“Today is an historic day for the victory of Jihad,” Alwani says in his broken English. “Today we bring infidel murderers to their knees and learn if, indeed, the best of the American best can save their families.”
The camera pulls back from the fucker’s face and I see the people behind them. They’re all dressed in black, with hoods pulled over their faces. The camera pans back to Alwani. “Delta Force as it is called is a group of cowards who sneak into our homes and kill our families in the middle of the night. They are a secret force, but no longer.”
He holds up a notebook, but continues to stare at the camera. “Will the following men dare reveal themselves and show their faces for the sake of their women and children? Or will they remain puppets of the American government?”
He looks at the notebook. “Thomas Adams.” A black figure is pushed toward the camera and the hood is ripped off, revealing a crying woman underneath. She’s holding a little girl about four years old.
Fuck no. This isn’t happening.
“Roger Ailshie.” Three figures are pushed forward this time. A woman and two teenage boys are revealed.
The process continues and I wrestle Darren to the floor. “They’ve only got sixty-eight of us,” I remind him, although I know, deep in my heart, Julie and the kids are among them.
“Christopher Bell. Lawrence Brown…” the list goes on.
“Let me go. I’ve got to get them.” It takes all my strength to hold him down.
“We will. We’ll fucking get them. Stop fighting me and watch. We need to confirm.”
That stops him and I let him go, but we both stay where we are on the floor.
“Jaxon Darby.” Fuck. He’s on my team. Five people are pushed forward. His parents, brother, sister and girlfriend.
I hold my breath.
“Lincoln Duffy.” Air rips from me in a long exhale. Seven people are pushed forward. Mom. Dad. My brother, Charles and my sisters, Victoria, Gwendolyn and Camille. One more is revealed and I close my eyes. It’s Mattie. Why her? How the hell did they know? This doesn’t make any sense.
I’m numb and totally focused as the bastard reads the names. One after the next. Then we’re at the ‘K’s’.
“Darren Kerry.” Four black figures are pushed forward.
“No no no no no.” The words are like a prayer on Darren’s lips as the first hood is ripped off. It’s Julie, a big bruise on her face. Then six-year-old Matthew. Four-year-old Sarah. And the baby, two-year-old Little Link.
One thousand, five hundred and seventy-six steps up and we’re on the 86th floor of the Empire State Building, just inside the observation deck door.
We got in too easy. Way too easy. It was almost like a red carpet had been laid at our feet. We knew this was a set-up, but what choice did we have? They promised to push a hostage off every hour until all eighty-six Delta men on their list arrived. They’d pushed off four already. With the black cloaks and veils, we didn’t know who.
“Alpha team to bird six. Visual.”
A voice crackles in my ear. “Same.”
Last visual showed that the insurgents had cut down the observation deck’s security fence and had lined the hostages around the perimeter, hiding behind them.
In front of me, the door opens. “Welcome.” The man hiding behind a black cloak is too familiar. “Please lay down your weapons and join our little party.”
Guns down, hands up, we file through the door to the sound of crying, sobbing women and children. We’re asked our name and wait while their face recognition software confirms our identity.
We’re at their mercy. Something we’re not used to. We’re the hammer. Never the fucking nail.
But we have a job to do. Today it’s called trust. We have to trust that the Seals and Rangers—and other special op comrades—are doing their jobs.
There’s a scream and I turn as another hostage is pushed off. Then another. Then another. Then one more.
“Stop!” I demand to the leader, stepping forward and finding an AK47 jammed in my chest. “We’re here.”
Alwani only smiles and the screams continue as, one by one, the hostages fall.
“Stop!”
I rip the gun away and elbow its holder in the face, taking the man down. Alwani’s smile grows bigger the harder I fight. He turns and walks toward a group of people.
I’m dragged behind him to the edge. To my family.
Alwani turns, but now he’s Anna.
“You killed me and now you have to pay,” she says and pushes my mother from the roof. Then my father. Then my brother.
