The Honorable Warrior

by Kimberly Krey

  Come on, Blayze—think. Who could get a young, single college student—whole world ahead of him—to risk it all?

  And that’s when it hit him—Love.

  Nothing made a man do crazy things like love did. Blayze was learning that firsthand.

  He thought further on it. If there was a woman behind all of this, she either had to be in it for the money, or in it for revenge. Someone with an equal thirst for reprisal.

  A flashback of his notes shot to the forefront—a woman who wrote the DA after her husband was convicted.

  He tapped another text to Zane.

  Check for a connection between Victor and the plastic surgeon’s wife.

  His phone buzzed back with a reply.

  Zane: We’re already on it. Think we might have found a connection. Give me a minute to confirm…

  What did Blayze know about that woman? She divorced her husband shortly after he was convicted. She was vain. Had several surgeries during the man’s years in practice. She was older than Frank, for sure, but did the age difference make it more or less likely?

  More whispers came from the line, the words sounding frantic now. Perhaps they didn’t have time to find out who it was. The time to act might be now.

  Blayze wiped a layer of sweat from his brow. Never had he wanted to burst right through a building like he did in that moment. He’d played a video game once as a kid where he could blast through bricks, leaving a hole the size of his body in his wake.

  One look at the metal siding, along with a glance to the maintenance shed beside him, brought that idea to life; getting in there wouldn’t be so hard after all. Especially if he could get Roman and his guy involved to create a distraction before going for it.

  A buzz came at his phone. Zane again, but this time it was a call, not a text. Blayze tapped the receive button and cleared his throat.

  Zane picked up on his cue. “Your hunch was right, Blayze. Looks like the plastic surgeon’s ex-wife has her hooks in our man, Victor.”

  A biting blast of cold sludged up the back of Blayze’s neck as he continued.

  “You should see some of the comments she’s left him on social media. She’s quite the cougar. Her real name is Jacquie Hernandez, but she goes by She-Hulk. That doesn’t sound angry, does it?”

  He lifted Frank’s phone against his ear once more. “Frank?”

  Nothing.

  Blayze dialed him back, his mind whirling with the possibilities. This changed everything. Jacquie may have been the one from the start. Sending the packages. Or at least egging Frank on as he did. A standard machine picked up the line; Frank was done talking, was he?

  Blayze cursed. A situation he’d felt was winding down moments ago had just taken a sharp turn into volatile city.

  He had two options: Text Frank and She-Hulk, playing the we-already-know-who-you-are hand, or chuck the negotiating and go in for Sophia.

  Both options had their risks. If Jacquie knew her presence was known, she might be willing to negotiate. At least then Blayze would be speaking with the one running the show. But it could also set She-Hulk into a panic, causing a deadly backlash. Something Blayze wasn’t willing to risk.

  The shed’s exits had explosives attached to them, so they’d need to choose an alternate route, and go in fast and hard. He considered the plan he’d only half entertained before, realizing he’d have to put it into action after all.

  “Cross your fingers and say some prayers, Zane,” he mumbled. “I’m going in.”

  “You’ve got this Blayze,” Zane encouraged. “Heart of a warrior.”

  Blayze pulled in a breath of encouragement. “Heart of a warrior.”

  Sophia could sense things closing in on them. It’d been several minutes since she’d heard anything from Blayze, and Frank had disappeared in the back corner with whoever was there. The presence of that extra person became obvious as whispers picked up. A female voice; the two were bickering in the maze of storage shelves.

  Sophia had made good use of her time alone, unlatching the tiny clasps of each high heel as Frank stepped away. Now she needed to go a step further, preferably without the use of her hands, in case they peeked over at her. She’d been eyeing a hiding spot since the idea came to mind. By the looks of the pitched ceiling overhead, the shed was the size of a tennis court. She was centered in front of the garage, which seemed to be the only spot not occupied by rows of warehouse shelving and massive props.

