He ran his fingers through his hair. He’d fucked up. Who would have thought that Charro and the team would have been so capable? Never mind that woman. He knew of the family. They were full-blooded Marine Corps, gung ho all the way.
“I have my eyes on the family of the soldier who is missing. If they make contact with her, and the brother and father make a move, I’ll know it.”
“You’d better. We need those thumb drives and microchips.”
“So you’re saying that my name, my involvement, is indicated on those? That everything I’ve helped you with thus far is all documented on there? How fucking stupid to put all of that on record.”
“Not stupid, securing your part. That you would pull through on what you said you were capable of. I warn you now, screw this up and it won’t matter what’s on those thumb drives. You’ll be dead,” Mahem told him, and then the phone disconnected.
“Fuck. What the hell, Sacha? Where the fuck are you, and how in God’s name did you survive?” He took the phone and placed it into his pocket. He’d destroy it soon enough. What he needed to do now was make a connection with his contacts. Something had to give. But how the hell could he try to locate her in the Middle East without raising any red flags as to why he was searching?
He thought about her brother. Word was he’d been asking and pushing for answers, for some indication as to what had gone down six weeks ago and why they didn’t know who was responsible. The best thing that could happen would be for her to die. Then the heat would be off all of them. He wouldn’t have to be worried about going to jail for the rest of his life for treason and for helping a terrorist cell pull off one major attack on U.S. soil. An attack that would take out multiple key senators and some highly powerful businessmen and women. It was a strategic opportunity for all involved, and because he would be so close when it happened, he would have the perfect excuse to head into early retirement, and with a nice, comfy security blanket of four million dollars.
He smiled as he headed back across the gardens and to the office building. One female Marine is not going to ruin everything I’ve worked for. She is as good as dead, and anyone who helps her will die, too.
* * * *
Sacha was in pain. From what she gathered from the village doctor, she had broken ribs, one of them cracked because of the bullet that had gone clean through it. She worried about infection, but that damn watch and one gun had gotten her a lot of money to work with, to get the best treatment she could in this little fucking village. Now that she was in New Delhi, the conditions were better, but she didn’t take a chance at staying in some nicer hotel. She, instead, rented a bedroom from a landlord with multiple rooms in one dwelling. She got antibiotic cream to ensure keeping infection away. She took the room in the back, the one she could escape from in an emergency, or in case someone figured out where she was. She didn’t even know what day it was. She didn’t care because it would only anger her more that she’d been stuck here so long. Even though it beat the other alternative. Death.
She couldn’t sleep, just little cat naps as exhaustion won out and then pain awoke her, as did the fear of being caught. They had to be looking for her. She’d killed all those men. She’d screwed up their plans, and she had the thumb drives. She wondered what was on them. What had been so important that a whole team of operatives, agents, and other men had to be killed to get these damn things? She shivered just thinking about what her future held. Was it even worth it to head to the States? Should she keep traveling and get lost somewhere? She went over all the alternatives, but truth was she would never feel safe. She would always have that uneasy feeling in her gut as if someone was watching her or on her trail.
At least on U.S. soil, she could regroup, build her strength, figure out whom to trust, and get mentally and physically ready for what may come. It was better than sitting here rotting, running out of money and a source to pay for food and care. She had no choice. She needed her brother’s help, and it was a done deal. He was sending help.
She wondered when the team would arrive and whom exactly Franco would trust so much to send for her. As she lay on the bed, drifting off to sleep, her gun in hand, she heard something. It was dark outside. She didn’t dare move a muscle as she remained with gun in hand. When the door creaked open, she aimed, ready to shoot and kill, and use her last few bullets if necessary.
“Sacha?”
She heard her name.
“Identify yourself or I put a bullet in your fucking head.”
“We’re friendlies, Marines sent by Franco as planned.” He came into view from behind the door. Extralarge, dressed in black. He approached slowly. He looked at her, and she wished she were in better physical condition, stronger, cleaner, but she wasn’t. She was a mess.
“It’s going to be okay. Put down the gun so my team can come in here and assess your injuries before we get the fuck out of here.”
She had to admit that hearing the thick Bronx accent made her think America, New York, safety, and courage. She lowered the gun.
He made a sound, and another huge guy came in, and then a third was by the door.
“Let’s move. I don’t like this spot. We’re wide open,” the guy at the door said.
“How bad are your injuries?” one asked as he squatted down by the bed and reached out to push up her top. She grabbed his hand, as his fingers grazed over the envelope, the only bit of evidence and clues she had as to who had killed Charro and the rest of the team, what she’d risked her life for and killed to keep in her possession.
“I’m fine. I can make it. What’s the plan?” She lifted up, losing her breath a little because her ribs were so badly bruised still and healing. He helped her.
“We have to walk on foot a few blocks, and then we have a vehicle that we’ll drive to a place to get you cleaned up and looking like a tourist.” She locked onto his dark-blue eyes, and she realized who he was. Charro had begun to share some info about them. He showed her a picture of them, and she remembered the man with the dark blue eyes. He told her about the team he had been part of for years until he was asked to be part of this mission over a year ago. He had described them. Why would Franco send them?
