The alert was sounded just before the invaders reached the border of the estate. Sergei and the men not already on patrol quickly hustled the women into the panic room situated just off the kitchen with orders not to open the door to anyone but the inner circle. Then the men rushed to the armory, grabbing weapons, Kevlar vests, comm equipment, and night-vision goggles.
Sergei sped through the garden, past the cabins, toward the sound of the occasional pop of a high-powered rifle. The ball cap he’d slipped on kept the rain from his eyes, but water sluiced down the back of his neck and into his clothing. Not that he gave it more than a moment’s thought. His attention was focused on the sounds around him. To any shadows that moved.
The receiver in his ear crackled with news of each sighting as the Omegas crept closer and closer to the house.
“Any special orders?” Sergei asked, his tone hushed. This was Boone’s sandbox. His rules.
“You see them, you kill them,” came Boone’s hard, steady voice over the radio.
They spread out to prearranged places where they hid behind trees or lay beneath bushes, their lines of fire intersecting.
“Bear and Eric have the house,” Boone said. “Linc’s at the gate. He’ll coordinate support from the sheriff when he arrives.”
All other entry points were covered. So they hoped.
No one would encroach past them. Every man was set to lay down his life, if need be, to make sure the women were never threatened.
Kara’s face as he’d hurried her inside the panic room haunted him. She’d clung to his shoulders. “Don’t leave me.”
“I have to go,” he’d whispered gruffly. “You’ll be safe.”
“Why can’t you stay with us?”
His glance went to Tilly, who was holding the small pistol Boone had shoved at her, and Eric’s dog, Max. Her face was waxy pale and her blue eyes were wide as saucers. “No one’s getting this far, baby. You don’t open for anyone but my team, you understand?” He’d gently pried Kara’s hands from his body and backed out of the door. With a final look and a thin smile, he’d closed them in.
At least the room wasn’t a dog crate, he thought, his body tense. He adjusted his goggles and scanned the area in front of him. Short bursts of automatic fire were coming closer. “Get ready,” he spoke into his mic.
Then shadows sped into the clearing. Men dressed in black cargo pants and wearing body armor and helmets burst through sugarcane rows. With military precision, they rushed forward. One man on point, those following wearing their own night-vision goggles, their weapons raised as they scanned their surroundings. They were well equipped, worked as a team. Likely Omegas, former military trained by Israeli Mossad.
His body hidden behind the thick trunk of an oak, Sergei sighted on one man just behind point. “Let them clear the tree line,” he whispered. “On my count… one, two, three.”
He squeezed the trigger and pushed away from the tree, knowing the explosion of light from the end of his barrel exposed his location. Gripping his rifle hard, he sprinted to the next tree, bark exploding behind him as weapons trained on his last position. No time to worry about how near they’d come; he had to keep moving.
Another tree, another shot, and he moved forward again, bullets whizzing past and kicking up dirt as they thudded into the ground beside him.
A glance to his side, and he found one of his team, signaling with a point of his hand and two digits. Sergei dipped his head and sighted, taking down one insurgent with a shot to his thigh. Better to maim than simply knock the breath out of him by targeting a Kevlar-clad chest.
The man screamed and went down, holding his leg.
Sergei rushed him, clipping his jaw with the butt of his rifle, then continuing forward as his team member took down the second man coming toward him.
Methodically, the Black Spear operatives moved through the darkness, working in tandem to take out each of the Omegas, one by one.
The recovery team that followed tied tourniquets, collected weapons, and left the Omegas still alive bound and ready for retrieval.
When all was quiet around them, Sergei looked up to see Boone kneeling beside an Omega, his hand cupped around the mic beside his mouth. “Are the grounds secure?”
Sergei heard him in his ear, ran toward him, and took a knee beside him, dragging in deep breaths to calm his racing heart. The firefight couldn’t be this easy. Something didn’t feel right.
Boone glanced his way then cocked his ear toward a rumbling sound in the distance.
Sergei shoved upward and both men headed in a dead run toward the house. Helicopters were in the air. Not theirs, since they hadn’t called in any support. Not any law enforcement, because the locals were still scrambling to reach Bayou Vert.
