Firethorn (Discarded Heroes)

by Kendig, Ronie

  Range twisted around, staring down the road that rose up and over the slight incline before vanishing into the trees.

  Hands pawed at him amid a flurry of shouts and commands from the center of the village. They wanted him taken in, ordered to hurry before anything else happened. No…no, he wasn’t going down like that. He broke free and barreled toward freedom. At least, he hoped it was freedom. Something was there—he could make out the shapes on the crest of the hill. Friend or foe, he didn’t know. But that was his only escape.

  Lights exploded ahead, blinding him. Range skidded to a stop. Glanced back. More than a dozen men, law enforcement badges glinting under the bright light, rushed up to him. They captured him, avoiding the brilliant beam. Shielding his eyes from the glare, he tried to peer around the brightness to what lay beyond.

  “Move away from him,” a voice boomed through the darkness.

  The police held fast, but their feet shifted, rocks popping beneath their feet. When he checked them, they were casting glances backward, as if looking for direction from their superior.

  “Release him. !Ahora! Or join your dead compatriots,” a voice boomed through the darkness. “Norteamericano, walk.” The thickly accented English didn’t veil the warning.

  Being caught and accused of murder was one thing, but being captured by guerillas and held for ransom all but guaranteed death.

  “Soldiers, do you want to join your compadres?”

  Grips loosened. Some fell away. Range straightened, his confusion compounding the pain throbbing in his leg. His toes squished in his sock. Mentally, he chided the soldier who dared to advance.

  Dust plumed at their feet. Dirt peppered Range’s face and needled his leg through his pants. Instinct pushed him back, not wanting to get hit by the threatening bullets.

  “Norteamericano, walk!”

  Fear—or was it wisdom?—rooted his feet to the ground.

  “Norteamericano,” the disembodied voice grew mean. “Walk forward. !Ahora!”

  More dirt sprayed his legs, dust spiraling into his face. He coughed and took a step closer. If he went with these rebels, he may never be seen again. At least not alive. And he’d never find his brother. Canyon would die. Indecision halted his progress.

  Something touched his arm.

  He glanced to the side.

  Thwat!

  A guard fell over the first one.

  “Move, or more will die because of you.”

  Range snapped his attention to the lights, his heart thrumming. “Who are you? Stop killing these people!”

  “Then save their lives and walk.”

  Hands fisted, he shuffled forward, the blood coagulating and making his pants pull against the wound in his thigh.

  “Bien. Ahora, policia y soldados, walk backward, hands up, or we will shoot.”

  As the lights grew brighter, Range wondered how they’d inform his mother that both of her sons had died in Venezuela at the hands of mercenaries. Why had Lambert ever asked him to come down here? He wasn’t qualified. He didn’t have the skills. He’d failed…. Dani would never speak to him again—that is, if he made it out alive. And if he did, he’d have to explain to his niece and nephew why he didn’t save their father.

  Just as the shadows overtook the light, Range squinted, able to make out a form standing in the back of a Jeep.

  Black-clad men rushed him.

  A hood dropped over his face.

  London, MI5 Rendezvous

  Cars emerged from the underground garage and leapt into the afternoon sun.

  Kazi shifted in the rear of the lead vehicle, angling to catch the eye of the driver in the rearview mirror. “You familiar with London, driver?”

  “Name’s Davies. And yes, grew up here.”

  “Then you know another route to the exchange point, Davies?”

  He hesitated, then nodded.

  “Good, I need you to take an alternate route.”

  Wary eyes bobbed to hers. “We were told to hold to the plan.”

  “And you had two American spies in on that plan.” She gripped the armrest as he swung around a corner. “Is it worth your life to find out if they had an ambush waiting?”

  The car yanked right. Then a sharp left. Trounced down an alley. Kazi struck out a hand to brace herself as they took a curb and sped over a one-way street, narrowly avoiding a delivery truck. Frantic movements slowed as they swung onto the main thoroughfare and bled into traffic. Less than two miles off, she saw the roundabout.

