“Be careful. Barron is still trying to piece together the reports of those tribal murders. If Archon’s involved you know better than to cross him without proper back up. Watch yourself.”
“Si. Talk to you later.”
Chago was beside the table in four long strides. “Irena?” He saw the fear in her eyes and hauled her away before the others had time to react. “We’re leaving.”
“Are you alright?” His voice was rough as gravel as he marched her out of the restaurant and into a secluded corner of the lobby.
“I’m fine.” She disengaged herself from his fierce grip, her face flushed and eyes wild. “You can’t swoop in every time Drake shows up. I can protect myself.”
His kiss extinguished any further speech. It was a hard, possessive, punishing act—more of a brand than a tender caress. He pulled away and glared. “Being your fiancé affords me certain privileges. Privileges I refuse to share with anyone.”
Irena stared at him, open-mouthed and bug-eyed like an owl on crack.
Shit. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. What the hell was wrong with him?
He backed away and smacked into Innocent.
“You don’t look so good, Mr. Chago. Why don’t you go out and get some air? I look after Ms. Irena ‘til you get back.”
Space. Si. He needed space.
Exiting the hotel, he weaved a path deep into the bustle of downtown Kinshasa, driven by a soul-deep need to maintain distance from the woman who had so easily surmounted all of his barriers.
He entered the farmer’s market and stopped near a stall of colorful scarves. One with graduated tones of blue snagged his attention and he soon found himself haggling with the owner over the price. His use of the local dialect benefited him and he walked away with his prize and a great deal.
As he made his way back toward the hotel his thoughts continued to linger on his target. A strange emotion fizzed low in his gut before spreading higher. Irena terrified him. The last woman who’d owned his heart had died for the pleasure. Divinity’s words echoed inside his head.
Don’t fail again.
Deep in contemplation, he continued on.
Three steps later, gunfire erupted and screams rang out.
Chago ducked around the gnarled edge of a fruit stand. Bullets whizzed through the crowded marketplace and rust-bucket yellow pickups overflowing with insurgents stormed forward, heedless of the people underfoot.
A truck rattled by at top speed. He grabbed a woman and her small child and pulled them into the safety of a nearby alley. From around the corner of a dilapidated building, he spied troops exiting the vehicles, fully loaded with the latest model Russian assault rifles.
How the hell had they gotten those weapons? A memory from Drake’s office rode the edge of his mind, but disappeared before he could recall the full details.
He inched to the end of the narrow corridor for better tactical surveillance. His attempts to count the shooters, who scattered with the panicked mob, failed. He skirted an area where insurgents looted the market stalls and spotted an armed rebel in close proximity. Chago nabbed the man, snapped his neck, and stole his weapon. A quick check of the guy’s ID confirmed they were hired thugs, reinforcements from neighboring Sudan.
Under the cover of shadows, he slipped farther down the block, and disposed of two more insurgents in the process. Now fully armed with a pair of AK-12s, an Ash-12, and a stockpile of C4, Chago continued toward a faded yellow Datsun idling at the deserted market’s core. He ducked low behind the rear bed and planted two charges near the gas tank.
A niggle of unease gnawed through his calm reserve. Things were going too smoothly. His warrior senses clicked to high alert. He swiveled, ready to dart into the alley, only to be halted by a rifle barrel between the eyes. Chago glanced at his captor before dropping his gaze to the C4 ready to detonate beneath the vehicle. Shit. This was going to hurt.
“Quoi de neuf, mon ami?” Despite the disaster about to implode, Chago kept his tone full of distracting swagger. His insolent ‘what’s up’ in French, lost its punch in translation.
In the distance, Chago spotted the mother and child he’d pulled to safety earlier. They edged toward the curb once more—an easy target. Another insurgent grabbed her, shoved the woman to the ground, and pushed the toddler away. The soldier kicked her hard in the ribs and cursed.
His ire cresting, he abandoned all pretense of civility and cast a lethal glare at the armed man to his front. Hades could expect several new arrivals today. “Prêt à rencontrer votre créateur, fils de pute?” Ready to meet your creator, son of a bitch?