I fight. I punch. I kick my way through the hundreds of hands that are holding me. Anna smiles. “You didn’t think you’d get off that easy, did you?” She pushes and my oldest sister falls to her death.
I’m cursing and kicking, then I’m breaking away. I’m running at her in slow motion. Too slow. I’m too slow. Gwen and Cami go over the edge. Then her hands are on Mattie and she laughs as she pushes her backwards.
Then I’m on her, my hands are wrapped around Anna’s throat and we’re tumbling, falling through the air, the streets of New York rushing toward us.
“Let me go,” she says and I grip my hands around her neck tighter. “Let me go.”
Fists pummel into my back. “Let her go!”
I wake on top of Erin, my hands wrapped around her throat. Mia is crying, hitting me, trying to pull me off. I let go and backpedal from the bed. Then I’m on my feet and running back to her. She’s coughing. Oh thank Christ, she’s coughing.
I pull her to me. “I’m so sorry. Nightmare. Are you alright? Please tell me you’re alright.”
She’s coughing, tears running down her face. I look at Mia. “Water. Bring me water.”
Several minutes pass before the terror of the moment begins to fade. I look at her neck. I look at the bruise that starts to show on the left side.
“I’m so sorry.” I kiss her hair. I rock her in my lap. Slowly, so slowly, she stops crying.
Mia looks at me. “Are you a soldier?”
I meet her eyes and lie. “I used to be.”
Her face softens. “My brother used to wake up like that.”
This is why I don’t sleep with women. This could have been very different. I could have killed her. Killed them both.
I rock and soothe until it’s Erin who’s soothing me. Mia is soothing us both.
I can’t believe I fell asleep. I can’t believe I let this happen. I can’t believe the same nightmare continues to haunt me.
Erin touches my face. “I promise I’m okay.”
I’m a man who knows what to do, and I don’t know what to do right now. So I make love to her. Gently. With the greatest of care, I make love to them both.
Then I order them room service and leave, hating myself.
Chapter 7 – Grace
My life becomes a series of snapshots as I fade into and out of consciousness.
Rob yelling, “Call 911!”
Sirens of an approaching ambulance.
Natalie screaming, “What did you do to her?”
The twins crying out, “Auntie Grace!”
And through it all, an excruciating knife is ripping through my stomach. The pain is so intense I can barely breathe. I’m losing the baby. I know it. It’s happening even as I pray I won’t.
I’m awake as they load me into the ambulance. I’m aware of Rob climbing in beside me. “Out—make him get out,” I try to tell the paramedics. The words echo in my mind, but won’t come out of my mouth.
“Wings ETA eight minutes,” I hear one man say to another. I’m being airlifted to the med center, I realize. Maybe the baby is still alive and they’re getting him to the neonatal intensive care unit?
Blackness, then I’m being pushed to the helicopter. I see the rotors turning round and round above me.
“We’re losing her.”
Losing who?
Losing me?
I want to tell them it’s okay. The blackness is much better than
the light. I try to reassure them, but my mouth doesn’t seem to work. Warmth suffuses me and the dark becomes my welcomed friend again.
The noise is horrible as I’m pushed from the helicopter and into the huge building that soon consumes me. Lights blur overhead as I’m rushed down the hall.
“Oh my god, it’s Grace.” I recognize the voice, but can’t remember who it belongs to. There are other voices. Loud voices yelling instructions. Soft voices. Prayers.
Blessed darkness is invaded by a huge spotlight above my head. Faces look down at me, concerned eyes peeking between blue masks and caps. I choke on the tube going down my throat; I try to push it away with my tongue. It snakes down and down, blocking my airway. I panic when I can no longer breathe.
“It’s in. Let’s go!”
Air. My lungs are filled with blessed oxygen as it’s pushed into my body to the loud sucking and hissing sound of a machine. In and out. The lights are too bright. Then there’s nothing again.
I blink.
Light.
The beep-beep-beep of machines.
“Grace, honey. Can you hear me?” It’s Marnie. She’s standing beside three nurses. Two have tears streaming from their eyes.
