“Oh.” She drew that one word out, making it last three seconds instead of the half-a-second it would normally take and she finished with, “I get it.”
Yeah, I bet she thought she did. She just had no clue what I wanted to do with it.
15
Three days of training with the guys and muscles I didn’t know I had ached. No, they didn’t ache—they were screaming at me to wave a white flag and admit defeat.
Damn, I feel great.
During the day, it felt good to not be wallowing in guilt, self-loathing, and worry. I didn’t have time for any of that. Not when Drake, Luke, Matt, Logan, and Trey were keeping me busy. Each of them taking their time to impart tidbits of wisdom. So much so, they’d inadvertently shown me reality. I didn’t know jack shit. Which pissed me off.
Don’t get me wrong, I was a Ranger. A special forces soldier—I knew my shit, I just didn’t know shit. I was book smart, I studied, learned, trained, trained more, but I didn’t have practical, real-life knowledge that was born from experience. I still didn’t, but being shown what I didn’t know made all the difference.
But at night, lying in what was supposed to be Drake’s bunk, I felt that guilt, self-loathing, and worry. And when it started it hit me like a Mack truck. Drake and the guys wouldn’t have walked into that ambush. They would’ve seen it coming. All the signs had been there, signs that I didn’t recognize—that my team hadn’t—and they were dead because of our combined lack of skill.
That was the hardest part to swallow. Even harder than knowing that ambush was sent to capture me. But the more I thought on it, the more nothing made sense.
I shifted to get comfortable knowing that after my last nightmare I’d never get back to sleep, then I froze when my ass rubbed against Drake. I held my breath, praying he’d fallen back to sleep after he’d once again had to get off the floor—where he started every night—shake me awake, put me back to bed, crawl in behind me, and pin me down. Only then did the nightmares stay away.
“Settle your thoughts, woman.” His voice was rough and thick with sleep.
An involuntary shiver took over my body. No matter how hard I tried, it still happened. Every time he was close, but especially when his big body was curved behind mine, his arm heavy across my ribs, his lips close to my ear. Those times when he spoke and the rumble vibrated over my neck made it way worse. Those times, I didn’t just shiver, the area between my legs quivered.
He was being nice, or more to the point, trying to get some shuteye without me thrashing around, knowing the only way for him to get that was to get into bed with me—so he did. I was not being nice, I was behaving like a cat in heat, wanting to rub my ass against his crotch until he filled me up and made me forget every guilty, self-loathing, worrying thought.
“I can’t,” I whispered, not wanting to wake up the rest of the team if I hadn’t already.
“What’s on your mind?”
I didn’t hesitate. “How did Roman know where to find me? I understand why he wanted me but not how he knew where I’d be. And another thing, why did he keep asking me how long I’d been on patrol and what I was doing, if he knew? Why ask me anything?”
“To fuck with your head. Half the torture is psychological.”
“I guess,” I mumbled, still not convinced.
“Liberty,” Drake sighed. “Babe, he was playing with you. Wanted to see if he could get you to break. He knew what you were doing, where you were going, and how long you’d been out there. For someone like him—sick and twisted—it’s a game. That’s the why of it, no other reason but to play.”
“Why not just tell me who he was? He had a reason to beat the shit out of me, he didn’t need to pretend.”
Drake made a low sound in his throat. A cross between a growl and grunt. It sounded angry but still caused another quake between my legs.
“We’ll find out who tipped Roman off. Hate to say it, hate to even think it, but it was an inside job.”
I nodded because I thought that, too, but really couldn’t get myself to verbally agree. That meant someone back home at the 8th Special Forces Group sold me out. It shouldn’t take the CID special agents who’d been sent to figure it out long—once they cut through all the red tape that was put in place.
“Do you think Wick has enough pull with the commanding general of CID and my chain of command that an agent would be allowed to investigate?”