Sergei clicked his radio. “Everyone not on recovery get to the house. This was a fucking diversion. Linc, what do you see?”
The radio squawked. “Three helos. Lines dropped. Maybe twelve men fast-roping.” A shot sounded. “Make that eleven. But they’re on the ground.”
“Stay at the gate. Get Leon to close off the roads.”
“Roger, out.”
Sergei’s boots pounded mud as he rushed back, passing the cabins, his head lifted with rain running off the brim of his cap as his gaze locked on the darkened house, searching it for shadows converging on the wide veranda. Sinking dread knotted his gut. “She’s safe. She’s gotta be safe. Baby, don’t open that door.”
* * *
Kara stood behind Tilly’s shoulder, gazing at the monitor with the view into the dark kitchen. “It’s taking too long,” she said, her voice tight and thin because her jaws were locked with tension.
“Boone and Sergei know what they’re doin’. The men are trained for this,” Tilly said, but her voice was a little high, and she was shaking too.
Even Max was scared, his whines and openmouthed pants only adding to the thick tension inside the room.
“He can’t breathe either,” Kara muttered.
The panic room was eerily silent, so well insulated they couldn’t hear what was happening outside it. She glanced around the small but well-outfitted room. There were cots, already prepared and stacked one atop the other at the end. Metal shelving held water bottles and prepackaged food. Even a small portable toilet sat in the corner. She wrinkled her nose. They’d better get out of there quick. “I hate this. Not knowing,” she said, her teeth chattering.
A shiver racked her head to toe, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She was wearing a thin robe, the only thing Sergei had given her the time to grab after he’d burst through her bedroom door, saying, “Baby, don’t be afraid, but you have to come with me now.”
She’d reached for the lamp.
“No lights. Come now. We’re getting you and Tilly to safety.”
In an instant, she knew the house was coming under attack. She’d whipped on her robe, and then he’d grabbed her hand, and they’d flown down the hallway, the door to Boone’s bedroom opening. Boone stepped out a flashlight in hand, a flustered Tilly right behind him. In the near darkness, they’d found the stairs, although how she hadn’t tripped to the bottom, she didn’t know—she’d never moved that fast.
Fear had closed her throat, and her heart hammered against her chest. “Lucio’s here?” she’d asked, hating how high and thin her voice had sounded, but she couldn’t mask her terror.
“They’re on the river. We have men intercepting them. You’ll be safe,” Sergei threw over his shoulder.
She hadn’t been reassured. He was moving too fast, his body too tight. The hand holding hers gripped her so hard it hurt, but she didn’t dare complain. “But what about you?”
He hadn’t answered. Hadn’t said another word until they were in the kitchen.
Boone gave Tilly a hard kiss, then turned her, and smacked her butt. “In you go.”
“Dammit, Boone. What the fuck’s happening?”
“No time. Get in there.”
Tilly had walked backward
, her gaze locked on Boone. “Don’t you get yourself killed.” Her words were harsh, but tears rolled down her cheeks.
Sergei glanced back at Kara.
The grave look on his face scared the crap out of her. She launched herself at his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t leave me.”
In the end, he’d slipped under her tight grip and shoved her back with orders not to open the door to anyone but his team.
That can’t be the last I’ll ever see of him, she thought. Please, God.
Beside her, Tilly gasped as she stared fixedly at the screen.
Kara glanced at it again. Lights were on in the kitchen. “Are they back?” she asked, pushing closer to see.
Tilly sobbed, reaching out a shaking finger to point. The figure that stepped in front of the camera wasn’t Boone or Sergei.
Kara’s stomach dove to her toes. “Lucio,” she whispered as he leaned toward the camera, his beautiful mouth twisted in a sinister sneer.
“We’re still okay,” Tilly said, reaching for her arm, “so long as we keep the door closed. They can burn down the house around us, and we’ll be fine.”
Kara hadn’t realized until the other woman caught her that she was swaying on her feet. “But how did they reach the house? Where’s Sergei?” Her breaths became thin and shallow. Her skin was instantly clammy.