  Kazi glanced back, relieved the second vehicle had made the diversion with them. By the time her heart rate evened out, they glided into a driveway. Guards, poised and facing in the opposite direction, swung around at the screech of the tires as her car rounded the corner. Metal glinted at the maw of the parking garage. Security spikes dropped into the ground at the entrance, clearing the way.

  The driver whipped into the garage, to the left, then curled around the wide cement supports and squawked to a stop in the middle. At the other end of the first level, a blue, heavily tinted sedan waited. Two armed men stood guard on either side.

  “Flash them three times and wait.” Kazi threaded her arms through the suit jacket on the seat.

  A soft click sounded. Then another. And the last one.

  As Kazi reached for the door handle, both the passenger and rear passenger door of the other car opened. Two suits climbed out.

  Kazi exited her vehicle and motioned to her secondary unit to bring their exchange. A man emerged with a prisoner. The average-looking man who stood with his hands bound sauntered up to her.

  Eyes back on the blue sedan, she waited as MI5 retrieved the package. Head covered, hands bound, the man was taller than those holding him. Maybe a bit bigger in build, too.

  Kazi took possession of the operative beside her and walked him to the midpoint, where she waited for the Brits to transfer their captive. She couldn’t help but think of the times she’d been the subject of such transfers. Carrick had bought her back every time. Thousands, maybe millions, paid to get his agent back. How can I ever be free? Her stomach churned.

  Shoes clicked closer, and she drew in her faculties, noting the hooded man had no broken limbs or noticeable limps or injuries. She nodded to him. “Remove his hood.”

  When the hood came off, the man squinted, blue eyes shadowed by green and yellow puffy skin and a swollen, crooked nose. A scab arched over his upper lip. Dark hair curled around his ears and neck—longer than the picture she’d been given. But despite the disfigurement, she recognized him. “Is there an explanation for the abhorrent treatment of an American citizen?”

  “An American terrorist,” one Brit said. “Let’s remember we’re doing you a favor transferring him so quickly and quietly.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty, gentlemen. We’ll remember this treatment when considering future engagements.” She wrapped her arm around Colton Neeley’s forearm—or at least tried. The man’s bicep was wider than her thigh. And yet, with the littlest force against his muscle, she guided him away from Security Services. Each click of her shoes against the cement sounded as a homing beacon. So far so good. They’d managed to get their man without tipping off anyone. At the black vehicle, she opened the door.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice low but tight.

  Hand on his head, she tucked him into the cabin.

  Thud-clank! Feet pounded.

  Kazi pushed Neeley, fearing they’d been blown.

  “Stop them! They’re not Americans!”

  Suspicion confirmed, she bulled Colton into the SUV and lunged in after him. “Drive!” The door flapped open, then closed as the driver gunned the engine.

  Crack! Tsing!

  A spiderweb spread through the front windshield.

  “The other team’s down,” Davies shouted as he roared toward the exit.

  “Keep going!”

  “Spikes!”

  Sunlight glinted off metal barriers that seemed to growl at them from the mout
h of the garage. Glass cracked.

  She shifted onto the seat. “Keep going!”

  “If we hit those, we can’t drive.”

  “Just do it.”

  Leather seemed to sizzle as a bullet ripped through it, narrowly missing the driver, who ducked and cursed. Another bullet whizzed past her head—and seared the flesh off the driver’s shoulder. He shouted. The car swerved, but he righted it.

  “Give me a gun,” Neeley demanded.

  Remembering his dossier was the only reason she slapped the Ruger into his palm. Sniper. Neeley angled around, bracing himself against the back of the seat, and took aim. Another bullet shattered the rear windscreen. He didn’t flinch. The chain linking the cuffs jingled as he seemed to hesitate. With him being a meticulous sniper, she knew it wasn’t hesitation but a calculated, controlling breath. At least, she hoped so.

  He fired once. Twice. And switched back to the seat.

  The spray from behind ceased.

  When she surveyed the damage, Kazi smiled at the MI5 agents taking cover. They were as good as free.

