Freedom

by Riley Edwards

  “Bravo one I see movement above you. One tango,” Blake informed us.

  “Armed?” Lenox returned.

  “Unknown. Came from the west. Blueprint shows the structure as the galley and dining facilities. Attached to the north is crew quarters. The rig hot racks, but without pulling up the berthing diagrams to be a hundred percent, I’d guess you have seventy-five bunks, at least.”

  More than enough space to set up a black-market hospital in the middle of The Gulf.

  “Copy, Bravo two. We’re heading that way now.”

  Lenox pointed to the camera on his vest, reminding me we were being watched, and listened to; his way of telling me not to go rogue and paint this floating house of horrors red with Lenard’s blood.

  I couldn’t make any promises, especially if Reagan was injured.

  Lenox wasted no time popping out from behind a container box and choking out the pacing man. He was easily subdued and zip tied to the railing; a pat-down bared no weapons and he was left there. It was eerily quiet on the deck with only the sound of the ocean pounding into the pylons below.

  Levi nodded when he was in position to cover Lenox. He slipped past the metal door that had been left open and Levi followed, leaving me to bring up the rear.

  The first thing that assaulted me was the smell. A mixture of coppery blood, body decomp, and cleaning solvents; the last obviously not doing a very good job masking the stench. We moved farther into what used to be the dining hall, and the faint sounds of beeping could be heard along with muffled voices. The smell alone was enough to make us quicken our step, but the sudden blood-curdling scream had us triple timing it toward the sound.

  “On your knees,” Levi yelled, giving up the pretense of stealth.

  The sight before me had me thanking all things holy I had already lost my cookies back at Post because if not, I would’ve now. A man in scrubs was elbows deep in someone’s chest, blood spilling over the paper drape covering their lower body. The identity and gender were unknown.

  Fuck.

  “Move the fuck away,” Lenox demanded.

  The man didn’t move but did answer. “I am holding his heart in my hand. If I move now, he will die.”

  His.

  The relief that rushed through my body was dizzying. Thank God, not Reagan.

  “Bravo one. Two unfriendlies in three…two… now.”

  Levi and I turned in unison as two men ran into the room, unable to get more than two steps in before we got our shots off, neutralizing the threat.

  “Close him up,” Lenox told the man, moving to the operating table. “Male, Latino, late teens, early twenties.”

  I hadn’t realized how much I needed the confirmation it wasn’t Reagan strapped to the table until Lenox verified.

  “Bravo two, we need a great white here, like yesterday. Too many to transport,” Levi called in.

  I ducked into the room Levi had entered, wondering why he’d call in for the Navy’s hospital ship and I was horrified. At first glance, there looked to be at least fifty gurneys filling the space.

  “Bravo one, ETA on that is going to be awhile. Closest one is the Comfort and she’s off the Panhandle.”

  “Berthing area one has fifty patients. Hold tight for area two.”

  “MediVac is on standby for your critical. You are all clear on the outer decks.”

  Lenox was still barking orders at the doctor in the room.

  “Team leader, I’m breaking off. Number two will stay behind,” I told Lenox, then tucked my mic so I wouldn’t be heard before I turned to Levi. “I’m going to find Reagan.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Once the doc is secure, I’ll go with you.”

  “It could be too late by then. Cover Lenox.”

  I didn’t wait before I took off passing patients - who the fuck was I kidding – they weren’t patients. They were prisoners who’d had their organs stolen from them. If the scream from the man whose heart was being removed from his chest was any indication, they were alive when it was being done.

  The next compartment was the same, only twenty beds were in here. I called it into Blake so she could keep a running tally of the enormity of what we were dealing with.

  I slowed my pace when I heard the muffled voice of a man.

  “Yes, sir, they are almost a perfect match. Hazel. Yes. More green than brown. They can be airborne within an hour. Yes. I assure you the donor is very healthy; she has no medical conditions.”