The soldier’s derisive chuckle barely registered in the wake of the explosion.
Shrapnel and various body parts splattered everywhere. Chago dove for cover . . . too late. The blast threw him backward. He landed hard on the roadway while debris rained over him. Breathing became near impossible in the intense heat, but he managed to crawl out of ground zero. Slumped near the curb, he did a quick survey of his injuries. Broken ribs, a sticky, sore spot on the back of his skull and a damaged hand. Fuck. Retirement couldn’t come soon enough.
Sudden movement caught his attention. He glanced sideways and found the mother and child huddled against a nearby wall, dirty and battered but otherwise unscathed. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to Divinity and flashed them a small smile. The child returned his gesture with a tentative grin. Maybe this line of work did have its rewards.
More gunfire burst. Determination flooded his system and overrode the temporary complacency the child had sparked. It was time to end this fiasco.
He pushed to his feet and ignored the pain rippling up his side from his damaged ribs. Jaw clenched and weapons cocked, Chago headed straight for the stalls, intent on taking out insurgents like carnival ducks. The center of the market stood vacant. As he looked around, dread oozed over him like sludge. This was nothing but a fucking trap.
A rifle butt struck his temple.
Chago stumbled and fell forward to his knees, a sick burst of light exploding before his eyes. Hands stripped him of weapons and pushed him flat to the ground. One booted foot held his neck hostage while another person patted him down. Madre Dio, his head thumped worse than a military drum corps. He peered into the fuzzy distance and spotted a man lounging against the counter of a produce stall. An oscillating fan creaked beside him, blowing fetid air in wobbled, brief gusts.
He blinked several times. His head injury must be worse than he’d first imagined. Chago squinted and refocused. Nope. The man was still dressed in bad pimp imitation, his garish print shirt unbuttoned to the waist and his tight white pants shining in bold contrast to the lime green flip flops adorning his feet. A chunky gold chain dangled down the man’s chest while his straw Panama hat sat cockeyed, dipped low over one eye.
A gun nudged Chago’s back and a soldier grabbed his arm, forcing him to his feet and closer to the man who now eyed him with frank annoyance.
“Who da fuck are you?” The guy spoke in the broken vernacular of a person who’d seen one too many action movies. Chago stared back without answering. The gun barrel moved to rest at the base of his skull, demanding a response.
“Chago.”
Mr. Pimp repeated his name with emphasis on the ‘a’ so it sounded like a donkey bray. “Well Mr. Chago, we gots ourselves a problem, yeah?”
No shit. Chago masked his emotions beneath a façade of practiced stoicism. Another insurgent ran up and whispered something in the man’s ear. The leader nodded, growled out a series of low quick orders, and the soldier quickly departed, his guns cocked. The Pimpmeister smirked and shook his head before he addressed Chago again. “You ken who da fucks I am?”
You mean besides a worse dresser than my brother, Wyck? The smartass question hovered at the edge of Chago’s tongue, along with a misplaced chuckle. He swallowed it, unspoken. Wouldn’t do to irritate the locals too much. Not yet anyway. He shook his head.
The man stepped closer and met his gaze. “Name�
�s Mack Turay. They call me da fucking Terminator, yeah? These here my troops, da LRA—Lord’s Resistance Army.”
“Oh, so you’re doing the Lord’s work then?” He couldn’t prevent the sarcasm from drenching his words.
A woman’s scream echoed, followed by the resounding thwack of flesh striking flesh. Chago shifted his gaze and caught sight of the soldier from earlier. The thug backhanded an elderly man before hurling him into the dirt street. He transferred his sinister glower back to the man edging his way closer to the top of the most-likely-to-die-a-painful-death list. “That’s some god you got there.”
“Forget religions. You got large problems. Killed five of me men and stole them weapons. What you gonna do ‘bout dis? You owe me somes payback, yeah?” Turay circled around him, each sentence uttered on a different side before ending face to face once more. “Where’s me justice?”
