“What do you want to hear? How scared I was? That I thought I was going to die? That I was so afraid I didn’t once try to escape or save my men? That I choked and gagged and threw up when I was waterboarded? That I was fucking weak and cried? I fucking failed, Drake. Failed. I should be charged with dereliction of duty, stripped of my commission, and sent home.”
“That’s a stretch, isn’t it? I mean, an article 92 is a little dramatic—you didn’t willfully and willingly disobey an order or regulation. Don’t manufacture trouble where there isn’t any.”
“You don’t—”
“I don’t what, sweetheart, know what it’s like to be scared? Told you already, I was held for thirteen days. I know the clench of fear. Those thirteen days are burned into my memory.”
“I was gonna say, you don’t know what it’s like to be a disappointment.”
“Huh?”
Liberty mumbled softly against my chest and I missed what she said entirely.
“Look at me and repeat that.”
She shook her head, burrowed in deeper, and those feelings of rightness once again filled all the dark recesses of my soul. Yearning and hunger mixed—consequences be damned. There was no denying Moira Liberty McCoy did it for me. I’d known the woman under twenty-four hours but I was experienced enough to recognize how different she was. I’d never met anyone who made me come alive. Not my body, not my libido—though she certainly did that, too—but me. My heart, my mind, my very being. Everything about her called to me on a level I’d never thought existed.
And the fuck of it was—I’d have to let her go.
“I’m tired, Drake. I don’t want to talk anymore.”
Of course she was tired and I’d been a dick for trying to push her into talking.
“I’ll walk you over. Where are you staying?”
“A-co.”
Officer barracks—fuck, if that reminder wasn’t like a wet blanket I didn’t know what was. My arms fell away and I took a much-needed, giant step back, putting the appropriate amount of space between us.
I was enlisted, she was a commissioned officer and I’d do well to remember that.
Fuck.
Liberty swayed at her swift departure from my embrace but she quickly recovered and gave me a tight smile. I wasn’t sure if the look was relief I was no longer holding her or if once again she was trying to pretend everything was situation normal.
Silently, we walked out of the hangar and made our way through the maze of buildings. The struggle not to slide up next to her and toss my arm over her shoulder and pull her close had become damn near impossible to ignore the longer I was near her.
“Have you been here before?” she asked.
If anyone else had asked me that I would’ve thought they were fishing for information and wouldn’t have answered. Talking about my deployments and training outside of the team was a no-go. But there was something in the wobble in Liberty’s voice that told me she needed a distraction, therefore I indulged.
“Golan Heights? Or this post?”
“Both, I guess.”
I glanced to my side and her gaze remained firmly fixed on the A-co barracks in front of us.
“Then that would be a yes—to both. We’ve trained here many times. Is this your first time here?”
“Yes.”
“Was this your first operation out with your squad?”
“Second,” she whispered.
Fuck, that was a bum deal. It also explained her enthusiasm to get back into the field. She hadn’t learned the importance of patience—waiting until the time was right to strike. Her goal was singular—take down the enemy. When she should be focused on recuperating. But now was not the time to tell her she needed to rest and heal, I’d poked and prodded her enough.
We stopped in front of the 1960-era Quonset hut, the door proudly displaying the insignia of the 88th Armored Brigade. I took in the surrounding barracks and couldn’t contain my sort-of amusement.
“What?” Liberty asked, her head cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised in question, and damn if she didn’t look cute as hell.
“I was just thinking this set-up reminds me of an episode of Gomer Pyle.”
“Gomer who?”
Now it was my turn to stare at her in curiosity.
“You’re shitting me? You’ve never heard of the TV show Gomer Pyle: USMC?” Liberty shook her head and I smiled. “Seriously? Great show.”
“Nope. Never heard of it.”
“Go-o-o-o-llee.” I did my best Jim Nabors impression of his famous catchword—which admittedly sucked, and didn’t do Gomer’s ability to stretch golly into five syllables.