“Vancouver?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yes. Now let’s move. The faster we get you out of here and cleaned up, the faster we can get you to the States.”
* * * *
Elwood held his gun and watched Damien talking to Sacha and helping her to get up off the bed. She looked weak and exhausted, and he knew she had been through hell just by the sight of her, never mind by the info they had thus far. As she started to take some steps, she faltered.
“Let me carry you,” Damien said.
“No way,” she snapped, determined to not lean on him or be carried.
She was stubborn, and as they got out of the building and started walking along the pathway, they spotted some older man, and he looked concerned. When Damien went to point his gun, Sacha stopped him and then spoke to the man in his language. The man looked at the four of them and then nodded, placed his hands together, and bowed at her, wishing them luck.
“He was a help to me.”
By the time they got her to the small hotel and were able to get her upstairs, she was spent. Damien laid her down on the bed.
“Rest.”
“What is the plan?” she asked as Elwood and Toro stood by, holding their guns, remaining on guard. She looked from one of them to the next.
“Our flight out of here is early morning. It will take us about an hour drive to get there.”
“We’ll cut it too close if I rest now. We’ll all feel a lot safer if we’re closer to the airport and ready to leave.”
“You can hardly stand, Sacha. A thirty-minute rest will be a good thing,” Damien said to her.
“No, we’re in a hotel room. There’s no way to escape easily, and I won’t put you in that kind of danger. We need to keep moving and get the hell out of here.” She went to stand and teetered on her feet
. Damien grabbed her.
“We’re staying here and getting you cleaned up. You’ll need to get through security at the airport without showing any signs of injury and fatigue. You need to do this our way,” he said firmly.
She looked at him and exhaled. “Fine. But I’ll just get showered and cleaned up. We can wait closer to the airport. It will be safer.”
“You won’t be able to stand up to shower and clean yourself. We wait,” Damien told her firmly.
“No. Just help me get showered and presentable.”
Toro swallowed hard.
Damien looked to them then back at her.
“You want me to help you shower?” he asked, sounding shocked from Toro’s perspective. Toro was shocked, too. She really wanted out of here. She was so scared.
“Get everything set up in the bathroom. Then, Elwood, you go down and get some food while Toro stands guard and keeps watch. I’ll help Sacha so we can leave sooner.”
Elwood nodded, and he could tell that Damien wasn’t too happy about having to do this, but it would be better for them to get closer to the airport, wait there, and make sure the I.D. worked properly, and then they could all head back to the U.S. By the time they landed in New Jersey, they would have explained to her, on the five-hour road trip up north, where her new residence would be for quite some time.
* * * *
Damien helped her get into the bathroom. The shower was running, thanks to Toro, who’d returned to the bedroom. Damien had rolled up his sleeves and tested the water. Sacha stood in front of him. Her eyes were glazed over with exhaustion, and dark circles surrounded the bold sage-green color of her eyes. She wasn’t the same woman he’d seen in the pictures Charro had sent them. In those pictures, she was stunning, well endowed, and her eyes made her look capable of anything. She was a fighter and that was obvious by her standing here, surviving the ordeal. They would get the full story as soon as they were safe. He couldn’t help but to wonder if Charro had been sleeping with her. Recently, he’d mentioned getting out and bringing Sacha along with him to visit Wellington. He’d hinted at things.
She unbuttoned the top, and he saw the small yellow envelope, dirty, crinkled. He reached for it.
“What’s this?” he asked, and she squeezed her hand over his. She held his gaze.
“This stays on me at all times. This is going to help me find who killed Charro and the rest of my team. I won’t give this up to anyone. Friend of Charro, Franco, or not. Got it?” she said fiercely.
He squinted at her. No one spoke to him like that, but he understood she was fearful, desperate to feel safe. Her brother was right. She wouldn’t trust them fully, not for quite some time or until they’d proved themselves trustworthy.
“Well, you can’t shower with it. Let me put it right here. It’s close by, and no one will touch it.”
She stared at him, looking up into his eyes. She had to be about five feet seven. He still towered over her at six foot three. Her long brown blonde hair was a mess of strands and knots.
She nodded and let her fingers fall from the envelope, and he placed it down onto the toilet cover, where she could see it clearly.
She closed her eyes and teetered a moment. He grabbed her hips and felt her hipbones, and she popped her eyes open.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, get some food in you, and head home, Sacha. I promise my team and I can get you to safety. Trust me.”
“It’s not about trust. Prove yourself and get me out of here,” she said, so stone faced and serious that he knew she was going to need some serious counseling or, at least, a minimum amount of time to process what she’d gone through and how she’d survived while everyone else died.
He slowly moved his hands toward the buttons on the blouse. He undid them and pulled it off of her gently. She was cut up, defined with muscles, and despite being so thin, her breasts were full and filled the tank top she had on underneath. He reached for the hem and looked into her eyes. She was in a zone. He knew that look. She was focused, thinking about something else and trying to cope with having to have him, a strange man, a fellow Marine, wash her, see her naked, and give him that trust she was fighting with every last ounce of energy she probably had right now.