  The queasiness I’d felt all day subsided, and with great clarity my training kicked in. Lenard was on the other side of the privacy screen negotiating the removal and selling of Reagan’s beautiful eyes. Pretty hazel eyes that I had looked into a hundred times, eyes that I loved.

  The urge to take my time and torture this man fled. All I wanted was to hold Reagan and get her home. Nick and I could love her back to health.

  “Perfect. Have your people wait in Florida. The donor is prepped and ready to go.”

  Target.

  Not Reagan.

  I had to slow my heart rate and think of her as the target. She deserved nothing less than my all. I had saved hundreds of men in combat. I’ve gone up against the worst men this world had to offer. This was the most important mission of my life; I wouldn’t fuck it up.

  I pulled my knife out of the sheath at my hip and secured my HK45 to the webbing on the front of my tactical vest. Just because I wasn’t going to take the time to torture him didn’t mean I was going to show him mercy. A bullet was too quick, too painless.

  I waited behind the white curtain a beat waiting for Lenard to walk out from behind the screen. As soon as he did, I caught him around the neck in a chokehold, pulling his back to my front. I held him there. His struggles were futile, the more he moved, the tighter my forearm pressed against the side of his throat, cutting off the blood flow to his brain. Lenard’s body started to go limp, and I loosened my grip on his neck. I wanted him awake when I took his life.

  “You fucked with the wrong woman,” I growled, pushing the tip of my Kabar into the side of his neck, waiting until I felt his warm blood coat my hand before moving my blade. “How about we arrange for the removal of your organs?” I sliced through his flesh like it was nothing more than softened butter. I was more than halfway across his throat when the gurgling of oxygen leaving his body, mixed with the blood now freely flowing, slowed to a rattle. “Rot in hell, fucker.” I shoved my blade deep and his body slouched, lifeless in my arms.

  A good man would tell you he took no pleasure ending a life. It was simply done in protection of others. I, however, am not a good man. I’d purposefully removed my gloves before I slit his throat. I wanted to feel his life’s blood drain from his body, knowing it was my hand that had stolen it, as he had stolen so many other’s lives. I wouldn’t say I took pleasure spilling his blood, but I did feel satisfaction.

  Without giving any more thought to Lenard Glass, I dropped him to the floor like the trash he was and cleaned my hands on the legs of my pants. After a short mental pep talk I pushed aside the privacy curtain, and there she was.

  “Eye on the prize,” I called in.

  “SITREP,” Blake’s answering question was full of relief.

  “Compartment left of the second berthing. Breathing, vitals look strong.” I pushed down the white sheet that covered her and was tucked under her armpits.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  “Bravo one?” Blake called.

  I bent at the middle, bracing my hands on my knees to catch my breath.

  “Bravo one.” She repeated.

  Reagan was completely nude, an angry puckered scar on her left side. Black sutures tied her skin together. They looked like she’d been stitched by a preschooler, obviously uncaring of the scar it would leave. Not that cosmetics mattered to these sick fucks. I bet the only reason she was sewn up was to keep her alive long enough to harvest the next body part they wanted.

  “Clark!” Levi’s
voice cut through my musings.

  “Alive.”

  That was all I could manage.

  Breathing.

  All I needed was her breathing.

  That was the mantra I repeated over the next excruciating forty-eight hours, then days that followed.

  I could love her through anything.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I’m gonna strangle him,” I told Nick and winked.

  “Cut him some slack; he thought you were going to die.”

  Damn, I loved this kid. Him and I, we were two peas in a pod. He had no filter either. He didn’t think about what he was saying before he blurted it out. I loved it.

  “I’m fine. I think I can get up and get my own ice cream.”

  “Not according to him. And what do you care if Nolan gets you a bowl of ice cream?”