“Still a no.” Liberty chuckled. “But you should definitely say that again.”
“No way. Not until after you watch an episode. Only then will you be able to appreciate how damn badly I butchered Gomer’s famous line.”
Liberty’s face fell and the light dimmed. All humor fled. But instead of sadness creeping back in, she looked angry.
“Can I tell you something?”
“You can tell me anything.”
Her gaze sliced to the door, eyes narrowed, and her lip curled in disgust.
“If I tell you the truth you won’t think I’m weak?”
“Fuck no.” My heated reply caused her to flinch before she recovered and squared her shoulders.
“I’m more tired than I’ve ever been in my life but I’m too afraid to close my eyes. I’m scared the last twenty hours have been a dream, and I’ll wake up to find I’m still stuck in that goddamn dirty cell, with my next interrogation looming. Or I’ll close my eyes and I’ll be right back there with Roman strapping me to a board. Either way, it’s a no-win.” She paused to scrub her hands over her face, then I watched her press her fingertips into her forehead and I was done.
“Come on, let’s go.” Her hands fell away from her face and her eyes shone with hurt. Fuck. She misunderstood. “You’re not going in there. You’re coming with me.”
“Wh…where?” she stammered.
“To sleep.”
I tagged her hand and started to lead her away from the officer barracks before she had time to protest. We passed two more huts, the showers, and the latrine when she finally found her voice.
“Drake?”
“Yeah, babe?”
Babe? Christ, I need to chill on the cutesy nicknames.
Liberty didn’t have a chance to answer. I opened the door to Delta hut, and with a gentle tug, I pulled her into the room.
“Lady present,” I called out, hoping none of my teammates were undressed.
Luke, Trey, Matt, and Logan all simultaneously turned their heads in our direction, and matching looks of ‘what the fuck?’ greeted us.
“Liberty’s staying in here tonight,” I informed them.
“Um…” Liberty mumbled.
Before my team could protest or point out my stupidity, I launched in. “On this next mission she’s one of us. That means, we train, we eat, we workout, we live—together. We learn to move as one. We only have a week. It starts now.”
My excuse was bullshit. I knew it, my team knew it, and likely Liberty knew it. But it was the best reasoning I had for my temporary loss of sanity.
I glanced around the room noting there were only five beds, four of which had been claimed by the other guys.
“Last rack in the back corner is yours.” I gestured to the open bed.
“What about you?”
“I’ll take the floor.”
“You can’t—”
“Thought you said you were tired.”
Weary eyes met mine and the wetness I saw gutted me. Liberty quickly blinked it away and gave me a half-hearted, wry uptick of her lips. The grin was forced but I’d take it over the sadness.
“Thanks.”
Liberty silently made her way across the room, not speaking to or even looking in anyone else’s direction. If she had, she would’ve seen the unsettled looks my team was giving me. I wish
I could say it was my call and my ass on the line—but the truth was, I’d put my teammates in jeopardy. My bringing Liberty into the barracks had crossed so many lines, it wasn’t funny. I could face articles and a court-martial, yet I couldn’t bring myself to give a shit.
“I’m gonna hit the head,” I told no one in particular. “Have a care.” I jerked my chin toward Liberty and left before anyone could give me the dressing down I deserved.
What in the actual fuck am I doing?
* * *
It hadn’t taken long for the nightmares to start. The first I’d heard Liberty moan in her sleep, she’d been able to settle herself. The last two had required me to get off the floor and shake her awake.
But this time, no amount of jostling her was pulling her from the grip her mind had over her. Doing something I’d never attempt with a male teammate, I lifted her off the bed, shaking her awake in a violent jolt. Liberty’s eye popped open—wild and raw. Fight or flight took over and she struggled like a hellcat in my arms.
“Stop,” I grunted as her small fist made contact with my jaw.
“No.”
“Dammit, Liberty, stop before you hurt yourself.”
