by Fiona Quinn
Meg blinked. Men didn’t say things like that to her. “Okay,” she said. She’d tell herself she was a moron tomorrow. It was the best she could do in the moment.
Rooster chuckled. “Good, then we agree.”
His hands, his tongue, his lips moved over her. All of her. There wasn’t an inch that was left unattended. By the time he’d worked his tongue back to her pussy, there wasn’t an ounce of bashful left in her. Her thighs clamped around his head as he gave her crazy, rollercoaster sensations. Her orgasm built to a point where the intensity started to frighten her. Then she was crashing down, and Rooster gathered her tightly in his arms. His warmth and strength making her feel safe and cared for. She was drunk on sex. Slurring, limp, disoriented.
She reached down to hold his dick. Stroked her hand over the velvety length until she sobered a little. He pressed the condom packet into her hand. She rolled it into place and swung her leg over his hips, guiding his penis inside her, then she collapsed on his chest. She needed another moment to recover.
Chapter Eighteen
Rooster
Room 508
Rooster lay on his back with Meg’s hair brushing over his chest. He clamped his hands around her hips, stilling her gyrations. He pushed his weight onto his elbows to lift his shoulders off the pillow, turning left then right, trying to hone in on the sounds he was hearing. A pop-pop-pop had drifted through her open window. It happened twice before he could wrangle his attention away from the sensation of Meg riding him toward her second orgasm. He could feel her muscles wrapping his dick, quivering faster and faster. It was driving him nuts. He was holding off his own explosion until she was there with him. He wanted to crash over the cliff with her.
But that was gunfire.
Meg looked down at him with bewilderment. She pushed on her legs to free herself and slide up his dick.
Rooster held her tighter. His mind raced. The way the hotel was built to replicate the rolling hills and rocks of the crater’s edge made echoes that masked their origin. How far away were they? “Do they use rifles to keep predators off the hotel property?”
Her responding “What?” was peppered with another set of shots. Her face shifted instantly, a worry line ran between her brows. “No,” she whispered. “That’s why we have to sign paperwork about not going into the crater after the sun starts to set and not going outside on the first level after dark. It’s tourist board policy that this is the animals’ home, and we’re just visiting.”
A rat-a-tat-tat was partially hidden behind screams. That wasn’t fear. That was pain. Someone had been shot. He needed to get to Randy, get them suited up, get Meg safe.
Meg froze in place, eyes wide, gripping Rooster’s wrists.
His mind went through a quick calculation as he eased her off him and rolled from the mattress to squat beside the bed in one smooth movement. He gestured for Meg to follow suit. But she sat back on her heels, staring at the door as if she expected rifle-wielding men to burst their way in at any moment.
Assessment: they were on the top floor. He had a gun with one extended magazine, one in the chamber. Seventeen bullets. He had his knife. And he had two flights of stairs to get her down to get to Randy’s room. Since he had a known position, and Rooster and Meg did not, Rooster knew Randy would sit tight and wait for their communication. First things first. He grabbed his clothes and slung them on as he sent his gaze around the room, searching for options. “Where’s your vest?”
“In Randy’s room.” Her voice warbled. “I gave it back to him.”
Rooster froze for a nanosecond, taking in the picture. Meg was kneeling on the bed with her hands clasped together, pressed to her mouth. Her creamy white skin glowed in the soft gold of the lamplight. Her copper hair swept over her shoulders. The pink of her nipples and the beautiful curves of her hips. The look of complete trust in her eyes. Another shot. Another scream. Rooster yanked his phone out—no bars. Were they savvy enough to jam them? He lifted the hotel phone’s receiver—no dial tone. Dead. His eyes fell on the wispy dress that he had just pulled off Meg, her satin bra. He took Meg’s hands in his and looked into her eyes until she could focus on him. This was a tactic that lost time on the front end but saved time in the long run. He needed her to stay steady and not panic. Panic was deadly.
