, and they were together.
There was another ping and crackle as a second bullet struck the front window.
She pulled down her shirt and took in a pained breath as she moved to sitting. There was no way she could run around and fight without being in agony, but she wasn’t going to be some broken woman that the Martins would have to treat like an invalid. She had to do her part to fight their enemies—enemies that she may well have brought to their gate. But first she needed to be there for the man who was here for her.
She got to her feet, wrapping her arms around Chad. “It’s all okay. I’m fine,” she said, gently hugging him. “Don’t cry.”
He rubbed the back of his hand over his cheeks, wiping away his tears even as others took their place. “I’m so sorry, Shaye. I shouldn’t have—”
She silenced him with a finger to his lips. “I shouldn’t have run off. If you love me like you say you do, make me a promise?”
He nodded.
“Please don’t hurt me. I’ve already been hurt enough.”
His tears moved faster and harder down his cheeks as he leaned in and took her lips with his, a promise sealed. It didn’t matter to her that they were standing in front of his family or that there were active gunmen outside. In this short moment, all that mattered was he was giving her the world.
“Yes,” he said, his breath against her lips. “But only if you make me a promise in return.”
She nodded, no idea what he was going to ask of her, and it made her unexpectedly nervous.
“Shaye, if we get out of this alive, and it doesn’t have to be right away or anything, but I want you to marry me. Sound like a plan?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “That is one a heck of a way to ask a girl to marry you. Sound like a plan,” she said in a deep, mocking voice.
“I know it’s not much of a way to ask a princess for her hand, but you get what you see with me. I’m going to love you until the sun doesn’t rise in the sky. No matter what comes, or doesn’t come, I’m going to fight for you.” He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, drawing her closer against him.
She could have swooned in his arms, and for a moment the pain that was wracking her body disappeared.
“First, I’m far from a princess. And second, you and your proposal are absolutely perfect. I wouldn’t change you for the world,” she said, putting her hand on his chest just over his heart, which was beating wildly. “I want you with all your imperfections. I like to think our imperfections are what make us suited for each other.”
“So we have a plan?” he asked with joy in his voice as the tears on his cheeks finally began to slow.
“Yes. A thousand times or a thousand ways or in a thousand languages, yes.” The air left her lungs as he took her lips with his. The kiss was powerful and unrelenting as his tongue moved against her bottom lip. She met it with her own, tasting the bitterness of fear mixed with the sweetness of safety.
She, without a single regret or second thought, whole-heartedly and without reservation, loved this man.
Trevor cleared his throat, pulling them both back to attention.
As wonderful as this was, and though she wanted to spend the rest of her life kissing those lips and feeling the warmth of his breath on her skin, their fight was far from over.
She pulled back from his arms, her body protesting the loss of his touch.
Her gun was sitting on the floor, its grip covered with her bloody fingerprints. Picking up the weapon, she knew exactly what she had to do.
“Get ready,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the rest of the group and the wounded man that was resting on the other couch. “This is about to get crazy.”
She moved toward the door, ready to take down all the men outside, but Chad gently took her by the arm, stopping her in midstride. “Soon-to-be Mrs. Martin, where do you think you’re going?”
She nudged her chin in the direction of the door. “I’m about to go kill some dudes,” she said, but even as the words came out she felt silly. This wasn’t her. She was resilient and strong, but she had already fallen victim to their enemies once.
Chad gave her a serious look and shook his head. “I have absolutely no doubt that you could go out there and screw some people up, but we have to be smart about this. We can’t go out guns blazing—you can see how well that worked the last time,” he said, motioning to her stomach. “And no matter what, I’m not going to put you in a position in which you could get hurt. No way, no matter how badass you think you are.”
Her back softened and she lowered the gun in her hands slightly. As she opened her mouth to speak, there was a low hum and then a familiar thump, thump, thump. The sound reminded her of a dog thumping its leg against the floor as it gave itself a good scratch.
She knew that sound, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what was making it.
Zoey rushed toward the window and looked up at the sky. A bullet pinged against the glass. “There’s a helicopter.”
Shaye ran over, hoping against all hope that it wasn’t red and embellished with the Algerian flag.
No. He wouldn’t have come this far for her. He would send men, but he would never come himself.
A blue helicopter moved straight down, landing on the lawn near the driveway. She didn’t recognize the man sitting behind the pilot, but her father sat on the other side of the stranger and beside him was the woman from the video—the woman who had dropped off the baby on their doorstep.
Holy shit... They were all working together.
The baby. Little Peanut. The woman had used a child to manipulate and slow them down. Who would have ever thought of using a child in such a brutal, compassionless way?