“Let’s make this quick and painless.” He lifted her tank top up and over her head. Her breasts bounced. Her injuries came into view, and he clenched his teeth.
“Jesus, what the fuck?” he asked as he looked closer at her wound. It was a decent stitch job of stitches but there was also massive discoloration along all her ribs and side up to her breast.
“Took a bullet to the side. Went straight through the rib, or in between, I don’t know. It was hard to understand what the doctor was explaining. All my ribs were bruised or broken. Probably from the ground fight.” She closed her eyes and teetered again.
Ground fight? Jesus, what the fuck did she go through?
“Let’s get this skirt off and get you in the shower. You’ll feel better with new clothes.”
She nodded, and he pushed down her skirt and panties.
He helped her into the shower, trying his hardest not to look at her curves, at the way her belly sank in and her ribs stuck out, or the way her ass, muscular and small, tilted outward.
He began to lather up the soap as she stood under the spray of hot water. She had her head down, and he reached for the shampoo and then began to wash her hair, massaging her scalp. She moaned and gasped a little, indicating there were other injuries, but she was trying not to show pain. He washed her up using the washcloth and the soap to clean her. She reached for the cloth and helped best as she could. When he was done, he helped squeeze her long brownish-blonde hair out and then reached for the towel. When she turned to look at him, face cleaner, hair washed and wet, her light sage green eyes held his as he wrapped her into the towel and lifted her up to place her feet onto the small towel on the bathroom floor so he could dry her.
“I owe you one, Vancouver.”
He swallowed hard as he began to dry her body as she finger combed her hair.
“We grabbed what we could and what we thought would look best as a tourist traveling here. You’re a lot thinner than we expected.”
“Whatever it is, it will be fine because it’s clean and it isn’t local attire,” she said.
“I didn’t know the size for undergarments.”
“I don’t even care,” she whispered, and he reached for a sports bra and helped her get it on. She adjusted her breasts in it, and it was way too small, but she made do considering her ribs ached as she squeezed into it.
He helped her with the panties. Then he placed the long-sleeve dress over her head and helped her get it into place. “We got a sweater, too, and a backpack with some other clothes so it doesn’t look suspicious.”
She nodded.
He was compelled to help her feel safe, to get her through this. He felt different, protective beyond this being a job, a mission for Charro and for Franco. Maybe because he’d seen her naked, at her most vulnerable, he took it seriously and as a sign of trust, whether Sacha thought of it like that or not.
“We’ll get you to safety. We have your six, Marine.”
Her eyes filled up with emotion, and she swallowed, and that indication of vulnerability disappeared. All she did was nod, and then he helped her walk out of the bathroom to sit on the bed. Toro handed her some food.
He would get her to the States and keep her safe in Wellington, and then he would find out exactly what she’d gone through, how Charro had died, and what was in the envelope that could answer all their questions and bring justice to all of those who were killed.
Chapter 2
Sacha spent the first week sleeping and trying to regain her strength. She forced herself to do sit-ups and push-ups every morning and every night. She hadn’t been happy about this plan that her brother and the Vancouver men had come up with, but it made sense. No one knew them. No one knew of this cabin in the woods, and the men ensured her that they had n
o visitors.
She tried making a plan in her head, now that she was feeling stronger, and eating three meals a day. She had yet to speak to her father, and the men informed her that her brother was in Iraq on a mission for a month. Even when he returned to the States, she wouldn’t let him come here. Whoever set up her and the team would know all about them and their families. The last thing she needed was for her brother or father to get caught in the middle of this and get killed.
She thought about Damien, Elwood, and Toro. The more alert she became as time passed, the more she saw in them. Now that she had strength and could take care of herself, she felt embarrassed about having had Damien bathe her multiple times. He was a large man with a fierce, unapproachable expression on his face. It had been on the third day she was here that, while he was helping her, she’d seen a change in that expression, and in the way he stroked his fingers below her rib as he checked her injuries. The way he eased her gently into the bathtub, taking his time to release her as he set her down. He insisted upon washing her hair, caressing her skin with the soapy washcloth, and she felt something was happening between them and fast. She sensed this connection, something she was refusing to acknowledge for so many reasons. For such a muscular, tough soldier of a man, he had been gentle, patient, and even seemed disappointed when she told him she was stronger and could handle showering by herself. That care, that connection, made him stand guard outside her door and wait to ensure she didn’t need help.
She avoided him now, like she avoided Elwood and Toro for similar reasons. In her mind, in times like now, when she was bored and refused to go downstairs to be near them because that would mean talking to them and showing emotion, she would think about Charro. His words, his expression, the feel of his hand against her cheek as he explained his hope for them when they finished the mission. She swallowed hard.
He’d wanted to explore their feelings. He’d wanted to bring her here to meet these men, his family, as he thought of them, and she couldn’t help but to wonder why. Then she started to wonder if Charro had told Damien, Elwood, and Toro his intentions and wondered what they thought about it.
Crossroads 6: Love Undercover (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 3
