by Sabrina York
Her mood slumped.
Drake needed professional help. He’d taken two bullets and more hits to the head than she could count. There was little she could do to help him, but a doctor with a full sick bay could.
Her annoyance at the navy for forgetting about them grew.
Around late afternoon, Drake stirred. The first word out of his mouth as he turned his head was, “Fuck.”
“Be still,” she said, laying her bound hands on his forehead. “You’re hurt.”
“Ya think?” His blue eyes opened. Her heart lifted at the sight. They were clear and beautiful. His pupils were even and reactive to light. “I’m aware I’ve been injured. Shit.” He winced again. “Everything hurts.”
“They hit you on the head until you passed out. And they shot you again.”
He frowned. “In the ass?”
“In the leg.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“I got the bullet out.”
His lips tweaked. “Of course you did.”
“But you’ve lost a lot of blood. Don’t move or you’ll lose more.”
He shrugged. “Where am I gonna go?” Still, he forced himself into a sitting position. The guard watching them lifted his rifle. Brandy glared at him until he lowered it.
She opened a water bottle—no mean feat with her hands tied together—and helped Drake drink. “God, that tastes good.”
“Not too much. Just sips.” She handed him an energy bar. The pirates had tried them and not liked them, so they’d let her keep them. Drake wolfed one down and she gave him another. There weren’t many left, but he needed them more than she did.
When he finished eating, he shot her a dark look, but he didn’t say anything.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He glanced away, but not before she noticed his expression. Regret. Remorse.
“What is it, Drake?”
“I’m sorry, Brandy. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It kinda is. If I’d been faster—”
“They would have caught us. Or shot us in the water.” She’d thought a lot about this last night, and the truth was inevitable. As sucky as it was, being captured was far from the worst thing that could have happened.
“Still. It was my job to—”
Another pirate stomped up to the fire and scowled at their guard, a boy, and then scowled at them. “Shut up. No talk.”
Drake ignored him. “I’m sorry, is all. I wish—”
The pirate stormed over and hit Drake in the ribs. He fell to the side with a groan.
Brandy scuttled over him as the pirate lifted his rifle to hit him again. “No!” she cried. “Leave him alone.”
The pirate frowned. “Shut up. No talk.”
“No talk,” she agreed, but then she added, “no hit.” She wanted to add more, like, “If you hit him again, I’ll kill you, you fucker,” but decided it might be more prudent to hold her tongue. Also, the bastard’s grasp of English was limited to two-word sentences.
After that incident, they didn’t speak again, but Brandy sat next to Drake and surreptitiously rubbed his back so he knew she was with him. So he knew she didn’t feel like he’d failed her.
He hadn’t failed her. Not in any way.
She only hoped that at some point she could tell him that.
* * *
Agony racked him. In his head, his neck, his back, his leg…his ass. He felt completely worked over. On top of everything, he felt weak and shaky and he was in a dismal mood.
He knew Brandy didn’t see it, what a complete fuckup he’d been, but he saw it. He knew. His crazy-ass idea to run for the water could have gotten her killed. Killed. As it was, it had nearly been the end of him.
It was mortifying to sit next to her, trussed up like a pig. A man wanted to be a hero to his woman. He was far from that.
On top of all that, their future was uncertain. These bastards could decide to just turn their guns on them and be done with this whole debacle. Some of the younger pirates looked like they were ready to do just that.
As the day wore on, his mood got darker and darker. It wouldn’t be so bad if he could talk to her, but he couldn’t. It got to the point where he couldn’t even bear to look at her. So he stared out at the woods. And brooded.
A flicker of movement, a flash of light, caught his eye. He honed in on it. His heart lurched. Was that—?
Fuck, yeah. It was. There in the brush. The unmistakable muzzle of an MK17 long-barreled assault rifle.
He tried not to giggle, but relief and a wash of vindi-fucking-cation rushed through him. A glove appeared, motioned. Drake nodded, but barely.