Those bastards.
Her father looked in Shaye’s direction and their eyes met.
What was he doing here?
She was tempted to be relieved that her father was here. Perhaps she could negotiate some sort of treaty with him for both her and the Martins’ safety. And yet she knew that her father would never go for such a thing. He was only there to snatch her and enslave her once again. No matter where she went, or whom she married, she would always be her father’s slave. The only way she was going to get out from underneath his thumb would be either her death or his, and she preferred the latter.
“Who’s that?” she asked, pointing at the man with her father.
Zoey glared at the man as Chad put his hand on Shaye’s lower back and peered out the window.
“That is Fenrisulfr Bayural
, the leader of the Gray Wolves.” Chad’s voice was thick with loathing. “He is the man responsible for Trish’s death. I see he’s made new allies.”
A wave of sickness came over her as she stared at her father, the woman and Chad’s enemy together. The leader of the Gray Wolves gave a malicious laugh, no doubt chuckling about how close they were to annihilating the people she loved... And maybe even her.
She stared out at Bayural. He had a wide face and an even wider nose and he reminded her a bit of a Turkish Benecio del Toro. He had the squished expression of a man who was on the verge of seeing his dreams come to fruition. Though there was little physical resemblance between him and her father—the same look of power and malice in their eyes that made them nearly twins.
Zoey hurried from the window and grabbed a house phone Shaye hadn’t even noticed. It clinked against its cradle as Zoey lifted it and tapped on the numbers. She looked at them and then walked toward the kitchen.
“What is she doing?” Shaye asked, terrified at the prospect of losing more capable hands, hands that could make the difference in a firefight between life and death.
Chad shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“What are we gonna do?” she said, lowering the gun until it brushed against the tops of her thighs. As she looked at Chad, she could tell that he was champing at the bit to get his hands on the man responsible for Trish’s death. And yet, it wasn’t feasible to leave the building. It was the only place they were guaranteed safety.
The man stepped out of the helicopter and readjusted the tie at his neck, almost as if he was going to business meeting and not here to put an end to an entire family. Her father and the woman remained in the chopper. Her father was no doubt hesitant to get his hands dirtied by coming within a foot of an active shooting situation.
She could make out the sounds of Zoey shouting what sounded like coordinates from within the kitchen.
But why?
Trevor stood beside Chad. “What do you think he’s doing here?” he asked, motioning toward Bayural.
Chad shook his head. “Bayural has been chasing us for nearly a year. No doubt he knows he has us cornered and now he wants to watch the execution for himself. And Shaye’s father... Well, he probably wants his daughter back.” He reached down and took the gun from Shaye’s hands. “But we’re not going down without a fight.”
She was glad to be free of the weight of the thing, but its absence made her feel vulnerable.
Zoey jogged out of the kitchen, the phone still in her hand. “Don’t do anything. And get down!”
As she said the words, there was an ear-piercing boom from the skies above. And then a high-pitched whistle.
The world shuddered around them, and the roar of an explosion echoed through the room. She threw her arms over her head as she hit the floor. She heard the crash of glass and the scream of steel warping and bending against its will from the explosive power that had struck it.
No doubt, anyone outside the house and near the helicopter had been wiped out.
She dared to look out from underneath her arms. Chad was lying on the floor beside her, staring at her like a watchful partner. “You okay? How is your stomach? And your head?” He reached over and touched her temple, seemingly worried about the percussive force from the blast.
“I’m fine,” she said, feeling like a broken record in her constant reassurance of her tenuous welfare.
The dust began to settle around them, coating Chad’s dark hair with fine white powder.
After a moment, he got up and brushed himself off and offered her his hand. They walked to the window—the glass was missing and was lying on the floor, still in one piece but shattered. A fighter jet twisted in the skies overhead, celebrating their victory.
The rest of the family moved beside them as they looked out at the dusty scene in front of them. They held their guns at the ready, a show of power if she had ever seen one.
“Thank goodness for friends in high places,” Zoey said, pointing at the sky with a satisfied smile.
“Who did you call?” Chad asked.
Zoey gave them a wide smile. “You’re not the only one with an amazing fiancée. Sabrina has made a hell of a lot of friends in high places within the Pentagon. And as it turns out, the US government hated Bayural almost as much as we did. They were more than happy to use the coordinates we provided so they could take out such a high-value target.”
Chad wrapped his arms around Shaye’s body, pulling her into his embrace like he was her shield.
Shaye choked back the lump that had formed in her throat the moment she had seen her father. Where the helicopter had been, there was nothing more than a shallow pit. Scraps of burned metal and shrapnel littered the ground.