  Little shit. He was right. I didn’t care. As a matter of fact, I liked Clark taking care of me. It had been a month since he saved me from the Rig Reaper. The guys hated when I joked about my time in the middle of The Gulf on the gigantic metallic island of madness, but if I didn’t tease about it, I’d go crazy. So, I lost a kidney and part of my liver. That was still better than what most of the others had lost.

  There were one hundred and forty of us on the rig that day. One hundred of us made it off the platform alive. The worst of us had been airlifted out; the rest waited for the USS Comfort, a huge floating hospital the Navy used for humanitarian efforts and relief.

  When I woke up in the hospital, I was in Georgia; everyone was there, even Clark’s Commander. The over-protective, Neanderthal behavior started the moment I’d opened my eyes. When my incision became infected, and I had to remain in the hospital another week, I thought Clark was going to have a come apart. He’d flat out refused to talk to me about what happened. Bits and pieces of Lenard taking me from my apartment had come back, but I don’t remember anything about my time on the platform. My doctor assured me it was normal with the number of drugs I’d been given, and I more than likely would never be able to recall the details. I was okay with that. I didn’t want to know. I wasn’t in denial. I recognized that I’d been kidnapped, held against my will, drugged, and I was now missing a kidney because one was stolen from me. But I was alive. One thing I can remember when I was waking up in the hospital is Clark repeating as long as you’re breathing baby, I’ll love you through anything. I believed that. I wasn’t going to let what happened break me.

  Clark?

  I was working on him. When I was discharged from the hospital, I’d found that my apartment in Florida had been packed up – by my mother. Thankfully I was on a plethora of pain meds, hooked up to monitors, and had more wires and leads than a marionette, or I would’ve run screaming for the hills. No twenty-something woman wants her mother to pack her apartment – trust and believe that. I’m sure my mom got an eyeful when she packed the contents of my nightstand drawer. Sheesh. I may never look at my mother again. So, there I was, moved into Clark’s house before I’d even woken up. I didn’t argue or complain. I never wanted to step foot back into that apartment, but more importantly, I was getting what I wanted – a chance to be with Clark.

  “If I were you? I’d totally milk it. He’s so in love with you, he’d do anything you wanted,” Nick said conspiratorially.

  “No, he wouldn’t.” I laughed, trying to pretend Nick’s observation that Clark loved me didn’t make me want to jump for joy. Not that I would, because Clark would have a heart attack and die if I so much as eased off the couch, let alone jump.

  “Sure, he does.” Nick gave me a look that conveyed exactly what he wanted it to – duh.

  “Does what?” Clark asked, carrying my ice cream back to the couch.

  “Love Reagan,” Nick blurted.

  My death ray must’ve been rusty because he didn’t immediately burst into flames for embarrassing me.

  Clark chuckled and shook his head.

  “Christ. There’s two of you. Let it all hang out – anytime, anywhere.” Clark handed me the bowl and sat down next to me, gathered me close, and kissed the top of my head. “Yes, Nick, I love Reagan. Though I have to say, I haven’t told her yet. So maybe we can be cool and wait until I have a minute alone with her and I can tell her.”

  “Ummm….” Nick stuttered.

  “Kidding bud.”

  Wait!

  Kidding about what? That he loved me or that he was teasing Nick? What was I supposed to do now? I had to know.

  Clark didn’t make me wait long before he kissed my temple, this time whispering, “Love you, Rea.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He loved me.

  Best day ever!

  I’d totally give up a kidney again if it meant Clark would rescue me and tell me he loved me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Wait. What?” That was Reagan’s response.

  Jasper told me a long time ago I had no tact. At the time I thought he was wrong. However, judging by Rea’s response, I’m thinking Jasper may’ve been correct in his assessment.

  “I want you to move in.”

  Simple. Straightforward. To the point. I didn’t see the issue.

  “Um, Clark, I’m going to need more information than that.”

  I was missing something, or she was because my statement was self-explanatory.

  “Are you having issues with the English language, woman?”