I started to lower her feet to the floor when the hand she’d just punched me with went to my throat and her nails dug in and clawed down to the collar of my shirt.
Fucking shit, that hurt.
“I’d rather die.” Her hoarse rumble sounded feral.
Nowhere near awake, I gave her another jerk. “Wake up.”
Liberty’s eyes snapped to mine, unseeing, eerily blank, wide discs of nothingness. She was mumbling something that sounded like her name, rank, and serial number but the words were slurred and soft.
“Come on, Liberty. Wake up.”
Her lids drifted closed, then they opened and she began to rapidly blink. Finally.
“There you go. Focus. You’re safe. Wake up.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned.
“Everything’s fine. I’m gonna put you back in bed.”
I hefted her into my arms and turned to lower her back onto the mattress when her arms tightened around my neck and she anxiously shook her head. Fuck. Not able to deny her unspoken request, or maybe I was being completely stupid and reckless, reading more into a head shake. Maybe she wasn’t asking anything at all, dumbfuck. I slid in behind her, tossed my arm over her, and pinned her to the bed.
Seconds ticked into minutes and she finally relaxed. Her soft hair tickled my nose and I nuzzled in closer and inhaled. Totally inappropriate but necessary—I needed to be as close to her as she’d allow. I needed to breathe her in. Remind myself she was safe. Feel her heartbeat pounding.
This was dangerous. She was dangerous. I was too close to her in every sense. But I was desperate to steal as much from Liberty as I could. The days would pass, the mission would end, and she’d be once again taken from me—this time for good.
“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll watch over you.”
Liberty’s swift exhale and wiggle to nestle closer was her only response.
I didn’t shut my eyes again that night. I did as I promised. The added benefit was I didn’t miss a second of Liberty sleeping in my arms.
13
With my psych eval behind me, I sat in the far corner of the DFAC slugging down the worst cup of coffee I’d ever tasted in my life. I was sitting in the corner because I was hiding. I hadn’t seen Drake or the guys since I’d slunk out of their barracks. Okay, I didn’t slink, it was more like a covert operation as the men worked together to provide a distraction so I could sneak out unseen.
Slink…sneak…not much of a difference. Both cowardly.
I’d showered, given myself a stern lecture about my embarrassing and spineless behavior, vowing never to be weak and stupid in front of Drake and his team again. Then I stared at myself in the mirror until I didn’t flinch when I looked at the bruising on my face. With my game face securely cemented, I went in search of Wick. He’d promptly taken me to see Colonel Sykes, a no-nonsense, stern woman who’d been flown to Golan Heights from Germany specifically to see to me. Personally, I thought Wick had lost his mind. Disrupting someone’s practice seemed overboard at best and borderline crazy at worst.
For two hours, Col. Sykes put me through my paces. I couldn’t say it was fun, but it wasn’t as painful as I’d thought it would be. Something that stood out, the woman treated me as an equal—a colleague. She’d asked tough questions, expecting my answers to be thorough, she pushed me to talk about my feelings but not once did the colonel talk down to me. It made me want to open up to her. Which I did just enough to get her to approve my active duty status. A deadman’s profile would sideline me, most likely indefinitely.
Once someone is marked as mentally unstable or labeled with PTSD, especially in the spec ops community, they’re put under a microscope. I didn’t want the hassle or the attention.
So now, I was hiding.
I was holding it together but barely and I wasn’t ready to face Drake and his scrutiny. Maybe I was being paranoid and he didn’t look at me like I was a ticking timebomb that was nearing zero. But it felt like it. And it wasn’t just him—all of the guys had eyed me with concern when I’d woken up.
I needed a few more mugs of sludge and time to fortify my defenses before I faced them. I only had one shot to convince them I was mission-ready. Which, after last night’s nightmare debacle, would be hard enough to do. If I went into the war room with the slightest hesitation or weakness, they’d nix me from the team.
