Justice (Bad Boys of X-Ops #2)

by Rie Warren

  “Will you shut the fuck up already? Nothing’s gonna happen. We’re the Four Musketeers.” I gashed another man, gutting him open, moving on to the next.

  To fight.

  To save Tilly.

  “I think there were only three of them.” Storm swept a hand across his forehead, wiping off blood, and sweat, and gore.

  “That was the Stooges,” Bane muttered.

  Preparing for the imminent blast, I went down on my knees, drawing Tilly with me, behind me.

  They weren’t stopping.

  They kept coming.

  I curled around Tilly, the knife point always out, slashing side to side.

  “And the candy bar.” Storm looked grim, his KA-BAR tearing through the flesh of anyone who came at him.

  “Stooges candy bar?” The ambassador wore his own wounds of war.

  Slashes on his shirt. A cut on his face. He shoved another clip into his gun, firing into the unstoppable fray.

  “3 Musketeers, sir.” Bane squinted before taking aim on a cunt headed for Walker’s position.

  “Don’t call me sir.”

  “Blowing it in three, two—” Walker bellowed.

  I shoved Tilly into her dad’s arms and raced across the room, dodging bullets and knives and fists. At the last moment, I dove on top of Walker and rolled him away the second the explosives blew.

  I landed on top of him as the wall and the roof and the floor rocked.

  The shock of the blast almost peeled the skin off my back, but I was not letting another good man go down on my watch.

  Reverberations echoed through my brain like the blood rushing to my limbs, and it was only when Walker thwapped me on the back that I drew a deep, jarring breath into my wheezing, winded lungs.

  It felt like the entire building had collapsed on top of me.

  I couldn’t hear a goddamn thing through the ringing in my ears, but I could read Walker’s lips real well.

  “You asshole!”

  Rolling off him, I laughed hoarsely.

  “Yeah.” My breath was knocked right out of me.

  I looked around blearily. The few remaining Houthi soldiers who’d shared our suicide moment hadn’t been so lucky. But there were more. More on the way.

  Tilly rushed over, kneeling beside me.

  She pulled my head into her lap . . . and looked really pissed off, especially when I grinned. “You are either the dumbest man I have ever met or the most courageous.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I can’t decide whether to kiss you or hit you.”

  I coughed, sitting up gingerly. “Kiss me later.”

  Daylight beamed in from the blown-out wall.

  The insurgent forces rallied behind us.

  I stood, looking back at all the death, all the destruction, and the people who still wanted to kill us fox-holed inside the walls.

  “GRENADES!” The command came from deep within my dried-out throat.

  With the grenades chucked into the gloom behind us, we ran the last few feet separating us from death and freedom. We only skidded to a stop on the outcropping of what used to be the upper staircase. There was nothing beyond the ledge two stories high but a cliff of wreckage.

  Bright blazing sunshine almost blinded me as Lawless said in a stunned voice, “Where in the hell’s the rest of the residence?”

  Gone. It was just . . . gone.

  Screams echoed and died behind us as the stench of burned flesh came on the residual cloud of dust from the blast.

  And in front of us? Likely more threats.

  “Come on. Hurry.” I leaped down to the first toehold and reached up to help Tilly.

  We all scaled down the debris, remaining tucked against the architectural scrapheap to avoid getting our heads sheared off by bullets already whizzing way too close for comfort.

  There was no support team, no welcome wagon providing extra firepower or cover, no way at all to unfuck any of this.

  Hell, there wasn’t even a paddy wagon to round up the bad guys.

  Just us, burned out bonfires, empty shell casings, torched vehicles—the evidence of a complete terrorist takeover.

  We touched land, dashed across the torn-up tarmac, and ducked for cover behind two overturned vehicles.

  The few who’d been left on guard were quickly joined by those who’d survived the attack and evac’d.

  Caught between enemy lines, we had no choice but to go for it, balls out.

  The shootout continued.

  A third wave of enemies gunned for us, but Storm balanced the grenade launcher on his shoulder and turned the huddled insurgents into a bloody, body-shorn massacre.