  “This is going to—son of a…”

  Kazi jerked around. The grate slid into the ground. Their SUV vaulted out of the garage. Cars dove out of the way. Tires screeched as they found purchase and propelled them away from the Security Services exchange point.

  “Stop the car.”

  Kazi flinched at the barrel staring her down. She lifted her gaze to the clear blue eyes that meant business in a way she hadn’t seen before. “Not happening, Mr. Neeley.” Right now, she really wished Andrez hadn’t drugged Griffin. It would’ve been helpful to have the giant waiting in the vehicle to allay Neeley’s fears. But having the big lug here would’ve tipped off the authorities.

  Neither his grip nor intensity lessened. “I don’t know who you are, but right now, I don’t trust anyone. And I’ll do what it takes to stay alive so I can figure it out.”

  “That’s my goal as well.” Kazi worked to steady her pulses, knowing if this man chose to put her down, she didn’t have a prayer—even if she hadn’t darkened a confessional in years. “I’m taking you to Griffin.”

  Fire flamed through his expression. “Bull. He’s in a state pen.”

  She shook her head calmly. “He’s about ten minutes from here.” Drugged out of his mind and unconscious. But here.

  The gun remained steady and his gaze fierce. “Who are you? Never mind—I don’t care.” The barrel of the weapon drifted toward the back of Davies’s head. “Stop the car.”

  “Davies, keep driving.” Kazi angled toward the big guy—man, did they grow them all this big in the States? “Listen, nothing makes sense. I get that. Someone disassembled your team. Almost three weeks ago, I extracted Griffin from that prison you mentioned. We retrieved the assassin from a Hamas camp. He’s not dead but not far from it either.”

  Neeley swallowed. “The Brits said I was going home.”

  She assessed the handsome man, lingered on the way he said that last word. His eyes told the tale of one too many battles, but a softening around those words bespoke a depth that was…startling. He’s testing me. “I’m pretty sure you already knew they weren’t sending you home. And if you were going home, think about what happened. It’s not safe there till—as you said—a few things are sorted.”

  Steady, unwavering.

  “I’m here to help,” she said as the whooshing in her ears lulled. Since Davies wasn’t a known asset, she had to be delicate with information. “The general is waiting. I think you’ve figured that out, too, but you’re too freaked over what’s happening to trust yourself or anyone else. That’s where you’re being smart. If you believed I was a threat, you would’ve already pulled that trigger. So holding a gun on me isn’t smart.”

  A grin tweaked a dimple in his cheek. “Reckon you’re right.” After dropping the magazine and clearing the chamber, he removed the slide and handed the pieces to her.

  Kazi blew out a laugh, dumped the dismantled gun on the seat, then held out her palm as she produced a key. Neeley lifted his arms, and she freed him from the cuffs.

  “Thanks.” Rubbing his wrists, he fell silent as Davies wound through London with an experience and expertise that helped Kazi focus on the next phase—getting Griffin and sneaking both men out of the country before Carrick could say hello.

  The car glided into the underground structure behind the Bread & Butter, dropping back into anonymity. As soon as they stopped, four armed thugs appeared.

  “What’s with the armory?” Neeley asked, the warrior in him sizing up the threat.

  Kazi purposefully met his gaze. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. And that’s just it—let me handle it. Go along, play nice. I’ll get us out of here before nightfall.”

  “What if you don’t?”

  “Then playtime is over.” Kazi climbed from the car and shifted so Neeley could emerge. When he did, he towered over her. As big and barrel-chested as Griffin. A matched set.

  She started for the entrance, determined to make it known to these buffoons that she was in control. Not the other way around. But as she moved between two of them, they accosted her. Behind, she heard a scuffle. The unmistakable crack of bones. A scream.

  She strained to see over her shoulder, past the three men now escorting her into the building. Her pulse ramped up. No no no! Neeley had neutralized two of the three remaining guards, fire roaring through his gaze.

  “Hey!” she shouted to him. Aggression wasn’t the route to take here, not at the B & B. There were a hundred more of these apes where the others had come from.

  Neeley’s gaze flicked to hers.

