Unleashed (Mr. Black Series Book 1)

by Penelope Marshall

  “I’m Morales, and this is Correa,” Morales said.

  “Do your coms work?” I asked Correa as I leaned against a wall.

  Correa checked his SAT phone, which had a cracked screen and broken antenna. As he pressed the buttons, the beeping that came from it stuttered and died.

  “No, we’re on our own, sir,” Correa said, pressing on the buttons.

  “Okay, we can do this. We’ll stay on the main streets so we can keep a line of sight open behind us in case we’re being followed,” I ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Morales sounded off as he peered out the door to see if it was safe.

  “Nasima, are you okay?” I turned and held out my hand, motioning for her to come toward me.

  “Yes, I am fine. Here let me help,” she said as she took my hand and laid my arm over the back of her neck.

  Once they started down the street, Nasima asked, “Is your leg broken?”

  “Don’t worry about it, keep your eye on the prize,” I cajoled.

  A crowd of men began to point at us and talk amongst themselves. One of the men was on a cell phone call, nodding, as he watched us make our way down the street. I thought his behavior to be suspicious, so I kept glancing back at him to see what he was going to do. Suddenly the man pulled a gun from behind his pants and pointed it directly toward us.

  “Get down!” I yelled as I let all my body weight fall to the ground, dragging Nasima and Morales down with me.

  The shooter’s cohorts started running toward us with guns in hand. Correa and Morales, still on the ground, rolled over onto their backs and quickly brought their rifles from behind, returning fire. They took out four of the five insurgents easily, but the fifth disappeared into a building.

  “Let’s get into a building,” I yelled to Morales.

  “Correa, help me grab the Lieutenant!” Morales hollered.

  The two worked together to pick up my battered body as Nasima followed close behind.

  A fifth man popped out of the building and shot at us, the bullet grazing Nasima’s calf. She fell to the ground just short of the building.

  I turned and yelled, “Nasima!”

  She reached out her hand as she tried to push herself off of the ground.

  “Go help her, I’m fine,” I ordered.

  Morales let go of me, leaving Correa to take on my full weight, and ran over to Nasima to pick her up.

  Correa set me down just inside the door and pulled his gun out. He whipped around the door frame and aimed his gun directly at the fifth man’s head as Morales and Nasima ran behind him into the building. Correa fired one shot through the barrage of bullets, and suddenly, the gunfire ceased.

  “Did you get him?” I yelled from inside the room.

  “I got him; let’s go while it’s clear,” Correa yelled, as he ran back into the building to grab me.

  I stood up on one leg and grabbed Morales’ vest as I walked past him. “If something happens to me, keep her safe. Promise me.”

  “You have my word, sir,” Morales said as he continued on to the exit.

  Nasima looked back at me, limping alongside Morales.

  I mouthed the words ‘I love you’ to her as Correa positioned himself underneath my arm.

  “Ready, sir?” Correa asked.

  “As I’ll ever be,” I replied, taking a deep breath before I took my first step.

  I agonized over the first few, but after a couple feet my adrenaline kicked in and my leg became numb, enabling me to move at pretty quick pace. Well…for someone with a broken leg, that is.

  “Anyone behind us?” Morales yelled.

  “No one. Just the friendlies,” Correa replied, quickly surveying our surroundings as we ran.

  “Only half a klik to go,” Morales yelled, almost out of breath.

  The sun was beating down on the four of us as we trudged on toward the Embassy. With no water and countless injuries among us, our pace began to slow. A soft breeze blew through my hair, followed by the faint sound of helicopter propellers. I looked up and saw a Black Hawk zooming toward us, then passing directly overhead. It slowed down and hovered over the intersection in front of us, slowly landing onto the dirt, kicking up copious amounts of dust.

  Morales smiled. “Let’s go home, sir.”

  I patted him on the shoulder and took a deep breath before I journeyed forward toward the awaiting chopper. Morales helped Nasima in, then turned to pull me in as Correa positioned his shoulder under my thighs to push me off the ground more easily. Nasima hugged me as I fell, exhausted, onto my back, on the cold metal. My arms wrapped around her tightly. The chopper took off and flew the remaining short distance to the Embassy.

  “How did you find us?” Morales hollered to the pilot.

  “The pilot from the chopper you were on sent out a distress signal before you crashed. Good thing y’all were out on the street or I would have missed you as I passed over,” the pilot replied.

  “Look, there it is. We’re safe,” I whispered to Nasima as I pointed to the Embassy.

  The helo started its descent and landed on the concrete parking lot, just short of the gates. Morales and Correa jumped out first in order to help Nasima and I from the cab.

  “There’s freedom sir, hurry!” Morales yelled to me over the loud propellers as he tugged on my arm and motioned to the gate.

  “I’m trying,” I hollered back, almost out of breath, clutching onto the side of my broken ribs, while my other arm clung onto Correa. Nasima was by my side, trying to keep up with me as she grasped tightly onto the blanket in order to keep it from flying away with the strong winds the chopper blades created.