I beat back the urge to lower my head in shame and continued to focus on the empty chair across from me. This was not how I’d pictured my life—my service wasn’t supposed to be tarnished with failure and defeat. I was meant to carry on my family’s legacy. I’d believed that my entire life.
How selfish had I become? Men were dead, and I was worried about some stupid, perceived tradition I’d obsessed over. Children no longer had fathers and I was sulking. One thing was for sure—God had made a mistake. He’d chosen the wrong soldier to live. I should’ve died so my men could’ve lived.
The taste of blame and burden coated my tongue. Bitter acid churned in my stomach, threatening to expel the hate fizzing out of control. I wasn’t sure who I hated more—myself, God, Roman Kushnir, or his parents for breeding and producing such a vile creature.
I couldn’t begin to wrap my head around the trio and their connection to my family.
Sins of the father…
A price I should’ve paid—not my men.
“Ma’am?”
My head jerked to the side and a pimple-faced corporal stood at attention next to my table before his left foot smartly moved, his arms went behind his back, and his movements stopped when he’d executed parade rest. I didn’t have to look at the floor to know the kid’s heels were lined up evenly and they were the proper ten inches apart.
“Yes?”
“General Wick would like to see you, ma’am.”
My gaze slid from his face down to the name tape on his chest—Usilton.
Well, Corporal Usilton, I’m not fucking ready to face the firing squad, so too goddamn bad for you.
“Thank you, Corporal.”
The kid didn’t move, still standing awkwardly at rest when he informed me, “I’m to personally escort you, ma’am.”
My jaw clenched and in an effort to hide my now-shaking hands, I balled them into fists. I wasn’t ready, dammit.
I had a plan.
I needed more time.
“My apologies, ma’am.”
I plastered on a fake smile and stood. “Nothing to apologize for.”
Thankfully, the walk from the DFAC to TOC was short, because it was done in an awkward, uncomfortable silence. I wasn’t sure who was putting out anxious vibes more—me or Usilton. Unfortunately, the walk was short, because that meant we arrived before I was ready.
Three sharp knocks, then the corporal opened the door, took three steps in, snapped his heels toge
ther, and saluted. “Lieutenant McCoy reporting as requested, General Wick.”
The general returned the gesture, and without preamble, dismissed the corporal. The poor kid couldn’t scuttle out of the room fast enough.
“Thanks for joining us, McCoy.”
Like I had a choice.
What in the world was wrong with me? I was normally a very polite and respectful person. I didn’t give lip, not even in my head to my superiors. Never had I treated an enlisted soldier to attitude—silent or otherwise. This wasn’t me. I knew it, yet I couldn’t stop it.
Frustration had completely taken over. I had no control over the mounting irritation.
I gave the guys a tight smile and looked around the room. Today we had an audience—the room was bustling. Screens were active, personnel at work stations, the clicking sound of keys being stroked, and the low murmur of conversation.
But all of that fell away when I felt Drake’s eyes on me. And just as I expected, they were assessing.
“Sykes gave me her report,” Wick started and my attention snapped to him.
“That was fast.”
“We’re on a clock,” he reminded me. “She cleared you for duty.”
That was good news but the general didn’t sound convinced. As a matter of fact, he sounded downright angry. No doubt the man would like nothing more than to send my ass back to the States. Or better yet, personally deliver me to my father.
“Great. Then let’s get to it.”
“Not so fast.”
I held my tongue and my smartass reminder we were on a clock, something that Wick himself just stated. We didn’t have time for “not so fast.” Lore was on the move, and with Roman entering Lebanon, we needed to be quick—two birds, one stone.
“The guys have asked for a few days.”
“Sir? We don’t have a few days.”
“Operational security and success of this objective rests solely on me. That includes the lives of the tactical element. The team has asked and I agree, not only do you need time to recover, but an opportunity to train with them.”
My temper skyrocketed. I couldn’t believe this shit. Train with them? That was total and utter bullshit.
Taking Liberty: The Next Generation Page 9