“In your group? No way. No one’s going to admit shit to a CID agent, they’ll start with the support staff. Black ops is not off-the-books ops. Someone had to get you on a plane to Israel, there’ll be a record of that. The transport into Syria will be harder to trace, but again, your objective won’t be listed, but your movements will. Wick’s not gonna rest until someone tells him how Roman found you.”
That, I believed. Wick was an honorable man, he would not want a traitor in his Army. But he also cared about and considered my father a brother, he’d find the person who sold me out for those reasons alone.
“He said he wanted Carter—”
“Babe.” Drake pressed into me tighter. “You’re tying yourself up into knots for no reason. So the fuck what. Roman wanted Carter. He didn’t get to him. Whether it was lack of opportunity or he saw him in action and realized he could never best him, it doesn’t matter. Carter’s safe.”
Roman couldn’t best Carter.
But he could me.
Because I was a woman.
“Liberty?” Drake gave me a jerk and lowered his mouth closer to my neck. “Don’t go there.”
“Go where? To the truth? Because I’m a woman, I was easier prey.”
The next thing I knew I was on my back. Drake was looming over me and I couldn’t breathe. My lungs were trying to suck in air but nothing was happening.
“Beat it back,” Drake whispered. “Look at me. Remember where you are and beat it back.”
I tried to focus on him, but the swift movement had all sorts of wires crossing in my head. I knew it was Drake. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. But I couldn’t see him.
Drake’s hand went to my face, I felt his calloused thumb as it swept across my cheek, but I still couldn’t break the spell. Then his lips brushed my forehead, my nose, my lips and when he got there he paused before he spoke. “Come on, Ranger, beat it.” I felt his words against my mouth, my tongue came out to lick my dry lips and I was unable to focus for another reason. The tip of my tongue grazed his lips and my heart seized.
No, that wasn’t right, it was still thundering in my chest until I felt Drake’s tongue meet mine in a soft touch—then my heart seized. His tongue speared into my mouth and with what was left of my brain cells I was just cognizant enough to catch the moan that almost slipped out and swallow it. Or maybe when Drake took over the kiss he shoved it back down my throat as he kissed me so thoroughly, so fervently, so overwhelmingly fantastic I’d never experienced anything like it.
Then his mouth was gone, but not his hard-on pressing against my thigh. Not his intense eyes that I knew were the color of caramel even if I couldn’t see their color in the dark—studying, scrutinizing, assessing me. Just like they always were, but this time, it was different. This time, I didn’t mind, because I hoped what he was reading was to not stop and to give me more, much, much more.
“Lib—”
“Shh. Please don’t say it. Don’t tell me that was a mistake. Let me have it and keep it unpolluted. I want to remember it for exactly what it was—the best damn kiss of my life.”
Drake went solid and he emitted that sound he makes from the back of his throat. The one that’s part-growl, part-grunt, and my pussy spasmed. Damn, did I want to hear that sound when he was filling me full.
But I never would, not if the look of regret he was giving me was any indication.
And that sucked.
Sucked so bad my insides shriveled up and died.
Drake remained silent as he rolled slightly and tucked me to his side. The bed was small, really small, so I hitc
hed a leg over his thigh and ended up mostly on top of him. This position was dangerous, it also wasn’t conducive to stopping any further wetness from drenching my panties. But there I was, acting a fool and enjoying the feel of his big, hard body under mine.
“Did you know my name means fate?” I asked for some asinine reason.
“I didn’t. You have a beautiful name.” My lips brushed against the fabric of his t-shirt when I smiled and I wished he was bare-chested. “Why do you go by the name Liberty?”
“Because when I was in school, a substitute teacher couldn’t pronounce it. After that, kids started making fun of it. About a year later, and three suspensions for fighting, I started having everyone call me Liberty. My mom and dad still call me Moira sometimes. But mostly they call me Liberty, too. Unless they’re mad, then it’s always Moira.”
“Suspensions? For what.”
“Fist fighting.”
“You got suspended three times for fighting?” The shock in his voice made me laugh.