  While Frank was hidden somewhere among the shelving to her left, the other section of shelves along the right side of the shed were free game. If she climbed into a vacant spot, it was possible she could surprise Frank or the lady with him when they came looking for her.

  She leaned slightly over her lap, glanced past her rounded knees, and carefully wiggled her left foot out of the loosened heel. Once it was free, she rested her foot right on top of the heel and released a slow, pent-up breath.

  “…making it seem like you didn’t want to do it,” the female whined.

  “I don’t want to do this,” Frank spat. “It was your idea to kidnap her.”

  Sophia froze.

  “Well, it’s done now,” the woman hissed, “and we can’t just let her walk away from this. She already knows someone’s in here with you. If we let her live they’ll find us.”

  “Oh, so you don’t care that they already know who I am? You were fine to let me be the face of the whole thing but heaven forbid they even know you exist?”

  Frank’s complaint registered somewhere in Sophia’s mind, but it was a distant second compared to what the female said. Let her live … if we let her live…

  Heart hammering, Sophia reached down, tore off her other shoe, and made a run for it. Barefoot, the concrete floor cool against her feet, she padded straight to the aisle. The tan, beveled siding caught light and shadow as she ran past three rows and darted into the fourth. Desperately, she scanned the shelves. Labeled storage bins, wigs on Styrofoam heads, and colorful hat boxes. She’d be lucky to squeeze a needle between the tightly packed items.

  A cold sweat broke over her skin. She sensed they were coming. The metal siding echoing a familiar hush, like the sound it made as she rushed by only seconds ago.

  She spun, scanned the towering shelves behind her. Household furniture like the items Frank staged in front of the garage. That must be why she spotted an empty space.

  The metal bar was cool against her palm as Sophia wrapped a hand around it. She stepped up, ready to hoist herself to the next level when a hollow click sounded.

  “Freeze.” Only it wasn’t Frank. The whispering woman had found her voice at last.

  Sophia loosened her grip on the shelving bar, her fingers uncurling against her will.

  “Come on back to your chair, princess,” the woman snapped. “Carefully now. I don’t want to have to use this gun, but unlike Victor, I will if I have to.

  Sophia stepped back from the shelf, set one foot behind her and spun slowly to see the odd couple at the end of the aisle. Her vision of a blonde woman, a good foot shorter than a fidgeting Frank, was lost when her eyes zoomed in on the gun in the female’s grip. Arms straightened, short fingers with pink, glitter-polished nails aimed the pistol in Sophia’s direction.

  Sophia gulped, forced her suddenly numb feet to keep moving toward the pair. It felt like she was on the set of a movie. All the theatrics were there. Dim lighting, a volatile couple armed with a cocked gun and a list of demands. And a very terrified woman who would fight to survive.

  “Faster,” the lady with him snapped.

  Against her best efforts to keep her eyes off the female, Sophia snuck another look at her as she neared. Tan skin, platinum hair, and the starts of crows’ feet cornering her eyes; she was significantly older than Frank.

  “Don’t look at me,” she ordered.

  Sophia glanced at Frank next, but he wouldn’t look at her.

  “I told you she’d get out of those zip ties,” the woman grumbled.

  Frank
didn’t offer a verbal reply, but as he lead Sophia back to the chair, he nodded in return.

  Sophia glanced down at the shoes she’d slipped off, wondering if she could use her heel as a weapon. A stiletto would have carried more of a threat, but the heels she’d worn could be dangerous enough. She kept that in mind as she lowered herself onto the seat, eyeing the barrel as it followed her every move.

  “Maybe we should call them again,” Frank mumbled. “See if they’re getting everything ready for us.”

  “No,” the woman said. “That would be weak. We’re not talking until I hear a helicopter out there.”

  “Why are you pushing Frank to do this?” The question had lingered in her mind for several minutes now. Why not ask it aloud?

  Frank shook his head “That’s not what’s happening.”

  “Do you hear that?” the woman asked, tilting her head dramatically to one side. “Watch her for a minute. I think maybe our helicopter is here.” The woman shifted her aim from Sophia to the back wall.

