“It still doesn’t excuse fuck-ups like this. You said Mike was good.”
“He is good. Shit, are you going to tell me that you’ve never fucked up before? We all have. But we are operators. We learn from them. Adapt, overcome, and persevere, remember?”
Fuck!
Carl was right. Brandon knew that he was. He hated that about him. While Brandon prided himself on being calm and collected most of the time, he had completely lost his shit this time. And the kicker of it was, he had no clue why.
“Yeah. I remember,” he admitted begrudgingly.
“All right then. What’s going on with you? I’ve seen you get hot before, but not like this. Is there something I need to know about?”
“What?” Brandon searched for an answer. “No. It’s just this whole Tovar thing. You know how fucking ruthless that son of a bitch can be.”
“I know. Trust me, no one feels worse about this than Mike. There’s a small hill in that inlet where they came ashore. From where he was fishing and making his rounds they snuck past when he was doing a perimeter check,” Carl said.
Brandon had been in the same position Mike was. He knew the scenario was probable and had happened to them all a time or two. He just couldn’t erase the worry that gnawed at him when he heard their voices approaching the cabin.
“Who were they anyway?”
“Just some teenagers sneaking away from their parents for the day. After they left, Mike followed them back to the mainland, and they spent the night partying with their friends and making out. Trust me. They were not sent by Tovar. It was dumb luck.”
“Bad fucking luck is what it was,” Brandon added.
“Yeah, but remember what I said. As far as anyone knows, that island has been vacant for well over a year while the heirs to the previous owner find a buyer. So if they were locals, they probably were expecting it to be abandoned. And as far as they knew, it was. Right?”
“Yes. I’d been about to make breakfast but hadn’t started yet. They couldn’t have smelled anything, and they didn’t hear a peep out of us. I saw to that.”
“Ahh…making breakfast, huh?” Carl teased.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“What? I think it’s cute. You two going to make seashell collages later, too?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Roger that, Chef Molitor.” Carl laughed. “Roger that.”
Brandon hung up his phone and placed it in his front pocket. For the first time in the past half hour, he breathed a sigh of relief.
The weather was nice today. The sun was shining, and only a small breeze blew in from the ocean.
He worked his neck in a circular motion, trying to stretch out the kinks that had seemed to reside there for the past ten years plus.
He’d become used to sleeping in unusual places and even more unusual positions. But last night, holding Alena while she sobbed, touching her and bringing her to orgasm… It was more than he’d been prepared for.
He wanted to tell himself he’d done it for her. That she’d needed the distraction from the hell she’d been going through. But he knew that would only be half true.
There was something about Alena. Something that excited him. She wasn’t just beautiful. She turned him on in a different way than the physical.
There was an electricity between them. He’d felt it the very moment they’d met. Her vulnerability and sadness pained him, but the woman awoke the man in him.
Having her fall asleep in his arms felt good. Maybe too damn good. And he had no idea why.
After stretching a bit, he decided to take off his shirt and bask in as much sun as the East Coast springtime would allow for such a pleasant day. He knew from experience how quickly Mother Nature could change her mind and become an unforgiving bitch to anyone who was within her path.
He tossed his T-shirt on the railing and stepped out onto the sand. The terrain was a mixture of rocks, tall grasses, and sand, which left little room for having a nice barefoot walk, but it certainly beat some of the shitholes he’d worked in before.
Looking out into the distance, he watched the waves roll in, and his thoughts went back to Alena.
She was a pretty woman, seemed sweet, and was definitely tortured by the knowledge that she’d taken a life. That didn’t surprise him much. Most civilians, no matter how prepared they were to defend themselves, often couldn’t deal with the mental torture of knowing that someone had taken their last breath at their hands.
It wasn’t a bad quality. It was a human one. And one he admired, actually. He never thought of himself as a cold-blooded killer, but he’d willingly taken out several enemies back when he served in Delta.
The first couple of kills left him with an odd feeling, one he couldn’t describe really, but the subsequent deaths didn’t affect him one bit. He knew who they were, understood the ramifications if those men were to remain in a position to hurt any of his fellow Americans. It was a collateral consciousness that he’d always been willing to accept in exchange for American lives.
American lives, just like Natalie.
At nineteen years old, she had been taken far too soon in life. She was bright, full of life, and one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.
She was his everything. The reason he got up in the morning, the reason he slept peacefully at night. She was his world. And he was hers.
When she boarded United Flight 93 that morning from Newark to San Francisco, he’d expected to pick her up later that night around eight o’clock. The morning seemed so ordinary that he’d barely remembered to give her a kiss goodbye as he rushed off, running late as usual to his shift unloading freighters down at the Newark Port Channel.