“Baby?”
My throat feels shredded as I attempt to say the word. I try to sit up, but gentle hands keep me down.
“Grace.” A warm hand covers mine and I force my head to turn in the other direction. It won’t. I’m in a neck brace, I realize. “Grace.” Dr. Larkins leans over me, her dark eyes filled with concern.
“Baby?”
Maybe she will tell me. She’s my OB/GYN, after all. The hand squeezes my hand tighter, and I close my eyes. “I’m sorry, Grace. We couldn’t save him.”
I expected the words. It’s like I knew they were coming. I knew he was gone. I could feel his … goneness. But the reality of them cut like a blade across my soul. The rawness of the pain takes my breath.
There’s agony, and then there’s agony, and then there’s something that surpasses even that. Pain is an instant. This is more. This is … torment.
He’s gone.
The little kicks.
The first cries.
The first day of kindergarten.
The missing front teeth.
Tee-ball.
Junior High.
Learning to drive.
First date.
Prom.
High school graduation.
Watching him marry the woman of his dreams.
Having a baby himself.
All gone.
In an instant. In a horrible, terrible instant, the baby—and the hopes and dreams I had for him—are all gone.
“See him.”
Even I can’t understand the words as I say them. I wet my lips, moistening them enough to try again. I can’t. It takes me a few minutes for the tears to stop long enough for me to speak.
“I want to see him.”
Dr. Larkins’ hand tightens on mine. “Of course. We’ll bring him to you in a few minutes. Do you want your husband to—?”
“No!” The word sears from me and I try to sit up, hate filling me when I think of him. Pain makes a child of me and I fall back, even as hands press me down. My stomach. It’s on fire. And it’s empty.
“What about your family?” Dr. Larkins asks gently. “Your parents, brother and sister are here. A friend of yours is here too. Then there’s all of your hospital friends…?”
I shake my head. As much as I love them all, I need—want—to spend some time with my son all alone.
The blood pressure cuff around my arm tightens and all eyes move to the monitor above my head. That’s when I notice the bag of blood hanging next to the IV fluid. I look back at Dr. Larkins. “What all happened?”
The doctor looks up at the ceiling, as if seeking guidance for the words she needs to speak. She blows out a breath. “What do you remember?”
Rob in bed with Marilyn King.
The fight.
The fall.
“Not much,” I finally say. “Falling down the steps, then bits and pieces of being brought here.”
“Grace,” Dr. Larkins begins, her eyes growing moist. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
I wait, dread crawling up my skin like an insect I can feel but not see. I watch her swallow and lean closer to me. “The fall ruptured your uterus, Grace. The placenta ripped away and we nearly lost you from blood loss.” I look over at Marnie. At Cindy and Renee. Renee has a hand covering her face. “Grace, we had to perform an emergency hysterectomy to stop the bleeding.”
I’d only thought my world had collapsed. Now my universe is sucked into the deepest of black holes. Even gravity is suspended as the tears that have built up behind my eyes again refuse to fall.
My baby and any future baby is gone. Ryland/Ryker will never have a little brother or sister. The family I’d dreamed of since I was a little girl is snatched away in an instant.
Because of Rob.
“See him. The baby.”
Dr. Larkins looks over at Marnie and nods. “Grace, we have a professional photographer on stand-by. She takes memory photos of babies who aren’t able to live. Do you want—?”
“Yes,” I say quickly, knowing how important those will be to me some day. “But … give me some time alone first.”
She squeezes my hand again. “Of course.”
Then Marnie is back, the tiniest of bundles in her arms, her blue eyes shining with tears. Behind her, Renee is carrying little outfits, so small they look as if they’d fit on a little girl’s Barbie doll. Small enough to fit a one pound, one ounce baby.
“He’s had a bath,” Marnie begins, “But we thought you’d like to dress him. We brought several choices.”
I can’t speak. Not even to thank her. I open my hands and a tiny blanket fits into my palms. Then I pull him to my face, kiss his cheeks and smell the baby shampoo they washed him with.