  The rest of us reloaded. Bane pumped his machine gun, the belt dropping shell casings on the ground with ping-ping-pings.

  We zigzagged left and right, trying to make headway as we dodged behind anything that would work as a shield, firing off weapons and getting in a few close range kills.

  Our only hope was to make it up and over the fortifications and into Sana’a where we could loose the attackers in the mazelike streets.

  We were three quarters of the way across the long stretch of black tar when the ambassador went down.

  “Daddy!”

  I grabbed Tilly around the waist and hauled her behind a Red Cross truck that had been flipped on its side and looted for supplies.

  Lawless flapped a warning hand at Tilly. She tried to break free, but I held her fast against my body, whispering to her.

  Aided by Bane, her father regained his feet, but he’d been shot in the leg, and I was too far away to tell how serious the wound was. He stoically hobbled beside Bane, brandishing his Glock.

  I shot forward with Tilly, locking her in my peripheral vision, making sure she kept her head down. Storm and Walker drew up the rear—the muffled repeat of their continuously firing weapons a welcome sound.

  I’d just emptied a bullet into the forehead of a scraggly bearded man when Tilly shouted, “Justice! Look out!”

  I spun around to find the barrel of a wicked looking gun pointed at my chest.

  Before I had a chance to react the man dropped dead in front of me. A smoking hole perforated his cranium, and blood bloomed across his forehead.

  I turned back to Tilly. For the first time, her raised gun shook in her hand.

  Squeezing her against my shoulder, I whispered, “Jesus, Tilly.”

  But there was no time to reassure her she’d done good or thank her for saving my life. We had to get the fuck out of there.

  On the last sprint to the outer barricade, Tilly wheeled away from me, stumbling.

  I grabbed her back to my side. “Are you hit?”

  My heart swung up to my throat and the pit dropped out of my stomach.

  Her face wore a frown, and she flinched slightly. “No. No. I just tripped I think.”

  I held her by both her shoulders. “Are you sure?”

  Another barrage of bullets rang close to our feet, chewing into the ground. I raced to the tall barrier. With Tilly in front of me, I gave her a hand up, hoisting her by the foot and her backside.

  “Climb, Tilly!”

  I leaped up right behind her, looking aside to see the other men parkouring the cement wall.

  Walker shouted something to me, but I couldn’t make it out over the screaming onslaught of bullets.

  “WHAT?”

  “Split up!” He hefted himself to the top, and before he dropped from sight he bellowed, “Hide out!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Carnage and a Clown Car

  I OVERTOOK TILLY ON the way down then helped her the last few feet, catching her in my arms. Walker and Storm were already sprinting off in the other direction, Bane moving a bit more slowly with his arm slung around Lawless.

  Lawless glanced back just once, and Tilly strained toward him.

  Clasping her around the waist, I kept her in place.

  “But, Justice—”

  “He’ll be fine. Bane’s the best medic I know.” I pulled her hand, angl
ing my body toward an alleyway. “Now, we gotta jet. They’ll be coming after us.”

  As if my words conjured a new threat, an urban assault truck with mounted machine guns thundered from the compound we’d just escaped.

  My legs pumping, I towed Tilly beside me, ducking out of sight.

  In some ways the deserted area surrounding the neighborhood of the embassy was a blessing since we weren’t exactly inconspicuous. Bruises on our bodies, faces streaked with white powder from the explosions, blood from all the killing, dirty and torn clothing . . .

  On the other hand, we were left out in the cold, virtually naked to the enemy.

  It appeared this part of Sana’a was deserted since the Houthis had taken over. Leaving us no chance to get lost in the crowds or to blend in with the usual early morning hubbub at the break of day.

  Shouldering both our packs, I reloaded our weapons on the run. “I think you saved my life, Tilly.”

  “I didn’t even think about it. He was going to shoot you!”

  I slanted my eyes at her. She hastened beside me without a single complaint, her face turned forward, her chin jutting out, her feet pounding pavement.