“Actually, no. But only because my cousins beat me to it. Ethan, Carter’s brother, got busted once. And Jackson, my baby cousin, twice. Now Ethan sticking up for me was one thing. But Jack being younger than me, I didn’t appreciate. Though he’d established early on that no one could mess with him which turned out to be a good thing. Him and my cousin Quinn have been BFFs since the womb, and Quinn grew up to be seriously beautiful. Jack had his hands full beating back every asshole in high school who wanted a piece of her. Of course he had help from my other male cousins.”
“It must run in the family.”
“What does?”
“Seriously beautiful women.”
Say what?
Whoa, Nelly. Drake Hayes thought I was seriously beautiful? I knew I wasn’t butt ugly but I wasn’t supremely beautiful like Delaney with her dark hair and blue eyes. And Quinn, she was like a triple threat with her shiny black hair, green eyes, and long-ass legs. Then there were the Walker twins, Hadley and Adalynn. Those two took stunning to a whole new level. That left me, the average one, brown hair, brownish eyes, normal height, boring figure. I was too muscular to be womanly. Plain, nothing, standard issue—that was me.
“So, um, what about you, do you know what Drake means?”
God, I was so lame.
“I do. Drake is my mother’s maiden name. Her family was big on family history. She actually had the Drake family crest proudly displayed in our living room when I was growing up. Drake comes from the word Draca, meaning dragon.”
“I think that fits. Just like a dragon, you’re strong, fearless, fierce.”
Under me, Drake’s chest stopped rising and falling, his hand on my hip tightened painfully, then suddenly he relaxed.
“Jesus.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Get some sleep. You got a five mile run in a few hours.”
“Five?”
“Yep.”
“Can’t we start off with two?” I was teasing, five miles sounded awesome.
“What do you think this is, the Girl Scouts?”
I didn’t bother hiding my laughter. Well, I didn’t laugh out loud but my body shook with it, and I knew he felt it when he again squeezed my hip. This time it wasn’t painful—it was sweet.
Danger. Danger. Danger.
16
“TOC-one this is Romeo-one-sierra do you copy?”
The TOC went silent when the R and S unit’s call came over the radio.
A few days had slid into five. Needed but frustrating. Every day Lore roamed free meant explosive devices made it into the hands of bad men. IEDs, suicide vests, car bombs, you name it, this asshole manufactured it.
There was a reason he was called Lore—at first the intelligence agencies didn’t believe he existed, they’d thought the man was a myth—Sandbox lore to scare soldiers. Then they’d learned the hard way he was indeed real, intelligent, cunning. And the myth turned into a legend.
Lore was the most prolific bomb manufacturer in the region. Every terrorist on the CIA’s watchlist wanted him—not to harm, but to employ.
So five days were five too many for him to be walking around Beirut.
“Romeo-one-sierra, challenge,” the battle captain asked for verification.
“Screwdriver. Indian. Thirteen.”
“Authenticate.”
“Background.”
“Confirmed. Romeo-one-sierra go for TOC-one.”
My gaze went from the map we’d been studying to Liberty. What a difference five days had made. Most of the bruising on her face had faded. However, the deep red circled by a yellowish-green mark around her left eye remained a constant reminder of what had happened to her.
I hadn’t seen her torso or legs since the day I’d dressed her, nor had I asked if those bruises and contusions were healing. The way she kept up with us on runs, workouts, and training, I figured they were. Either that or her determination to go after Lore didn’t allow her to complain.
One thing was certain, Lieutenant Liberty McCoy was one tough chick.
“Target one is confirmed. Prepare to copy.”
“Go.”
“Thirty-three degrees, fifty-four minutes north. Thirty-five degrees, thirty-two minutes east. How copy, TOC-one?”
“Thirty-three degrees, fifty-four minutes north. Thirty-five degrees, thirty-two minutes east,” the battle captain repeated. “Target two?”
Hell yeah, the recon and surveillance unit found us a location.
