by J. D. Dexter
“Why didn’t anyone say anything?” I ask the group.
“We thought that’s how you wanted it,” Brent says.
“You honestly thought I wanted you all to volunteer for a suicide mission? And what, if you didn’t volunteer, I wouldn’t be your friend? That I would kick you out of my family?” I can feel the tears building behind my eyes.
Hunter steps forward, his arms outstretched.
I step back, my own arm out to stall him.
“I have no family left but all of you,” I whisper. “I would never have asked any of you to join me. My joking around about going on a quest with me was just that—a joke. I didn’t actually intend for you guys to come with me. I don’t want to be the reason you might not come home to your families.” I swallow back a sob.
“But then you all volunteered, and I was so relieved.” I press my hands to my heart. “So thankful that I didn’t have to do this on my own. I’ve been pushing myself so hard so that you wouldn’t have to be put in danger. I didn’t expect or even want you to learn how to fight to save your life. Your lives should never be in danger, not if I have anything to say about it.”
My heart feels like it breaks open. I brush my hands together. “Easy fix. You all go home. In the morning, you go back home. I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten a lot stronger than I ever thought possible, especially since I hate exercise, but please. The Society of Kick-Ass Ninjas has formally invited me into their ranks. Ra’s al Ghul and his band of merry assassins have got nothing on me.” I take a deep breath, plaster a smile onto my face. “And I’m the boss, so what I say goes.” I give them a wink as I push through the circle of their bodies.
The wind bites at my cheeks. They really weren’t kidding when they called this the Windy City. Stuffing the tears and fear down deep, I keep walking, struggling to keep my head up when all I want to do is fall down and sob.
I’m really alone. I was wrong to have asked them to join me. How could I have let them risk their lives, even in a joking manner?
Suck it up, buttercup. You can do this. You can keep them safe.
Strong arms reach around me from behind. I’ve been in these arms enough times to know that it’s not an actual attacker.
“You would force your family to leave you at such a time?” Brockten’s mental voice crowds against my mental shield.
“To keep them from getting hurt or dying? Every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Now let me go.”
“Finley-babe, that’s not what we meant!” Brian yells from behind me. “Stop acting like a sacrificial lamb being led to slaughter.”
I huff. “First I’m a boss who forces you into joining a mission that will probably end with all of us dead.” Brockten’s snort of disgust ruffles my hair. “Okay, minus Brockten and Kez, and then, I’m a baby because I’m sending you home, so you don’t get hurt? Which one is it, Brian?”
I want to yank my hair out.
“Maybe I should attempt to explain,” Kez says, standing between me and Brian, her hands out almost touching both of our chests.
“Brian, Brent, and Hunter do not wish to be left out of the mission. In fact, I believe you will come against quite the opposition if you try to do so.”
“Damn right she will,” Hunter mutters, glaring at me.
“Seconded,” Brian and Brent snarl.
“In many cases, it is seen as…distracting…for members of a mission to date each other. Brian did not want you to think that he was any less devoted to your mission because he was dating me.” She gives him an annoyed glance.
“Therefore, he did not want it to become public knowledge that we were involved. In his misguided way, he wanted to protect you from having to choose the mission over his happiness.” Her smile reminds me of chocolates and silk sheets now.
“Why, on God’s green earth, would I want him to choose this mission over his own happiness?” I ask her.
She turns to look at me, a censoring look in her eyes. “You can think of no logical reason?”
I turn to look at Brian. He looks miserable: his eyes haggard, his deep blue eyes glimmering brightly in the streetlights, his mouth pinched and down-turned.
“You’re an idiot Brian Markus Hastings. I still love you more than I hate Anixia.” I move around Kez, slipping my arms around his lean waist.
“If I could send you away I would,” I begin
His chest expands under my cheek.
“But I’m not going to. I would hate if you sent me away when I knew you needed me, too.”
He settles back down. I tip my head up.
“But never, ever think that I want you on this mission more than I want you to be happy. If I could pass off being the boss to someone else, you can bet your bottom-freaking-dollar I’d do it in a heartbeat. I don’t want to go on this mission, let alone put everyone else in my life in danger with this mission.” I give him a squeeze. He returns it, almost crushing my ribs.
“No more of this boss crap. I’m just trying to keep my head above water. Now we get to deal with politicians, and I still have no idea when Anixia and I are going to have our showdown. So, no one’s the boss.”
Brockten snorts again.
“Not even you, dude. Suck it up.” I jab a finger in his direction.
“We just stay together, keep each other safe, help each other be happy, and try to kick some genocidal, power-hungry, despotic woman’s ass.”
“Amen,” Hunter says, a soft glint in his eyes.
“Seconded,” everyone says.
“Now, I’m freezing my very substantial tits off. Let’s get back to the hotel.”
“Seconded.” Surround sound.
20
“Morning all. How’d you sleep?” Brian asks the next morning as we eat breakfast in the lounge.
“Like a baby,” I say around a bite of omelet.
Nods and other murmurs of agreement sound around the table.