  A man could fall in love with a woman like her. No doubt.

  But as we wound through one emptied street after another, anger began brewing inside me. I’d gotten so carried away with her last night I’d come close to blowing the whole goddamn mission.

  Finally we slipped into a thoroughfare where a few folks hurried about their morning business. I still felt the loud trundle of wheels on pavement and the heard the reverb of threatening shouts close on our heels.

  People scattered in our wake, and I knew the Houthis weren’t far behind.

  If we didn’t get out of sight we’d bring more danger to the civilians of Sana’a, not that they had any other expectations from American actions.

  “In here,” I hushed to Tilly, drawing her into a dark passage where shadows crawled up the walls like a cadaver’s long fingers.

  Backed against the wall in the deepest part of the stinking alleyway, we stood side by side with my arm barred across her chest.

  Sure enough, the truck rolled across the mouth of the alley, the gun mounted on the back manned by a woman whose face looked too young to be so hard-bitten.

  And I wondered how many women I might’ve killed today without knowing it.

  It’s just a job.

  Those words were counting less and less.

  Tilly barely breathed beside me, but when she did her warm breath rustled the sun-blond hair on the muscles of my forearm.

  Inching toward the entrance, I poked my head out before nodding to Tilly.

  We hurried back the way we’d come, and I heard shots in the distance.

  Tilly’s face ghosted white.

  I clamped her hand more tightly in mine.

  Back on a quiet road, I found a Datsun. Nondescript. Old school. Clown car. I didn’t have time to do anything fancy so I grabbed a jacket from my pack, wrapped it around my elbow, and smashed in the side window, hoping the sound of shattered glass didn’t alert anyone.

  After bundling Tilly inside, I threw our packs in the back. I hotwired the tiny sedan with precise motions and jerked it into gear as soon as the engine took.

  I stayed on the outskirts of Sana’a. A beautiful Middle Eastern city rampaged by war, overtaken by hate. The farther from the center we roamed, the higher my uneasiness grew. Graffiti decorated sandstone walls—animosity toward Westerners apparent in the burning Stars and Stripes designs.

  The tarred roads turned to deep-grooved dirt and the area was hostile—half-clothed kids on the streets watched our car go by with suspicion. Women were few and far between to be seen. Men with guns took the place of the corrupt police force.

  It became gruesomely clear why the American Ambassador’s predicament hadn’t raised a local army to protect him.

  Just four men.

  Sana’a was in a violent state of flux, and there was no love for Americans.

  I didn’t stop until we cleared the other side of Sana’a. Tilly held both guns in death grips, her knuckles as bleached white as her face. Her muscles locked tight, she’d barely moved since I’d ushered her into the car.

  Pulling up at a seedy-looking motel, I turned to her. “We’ll stop here.”

  She gave no sign of having heard me.

  I reached in the back, opened my pack, found a bottle of water and a spare shirt cleaner than the one I wore. With quick motions, I cleaned Tilly’s face and hands and arms as she blinked slowly. I did the same myself, dug out some cash in US bills—knowing I was taking a risk—and helped Tilly out.

  Carrying both our bags, I guided her inside. The place was all garish pink and venom red, peeling wallpaper and stained linoleum.

  At the ringing of the bell above the door, a large woman rolled out from behind a gaudy beaded curtain as tawdry as the oversized earrings pulling down her stretched earlobes.

  “Pay by hour?” She scanned Tilly and I, one plucked and colored-in eyebrow raised high.

  “Pay by day.” The Yemeni Arabic words tripped off my tongue.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hurry Up and Wait

  I SHOULD’VE COVERED TILLY’S hair . . . made her look less American. Less wholesome. With one quick scan I could tell this place was nothing more than a hovel where horny men took their mistresses or hooked up with prostitutes.

  The woman clearly had a stable full of girls for hire as well as rooms for rent by the hour.

  When I spoke her language with ease, the proprietress dug a finger into what had to be a fake Marilyn Monroe mole above her overly defined lips.

  “Name?” she asked.