Tilly’s grip on her arm turned viselike, and she shook Kara. “They’re fine. They’re coming. We just have to wait this out.”
But waiting became impossible as Lucio drew back and another face entered the screen—Eric’s, beaten and bloody, one eye closed due to swelling. And he was held upright by two men dressed entirely in black, their faces smudged with camo paint.
Kara went still, her heartbeat racing. The hum from the fluorescent lights above grew louder in the silence. Sweet, funny Eric, who’d pleasured her just hours ago with his clever fingers.
Tilly moaned and leaned into her. Then cried out when the barrel of a pistol was pressed to Eric’s temple.
Eric’s lips curled up and he jerked his head, but then he was pulled back several steps.
Lucio’s face appeared again and he lifted a hand, his fingers spread, and then digits dipped down.
A countdown. If he didn’t get what he wanted, he’d kill Eric. And he wanted her. He might kill Eric anyway, but she didn’t have a choice. This was all her fault. They were all in danger because of her.
Her throat threatened to close, but she swallowed hard and turned to Tilly. “Get under the cots. Hide.” She bent, swept up Max from the floor, and pushed him into Tilly’s arms. “Now!”
Tilly shook her head. “We have to wait. No matter what.” But her voice broke and she blinked away tears.
Kara’s resolve melted—for all of one second. Keeping to Sergei and Boone’s plan would be so easy. She’d be safe. But she glanced at the screen again. Lucio would kill Eric. She had no doubts about that. “I’m opening the door, Tilly. It’s the only thing I can do to stop this. You have to stay safe to let the guys know what happened.”
Tilly reached out the arm holding Max and gripped her wrist. “They’d want you to wait. To a man, the team wouldn’t expect you to give yourself to him.”
“I know. But I couldn’t live with myself. I can’t stand by and watch Eric be murdered.”
Tilly’s wide gaze locked with hers, and then she slowly glanced down at Max and gave a nod. She shoved the pistol into Kara’s hands and hurried to the cot. She bent and slid under it, pulling down sheets to cloak her presence. “God, Kara, be safe,” came Tilly’s soft voice.
Kara stared at the gun. Where the hell could she conceal it on her body? She pushed it into the pocket of her robe and kept her hand around it, and then pressed it against her thigh. Maybe he’d be so busy crowing over her surrender he wouldn’t see the weapon.
She rapped on the metal door, not at all sure anyone outside could hear, but then pushed down on the metal latch. The door swung open. A scurrying sounded behind her, muffled growls, then Max shot out from under the cot and straight through the crack in the door.
After taking a calming breath, she opened the door wider. “Don’t hurt him,” she said, although unsure whether she spoke of the little pug or Eric, and stepped out, closing the door quickly behind her.
And then she stood in just her thin robe, a gun hidden in her pocket, and met the dark, gleaming gaze of the man she’d once imagined as a lover. Before she’d met a better man. Maybe one not created so perfectly handsome, but Lucio’s smooth looks no longer appealed. He was evil to his core. And now she noted the pinched lines around his mouth, the dark depth of his beady eyes. How had she ever thought him attractive?
He signaled to the men holding Eric.
“I came out,” she blurted. “You don’t have to hurt him.”
“No worries, little bitch. I won’t waste the bullet.”
The two men released him. Eric crumpled to the floor and lay there, so still she couldn’t detect a breath. She hoped like hell he was still alive.
Lucio grasped her upper arm in a painful grip and pushed her toward the French doors and the darkness outside. They slipped into the night, and a deluge drenched her in seconds, sticking her robe against her skin and causing her to blink to clear the rain from her eyes, or were they tears?
She stumbled, and he cursed, pulling her up and shoving her forward again. Men formed a circle around them, their weapons pointed outward as they moved through the darkness, past the drive to the garden fence and the open pasture where one helicopter sat, its blades whipping the rain and sending spray sideways.
If she was forced onto the helicopter, she was lost. He might dump her over the Gulf. For certain, he’d bury her so deeply in Mexico, she’d never be found.
