Jake glanced at his watch. There wasn’t much time to make new plans. “So what is all that GPS about? He wanted to keep tabs on Lola and us and…”
They both arrived at the same conclusion and mouthed it out together.
“Missile!”
At the same time, from outside, Lola’s scream rang out.
“Lola!” Jake ran toward the door separating them. “Andre, warn the others!”
“Head for the back!” Andre yelled back. “Everyone, go down to the cellars. Or the dungeon! Get down under the damn castle!”
Jake didn’t have time to look back. He flung the door open and found Lola on the threshold. He dragged her inside.
“GPS is for tactical attack now,” she panted out, trying to explain.
Jake pulled her along behind him. “Hurry, hurry! Come on, we’ve got to go down to the old dungeons.”
They scrambled after the few agents who had been there to help. Andre was at the top of the opening.
“Move!” he yelled at them.
They all dove down the crumbly flight of steps. The loud crash of iron-cast door followed behind them. Everyone ran as fast as they could.
“Move, move, move!” Jake ordered. “We need to get behind the second door! Hurr—”
A huge blast interrupted his words, shaking the castle to its foundation. There was a huge whoosh of air as they reached the second door. Most veterans knew what that was. Backfire.
Jake pushed Lola through. He could feel the heat coming down like a hurricane. Lola turned and grabbed him by his shirt, refusing to let go. Someone behind them screamed as he became the first victim.
Andre slammed the heavy iron opening shut. Jake pushed Lola onto the ground and covered her body. A huge sonic boom sounded and the metal door groaned and bent ferociously. A huge bolt flew out. Someone else screamed. Jake kept Lola under him, protecting her with his body. What felt like a huge wave of heat pushed against his back.
Don’t let her get hurt. Please don’t let her get hurt.
*
It was dark and hard to breathe. Lola coughed and tasted grit in her mouth. Dungeon dust and some horrid bitter blend of smoke, fire and debris. She coughed again, trying to lift her head higher, but Jake was heavy and not moving.
Not moving. Panic assailed her again.
“Jake!” She croaked out his name, choking from lack of air and dust. He didn’t move. The panic grew full-scale. She tried to turn, squirming and pulling, inching herself out from the weight on her, calling his name over and over.
Finally, he stirred and groaned. “I’m okay,” he said. “Just knocked out for a moment.”
“Listen up! Get up when you can,” Andre called out from somewhere to her left. “It won’t take long for the authorities to arrive. Those of you who are capable must take charge. Petrov!”
“I’m alive,” a voice called out.
“And able?”
“Yes.”
“You have to round up the uninjured. Someone check on those who are down.”
“I will,” Jake said, slowly getting up. He bent and helped Lola. “Are you all right?”
She couldn’t see his face in the semi-darkness. “Yes,” she assured him.
“Oh, no, you two come with me,” Andre ordered. “We’re getting the hell out of here before the media descends and the melee starts. Petrov, you know what to do!”
“Yes, sir!”
Andre was suddenly in front of them, holding a lantern. “You two aren’t injured, I hope. I need you able and running. We have to get away now.” His voice was crisp, a far cry from the mocking tone he always adopted. “I have a delivery to oversee. I have a beef with that fucker Ivan now. He thinks he could just bomb a castle and get away with it? Did you fucking know about this, Lola?”
She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her. “No.” Her voice was still hoarse from swallowing dust. “I truly thought he wanted to get his hands on the weapons for himself. The advantages of showing off UN weaponry while both sides are talking are too great, and our side would have a better control of the negotiations. But Ivan isn’t one for negotiating, I suspect.”
“I guess not. Fucking guy just about started a war all by himself,” Andre said. “Jake, we have to go to Plan B.”
“All right,” Jake said, by her side, his voice low. He whispered in her ear. “We’re out of here. With our new identities, no one will say anything. The old Jake and Lola have been killed. Are you ready for the next step?”
Lola stared up into his shadowy face. It was now or never.
“I love you,” she said, simply. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”
She came so close to losing Jake. Her own life meant nothing without him. Besides, it was quite clear that she had just been thrown away by her side, used as a sacrificial pawn for their next big move. She wasn’t bitter. Far from it. They’d just set her free.
He hugged her to him and she breathed in his scent and his heat. She didn’t ever want to be parted from him. She squeezed him hard.
“We aren’t out of danger yet,” Jake said, quietly. “I tried to cover every possible angle while getting the job done, but didn’t think of this one. If the missile had hit with you out there…”
His arms around her grew tighter, as if he would draw her inside his whole being. She understood how he was feeling. It had almost been over.
“I’m alive,” she whispered. She ran her hands across his back and started. “Why is your shirt wet? You’re bleeding!”
“Really?” Jake released her, looking over his shoulder. “It’s not hurting.”
Guiding Andre’s hand so his lantern would give her better lighting, Lola stepped around to examine Jake’s back. Andre whistled.
“There’s a rip in your shirt, bro,” he said. “Don’t move.”
Lola carefully lifted the red-soaked material. She could see raw skin here and there but there weren’t any deep injuries. The tightness in her throat eased a little.