“Hi, Ryland.” He looks like a Ryland. A Rye.
Then I unwrap him and count. Ten fingers. Ten toes.
He’s beautiful and perfect.
But so very very still.
I stare at his chest, willing it to move. Willing the heart to beat. Willing a miracle.
It doesn’t come.
After a while, I dress him in the sweetest, tiniest blue outfit I could ever imagine and give my family time to hold him too. I start to cry again as my mom and dad hold their lost grandchild; my sister and brother hold their lost nephew; as Natalie holds her lost god child.
Then Rob is there. A broken man who I have no heart left to provide any sympathy. My sister runs her fingers through my hair as I watch him hold his son. The child he killed, even if by accident.
“I’m so sorry,” he says to the baby and then to me. “So sorry.”
I say nothing.
What could I? There’s nothing to say.
When Ryland is in my arms again, I ask to be left alone.
“Have fun in heaven,” I tell him, my lips against his little forehead. “Slide down every rainbow and bounce on every cloud.”
Then it’s time to say goodbye.
I don’t know how.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
I breathe him in again. Memorize the angles of his face, the softness of his skin.
I kiss him one last time before simply saying, “I love you, baby boy.”
And he’s gone.
Chapter 8 – Duffy
I expected to see Camille at LAX, but not my entire family.
Surprise is a good word. Fucking shocked is better.
It’s a Thursday afternoon, for shit’s sake. My dad and my brother never take time off. And my two older sisters should have been at some volunteer charity tea thing. But they’re here.
Why?
What the hell do they want?
I don’t have time to consider the question because I’m catching a running Camille who launches herself at me from about three feet away
. She’s in my arms and I’m swinging her around. She plants a kiss on one cheek and then the other, then tightens her arms around my neck.
“My goodness, Camille,” my mother begins. “Such behavior, and in public no less.”
Cam hugs me tighter and gives me another kiss before sliding to the floor. She doesn’t let go of my hand when I turn to say hello to Olivia Katherine Lincoln Duffy.
“Hello, Mother. You look well.” I lean down and brush my lips against the cool, powdered cheek she offers. She’s dressed in her typical fashion—head to toe Chanel. She even smells exactly the same as I remember. Chanel No. 5. A dot behind each ear and on both wrists. Never more. Never less.
Her eyes flick up to my hair, down my face and to my shoes and back and I know she’s desperately looking for something kind to say. “Your hair has grown out. It suits you. That Army cut was dreadful.” She reaches up and flicks the front away from my eyes. “We’ll have Anthony sculpt it for you.” She touches my cheek. “And you need a good shave so you’ll be presentable for dinner.”
“Livvie, my dear.” My dad, Charles Senior, steps forward. “Let’s let the boy get off the plane and home before you besiege him with your motherly concern.” He sticks out a hand and I return the shake, then he surprises the hell out of me again by tugging me to him for an extremely quick hug.
I look over at Cami and she gives me an ’I’m as confused as you are’ look, then quickly straightens her face to its ‘proper’ position. I nearly laugh, but manage to hold it in. God, I love my sister.
The rest of the greetings are just as awkward. I duty-kiss my other two sisters, Victoria and Gwendolyn, and ask after their families, and inquire as to when I’ll be able to see their kids.
Damn, I’m already thinking like them again. The upper-crust language patterns, the lifted chin, the two-by-four spine. The quiet gentility that is supposed to always show on the outside … always. You’d think we were from Kensington Palace or something.
“I shall have the children with me tonight,” Gwendolyn is saying. I lift a brow and she gives me an annoyed look, which for her is a mere lowering of the eyelids. “You do remember dinner tonight, I’m sure.” My brow remains lifted. “At Cliffview,” she prompts.
I tighten my hand on Camille’s, and she gives me a little squeeze in return. Cliffview is my parent’s mansion, only one part of their huge estate. In addition to the main house, there are three guest homes on the property as well as swimming pools, a tennis court and a small complex for the servants.
Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance Page 11