Kara’s heart slowed to a dull thud. Her steps grew surer. Her hand wrapped around the pistol grip and her finger slid over the trigger. She’d have maybe one shot. She’d have to kill him. Then his men would take her down.
Didn’t matter. She was as good as dead, anyway.
And just as she’d told Sergei, in her last moments, she had no regrets. She’d loved. Deeply. It was enough.
* * *
Sergei, Boone, and every man not covering the Omegas they’d taken down in the fields converged on the house. They rushed up the back porch steps and fanned out. Boone crouched beside the door handle, waiting until everyone was clear of the door, and then he reached out, jerked down the door handle, and ducked aside.
No shots blew through the entrance. But barking sounded, coming closer, the skittering of tiny toenails on the wood floor. Max.
Sergei and Boone shared a charged glance. If Max wasn’t in the panic room, the women weren’t either. A knot lodged inside his chest.
Boone flicked his hand toward the door, the go signal, and Sergei moved forward, hunched, his rifle butt firm against his shoulder, staring down the barrel, and sped inside the door, past the servants’ staircase, down the hall leading into the foyer, boot steps following him.
At the foyer, he hung a quick right into the lit kitchen. The panic door was closed. He lowered his weapon and placed his face in front of the tiny peephole camera. The door latch snicked and the door opened. Tilly spilled outward, and he caught her as she sagged against him.
“Lucio has Kara,” she gasped, her body shivering. “She opened the door—because of Eric.” She pushed away and rushed to a far corner toward a sprawled body.
Sergei didn’t have time to check on his friend, although he said a quick prayer he was alive. He headed toward the French doors.
Suddenly, the radio squawked in his ear. “We have a group moving toward the field,” came Linc’s hushed voice. “Fuck, they’ve got a woman. From her height, it’s Kara.”
Sergei didn’t wait for the next orders, listened to Boone in his ear with only half of his attention. He ran through the kitchen to the doors and slammed down the steps.
Men were coming from around the house, on his heels, as he pounded to
ward the gate. Kara and the cartel’s soldiers were already through it. A helo was down in the grass, two more hovered, and then slowly tilted away. “No one fires,” he said, “No one fires.” He’d seen this scenario before. Shots fired, a helo exploding, gas and blades hurtling outward. Kara wasn’t going that way.
He jumped the fence and kept to the tree line, lifting his weapon every few steps and sighting down the barrel, looking for a shot clear of the helicopter. One that couldn’t possibly touch her. But there wasn’t one. He stepped from the trees, and the men behind Kara opened fire. He hit the dirt. They didn’t bother rushing him, didn’t try to take cover, because they knew they had a human shield—the slender woman at the center of their formation, moving ever closer to the open helo doors.
If she got on the helicopter, she’d be dead. He knew it. Dead or lost. Forever. He couldn’t let it happen, had to do something.
Weapons trained to the left and right of him, shots rang out. His guys distracting the Omegas surrounding Kara. He went to a crouch and slipped forward, hoping that getting a little closer would give him an advantage.
A light flashed from the belly of the helo. The first of the insurgents stepped on the skids and jumped inside. The light shone on Kara. She was glancing back, toward the house, and then the tall man beside her grabbed her arm and shook her. He was bending over her, shouting at her, the words lost in the wind, but she calmly shook her head. And then she made a movement. The hand tucked inside her pocket rose. The outline of what she held clear, even from a distance.
“Fuck, don’t do it,” he whispered, then pushed up, running. A flash lit the darkness, and then an echo of a shot. The men around her turned. She went to the ground, covering her head, curling into a ball.
Sergei raised his weapon, still moving forward and fired, hitting one, then another, someone else taking out the remaining men standing around her.
The helicopter lifted, slanting right, but it wasn’t getting any elevation.
He tossed down his weapon and ran with everything he had. She wouldn’t make it, might already be gone. But if there was a chance he could save her, he had to try. Blood pounding in his ears, he ducked his head, teeth bared, a loud growl rumbling up from his chest, adrenaline giving him a final burst of speed.
His Every Fantasy Page 21