“I don’t see any puncture wounds,” she said. “It’s more sticky than wet, like your blood is drying.”
“I think the heat from that missile burnt part of the shirt off his back. Look, the material is scorched here and there.” Andre lightly pressed in a couple of spots and nodded as Jake reacted to his pats. “Yeah. Lost a few layers of skin like a bad sunburn, bro. Lucky bastard.”
Lola shivered. It could have been worse. Losing Jake while he was protecting her. That would have been unbearable. She covered her mouth to contain a small sob.
“Shhh.” Jake turned. He took her hand in his. “I’m alive. I love you so much I’d do it all again.”
“Okay, love birds, it’s been a blast, but let’s go, hmm?” Andre urged. “This old place has some tunnels dug out of the dungeons in World War II. Follow me and you two can do all that kissing stuff once you’re outside away from here. There’ll be a fuck-load of people descending here very soon. We need to implement our plan now.”
“We’re right behind you,” Jake said. “Ready?”
Lola looked up. To her, his smile seemed to light up the whole place. He was her knight in shining armor, rescuing her from the dungeon that was her life. She smiled back radiantly.
“Ready,” she replied, giving his hand a tug.
They walked out of the chaos without looking back. Nothing behind them, everything ahead.
Epilogue
Every Russian could quote Pushkin from childhood. He wrote some beautiful love poems which I’d dismissed as trite and silly. There was no such love that he celebrated about, mourned over, yearned for.
Until Jake.
His love elevated my life and my being. His presence in my life shone like the sun over the former shadows that had been eating my soul.
From the very day we’d escaped, taking the old hillside path outside the tunnel, he’d been mine. We’d turned to look at the billowing smoke over the bombed out castle, so damaged by Ivan’s attack, with the sound of air raids and sirens in th
e distance. Rage had filled my heart to see such destruction. Another emotion that had been frozen inside me all these years.
“We’ll build our own castle, my darling,” Jake had said, in Russian, wiping the tears that had somehow leaked out of my eyes.
I smiled at that promise now. Our very own castle wasn’t quite the size of a three-car garage.
Jakiv and Lynda Zukovich lived in a very small apartment in a rural town in Switzerland, but with our new names and papers, our simple life was like a fairytale to me. Jake had a stash of money he’d been keeping and we lived on it for a while until we’d settled down in our new country.
We didn’t communicate with the outside much. As far as I knew, the old Jake and Lola had been reported among the dead in that burning castle—there were international articles about two tourists with their general descriptions reported as victims of the Russian rocket that had taken out an entire side of the tourist attraction. No one had come forward to claim the remains.
The attack did achieve one thing, though. It became part of the excuse to keep the Russian convoy at the border. Humanitarian aid or not, every truck had to be parked and searched by the Ukrainian guards, while being observed by UN officials. I hoped Ivan got reprimanded for getting nothing out of all that trouble he’d caused. That well-timed delay had also given Andre and his men enough time to regroup and the last call we’d gotten from him was just before he’d gone in to rescue whatever was left of the 80th Regiment at Donetsk Airport. The tie-up of the convoys had kept reinforcements from reaching the rebels surrounding the trapped troopers. From the news, it’d been a bloody battle, but many were rescued.
It was all out of our hands now. I only kept up with it enough because one had to keep an eye on the news at all times. I guess I was also paranoid.
As the weeks became months, time had slowed down for us even more. We enjoyed being what we are now—no spying, no information gathering, no telling half-truths.
Once upon a time, I was a sexy agent who was taught to seduce with a smile and a look. I traveled all over the world and sat by powerful men, listening in on conversations. I touched and read documents that the most important rulers of the world would pay top dollar to have a peek. I could call several names on my black book and have them fly me anywhere I wanted.
I gave that all up. Now Jake worked at a farm and I was giving lessons to make pysanky eggs.
“Why are you looking all mysterious and sexy at me like that?” Jake asked, watching me.
I’d thought he’d been sleeping.
“And my heart beat with a rapture new,
And for its sake arose again
A godlike face, an inspiration,
And life, and tears, and love, and you.”
I smiled down at him by my side. I did it for love.
The End
Note from Author
I hope you’ve enjoyed this story. You can subscribe to my newsletter by emailing me at [email protected]. Please write NEWSLETTER in the topic area.
1) The Minsk Protocol was signed in 2014 but did not last. The ceasefire was broken a few months later when both sides resumed artillery fire in the city and suburbs of Donetsk. rt.com/news/223887-ukraine-army-donetsk-bombs
2) The bloody battle for Donetsk Airport was of utmost important in the war between Ukraine and the Russian-backed rebels. Because of its state-of-the art facility was the Achilles heel to the separatists. In order to take full control of the city, Sergey Prokofiev International Airport must fall. The Ukrainians were cornered in the second and third floors of the new terminal, waiting for help. The separatists, having intercepted and shelled much of the aid coming from the Ukrainian government, killed and captured a number of the elite 80th Paratroopers Brigade. A small group, who managed to hide in the many serpentine hide-outs of the airport, was rescued when international “contractors” aided the Ukrainians. This is all reported in the news. I’ve just added Andre and his group into the mix.