Chago had a few ideas about the type of justice he’d dispense to this jackass. His fists clenched and his eyes narrowed, searching for an opportunity. He planned to end this bastard where he stood.
A sudden roar interrupted his murderous train of thought.
From the opposite end of the street, a hulking black van headed straight for their position. A guard near the perimeter of their makeshift circle delivered the news in bullet-point French. Turay’s left cheek ticked as the information relayed. Militia. Full contingent. Heavily armed.
A shadow darted past Chago’s peripheral vision. The gun that had been pointed at the base of his skull lifted, only to slam down hard into the side of his head. Pain radiated from his temple and surged into blinding agony. He lurched forward, face-planting in the dirt, his cheekbone mashed against the hard-pebbled street. His eyes remained open, witness to the events he’d been unable to halt.
The rebel leader crouched at his side and leaned low near his face to fill his vision. His tone reeked with pompous bravado. “Worry not, Chago. Me find you real soon so you’s can pay up.”
Turay spit on the ground and scurried away as the militia grew near.
Consciousness wavering, Chago attempted to lift a hand to the sticky spot at the rear of his head. The wound had reopened now, gone deeper. The black van rumbled closer. Its shadow engulfed his prone body and forced him to action. Must get out of the way.
His ravaged body refused to budge. He sagged to the ground and squeezed his eyes shut against the impending calamity, cringing in tense anticipation. Run-overs were the worst.
The vehicle ground to a halt inches from his legs. After several long seconds, Chago inhaled and peeked one eye open. The van’s side door slid open. Men climbed out into the streets with their weapons at the ready. The last man exited from the driver seat and walked to his side.
“You alright, Mr. Chago?” Innocent bent and inspected the growing bump on the back of his head with gentle fingers.
“Never better.” He slowly propped up on one elbow, hovering for a few seconds to establish his balance before swiveling in the direction his assailant had disappeared. “Who the hell was that guy?”
“Mack ‘Terminator’ Turay.” Innocent stepped back and lit a cigarette. “Biggest butcher in these parts. I ain’t talking meat parts neither.”
Pain zinged through Chago’s skull and the world tilted. His recent meal threatened to make a hasty escape. He lowered his head and covered his eyes, willing his stomach to settle. “Why didn’t you tell you’re the militia leader?”
Innocent helped him to his feet and into a chair from a nearby stall then pulled up a seat for himself. The acrid smell of burning tobacco from Innocent’s cigarette made his gut rioted anew. He forced his attention from his cramped stomach to what Innocent was saying.
“Mr. Chago, I not so young anymore. Been around here a long time and seen lots of things, yeah? This new government, it’s good, right. I want to protect this, for my family. Understand?”
Si, he understood. He’d fought many such battles for his Basque homeland—sometimes for the governing powers, sometimes against—but always in the name of justice.
“I’m part of the Mai Mai Yakutomba Gedeo.” Chago frowned at the name and Innocent smiled. “Folks call us ‘militia’ for short.”
Militia he knew. “And you fight against Turay?”
“Him and others. They don’t come so much anymore. But they still there, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Chago leaned his forearms on his thighs. “How’d they get their hands on the latest Russian equipment? Those weapons are top of the line.”
“Turay got him some connections. Don’t ken the specifics, but they say it’s a white guy. Foreign, like you.” Innocent’s gaze narrowed, as if gauging Chago’s reaction.
“And you think I’m supplying them? Not my style.” He retrieved a nearby rifle and tossed it to Innocent. “Present, from me.”
Innocent caught the gun with one hand and checked the ammo. “Nice meeting your fiancée today. She a real pretty woman.”
Chago tensed at the mention of Irena. The scarf he’d bought remained safely tucked away inside his shirt. “I protect what’s mine, Innocent. Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.”
“Glad to hear it.” Innocent studied him for a long moment. A smile broke out on his face. “You and me, we have dis in common.”
“I need to return to the hotel.” He rose to find his stance steady. Being Scion had definite advantages. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Yep, gots to get back home me-self. Quite a meal my wife preparing for you tonight.” Innocent walked toward the van as the others piled in. “You need a ride?”