He yawned. “I’m gonna lie down,” he told no one in particular, but he glanced meaningfully at Brandy.
She gaped at him and then got the message. “Yeah. I’m kind of tired too.”
He liked that she nestled up behind his back. “Stay close,” he whispered.
She knew better than to respond. Or argue. Indeed, her muscles hummed with a sudden tension.
Not a moment later, three squads of heavily armed men dressed in full SEAL kit swarmed into the compound, bellowing and waving their rifles at the knot of pirates. Almost to a man, they dropped their weapons and raised their hands.
Drake had never seen a prettier sight.
It was all he could do not to crow.
With the pirates held at bay, his buddy Mason rushed over to them, his knife ready to cut their bonds. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Mace, damn it. Never been happier to see your face. We’re fine. But Brandy first.”
She snorted. “No. Drake first.”
Mason rolled his eyes and did what he should have done, slicing through Brandy’s bonds like they were butter. Then he commanded her to run to the back of the pack of SEALs.
“But—”
Of course she would argue. “Go, baby. I’m right behind you.” And thank God, she did. As Mason got to work on his ropes, Drake watched Brandy run into the circle of big bad motherfuckers. It closed around her.
Yeah. Not a more beautiful sight in the world.
Mason fixed him with an amused gaze. “Did you just call her baby?”
“Maybe.”
“Shit, Drake, what the hell happened on this island?”
“What do you mean?” His bonds fell free and Mason held out a hand to help him up. Normally, he would never take it, because he was a goddamned SEAL and he didn’t need help from anyone, but his legs were wobbly.
Drake slipped his hand into Mason’s, but before his buddy could haul him to his feet, a pirate ran out from one of the huts, screaming, gun blazing. Three rounds hit Mason square in the chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It was a sound Drake would never forget. His buddy lurched back and fell flat on his back, his eyes closed.
“Fuck!” Drake’s cry was drowned out by the retort of return fire. It only took a second to cut down the pirate, but it was a fucking second too late.
Drake scrambled to Mason’s side and ripped open his shirt.
Ah. Thank God. The plates had stopped the bullets. But Mason was still. Too still.
“Mace?” He shook his shoulder. “Mace?”
Fuck! He wasn’t breathing. Drake gave him two breaths and then yanked off his vest, ripped up his shirt and stared at his bare torso, watching for a rise. Nothing. Goddamn it! A vest could stop a bullet, but impact to the chest could still stop a man’s heart. “Medic!” He started doing chest compressions and rescue breathing as the medic dashed over with the AED.
As the medic cut off Mason’s shirt, applied the pads and primed the machine, Drake could hear Brandy yelling and Ryder calling out commands, but he didn’t dare look up. Mason couldn’t die. He was Drake’s friend for Christ’s sake. He was the only man on the squad who even liked him.
Shit.
His compressions became more manic.
One breath. Five compressions.
O
ne breath. Five compressions.
One breath. Five compressions.
What the fuck was that medic doing? “Where are you?” he barked. “Where are you, man?”
“Charging. Give it a sec.”
“He doesn’t have a sec.” One breath. Five compressions. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
The tone sounded. “Clear.”
Drake reared back, holding his hands away. Mace’s body lurched as the shock snarled through him. Drake stared at the machine, watching the tiny screen. The atonal whine of the monitor was starting to piss him off.
“Still in V-fib,” the medic said. “Charging.”
Drake resumed his breaths, but Ryder took over the compressions. After a minute or so, the medic called “Clear” again and ran another shock through Mace’s body.
And again.
And again.
Drake’s panic rose. He knew Mace’s chances were slipping away. When Ryder clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Drake, it’s over,” he whirled on him.
“It’s not over. It’s not.” He gored the medic with a dark glower. “Charge it again.”
“Drake—”
“Charge. It. Again.”