He didn’t even remember if he told her he loved her. He just raced out the door with a bagel in his mouth and a cup of coffee in his hands.
There was horrendous traffic that morning making him that much later. His boss had been riding his ass more than usual, and it meant he was working double time to avoid spending the entire week on his shit list.
It was just minutes before ten that morning when he noticed all of his coworkers huddling around the office doors. He looked around and didn’t see the boss up in the crane tower either.
He’d walked over to the crowd, expecting to see some usual bullshit meeting about the pros and cons of unions, something the old and young crew members always seemed to be arguing about until the boss came to break things up. Instead he walked into something that shocked him to the core.
The television was on. Images of black smoke and fire poured out from the World Trade Center.
He stared at it for a minute in confusion, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Hushed whispers offered little explanation as he pushed his way through the crowd in an attempt to get closer.
Someone turned up the sound, and that was when he heard the disheartened explanation of NBC’s Today show host, Matt Lauer, explaining to the country that it appeared America was under attack. He reported several planes had been hijacked and some had yet to report back to the towers for confirmation of their safety.
The blood slowed in his veins and turned to ice as he saw the screen change to a list of the flights which had not yet responded.
United Airlines. Flight 93 from Newark International to San Francisco International.
He tried to pull his phone from his pocket as he struggled with his thick work gloves. As he tore them off his hands and struggled to turn his phone on, time stood still.
The black hourglass spun against the phone screen as he tried to convince himself that he’d fallen asleep and this was all a dream.
As soon as his phone had powered up, he heard the ping. A text message had come in from Alex. She was alive. She was okay. He drew in a breath of relief, his lungs burning from holding it for so long.
He opened his text screen and read the several messages that were listed.
Brandon, I love you so much. I’m not sure how much time I’ll have, or if this me
ssage will even come through. I don’t know if anyone knows yet, but my flight has been hijacked.
The men that are watching us all, they’re not American. I can’t understand what they’re saying. I don’t know what language it is.
Things don’t look good, honey. The men in front of me have been talking. One of them seems to understand what is happening.
He doesn’t think we’re going to make it.
I’m scared, Brandon.
I’m so scared.
I love you so much. I want you to know that. Don’t ever forget that, Brandon.
I love you. I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old. You are my heart. My soul. My everything.
I love you.
That was it. There were no more messages. In a moment of hope, he began feverishly typing away on the keys in an attempt to reach her. He’d barely made it through one word when he heard Matt Lauer’s voice return.
“We’ve just been notified that Flight 93, one of the missing planes, has gone down in a field in Pennsylvania. It appears that there could be no survivors.”
“No!” Brandon screamed, silencing all of his coworkers.
“Oh God.” Martin, an older man who worked in Brandon’s section, had known that Natalie was traveling that morning. They’d talked about it not an hour before.
“No.” Brandon shook his head and walked closer to the television. “It’s not true!” he shouted at Matt Lauer before turning back to the group of onlookers and pointing up at the screen.
“Brandon.” Martin came toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“No! It’s not true! They made a mistake. They’re wrong, damn it.”
Brandon had dropped to his knees and screamed to God and anyone who would listen. He kicked and punched at everything that came near him, all the while shouting that it wasn’t true.
He didn’t remember anything after that. The hours that followed were blank to him. Days went by, there was a memorial, the country mourned, and Brandon held the hand of Natalie’s mother as they watched an empty casket be lowered into the ground.
He never returned to work on the docks after that. He couldn’t.
His world had changed that day.
He had other things to tend to.
Lives to save. A country to protect and revenge to be had.
Chapter Six
Alena stood in the doorway that led outside. Brandon had been standing there completely still, his body unmoving, but the muscles in his back were flexed and tense.
She’d come out to catch the tail end of his conversation with Carl. Given the circumstances, she wasn’t surprised by his anger over their unexpected visitors. Still, for some reason, she was taken aback by how furious he was.
He seemed to be lost in thought, a feeling she knew all too well. Unlike him, though, she didn’t have the audacity to call him on it and demand that he share his feelings.
So suddenly that she didn’t have time to react, he swung around and caught her staring at him.
Instantly, she was embarrassed. Her face flushed and filled with heat. “Hi,” she said awkwardly.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long.” He eyed her suspiciously, and she knew he didn’t believe her. “I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were talking to Carl.”
He raised his brows at her. “I’ve been off the phone with him for a while now.”
“I know.” She looked down.
“So you’ve been standing there watching me?”
“It was rude.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “You’re curious. That’s to be expected.”
“How do you do that?”
“How do I do what?”
“Always know what I’m thinking.”