  For just a flash, Sophia considered her conversation with Blayze on the porch. If something happened to him, would she regret telling him to bite back his words?

  She considered jumping to her feet and making another run for it. But then another idea came to mind. Something more along Blayze’s approach to things. “Frank, you don’t want to mess up your future,” she said under her breath. “Your madre and your brother need you.”

  Frank’s upper lip scrunched up as he shook his head. “They’re why I’m doing this.”

  “Are they?” Sophia asked. “Or is she the reason you’re doing this?” Sophia nodded toward the back wall where the woman had her head tilted heavily to one side to hear.

  Another question jumped to her lips. One that might haunt her the rest of her life if she made it out alive. “Frank, I have to know… did you really do that to my mother? Make her crash like that?”

  Frank scratched long bony fingers down his arm and looked at her, his green eyes hooded by a severe scowl. “Why should I tell you?”

  “Please. I need to know.”

  Frank shook his head and shushed her. “Nobody did. Jacquie read in the paper that they suspected foul play, so she thought we should take credit for it to be taken seriously.”

  Sophia might have been in the midst of a deadly situation, but the truth of that relieved and empowered her all at once. Her mother hadn’t been killed after all.

  “Frank, you had a weak moment,” Sophia said under her breath. “I understand that after all you’ve been through. But don’t let it ruin your life by participating in this … crazy game any longer.”

  “Shut up over there,” the woman hissed.

  “Sorry,” Frank mumbled quietly. “I can’t back down now. But we’re not going to hurt you.”

  “I said shut up!” The female aimed her gun at Sophia again and hurried back to them, the overhead light casting deep shadows over her face.

  And suddenly an idea came to her. One just as crazy as everything going on around her. Before Sophia could even play it through in her head, she snatched one of her shoes off the ground and shot to a stand on the velvet chair.

  The added height made her taller than Frank, something she used to her advantage by jerking a fast arm around his neck from behind. “Go along with me, Frank,” she mumbled, trying not to think about what was in the lumpy backpack between them.

  She moved the heel of her shoe up to his temple with the other hand, her body hidden mainly behind the gawky intern, and gave Ms. Glitter Nails a seething glare. “Don’t make me hurt your lover boy, chica.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. She looked between Frank and Sophia, then back to Frank.

  Sophia tightened the headlock, and Frank let out a grunt.

  It stayed like that—frozen stares and considered options—as a jarring screech tore through the shed. Metal on metal. The horrific clatter caused the woman to dart back to where she’d been standing seconds ago. She pointed the gun at the wall where the noise came from.

  “How about I shoot whoever’s trying to come in. Would you like that?”

  Sophia felt her own eyes widen now, the terror of her mere suggestion causing every limb to stiffen with painful panic. No, not Blayze.

  “Do, and I’ll make sure Frank never breathes again,” Sophia threatened.

  In that moment, something stabbed right through the thin, metal siding of the structure like a shark’s fin at the surface. A chainsaw blade. No, two blades.

  They started out in the same place, but split off in separate directions, the angry, roaring knives causing a horizontal line of destruction a good six feet from the floor.

  At once, they took sharp, ninety-degree angle turns, the cutting blades shredding their way toward the floor, creating a hole as big as a truck.

  The woman hedged, looking frantically between the loud intruders and Frank, her face wild as she fondled the gun with shaky hands. It would take less than a second for her to shoot a bullet right through that newly cut hole, a thought that caused Sophia to speak up.

  “I bet that commotion’s going to trigger the explosives,” she said. “Don’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours.”

  Frantically then, the woman grabbed onto a nearby shelving unit, yanked it hard, and ran toward Sophia and Frank.

  The heavy-laden frame crashed to the ground, sending plastic plants and fake boulders tumbling over the cement floor.

  At once the gun was aimed at Sophia again.

  “Let him go right now or I’ll shoot you and whoever’s coming in.”

  The top of the cut, metal slab began to curl forward—a drawbridge opening, ready to let in the troops. But would the heap on the floor make it impossible?