  If she were any other woman, I’d think she was fishing, but Reagan was a straight shooter. She didn’t play games, and neither was I, but I couldn’t find the disconnect.

  She rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at me.

  “Stop. You might pull a stitch,” I scolded.

  “Enough.” Reagan stopped smiling. “The doctor gave me the all clear. I’m healthy.”

  I assure you the donor is very healthy; she has no medical conditions.

  “Where’d you go?” she asked.

  “Nowhere. Sorry. I want you to move in permanently. Not just stay here until you recover.”

  Reagan remained quiet for a moment, and I didn’t like how long it was taking her to answer.

  “What happened on the platform?”

  Death. Fear. Horror.

  “I’ve already told you. Nothing worth talking about.”

  “You dream about it.” Shit. I was hoping I hadn’t woken her when I had dreams about her being strapped to the bed with the doctor elbow deep in her chest cavity yanking her heart out while she screamed. “It’s not like the first nightmare I walked in on. You whimper and beg me not to die. Other times you apologize for letting me die.”

  I was horrified I’d talked in my sleep and she heard.

  Christ.

  “I’ll move in with you if you talk to me. It’s not good to keep everything locked up.”

  “Baby. I have more shit locked away than a bank vault.”

  She was looking at me expectantly. I couldn’t believe she was blackmailing me into talking about something I absolutely did not want to speak about.

  “Why do you want to know? There are some things you’re better off not remembering. Be happy either the anesthesia those hacks gave you kept you from knowing what was going on, or your brain is protecting you and blocking it out.”

  “Was it that bad?” she asked.

  Was she fucking crazy?

  “Worse than you can imagine!”

  “You’re not in the regular Army, are you?”

  Whoa. Subject change, a welcomed one. We needed to have this conversation anyway. Before she committed to a relationship with me, she needed the facts.

  “No. Remember when we talked about Combat Applications Group?”

  “Yeah. Special Forces team, right? A CAG team saved you when you were captured.”

  “Yes. What I do for the Army isn’t something I talk about. None of us do. It’s not because we're secretive for shits and grins. We literally can’t. The 707 is attached to the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment.” I waited for some sor
t of understanding to dawn, but it didn’t. “This is going to be painful.”

  “What is?”

  “Explaining my team this way; have you heard of Delta Force?” I almost rolled my eyes saying that. No operator I knew would call themselves Delta. We were special operators, SFOD, ACE, Task Force Green - the Army had many names for us, the one we avoided the most was Delta. That was what Hollywood and video games liked to use. It was sensationalized as if the word Delta didn’t translate into death – elite deadly warfighters. To them, it was great for headlines. Delta Force and Navy SEALs, the media loved to exploit war.

  “Of course. Ohhh…wait…are you?”

  “I’ve never had to explain what I am and you not having an understanding of the military is making this difficult. The 707 is a twenty-man unit - four men, five teams. Officially, the 707 is a research and development regiment. Unofficially, we’re a black ops team. We get sent in when the government wants complete deniability. Jasper and Lenox were pulled from Ranger school when they showed outstanding potential. Levi and I were both on an SFOD team when we were pulled to join the 707.”

  “That sounds dangerous, Clark.”

  “It is. I won’t lie to you. Each time I leave on an op, there’s a chance I won’t come home.” Reagan’s face paled, and I hurried to finish. “But that’s true for most jobs in the military. When units deploy, they aren’t going on vacation; they’re going into a war zone.”

  “What happened when you found me?”

  The woman was giving me whiplash. I guess she was done with job descriptions and was moving on to mental anguish.

  “The first room we entered was…disturbing.” Was I really doing this - debriefing sweet, innocent Reagan. I didn’t need to close my eyes to recall the details. They were always at the forefront of my memory. “One male doctor. Two female nurses. The doctor was performing cardiac surgery to remove a man’s heart – to sell it.”

  Reagan had gone pale again, and I was rethinking telling her more.