“Well,” he said, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what you’re thinking exactly. Just that you are.”
“That’s what I mean. How do you know when my mind is racing or any of that?”
“I read people. It’s kind of an important part of what I do.”
“I suppose. I’ve never been very good at it. Reading people, I mean.”
He nodded. “I think that’s pretty obvious, Alena.”
She was surprised by his statement. “How’s that?”
“Well, the guy that you killed. You were out on a date with him, right?”
She sighed and took a step off the porch onto the rocky ground.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you have to say it that way?”
“What? That you killed him? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Well, yeah. You know that it is. It’s just…”
He stepped closer to her, shielding her from the sun, and she was able to get a closer look at the body that she’d lain so peacefully against the night before. His chest was more muscular than she’d thought. His muscles were chiseled. His frame lean. Still, he was far from perfect. His skin was marred with various scars. One in particular was red and puckered angrily above his left rib cage.
“I thought we talked about this last night.” With his thumb and forefinger, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
“You yelled. I broke down. I’d hardly call that a conversation.”
“However it happened, it needed to.”
She tried to fight back the stinging tears that were leaking through to the surface. Her damn emotions were getting the better of her and she didn’t even know why.
“Hey…”
His voice was soft and his touch tender, but she was far too frustrated with herself to allow him to comfort her.
She pushed his hand away and turned, looking out at the Atlantic Ocean. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then walk me through it.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “So let’s take a walk. Take me through it. One step at a time.”
“I guess it can’t hurt.”
He smiled. “Come on.”
She followed his lead as he took them down the stone path toward the beach. They walked in silence for several minutes. She needed time to collect her thoughts and was almost positive that he knew this and allowed her the space.
Once they made it down to the beach, Brandon sat down along a grassy patch, brushing an area off beside him and patting the ground.
“Take a load off.”
She smiled down at him. How could she not? He had a sweetness about him that she was certain he rarely let show. Still, it was genuine.
“Alena?”
“Yes?”
“I know you don’t want to. And I understand that. Still, you’ve got to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be me, but…” He took a look around and then turned back to wink at her. “Right now I’m the one you’re stuck with. So it’s either me or the seagulls. And last time I checked, all they do is take a shit on you. I may have my faults, but I’ll never take a crap on you.”
She held back a laugh. He could go from dark and dominant to funny and sweet in the blink of an eye. And for some reason, she felt like that was exactly what she needed.
She smiled at him. “Well, I guess I could talk to you. I mean, if you’re really all that I’ve got.”
“See there. That’s the spirit. Now go on, I’m all ears.”
Doing her very best not to glance down at his muscular body, she ignored the urge to argue his statement. Brandon Molitor was anything but all ears. The more time she spent with him, the more she found herself making a concerted effort not to stare at him.
He wasn’t even her usual type. Granted, he was sexy as all hell, and definitely easy on the eyes, but his rugged exterior and sometimes even tougher demeanor was the opposite of the metrosexual, debonair, businessmen types she was used to dating. Though, she had to admit, her usual type had failed her on more than one occasi
on.
“Are you going to talk? Or are we going to keep sitting here pretending like we’re enjoying the view?”
“Well, it is a nice view.” She nudged him with her arm.
“It is. But that view isn’t going to take away your thoughts. Or what they’re doing to you.”
He was right. She knew he was right. And she wasn’t sure if she hated him for it or was thankful for it.
“I don’t know, Brandon.”
“What don’t you know?”
“What to say. What I’m thinking. What’s going on inside my head. I don’t know anything.” The frustration she felt with herself came out with the sharpness of her words.
“So then take a breath. Stop thinking about what you’re thinking.”
She laughed at his advice. “Stop thinking about what I’m thinking? Yeah, that sounds like solid advice.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t think about it. Just say it. Just blurt out whatever is on your mind. It’s overthinking that is going to do you in.”
“So where do I start?”
“Start wherever. Stop thinking about it, Alena. Say anything. Say everything. Just let it come out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay. Keep going. What are you sorry for?”
“I don’t know, Brandon. I really don’t.”
“Yes you do. Now come on!”
“I’m sorry for breaking down. I’m sorry for involving you in this mess. I’m sorry for scaring my father. I’m sorry for being stupid enough to get myself into this situation. I’m sorry for…” Her voice trailed off, afraid to utter the words that almost spilled from her lips.
“Say it, Alena.”
“I…can’t.” She dropped her head in her hands and shook it from side to side. “I can’t…say it. I hate that I even have to think about it.”
Brandon pulled her hands free from her face and lifted her chin up. “Look at me.”
She did as he asked, but only through shame-filled eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t, Brandon. I can’t say it.”
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