  Sophia released her grip on Frank and dropped her shoe, recalling what Blayze taught her about snatching an aimed gun from somebody.

  Duck. Grab. And kick.

  She didn’t want to rely on the trick to save her life, but she couldn’t have this wild woman shooting bullets at whoever stood on the other side of that metal flap.

  “Now, climb off the chair and put your hands up,” the woman instructed.

  As soon as Sophia stepped down, arms raised overhead, the crazed lady rammed the barrel of the pistol against her forehead. Only it didn’t stay flush against her skin. It skipped and bumped as the woman trembled.

  So unstable.

  So desperate.

  Sophia closed her eyes and gulped. Please help me get out of this.

  Time to act. Sophia ducked hard and fast, reaching for the gun with both, raised hands. The gun will go off, Blayze had assured. And sure enough—it did, just as she curled her hands around her grip and shoved it to aim upward.

  The booming noise was deafening, the echo so great it sounded more like two shots than one.

  Something happened then. Something Sophia hadn’t expected. The woman collapsed to the floor, her body curling as she groaned.

  Sophia flinched back, eyeing the gun as it dropped to the ground by her feet. She looked up to see who was shoving their way through the wall and spotted someone else in her periphery.

  Blayze, dropping from the ceiling like her own heaven-sent SEAL warrior. One hand gripped the cord that lowered him; the other held a smoking gun, aimed at the woman on the ground. A perfectly round hole in the roofing marked the spot where he’d removed an air vent.

  “Don’t move, Jacquie,” he warned, his narrowed eyes fixed on her. Once his boots were planted on the floor, Blayze released the cord and hurried her way.

  A group of men, led by Roman, trampled over the makeshift drawbridge, stomping over the mound beneath it as they rushed in. She wasn’t sure where Frank had gone in the action, but with a group that size, they were sure to find him soon.

  “You’re going to be fine, Ms. Hernandez,” Blayze assured, securing her hands behind her back. “It’s just a flesh wound. The medics are here to help you.”

  Sophia finally put things together when she caught sight of
the blood seeping through the lady’s sleeve. Blayze must have shot at her.

  Blayze rose to his feet as the medics rushed to the woman’s aid. He thanked them with a nod, then lifted his gaze to her at last, those stormy eyes melting the chaos away.

  “Sophia,” her name fell off his lips. He reached out, hoisted her off the ground, and suddenly she was cradled in his massive arms. Warm against his chest, nuzzling into his neck.

  If this was chivalry, she wouldn’t turn it down. Not in a million years. He could carry her anywhere in that moment. As long as he held her close.

  Roman cleared his throat. “We’ve still got explosives in here to deal with, Blayze.”

  “Umm, hmm,” he rasped. In a series of fluid moves, Blayze glided around the toppled items toward the giant gash in the wall.

  “Nice hole,” she said as he ducked beneath it.

  Blayze shot her a look. “I was done waiting.”

  She considered that for a moment; his timing had been perfect. “You’re good at this,” she said. “No lives lost. Will she really be okay?”

  “Yes,” he assured. “You’re good at this too.”

  Sophia chuckled. “I’ll be honest. I surprise myself sometimes.”

  He laughed now too. “I’m not surprised a bit. You have—what my guys and I like to say—the heart of a warrior, Ms. Vasco. There’s no doubt about it.”

  Sophia took a moment to let his words pour over her, honored by the compliment. Especially from one as heroic as Blayze Brockton.

  They were far from the shed now, and Blayze set her to her feet, gently, beside a tall tree. The grass, slightly damp against her bare feet, caused Sophia to shudder. The absence of his body heat played a part in the chill as well.

  She leaned against the tree trunk, her mind rushing back to the conversation he’d started at Roman and Tiff’s. For a flash, it countered the wave of relief spreading through her, but Sophia forced herself to see the bigger picture: They’d made it out alive.

  Flashing lights of red and blue illuminated his conflicted expression. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he rasped, bringing a hand to cup her face.