The turd glanced at Ryder before he complied, but Ryder must have nodded, because he pressed the button to charge, and Drake continued his breaths. If Ryder hadn’t nodded, he would have knocked his fucking head off.
Maybe he knew that.
Or maybe he didn’t want to lose Mason either. He was a damn fine man. He deserved better than to die from a coward’s fucking ambush.
“Clear.”
Drake pulled back. Please, Mace, he prayed. Knowing, in all likelihood, this was his buddy’s last chance. Please.
The shock took the body in slow motion, arching it up in a macabre dance.
It seemed to take forever. The pause between the shock and the machine’s response, longer still.
But—thank you, Jesus—it wasn’t an atonal whine.
This time the machine kicked into a beeping rhythm.
Drake nearly collapsed on the sand. From relief, yes, but from Ryder’s clap to his back as well.
“Holy shit. We did it,” Ryder said, whipping him into a bear hug.
“We did.” Drake nodded to the medic. “Thanks. I…um, sorry if I yelled.”
The medic winked. “I’m used to it. Come on in, boys. We need to get this man back to the ship. He needs attention.”
The squads swarmed in, Rocco’s crew taking charge of the prisoners and Buzz’s fanning out to check the other huts and the woods. Ryder’s squad came for their man. Drake rose to his feet…and then sank back down. Yeah, his legs wouldn’t hold him. It was the shits, but he was probably going to have to be carried out.
“Come on, brother.” Ryder grinned and cuffed him on the shoulder, nearly tipping him over.
“Stop that!” A shrill voice cut through the clearing. Ryder froze. He lifted his gaze; it stalled on Brandy as she marched toward them, more intimidating than any admiral.
“Excuse me?” Ryder clipped in his most commandery voice. He had that look on his face, the look that made most men piss their pants.
Brandy faced him, toe-to-toe, and stared him down. Her expression was pretty damned intimidating too. “This man is injured. Stop knocking him around.”
“It’s okay, Brandy. This is Ryder.” Buddies did that. She oughta know. They knocked each other around all the—
“Oh.” She crossed her arms and raked Ryder with a scorching assessment. Her lip curled. “So you’re Ryder.”
Ryder blinked at her vitriol. His brow rippled. “What does that mean?”
“The asswipe who doesn’t approve of him.”
Oh. Fuck. She needed a muzzle.
“What do you mean?” Ryder shot a puzzled look at Drake, and then helped him back to his feet, but Brandy stepped between them and wrapped his arm around her neck. As though she could carry him.
“You know damn well what I mean, Ryder.”
“I approve of him—”
“Hah. You didn’t want him on your team—”
“Of course I didn’t want him on my team.”
Drake flinched as Ryder admitted the truth. He’d known it, but he’d never heard it from his lips.
Brandy snarled. Actually snarled.
Ryder winced. “Damn it. I wanted him somewhere safe. He had his choice of any assignment. He could be on the admiral’s butt-wiping detail if he wanted. Rather than out here, risking his life every day—”
“Getting shot…” This, Drake added, because he thought it sounded impressive.
Ryder paled. “So you did get shot?”
“Twice.” He glanced meaningfully at Brandy. “In the leg.”
“Fuck.” Ryder scrubbed his face. “Your mom’s gonna kill me.”
“Mom doesn’t need to know.”
“She made me swear to keep you safe.”
“I’m fine.” He wobbled a bit, but then so did Brandy as she took more of his weight.
Ryder snorted and took his other arm, keeping him from crumbling to his knees. “We need to get you to sick bay and get those bullets out.”
“They’re out.” Damn, her voice was sharp when she was pissed. He wouldn’t want to be Ryder right now, on the pointy end of her temper…but it was fun to watch.
“How did, um, how did you get them out?”
Brandy sniffed. “I took them out.”
“With my Gerber,” Drake said with a tinge of pride. Yeah. She was his woman. And she was a badass.
“Oh, Christ.”
“She’s a nurse.”