“I watched the weather channel this morning,” Brockten says. “They are expecting no snowfall for the next ten days. I suggest we fly to D.C. instead of cramming into a car for the next twenty hours.”
Brian’s head whips over, his eyes pleading like a puppy asking for a snack.
“Really? No snowfall expected?” he practically whimpers.
Brockten shakes his head.
“Pretty please, boss, pretty please can we fly?” Brian turns to me.
“I’m not the boss, and I don’t want to be stuck in a car with any of you any more than you do. But what happens if we get stuck in D.C.?”
“We can rent a car from there. Or the train. The train rarely cancels due to snow. Or at least I don’t think it does,” Brent says.
“From the looks of exhaustion and trauma, I’m guessing most of us would rather fly than drive?” I look around the table.
Eager nods and pleading smiles speak loudly.
I laugh. “I’m up for voting. Like I said last night, I’m not the boss. I’ve never aspired to be the boss, nor do I want to be the boss. Vote on it. Or someone else can make the decision. I vote fly.” Lifting my hand up, it takes less than a second for everyone else’s hands to go up in the air.
“It’s decided. We’ll need to deal with the car, Lando, and tickets. Who wants what job?” I ask.
“I will speak with Lando,” Brockten says, pushing his chair away from the table.
“I’ll call the car rental place, and try to get our reservation cancelled. You okay dropping it off at the airport?” Brent has his phone out already and flicking through screens.
“Works for me. The car’s in Brian’s name, so you both might want to check on that part.” I shrug my shoulders.
“I should be able to help with the flights,” Sarah offers. “Why don’t we go back to your room Finley, and we can deal with that.” She drops her napkin over her empty plate and stands up.
“If everyone can bring their luggage to our room, we can look at combining or reducing so we don’t have to pay extra for more luggage than we really need,�
�� Hunter says.
Everyone agrees, and we all separate from the table.
***
“I have Brock’s second key, so I took the liberty of bringing his luggage down,” Kez says. She dumps four huge duffel bags on the floor, muffled metallic clanks and crashes sound.
“All that’s his?” I ask.
“Yes. Although only one bag contains clothes.” She kicks the one closest to her feet. “The remaining contain various weapons and defense implements.” She grins at me.
“Oh, that makes much more sense. Well, those won’t be able to fly with us. He’ll either have to ship them home or to our next hotel.”
She nods. “I spoke to him about it while I was getting the bags from his room.” She taps a finger to her head. “He stated that he would come up once he was done talking with Lando, and sort through the ones he wants to keep and the ones to go home.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Sarah’s voice comes from the far side of the room. “Yes, I know I’m not on an active investigation, sir. But I’m escorting senate hearing witnesses from Chicago. I simply need your authorization to—” Sarah flashes me a grumpy face and rolls her eyes.
“Yes, sir. I know the drill. No, they will be paying for their own tickets, I simply need you to—” Another eye roll. “No, sir…Of course not, sir…I’ll be sure to remind her of that, sir…Thank you, sir.” She stabs at her phone screen.
“I swear, that man thinks I’m either deaf or incompetent.” Shaking her head, she slides her phone into her back pocket. “Deputy Chief Hawkins wants me to remind you that the Department of Homeland Security is not your private security force, Ms. Tindol.” She scrunches her face up before blowing out a breath that causes her bangs to flutter around her eyes.
“Thank you for that reminder, Special Agent Richardson. I would hate to abuse the leniency of DHS.” I smile at her.
She points a finger gun at me, drops her thumb. “You betcha.”
“What do you mean these are all yours?” Hunter’s voice carries from the door. “Brian, you pack like a girl on her period.”
Kez, Sarah, and I all burst into laughter. Kez wipes the tears from her eyes. “He really does,” she whispers.
“The flight is less than two hours long, so we have a couple of options for flights. I can’t imagine many are full; I’m hoping we won’t have to worry about a lot of other passengers. Either way, security at the airport could prove problematic. I suggest we aim for the two-forty-five flight out of O’Hare.” I look at the girls.
“You all okay with that? That gives us a couple hours to deal with the car, any luggage issues or shipping problems, and still give us time to make it to the airport for security check-through.”
“Works for me; I vote yes. And thank the gods of transportation that the snow let up enough for us to fly. I was not looking forward to driving that far. You are all too big, even in an SUV, for seven of us to be in one vehicle,” Sarah says.
Kez and I look at each other. “Seconded.” We both laugh and give each other high-fives.
Hunter, my veteran trauma surgeon, looks like he’s about to go down for the count. His eyes are a little wild, his hair is standing straight up from too many run-throughs with his fingers, and his beautiful mouth is pinched in concentration and anxiety.
“Everyone grab four outfits from your various piles, your toiletries, and your shoes. Buddy up with your room partner and shove all of your crap into one bag.”
“Told you. She’s totally the boss.” Brian nudges Kez’s shoulder.
“I have no roommate, so if anyone has essentials that will not fit in your bag, you may utilize some of the extra space in my own,” Brockten offers.
Hunter sits back on his heels, his face slack. “That was so much easier than what I had planned.” He blows me a kiss.
I catch it and stuff it down my shirt with a wink.