“No thanks. I’ll walk.” Chago waved and took off, eager to process all the new information and allow time for his wounds to heal.
Chapter 10
Irena sipped her daiquiri and tapped away on her laptop, researching the new insurgent information Adrienne had provided at breakfast. Distant gunfire echoed off the stone security walls surrounding the Grand Hotel’s tiny poolside oasis, a reminder of the true nature of things. War never got any easier to digest.
After Innocent had been called away unexpectedly, she’d come down to the pool to work, figuring some sun and relaxation might do her some good. Two of Innocent’s militia guards kept post beneath the awning near the entrance, an ever-present reminder of the dangers lurking in this part of the world.
Chago had disappeared after their interaction in the lobby. Irena remembered the sting of his kiss and the memory ignited her blood like a kerosene fire. Unexpected, yet not unwelcome, his embrace had stirred something primal, something hot and wanton inside her core. She put a quick damper on those feelings. Romance wasn’t part of her agenda. Not anymore.
She reached for her drink as a shadow fell across her chair, blocking her sunlight. Glancing up, Irena locked gazes with the recent object of her thoughts.
“I wondered where you disappeared to.” A faint purple bruise peeked from beneath the black curls at his temple. Her polite smile faded as she assessed his now tattered and scorched clothes. “What happened?”
“Scuffle in town.” Chago stretched out on a nearby chaise and studied her from beneath his lashes. “You knew Innocent Balewa heads the local militia?”
“The information was part of the dossier I received from Omega.” Irena held his gaze for a moment before refocusing on her laptop screen. Instinct demanded she grab a first-aid kit and clean him up. Common sense made her crush the desire and remain stoic. To allow this man into her heart would be a mistake beyond irrational. “He’s the main reason for this mission.”
“And you didn’t think to share this with me?”
“Why? Why would I share any information with you, Chago?” She resumed typing, her fingers banging the keys with enough force to make the laptop rock like a lopsided teeter-totter. “I don’t even know why you’re here. You followed me, that’s all I know.”
He didn’t answer.
After a brief period of awkward silence, she glanced in his direction. His pale gaze locked on her with stead
y intensity.
“We need to talk, Irena.”
“Go ahead and talk.” She attempted to return to her data entry. Any time spent in close proximity to him was proving dangerous to her mental health. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away. No such luck. Chago reached over and closed her laptop. She barely had time to slip her fingers out.
“I didn’t follow you.” He sat up and leaned closer. “I was sent here to protect you.”
“Why would I need protection?”
Silence.
She leaned over to set her computer on the end of her chaise and glanced back to find Chago focused on her lower spine. Her birthmark, now exposed by her low-slung bikini bottoms, itched beneath his scrutiny. Irena grabbed a towel and wrapped it tight around her midsection while Chago continued to stare at the covered area, his scowl increasing.
“My employer wants to ensure your security.”
Disappointment rattled her cage. He didn’t like her after all. Irena camouflaged her sudden hurt with an attempt at levity. “I realize things are dicey right now, but I don’t think they’ve reached critical.”
“This situation has nothing to do with the Congo, Irena. It’s much bigger. Look, I’m not good at explanations. Xander, my commanding officer, is the pro. He’ll arrive soon and can explain everything. Until then, you’re stuck with me.”
“Well, I guess I’ve put up with you for this long. A day or two more won’t matter.” Irena packed up her stuff and checked the time on the hotel clock mounted on the wall behind her. One-thirty. Manners forced her to be polite, despite the unease his statements had engendered. “I’m going to change and grab some lunch. Care to join me?”
Chago’s stomach rumbled loudly.
“Is that a yes?”
“This is for you.” He pulled a piece of wadded material from inside his battered shirt and tossed it to her. “I thought you might like it.”
She caught the fabric as Chago’s gaze dropped to her lips and her good intentions went up in flames. She smoothed out the soft blue bundle. A scarf. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
Seven Seals, Books 1 & 2 Page 31