He used a firm voice, modulated so anyone in the rooms next door couldn’t hear. “You need to get dressed in hiking gear.” He nodded his head and waited for her to follow suit. “Put on layers. A sports bra. Three or four t-shirts. A hoodie. A weather-proof jacket. Liner socks and wool socks like you’re going on a long hike, but I want you to put on two or three liner socks, yes?” It was a list. A long list. But a list gave someone something to focus on, something to tick off. If he just said, “Get dressed,” she’d probably pull on what he’d just taken off her, and she’d be fleeing the bad guy like some heroine in a damned film, teetering in strappy heels and getting tangled in flowing fabric. This wasn’t Hollywood. This was the real deal. She needed to be ready for fight or flight. And he hoped like hell it was only flight.
Meg looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“Hiking boots.” He pointed a commanding finger. “Do it now.” Rooster drew his belt out of the loops of his pants as he moved to the window and lifted the drapery just enough that he could get a look at the grounds. Meg’s room faced the front of the hotel. Three canvas-covered trucks sat outside in the circular drive, with a Jeep behind them. He could see into one. A driver sat with his hands on the steering wheel. Men with AK-47s were positioned strategically, so they were working the angles. They knew what they were doing. Fuck.
When he looked back at her, Meg was sloppily dressed. She was perched on the bed trying to tie her boots, but her hands were shaking too hard. “They’re shooting in the hotel?”
Rooster came over to her and knelt, taking the boot in his hands but focusing on her eyes. “I need you to center yourself. I’ll get your boots on. You check your breathing. Do you know how to use a gun?”
“A dart gun for tagging animals, yes.”
“A pistol?” He lifted her other foot, rearranged her sock so the heel was in the back and pushed her into the second boot.
“I’ve never tried. They’re not allowed in Tanzania.”
“Could you use one? Could you look at someone and pull the trigger? Be honest.” Rooster yanked on the laces to tighten her boot. Meg sat very still while he tied. Rooster looked up to catch her eye. He raised his brow to remind her that he’d asked a question.
“No, I don’t think I could. Rooster, there are no authorities here. No cops. No soldiers. There’s no one to call. No one is coming to help us. How many of them are there out there?”
“A lot. At least a dozen. We need to keep ourselves together and think smart. I want you to look at this.” He pulled his belt around. “The belt can act like a whip. Also, here, look at how the buckle works.” He flipped it to the back. “Here’s your signal mirror.” He lifted the release latch. “This is your high lumen flashlight. Small but mighty, yes?”
“Yes,” she breathed out.
“This releases the knife. It’s not long enough to be a weapon unless you really know what you’re doing, but you can cut through rope or zip ties. You can use it to strike a fire. This is your fire-starting rod. In here, there is a shim for opening padlocks and a handcuff key. And under here, that’s your button compass. A nice little survival kit.” He started to work it through her belt loops, He had a 38-inch waist, and he’d guess that she was about a 26. He’d just have to force it through her loops twice.
“Why are you giving that to me? Do you think we’ll be separated?” Panic edged into her voice.
He had to get her off that mindset. “Our priority is survival. I have no idea why the gunmen are here. If they came to rob the hotel, they’ll come in, take what they want and go.”
“You don’t think that’s why they’re here. I know you don’t.” Her bottom lip quivered, making her words lose their sh
ape.
“Focus. Our priority is survival.” He held her chin still and tried to use his eyes to give her stability—a piece of trade craft that he’d used throughout his career, pulling victims out of deadly situations. “If you get out into the crater, we don’t know who to trust. I would say to run for the Maasai. Their warriors are strong and brave. But these men have AKs and their warriors only have their spears. It might be dangerous for the tribe for us to run in that direction. You’re going to have to think things through.”
“Why would they be chasing me to the Maasai boma? You won’t be with me? AKs? They’re soldiers?” She made a move toward the window.
Rooster held her back. “We’re going to stay away from the windows. They aren’t dressed like soldiers. I don’t know why they’re here. Now take the water bottles from the fridge and zip them into your jacket pockets. Do you have anything here like candy? Nuts?”