He barks out a laugh.
Clapping my hands, I say loudly, “Come on people. Move it, move it, move it.”
***
“Thank goodness we got to the airport when we did,” I tell Hunter as we sit down in our first-class seats and buckle our seatbelts.
“Yeah. Waiting for that crash to clear out would have been awful. I just hope whoever was involved is okay,” he says.
“Same. I’m really hoping no kids were involved.” I shudder thinking about it.
The flight attendant begins her announcement and guidelines spiel. I tune her out as I try to find the rest of our group. It’s not hard considering the plane is almost empty. I guess people don’t really want to fly in and out of Chicago when there’s tons of snow on the ground.
Kez’s head is laying against Brian’s shoulder a couple seats in front of us. From the back, Brockten looks like his neck and shoulder muscles are about to snap in half. Brent and Sarah are in our same row, just across the aisle. Their heads are together as they talk over the announcements.
I settle back into the seat, heave a huge sigh, and thank God that we actually got on the plane at all. Trying to get Brockten to understand that swords and knives weren’t allowed turned out to be a battle I was unprepared for.
Thankfully, Kez was able to pull him aside and they were able to do something with the weapons without raising any more suspicions. He didn’t even sound off the metal detectors or body scan machines. I’m even more interested in learning to fight with their special organic metal-like stuff.
The flight attendant winds down and takes her seat as we back up from the gate. I grab Hunter’s hand as we taxi down the runway. I’m not a flying virgin, but I certainly wouldn’t consider myself to be a veteran either.
Listening to the engine’s rev has me locking down on Hunter’s hand. Squeezing my eyes shut, we jettison into the sky. Nothing but math and prayers keeping us from plummeting to our deaths.
“Easy there, Socks. I’d like to keep the bones in my hand in one piece,” Hunter teases me.
“Sorry,” I say. I release his hand and peek at him as he flexes and extends his abused fingers.
“’s’all good.” He leans over and kisses my head.
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
“About the hearing?”
I nod.
“Yes and no. Yes, because I’ve never done this kind of thing before, and definitely not in front of a Senate Committee. No, because I’ve done nothing wrong and they just want the truth.” He hitches one shoulder.
“I’ve got—I wouldn’t call it a bad feeling necessarily—but a more negative than positive feeling about all of this. And there’s nothing I can point to and say is the reason. Just a general feeling of ickyness.” I wiggle my fingers around the area of my tummy.
“Sure that’s not just a fear of flying?” he asks.
I snort. “Yeah. The closer we get to D.C., the worse the feeling gets.”
The plane hits an air pocket and we bounce up and down a couple of times before leveling out again. I breathe deeply through my nose, pushing the air out through my mouth. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing.
I hear Hunter click the button over our heads. The faintest electrical whine reaches my ears as the light flicks on. The flight attendant’s clothes rustle as she walks toward us. Another click, and the electrical whine is extinguished with the light.
“Yes, sir?”
“Hi, can we get a Coke for her?” Hunter asks.
“Of course. Would you like a cup?”
I shake my head, my eyes still closed.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks,” I call out weakly.
“Gonna make it?” Hunter asks.
“Yes. But between the icky feeling and not liking to fly, this is getting ridiculous.” I hit the button that lets my chair recline.
“Here you go, ma’am. I’ve also brought a cool towel. You’re looking a little pale.” A blessed chill soothes my heated forehead as Hunter adjusts the rag. The snap and hiss of the can of soda being opened reassures me and my stomac
h that sugar and caffeine are coming soon.
“Thank you so much!” I tell the flight attendant, tilting my head in her direction even though my eyes are still closed.
“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thanks, we will,” Hunter says.
I tilt my head up to take the world’s tiniest sip of Coke before settling back down against the reclined chair.
“Sorry I’m not a good flight buddy,” I say.
“Hey, you haven’t farted on me, you’re not trying to steal communal space, nor are you drooling. You’re welcome to fly with me anytime.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
I laugh. “I’ll consider that to be damned by faint praise. And if I farted, everyone would know it.”
“Truth,” he agrees fervently.
I sneak a peek at him. His nose is scrunched, his brow furrowed, and his mouth is pinched. All he needs is waving his hands in front of his face to finish the picture.
I laugh again. He catches me watching him. His face quickly clears, and his eyes are sparkling.
“Oh come on! It was only the one time. You’re a doctor, you should understand how the body’s digestive system works.” I poke him in the ribs.
“I do know how it works. I still can’t figure out what you ate that day though. I could taste it, Socks.” He widens his eyes, a look of horror on his face. “I could taste it,” he says darkly.
I laugh so hard the now-tepid rag slides down my face. “That was the day I lost the Angel modifier of my nickname.”
“I’m pretty sure angels don’t smell like that…ever.”
I wipe my eyes off tears. “But you’re still here with me.”
“Yup. If worse comes to worst, I’ll put you on some medication to help with that. And besides, what’s one truly horrendous fart between two people who love each other? Farts and all.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be warts and all?”
“Not for you.” He chuckles as he picks up my hand and kisses the palm.