  “You don’t take names, Sayyidatee.”

  She laughed gruffly, revealing yellow stained teeth.

  “Habibi No Name.” She cackled, her hands folded over mammoth sized breasts.

  “Hot water?”

  “Aiwah, aiwah.” She plucked a key off the board behind her. “Hot water. Clean sheets. Pay by day!” She slid the key over the counter. “Room four. Very clean, Habibi No Name.”

  I slipped her extra, maybe buying us a few more hours of silence.

  Tilly had only looked around listlessly, squinting at the bright colors.

  Madam took a long drag of sheesha from the hookah set up on the counter, and heavy blue smoke curled around her head when she exhaled. “She hostage?”

  The way she asked made me wonder just what the hell kind of shit she’d encountered running her business.

  “No. No hostage. My wife.”

  “Number four! Honeymoon suite! I guess right.” She nodded with hooded eyes.

  Well, considering she’d first thought I was here for a quick rumble in the sheets, I didn’t imagine she had much of a clue at all. But the woman took everything in, and she probably saw more than her fair share of shady goings-on.

  “She need bath. Warm bed.” Our hostess pointed the mouthpiece of her water pipe at me. “You good man?”

  “I am a good man.” I met her eye for eye.

  The black arrangement of her hair on her head trembled for a moment when she blew out a smoke ring, me in her clever sights the entire time.

  Finally she harrumphed. “No ring. No wife. I see this many times.”

  “We eloped.” I grinned at the garrulous woman.

  She took another tug on her pipe, considering.

  After a few moments she rolled back through the bead curtain that tinkled in her wake with the extra hip shake she gave. Returning, she held a stack of fluffy, new-looking towels between her arms.

  “Clean towels.” She pushed them into my arms. “Ones in room I just dry and re-fold.”

  Her unlikely grin cracked her lipstick and dug her mole deeper into her face.

  Her wheezing laughter followed us into the hall.

  More peeling wallpaper. The bulbs overhead bare of shades. Room number four fared little better. It was clean, I’d give the lady that. There
was a queen bed with a disgustingly ugly quilt on it. But there were pillows—I wanted to sink my head into one of them immediately—and the surface of the nightstand was polished.

  The lights worked, the curtains were closed against the blazing midday sun.

  I stored our packs, turned the lock, pulled the chain, and quickly set homemade tripwires at the door and the single dingy window.

  Tilly dropped to the edge of the mattress, her hands caught between her thighs. “How will they find us?”

  A caustic laugh burned my throat. “Walker can track down anything or anyone.”

  I paced the limited space, suddenly seething at myself.

  I’d gotten us into this fucking trouble because I couldn’t keep my cock in my pants, and now Tilly was in hiding with no idea if her father lived.

  I raked my hands through my hair and everything fucking irritated me from my empty stomach to the stubble on my chin to the fact I smelled like blood, and sweat, and dirt.

  “Ju-Ju-Justice?”

  A lump embedded in my throat, I hurried to Tilly. “What is it?”

  “I’m cold. I-I’m soooo cold.”

  “Hush. You’re in shock. Let’s get you clean and warm you up, Tilly girl.”

  “I’m n-n-not in”—her teeth clattered—“I-I-I’m in shock?”

  “Yeah, you are. Hang on.” I warmed her hands between both of mine.

  “Why aren’t you?”

  “Done this before.”

  “Oh, Justice.” Huge tears spilled over her eyes. “How do you survive it?”

  I drew in a great draft of breath, picking her up in my arms. “You get hard.”

  But I wasn’t hard. Not then. She’d been so strong during the whole ordeal, breaking apart only when it was over.

  I took her to the bathroom. The tiles sparkled clean at least, and I thought maybe this place and the overblown madam weren’t so bad after all.

  I turned on the water, watching it cascade as I plugged the bath. “You need to warm up, Tilly.”

  After the tub was filled, I stood with my hands punched to my hips. “Go on. Get in. I’ll leave you to it.”

  I turned for the door, but her voice halted me.

  “I don’t want to be alone.”