“Protein bars. I have protein bars.”
“Good. Put those in your hoodie pocket under your jacket.”
Meg leaned over her suitcase and pulled out a box. Rooster took four out. One went into his pocket, he unwrapped another two and ate them down quickly. “You need to eat at least one.”
She was shaking her head as he unwrapped the bar.
“Don’t think about the food. Think about my words and just chew mechanically.” Rooster did a weapons check, making sure he was locked and loaded. Randy had the ammo boxes. The goal was Randy’s room. Maybe on the way he could relieve one of these guys of their AKs and a few mags. But with Meg on his heels, he didn’t want to lead her anywhere near the destructive power of those rifles.
Meg licked her tongue around her teeth, getting the last bits and swallowing.
“Now you’re going to use the bathroom and get a glass of water.”
“This is ridiculous.” She moved toward the bathroom and left the door open a crack as she shoved her pants around her ankles and sat to pee. “You have me eating and drinking, shouldn’t we be running?”
“We don’t know where to run. We’ll need energy to keep going, and if your bladder is full you’re going to pee down your leg, and it will slow you down. Don’t flush the toilet.”
Meg was working to get the belt back into place as she emerged from the bathroom.
“We have a moment to get ourselves situated. We need to be tactical.” He stood at the toilet and yanked down his zipper. “Meg, you were outstanding when Robert had his medical crisis. You were outstanding when I had to kill the goat. Bad things happened, and you worked your way through them. You did what needed to be done. That’s what we’re going to do now. Instead of thinking ‘I feel scared,’ you’re going to tell yourself that what you’re feeling is power. Your brain and your body are built for survival. Animal instincts. You know all about those.” He came out of the bathroom and gave his hands a quick wash and dry. “Say that to me.” He gathered her into his arms, gripping her chin and tilting her head up until they were eye to eye.
“My brain and my body are built for survival.”
“Good. Now this is the time for your lizard brain to rule—the oldest part of your brain, the one that remembers how to survive. Let your survival instincts do what needs to be done. Whatever it is that needs to be done. No matter what. That’s what you’ll do. That’s what you’ll keep doing. You will never give up. Say it.”
“I will never give up.”
“Okay, let’s see if we can’t get to Randy. He doesn’t know where we are, but I’m assuming he knows we’re together. That makes his room the rallying point. We can get your vest back on you.”
“You knew they were coming? Is that why I had the vest?”
“No,” Rooster said as he took another quick look out the front window then slid back to her door to review the fire escape map.
The stairs were four doors down to the right, ten down to the left. There were thirty rooms per level. Four levels of rooms made a hundred and twenty rooms. They were at the top. There might be some way to get to the roof, but once on the roof there would be little cover and fewer options. That would be a last resort move, unless he could find something to use to get Meg down—a rope, some power cord.
The hotel said that since it was July, one of the most temperate months of the year, the place was booked solid. A hundred and twenty rooms, everyone confined to the hotel by the mandate of darkness in the crater, nowhere else to go for restaurants or entertainment, so that meant approximately two hundred guests, and at this time of night with the bar and the restaurant open, he’d guess a minimum of twenty staff. If they were rounding people up, that would take time. Time was their friend.
He’d seen minimal security cameras. One per floor, one per elevator, several in each of the common areas, reception, the restaurants. He hadn’t seen any security guards. But they had to stream those videos somewhere, maybe they had a guardroom. Maybe they were in place for management to keep an eye on things. Either way, if the gunmen had access, he and Meg could be tracked.
“Meg, do you have any shaving cream?”
“Uh, yes.” She hustled over to her bag and dug through it until she pulled out a can and brought it to Rooster.
“You’re going to do what I say to do, when I say to do it, without question. I need to leave you for just a second. When I get back, you’re going to put your hand on my back and you’re going to leave it there. Where I go, you go. That way I can keep tabs on you without having to turn my head to look. You will always make sure that you’re lined up behind me so I’m shielding you.”