3) When the ceasefire agreement was signed, Mariupol did indeed celebrate noisily, its inhabitants hopeful that their city would be saved from battle. However, as of March 2015, much of the city has been shelled and many citizens have fled. Many are moving out of the country as refugees.
About the Author
Gennita Low writes sexy military and techno spy-fi romance. She also co-owns a roof construction business and knows 600 ways to kill with roofing tools as well as yell at her workers in five languages. A three-time Golden Heart finalist, her first book, Into Danger, about a SEAL out-of-water, won the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award for Best Romantic Intrigue. Besides her love for SEALs, she works with an Airborne Ranger who taught her all about mental toughness and physical endurance. Gennita lives with her mutant poms and one chubby squirrel.
To learn more about Gennita, visit www.Gennita-Low.com, www.rooferauthor.blogspot.com and www.facebook.com/gennita
Other Books by Gennita Low
BIG BAD WOLF
~ ~ Crossfire Series ~ ~
PROTECTOR
HUNTER
SLEEPER
HER SECRET PIRATE (short story in SEAL of my Dreams)
WARRIOR
~ ~ Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) ~ ~
INTO DANGER
FACING FEAR
TEMPTING TROUBLE
~ ~ Super Soldier Spy ~ ~
VIRTUALLY HIS
VIRTUALLY HERS
~ ~ Sex Lies & Spies ~ ~
*novella series
THE GAME
THE PAWN
THE SEAL
~ ~ Children’s books as “Gennita” ~ ~
A SQUIRREL CAME TO STAY
NEWSLETTER: [email protected]
Sinful
Part One
R.J. Lewis
Due to set word count, this story had to be divided.
This book contains swearing and explicit sexual situations that may be offensive to some.
Chapter One
I knew the minute I walked into the house that I wasn’t alone. There were noises every now and then – of footsteps on the floorboards above and the quiet sounds of doors opening and shutting.
This was my second time at the Brenner estate. The first time had been three days ago and it was almost a job interview the way Sheryl Brenner went about it. The middle-aged redhead had treated me tartly, requesting beforehand a background check, references, employment history, previous employers – the list literally went on and on. I was almost tempted to walk right out on her midway through the interrogation, but Aunt Marie would not have been pleased about it. After all, she chased the role for me and to walk away would have been a great disrespect to her.
Housekeeping was easy, and I liked being on my own during the days. But I’d never been in a rich person’s home before, and especially not one so known to people, albeit, not for good reasons.
The Brenner family were quite popular around Bridgetown. They owned businesses left, right and centre. This house was just one of their mini mansions and belonged to the infamous Kale Brenner.
“My brother won’t be home for some weeks yet,” Sheryl had said. “But I’d like for him to return to a clean house. It’s important he’s comfortable with his surroundings. I’m looking for someone to come around at least three times a week to keep the house in good maintenance, especially when he has returned. If you feel you’re up to par, then I’ll put you on as soon as possible. But,” she added, gravely, “I won’t be held responsible if there are any… problems.”
“What sort of problems?” I’d asked.
“My brother, Kale, is not the easiest person to be around. He’s going through some problems lately. Don’t talk to him. Don’t even look at him. Pretend he’s not around when you’re here and you’ll avoid any issues. Is that understood?”
“Yes, of course.” It wasn’t unusual following people’s explicit instructions about the care of their home, but never had I been told to downright ignore the presence of the owner. It made me uncomfortabl
e, and I had second thoughts about taking the job.
But it was ongoing employment. I had several other houses booked for the weeks to come, and I was making good enough money to pay Marie rent for my bedroom and live off of the rest comfortably. This extra responsibility was welcoming, especially if it was long term.
The Brenner estate was in one of those high-end neighbourhoods where every house had a tall security gate, large open front yard with trimmed hedges, fancy cars parked out front showcasing to the world the owner’s impressive set of wheels and, of course, a house to die for.
The interior of Kale Brenner’s English brick mini-mansion was like something out of a catalogue for the rich and famous. I’d walked about the house with Sheryl, gaping at every detail knowing there was no way I would be able to retain it all. Six massive bedrooms, two living rooms, a maid’s quarters, a movie theatre room, a foyer with marble floors and fifteen foot tall ceilings, four marble bathrooms, a kitchen with French limestone counters and just about ten million other amazing little things – like the intricate designs on every wooden door and cabinet, or the gorgeous stone mantelpieces on the fireplaces, and the beautiful mosaic canvases against the creamy coloured walls of almost every room…
Every inch of the house had been thought of and measured by someone, had drained their taste of décor, had turned the interior into a gorgeous display of class and wealth. And for that, the house felt ironically hollow. Void of a human’s touch – of a true living embodiment that resided in a home that said something of themselves.
It was… strange.
“As I said,” Sheryl went on at the very end of the tour, “I’d need someone at least three times a week. I’m sure now that you’ve seen how large the house is, three times might not be enough.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. It would be sheer madness to tackle on the maintenance of a house this big on my own.