  I yelled through the blaring noise, “We’re gonna be okay, Nasima!” as I grabbed her hand for the final few steps to freedom.

  Nasima started to slow down, her arm becoming dead weight in my hand. I turned my head toward her as she yanked her hand away from me and started to back away from the gate. I looked at her, confused. The wind from the propellers caused her hair to whip around her face like a beautiful black frame around her olive skin. Time seemed to slow for me as her beauty radiated like an aura around her.

  She mouthed the words, ‘I’m sorry.’

  “Wait…where are you going, Nasima?” I asked, still clutching onto my ribs, my face battered and bruised.

  “I…forgive me, Elijah,” she said as she continued to inch away from the gate, the wind whipping through her hair, causing it to fly across her eyes and mouth.

  As she shifted the wisps of hair away from her eyes, and lodged them behind her ear, I saw it. The reason she wasn’t going to walk through the Embassy gates with me.

  “It’s you,” I whispered as my hand dropped from my ribs, my face paralyzed in complete and utter shock. “It’s you.”

  She backed away, increasing the gap between us. “I did not mean for this to happen. I did not mean to fall in love with you, Elijah. I had a mission…just as I was yours,” she said as a tear cascaded down her cheek.

  “Lieutenant Black, let’s get inside, sir. It’s not safe out here,” Morales urged as he grasped onto my bloody arm.

  I swatted him away as I inched toward her, my gaze laser focused on the missing piece of her ear. I hoped that my eyes were playing tricks on me, but as I slowly advanced to her position, the absence of the flesh was undeniably apparent. That, coupled with guilt and grief visibly weighing on her face as she backed away, let me know that I wasn’t wrong. I let go of Correa and under my own strength, stood on my broken leg.

  Looking back, I supposed that it made sense…all the pieces fitting together nicely in a neat little puzzle. Why I hadn’t caught on was beyond me. I was trained to decipher puzzles, and weed out liars. The night of her first visit should have alerted me, but maybe my battered body or my nutrient-deprived mind was slow to connect the dots. How was she able to get in my cell without having access to Amadi’s keys, unless she had easy access to Amadi, or the times the guards listened to her when she asked them to leave the chains off m
y wrists?

  Why would those men listen to a woman? Not in this country.

  My heart sunk into my stomach, and a tear rolled down my cheek.

  “Was any of it real?” I asked as the wind whipped between us.

  “Nothing has ever been more real in my life,” she replied, trying to tame her hair.

  “Then why?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “It was not supposed to be this way. You have distracted me. I allowed myself to fall victim to your charms.”

  “Oh, you’re blaming me for being who you are?” I yelled angrily.

  “No, never! I had a mission, and I let you distract me. That is it. It is my fault. All my fault,” she said as her voice cracked and tears continued to stream down her cheeks.

  “Come with me; tell my people what you know…I will protect you,” I promised, holding out my hand, praying she would take it.

  I didn’t want to leave her here in this God forsaken place, wishing I had never let her hand go in the first place. Although she was only a few feet from me, with all my impeding injuries, she might as well have been standing miles away.

  “I have work here,” she said as she looked back to the sandy city we’d just fled.

  “I don’t want to believe that you’re a killer, Nasima. That you bombed all those cities; all that innocent blood on your hands,” I said as I worked through my pain to inch closer to her.

  Unfortunately, she countered every inch I advanced with an even larger step back.

  “A killer? You do not understand. I am a double. I am the agent that has been working with your government to help stop the bombings. You were supposed to extract me that night so no one would suspect anything,” Nasima replied.

  “A double agent? Then come in, Nasima! We can be together,” I said as I continued to hold out my hand.

  “It is not that simple.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” I pleaded.

  “While I waited for rescue to come for the both of us, more men came to pick up bombs for another plot. I must find out more information to stop it.”

  “They will kill you if they find out. Nasima, come with me,” I urged as I made the final push toward her and grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward me.

  I pressed her body to mine as the wind whipped around, creating a chasm of calm that enveloped us.

  I rested my forehead onto hers, and said, “Just come with me, my love. I want you to come with me.”

  She smiled slightly. “I thought you didn’t fall in love?”

  “I never said that I didn’t fall in love. I just said I wasn’t willing to…until now,” I responded with a nagging ache in my heart.

  “Men like you are a rare breed, Lieutenant Elijah Black. And I would love nothing more than to be with you, but there are so many innocent lives at risk…lives that are bigger than our love,” she said as she hugged me tightly then ripped herself away, turning to run toward the city that almost killed us a few moments earlier.

  I tried to run after her but Correa grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

  “Let her go! We need to get inside, Lieutenant,” Correa implored. “She’s not worth your life.”

  I straightened up and cleared the lump in his throat. “But she is,” I whispered as I watched Nasima run over the flat lands, dirt kicking up behind her.

  She turned for a moment and looked at me, then continued on with her run.

  I could feel another large hand grab my arm. “Sir, please?” Morales implored.