She nodded her head, eyes stretched wide, unblinking.
“If I run, you run. If I crouch, you crouch. We work as one unit. Okay?”
Again, she bobbled her head. The air split with the sound of screams as gunfire erupted.
“Meg.” He planted his hands on either side of her head. “I swear to you, you’re going to make it through this.” He bent down to kiss her forehead, and she leaned in. It was an intense moment. One that gripped his heart hard. Now he needed to find a way to keep his promise. But from the sound of things, the tangos’ mission was ramping up. Getting caught in the confines of this room was a death trap. They needed to get out and get options. Now.
Chapter Nineteen
Rooster
Fifth Floor, The Ngorongoro Crater Imperial Hotel
The first camera was going to be at the far end of the hall. He put the shaving cream can in his waistband and pulled the gun from his kidney holster. He felt Meg tense up. “I’ll be right back.” Rooster turned the knob and slid the door open a sliver. He took in the area directly in front of the door. Let his senses expand. No footfalls, no heavy breathing. He edged the door wider, taking in an ever-increasing arc of the hall until he could get his head out the door to scan.
Rooster stalked forward in a crouch. His gun was pressed between his palms. His trigger finger lay ready on the side of the guard, his elbows tucked tight. His gun held barrel down, ready to punch out like a rattlesnake, get the tango in his sights, and pull the trigger three times in the blink of an eye. He pressed his shoulder to the wall and moved toward the stairwell. When he got there, Rooster pulled out the can of shaving cream and shot a stream at the camera lens. It was a gamble that favored their escape.
True, those cameras, if he could get to the control room, might serve to help him locate the bad guys, do a head count. But if these men had working comms, it meant that someone could be feeding the tangos their escape route. The goal was to get this camera out of commission, then head to the other end of the hall toward the back of the hotel and make their way down the two flights to Randy’s room on the end. If the tangos were tracking, they’d probably assume they were headed for the first stairwell and the fastest exit.
Rooster moved back to Meg’s door. “Come on. Hand on my back. Moving.” He felt Meg’s hand contract then splay flat across his scapula. He took that as a “Roger. Wilco.”
The elevator dinged to a stop. Rooster looked left then right
. They were in the center of the hall, an equidistant run to either stairwell. He didn’t want their backs to those elevator doors until he knew what was on the other side. He pushed Meg into the slight indentation of a door frame and put a hand on the top of her head so she would slide down to a crouch. He stepped forward, pressing his back to the wall as the doors slid wide.
A muzzle stretched out as someone did a slow sweep, first to the right. Rooster shoved his gun into its holster and pulled his knife in one smooth, practiced move. If he could, he needed to take the bad guys out, silently. He didn’t need to advertise his position or his skills. As the muzzle traced to the left in his direction, Rooster grabbed hold of the end and yanked it violently. The strap around the man’s shoulder pulled him into a run to catch his balance. As the tango came into reach, Rooster sliced through the man’s carotid artery, then followed the arc to divide the strap and free the rifle. Rooster let his body fall to the carpet with the man, rolled to his back and lifted the gun between his knees to spray bullets into the elevator. Three men fell to the ground, unmoving. Rooster curved his back and rolled to standing, lunging forward to trap the door open, but before he could get his hand in place, the doors slid shut. The elevator descended.
He jabbed his finger into the call button, tapping violently, but to no avail. Someone was about to find the dead soldiers. Someone would know there was an opposition force. He cussed under his breath, banging a fist into the metal doors.
He turned to Meg. She had both hands clamped over her mouth. Her face was white with shock. She was making guttural gasping noises, her eyes focused on the wall beside them. Rooster turned his head to see the size of the arterial spurt, blood dripped down the wall like fresh paint. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to standing. “We’ve got to move.” He pressed the release button on the rifle and the spent magazine dropped out. Rooster pulled two magazines from the dead tango’s vest. He hammered the first one into place ready for action. The second one, he slid into his pocket.