  “Nice work, but let’s take it down a notch.” She wrested her arms free of the two beside her. “These men know if they so much as bruise me or you, Carrick will make sure they get severance benefits.”

  A voice, hollow and sickening, snaked out from the shadows of the past. “You sound as though you miss me, love.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Bread & Butter Club, South End, London

  Don’t worry,” Griffin whispered. “It’ll be over soon.”

  “He seems mad something fierce, Griff.” Phoenix pressed her face to his shoulder, snuffing out her tears. “I ain’t never seen him this ma—”

  A scream rent the musty air of the broom closet.

  Griffin stilled.

  More wails. A sound of banging. An angry growl. As if the dog had gotten loose. Bungie? Yet the growl didn’t—

  “Please, Reggie…please…”

  Griffin ground his teeth as Phee’s quiet sobs drenched his shirt.

  Shuffling and banging stumbled into the hall.

  His heart hammered. Momma and Daddy were in the hall now. Fighting. Again. Through the slats, he made out his mom pinned against the wall. His father hovering over her petite frame.

  Phee lifted her head. Griffin tightened his hold, pushing her face into his abdomen. As if watching between bars, he saw his dad ram his fist into his mom’s face. She crumpled. He dropped on top of her.

  “What’d I tell you, b—”

  A scream sliced straight through the narrow slit and into Griffin’s heart. As he realized it’d been Phee’s scream, the door swung open.

  Griffin hauled in a breath as the image before him scalded a permanent imprint in his mind—his father’s wild, enraged eyes, fury reddening his already dark skin; his mother on the floor, covered in blood, shaking her head frantically. Her beautiful eyes pleaded with Griffin. She reached a dripping hand toward him. “Save me…”

  Griffin jolted and thrust out his hand and caught hold of someone.

  Wide green eyes registered in his mind.

  A ripple of sanity washed through him, and he released his grip. “Kacie.” A deep bass boomed through his skull.

  Hold up.

  Not a bass. His heartbeat. Griffin groaned and rolled onto his side, then peeled himself off a creaking bed. Sitting up, he cradled his head in his hands and beat his way through the sludge called a
brain.

  “How you doing, Legend?”

  He squinted through the piercing brightness at the hulk against the wall. “Cowboy?” Now he knew he was dreaming. Or having a nightmare. “I have lost my good mind. How…?”

  Kacie slipped back into view. “If you’re done with your nap—“

  He shoved to his feet and felt as if someone drove a spike through his skull. “Nap?” He glowered at the nymph. “You drugged me.”

  “Wrong.” Her lips stretched taut. “You drank the water.”

  “The same water you had but didn’t drink—you knew it was laced with something, but you didn’t warn me.”

  She smirked at him. “I actually expected you to have a brain. I know better now.”

  Griffin drew up his shoulder.

  A hand landed on his chest. Cowboy wedged between Kacie and him. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and strong. “Stand down. Let’s get our bearings.”

  “I’ll give you bearings”—Griffin stabbed a finger in Kacie’s direction—“I’ll bear right down on that woman. Don’t trust her.”

  Cowboy nodded. “Already got that message.”

  “Look, I don’t care what you think about me. But if you intend to get out of here alive, you’ll listen to me.”

  Though her words were terse and putrid, something about her posture ripped the anger from Griffin’s chest. “Hold up.” When he started for her, Cowboy fielded the move, but Griffin clapped the guy on the shoulder. “I’m good.”

  “You said that once, then went for ‘better.’ “

  “Bigger problems right now.” Griffin stepped around him and closed in on Kacie. “What’s going on?”

  She sidestepped him and diverted her gaze. “Nothing.” Defiance coated her expression and word. “Just remember, here at the B & B, the path to enlightenment—read: ‘staying alive’—is nonaggression, especially with Carrick here.”

  Griffin hesitated, his mind bounding over Cowboy’s tension and something…something he couldn’t put his finger on. “Is that a bad thing, that he’s here?” Was he the reason Kacie had been skittish on the plane?

  The weight of the world trickled into those green irises. “Only for me.”