Ryder studied her for a moment. “Thank you for saving him—”
“He saved me,” she retorted. “Again and again.” She left his side then so she could whirl around and poke Ryder with a pointy finger. Without her support, Drake listed to the left. Tate stepped in to prop him up. “He’s a hero.” She punctuated each word with a savage thrust.
Ryder winced. “I know he’s a hero! You don’t have to tell me he’s a fucking hero.”
“You could tell him that once in a while.”
“Goddamn it, Drake, you’re a fucking hero!”
“I know.” But they both ignored him.
“Well, fine,” Brandy clipped.
“Fine!”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Okay. As entertaining as this was to watch, Drake didn’t like her attention on any other man. He didn’t like the way they stared at each other. He really didn’t like the sizzle of tension between them. He cleared his throat. When Brandy didn’t stop glaring at Ryder, he said, “Ow.”
Her attention snapped to him. “Oh, baby, are you all right?”
“Baby?”
Drake ignored Ryder and Tate, focusing on Brandy. “I’m fine. But it hurts.” He put out a lip.
She shot a frown at the men surrounding him. “What the hell are you waiting for? Let’s get this man some help!”
They launched into action then—how could they not, after such an order—leading him through the village and onto the beach. He was determined to stay on his feet, to walk like a man, but every step was agony. It was an enormous relief when the Chinook landed and they piled on and he could sit…though even that stung. Brandy pushed past Ryder to take the seat at his side. She put her arm around him and glowered at the squad. Naturally, they all looked away.
Cowards.
As the chopper took off, Drake’s gaze locked with hers. “We’re safe,” he said, though there was no way she could hear him over the drone of the blade.
“We’re safe,” she mouthed back. And then she kissed him.
Not a fleeting buss, but a full-fledged holy-shit-we’re-not-gonna-die kiss. It was magnificent.
She kissed him all the way back to the USS Sierra Nevada and kept kissing him as the rest of the squad filed off to head for the debrief. All but Ryder.
He grinned at the two of them when they surfaced; it was a wicked grin. It sent a shaft of tre
pidation through Drake’s gut, because he knew Ryder wasn’t just amused to see him sucking face. He’d seen that before. Obviously this was something else.
He quirked a brow at his friend and Ryder chuckled. “You do like to live dangerously, don’t you?” he said.
Drake narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Kissing her.” He nodded at Brandy.
It took a lot of effort not to bristle. How dare Ryder imply—
“She’s Brandywine’s daughter.”
His pulse missed a beat. Drake gaped at him. Shook his head. “She’s not—she’s not Brandywine’s daughter.”
At his side Brandy stiffened.
He whipped around to stare at her. Something cold slithered through his bowels. “Brandywine’s daughter’s name is Susan.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “No one calls me that.”
His heart plunged. It wasn’t a denial, but barely.
“Are you—” He cleared his throat. “Are you?” All he could manage.
And hell. Her head tipped. “He’s my dad.”
Crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
He’d fucked the commander’s daughter. The commander’s daughter! He might not be in the clutches of pirates, but he sure as shit wasn’t safe.
When Brandywine found out, he’d skin him alive.
Chapter Nine
Brandy followed as Ryder helped Drake to sick bay, and was heartily annoyed when the orderlies wouldn’t let her go in with him. “But I’m a nurse,” she wailed. Apparently the stupid frog doctors didn’t care.
Ryder led her to a bank of chairs in the waiting room and they sat, side by side, in silence. God. She hated waiting rooms. She always had—she never had been good at waiting—and this room was about as cold and sterile as they came. She glanced around at the soulless walls and frowned. It made her restless.
She pinned her attention on the man by her side. She hadn’t noticed before—probably because his face was still slathered with camo—but he was damn attractive, easily as handsome as Drake, but in a darker way. She much preferred Drake’s teasing energy to Ryder’s humming intensity. It also occurred to her that as team leader, he could tell her everything that had happened on that island, but there was really only one answer she wanted at the moment.