No one spoke other than the battle captain but that didn’t mean the room wasn’t full of soldiers pounding away on their keyboards gathering every bit of data they could find about the surrounding area.
“Frequently visits target one at that location. Can’t get a lock on target two’s residence. He’s vapor.”
Fuck. R and S had a solid location for Lore but not Roman.
My eyes shifted to Liberty, and as expected, she was scowling. She wanted both men and it looked like she was only going to get Lore.
The battle captain looked at the General and waited.
“Tell him the team’s going in. I want target two found.”
“R-one-S, company’s coming your way. QRF-Alpha. Prepare to copy,” the battle captain relayed the general’s orders.
“Go.”
“Linebacker. Complete. Five. Authentication: aftershock. How copy?”
After the R-one-S radioed back they confirmed the new codes, the battle captain ordered the unit to find Roman.
My eyes were glued to Liberty and Liberty’s were stuck on Wick. My team was in my peripheral and they were hunched over the large map of Beirut. I didn’t need to huddle to know they were locating the coordinates the unit had called in.
“Wheels up at zero hundred,” Wick barked and Liberty flinched.
“Roman?”
Yeah, she wanted the man who’d captured, beaten, and killed her squad, arguably more than she wanted Lore. Not that I blamed her, but our mission objective was Lore—not Roman.
“You have thirty-six hours. If target two becomes available, I’ll give the order.”
I knew she wanted to plead for more time. When she opened her mouth to protest, the battle captain spoke.
“Satellite up on screen one.”
And so it began, the TOC was buzzing with intel.
Infil and exfil plans and backup plans were made. Different fallback points, transportation, weapons, threats identified, and again more contingencies. We continued until we had everything down to minute detail. We aimed for flawless, but being in the game for as long as I’d been, I knew the reality was that shit happened. Flawless sometimes turned into fucked-up. And when shit hit the fan all you had were the men at your side. On that thought, I looked up to find Liberty’s brows pinched, studying a street view image of the apartment building Lore was staying in.
“What are you thinking?” I asked her.
“We have to hit him on the street.” She looked up and held my stare.
“Elaborate
,” Matt ordered.
“No doubt he’ll have his apartment rigged.”
“Agreed. We’ve been over that. Trey will take point to disarm—”
“That won’t be enough. He’ll have it rigged. Not just the doors and windows. The whole apartment. It will be a minefield once we enter.”
The more I considered what Liberty suggested, the more I was leaning to agree. Lore was smart, he knew he was marked. And not just by the US military.
“Another thing, he’s not manufacturing his devices in that apartment,” she went on. “He never keeps his supplies where he sleeps. Never.”
“R-one-S didn’t observe him going to a secondary warehouse or manufacturing location,” Luke reminded her.
“Then he’s not manufacturing in Beirut.”
“You willing to bet on that?” Logan asked.
“Yes. Just like I’d bet my life the inside of his apartment will make Route Irish look like a drive down Pacific Coast Highway.”
“Fuck, seriously?” Matt barked.
Her reference to the once deadliest stretch of road in Iraq caught the team’s undivided attention.
“I can understand why you’d think that. But a shape charge on the doors and windows means Lore lives through the blast. IEDs placed around the room means even if he knows how to avoid his traps if someone enters and sets one off there’s a strong possibility he dies along with the intruder,” Trey explained.
“Then he’ll die and collect his reward. Lore’s an extremist. He believes what he’s doing is for God, not country. He’s homeless, a man without a country, but he has his beliefs and those are so strong he will die for them and take as many infidels as he can in the process. We cannot attempt to enter that apartment.”
“Goddamn if she’s not right,” Wick barked.
And back to the drawing board we went.
New course of action in hand, we all stood and readied to leave the TOC to get ready for loadout when Wick stopped us.
“Stay sharp.”
“Always do,” I answered.
“Wasn’t talking to you.”
Liberty’s spine snapped straight and her shoulders stiffened.
Taking Liberty: The Next Generation Page 11