The cars that had been parked in the driveway were warped and blackened. The hood of her rental sat on the ground almost a hundred feet behind the car’s body.
“I hope you got the insurance,” Chad said, motioning toward her car.
She was glad he had said nothing of her father. She never wanted to talk or think about that despicable man again.
She couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped her. “I’ll write them a check.”
The family around her broke into stressed laughter as they watched for any signs of movement outside, but the world around them remained as still as a grave.
Epilogue
The next day, snow had fallen on the ground, covering the mess that her father and Bayural had left in their stead. Though Shaye knew she should harbor some sort of grief for her late father, she felt only relief.
In fact, she had never been happier, especially when they left the cabin where her father had tracked them down.
Shaye sat on the couch, the sound of Christmas songs filling the air. Currently it was one of her lesser favorites—“Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town.” It was nice, but she had always loved “Silent Night,” even more so in the last few hours when all was calm and all was bright.
There was a knock on the front door. Chad walked over and opened it. Standing on the other side were Wyatt and Gwen, who was carrying the baby.
Thank goodness Chad had the foresight to make sure the little one remained safe. She couldn’t even bear to imagine what would have happened if they had kept the baby and put him in harm’s way.
She already felt guilty enough as it was.
“Merry Christmas,” Wyatt said, reaching beside the door and picking up a wreath he had propped against the door frame. He handed it over to Chad as they made their way inside. “We know you probably haven’t even thought about the holidays with everything going on, but we wanted to invite you all over to celebrate with us at Dunrovin in the next few weeks.”
“And we’d like all of you,” Gwen added, looking over at Shaye, “and your significant others.” She sent her a smile. “I hear that congratulations are in order.”
Shaye blushed. “Yes, I’m going to use my mother’s ring. The one her mother gave her.”
“That’s perfect,” Gwen said, her smile growing impossibly larger.
“I’m having it resized but I’ll have to show it to you when I get it back—it should be here before Christmas. It’s beautiful. It’s a Harry Winston with a platinum band and a diamond at its center.”
“I’m sure it’s breathtaking,” Gwen said, readjusting the baby high on her hip. “And I take it that you will be coming for Christmas then?”
“We’d love to,” Chad said, looking around at his brothers and Zoey as they nodded in agreement.
“Anything we can bring?” Trevor asked.
“Just yourselves, and that ring,” Gwen said, giving her a private wink. “Mrs. Fitzgerald always goes over the top. Be prepared for lots of bows and wrapping paper. Oh, and that tree, at night when the light hits the gold...” Gwen sighed as the baby squirmed in her arms.
Shaye walked over and
lifted back the hood on the baby’s coat—a coat he hadn’t had when they had given the boy to Wyatt. He smiled, but tucked his body in the safety of Gwen’s body. “What a happy boy. Thank you so much for taking him,” Shaye said, making funny faces at the baby, who giggled as she made googly eyes.
“It was our pleasure,” Gwen said, walking into the living room and setting down a brand-new diaper bag on the floor.
“Oh, hey...we have a diaper bag the woman dropped off.” Shaye snapped her fingers as she remembered the boy’s diaper bag.
As she went to grab it, Wyatt turned to Chad. “About the men you’d been keeping as hostages—we have locked them up and charged them with obstruction of justice, attempted homicide and a litany of other things. They shouldn’t be seeing anything but cell bars for the rest of their lives.”
Shaye let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Glancing back at the family, she took in the sight of them all together—one unit, one powerful force.
“And as for the event that occurred at the cabin last night,” Wyatt continued, “news sources are calling it a gas explosion. It was lucky you all weren’t there,” he said, giving them all a look that spoke of his lie—a lie he provided in order to protect his family. “However, there were some out-of-towners who were killed...looks like it was a hideout of some sort for a terrorist group out of Turkey. Who knew, am I right?” Wyatt looked over at her and gave her an apologetic nod. “And there were also reports that there was a foreign dignitary, a guy from Algeria, on site. They are saying that he was involved in some manner of corruption.”
“I have to say, it’s always a positive when corrupt officials are taken care of,” Zoey said, giving him a salty smile. “Thank you, Wyatt. I know this wasn’t an easy mess to clean up—or an easy choice to make to help us.”
“After you filled me in on the truth, making the choice to help my extended family wasn’t hard at all—it was the right thing to do. However, what was messy was trying to explain away a military jet flyover.” He smirked. “We even got reports that there were UFOs or bombs. There was all kind of crazy talk.” He waved it off.
Protective Operation Page 17