  He propped his arm under my arm, helping Correa carry me backwards through the gates, which locked shut as we cleared them. That was the last time I saw her…a faint silhouette of an angel wrapped in a gray wool blanket, disappearing into a sea of clay and concrete; selfishly taking my heart and soul with her.

  EPILOGUE

  A few weeks after the rescue, I found myself sitting on the deck of a navy destroyer as it cut through the waves on its way to dock in Norfolk, Virginia. My mind still tangled with angst about the love I found then lost so suddenly. In my hands I held an empty green beer bottle, which whistled as the wind whipped over its rim. It was a remnant from a party the guys had thrown the night before to honor the commander and the rest of my fallen brothers.

  I, being the only survivor, was the guest of honor, but I didn’t feel much like celebrating. Not with the loss of my team and mentor, and certainly not with Nasima constantly running through my mind. My heart was broken, and I found it hard to breathe easily since it felt as though my chest bore the weight of a thousand destroyers. I looked out into the choppy water, wondering what she might be doing, or if she were even alive.

  How could I let her go?

  I shook my head and sighed.

  You know I loved a good woman once. The faint voice of the commander wafted through my mind.

  I smiled, knowing he was talking about his wife. “We all aren’t that lucky, sir.”

  The faint voice chuckled. Hell, son, there ain’t nothing lucky about love. That shit is work. You were there. You knew what I had to go through to get that girl!

  I cracked a smile.

  Do you love that girl?

  I didn’t want to answer. Admitting that I loved her would just make the pain sear deeper; a pain I was not ready to face, so I changed the subject.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, sir,” I whispered.

  Don’t be sorry, you son of a bitch. I was an old man, lived a good life, and went on one too many missions. Sometimes you gamble, and you lose. It’s the name of the game.

  “Still.”

  You got the muthafucker, didn’t you?

  “Yes, sir.”

  I have never been more proud of a SEAL…would’ve been proud to call you my son.

  I wiped the tear that cascaded down my cheek. “Hooyah, sir. I would’ve been proud to call you my dad.”

  The voice didn’t respond, but a heavy weight lifted off me, and I knew then I no longer had to carry the burden of the commander’s death on my shoulders. Looking down at the small piece of paper, I rolled it up as tightly as I could and slid it through the opening of the bottle. The paper was a letter to Nasima, in which I wrote:

  My Dearest Nasima,

  This life has taken so much of me, and the world still requires much more. I have easily maneuvered my way through the thickness of life’s jungles yet take so many wrong turns in the simple clearing of its meadows. I would shed so much of myself to walk by your side since I come to your door shattered, eroded with holes of anxiety, of fear, of carnal needs. I wish my way were like yours―unwavering, and full of hope, but as the days pass, it has become quite clear that no amount of wishing I were different could actually make me so. I pray that the Lord transform me into a man without needs, but He has yet to answer, and I haven’t the strength to alter myself. I pray so often to be changed into the man I know you hunger for. Struggle to lay waste to the parts of me that you hate, but the repulsive parts, the envious parts, and the parts that want to interact with you in the subtle intangibles; they still breathe within me. I long to dominate you in ways you know nothing of. Don’t you see that even in a love letter I still reference my selfish dependence on you? Perhaps one day you can have the man that we both wish I were.

  Always, Elijah

  I grabbed onto the railing to pull myself up from of the edge of the bow. I knew this was the end of our relationship; a relationship I never knew I wanted, but deep down always knew I needed. Taking one last look at the bottle, I exhaled and flung it as far as I could into the deep blue sea. I watched the bottle glisten in the sun as it bounced off the face of the water and finally sank; disappearing from my view.

  ***

  A couple months later in San Diego…

  I sipped on my beer while soaking up the hot California sun, looking out into the Pacific Ocean. The water was rife with surfers and navy destroyers anchored just off shore. I was thankful to be home again…scars and all. Tossing back another swig of beer, a shadow fell ov
er me, but the glare of the sun hid the stranger’s face from view. Her legs were long and slender, and she wore a white see-through lace dress with only a small black bikini underneath. I squinted trying to make out who was standing over me.

  She turned to look toward the water, her body twisting to the side, revealing the silhouette of an ever-so-slightly swollen belly.

  Her lips parted, and the soft words, “Hello, Elijah,” spilled from her lips.

  I shot up from the sand. It was a voice I recognized from my dreams.

  “Nasima?”

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  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank everyone who helped make this book possible:

  My wonderful 12th grade English teacher, Beverly, who believed in me before anyone else knew there was something to believe in.

  My dad, who read, and reread every version searching for story holes.

  Alma, for always talking me off the ledge.

  Irma, who threatened bodily harm if I stopped writing.

  My wonderful friends, who are always willing to read anything I throw at them, Josan, Heather, Liz, Avril, and Jeanette.

  About the Author

  Penelope Marshall was born in the Philippines, and raised in Southern California.

  She picked up writing in early 2016 and instantly fell in love with the craft. Her writing runs the romance gamut from sweet romantic comedies, to tough alpha male military suspense thrillers, with a little young adult, and paranormal thrown into the mix.