Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 34
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
Chills slithered down his spine as he searched the canopy, then to the side. There! A darkened shadow wobbled.
He snatched up his M4 and took aim.
The foliage came to life. Men oozed from the pores of the jungle. His stomach plummeted. Firefight with this many would be a bloodbath—for the good guys. Shouts erupted as roughly twenty men dressed in old school jungle camos stalked them, pushing the group closer and closer.
“This isn’t good,” Fix mumbled. “We can’t just go down like this.”
“Quiet,” Max said. If he fired, at least four of them would shoot him. Dead before he hit the ground. Wasn’t worth it. They had to have been waiting in ambush. He eased his weapon down and released it, raising his hands out, but not too far from his weapon.
A scream whipped Max around.
While a dozen or more radicals broke up the team, penetrating the tight circle they’d just formed, two wrangled Kezia from the group.
“Max!”
“No!”
Pop! Pop-pop!
The chaos—and Sydney shouting his name—spun Max around. In the blur of the instant, the data rushed through his brain. Fix was down. Midas knelt beside the fallen medic. Legend, Cowboy, and the Kid were all sweeping their weapons toward the radicals. The leader held Sydney in a choke hold.
And Max had the man in his crosshairs. “Hold,” he growled to this team. “Hold your fire.”
A man moved from the foliage and stood facing Max. The radical shouted out in a language that left Max sick. Arabic. Max didn’t need an interpretation. He understood their language. Understood they intended to take Kezia and Sydney and kill them before anyone could take them from the island and provide testimony against their leader.
“Lower your weapon,” the tall, well-built leader said, his tongue smooth as a viper’s. He motioned to Sydney. “Or everyone will die.”
I want to be that important. Sydney’s whispered words only hours earlier locked Max’s gaze on her. Seeing the terror bulging her eyes, her face red under the strain of the radical’s stranglehold, a machete against her throat, he couldn’t move.
Because she was that important. That and so much more.
Fingers burning to gun down every radical left his mouth dry.
Regrets numbering thousands whistled through his mind. Should’ve let go of his anger, his past, long ago. Suddenly that the baby in her belly was another man’s, that she’d shoved him out of her life and given up on him—none of it mattered. Sydney mattered.
Whatever it takes, God. Whatever it takes. Just don’t let it go down like this.
His finger twitched, the M4 bobbing.
“I would be very careful,” the leader said as he waved his hand—and the radical drew her up tighter. Her belly arched toward Max, as if reaching for help, for salvation. The sun peeked through the clouds, glinting off the blade of the machete that rose to her throat.
“Let her go,” Max said, peering through the crosshairs.
Sydney whimpered—a small trail of blood slid down her neck toward the black T-shirt and disappeared.
“You’re killing her.”
“Please!” Kezia’s young voice burst into the chaos. “Trust God. He will save us. Trust God!”
Yeah, right. Faced with M16s trained on his men and a machete against his wife’s throat, he was supposed to just trust God? Sorry, but an M4 worked faster.
Sweat dribbled into his eyes, forcing Max to blink and break the lock with Sydney’s terrified gaze. He couldn’t deny the heinous odds. They were hugely outnumbered. If he didn’t stand down, he’d kill everyone.
His anger would be his undoing again. God…?
With every measure of restraint he could muster, Max vowed to kill these hostiles. If not here, then later. He’d come back. Make sure they paid. Nostrils flaring and his heart rat-a-tat-tatting like his M4, he slowly lowered the gun.
“Good,” the man said in English. “Kill the soldiers. Take the women.”
“Wait,” Midas shouted, as radicals worked to drag him backward. “Sydney, show them the mark.”
What mark?
She whimpered, both hands on the man’s arm that held the machete. Her right arm muscle flinched, as if she struggled to obey.
“What mark?” Max hissed.
“Stop with the games, Americans.” The leader stomped toward Midas.
“Sydney, trust me. Do it.”
Her hand released and went to the hem of her shirt.
The leader turned. “It is improper—” His words stopped short as the bulge of Sydney’s white belly glared at them all.
A brown-tinged symbol with a knife through it stunned Max into silence. Where had that come from? He frowned as he craned his neck forward, suddenly connecting the dots. The man holding her bore a similar symbol on his right forearm.
“What is this?” Enraged, the leader stomped toward Sydney and grabbed her face. “Where did you get this? Do you mock my people?”
A slow breath filled Max’s lungs as the machete moved away from her throat. But now she hung in the hands of the leader. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
“No,” she groaned out, clawing at the hand squeezing her face crimson. “I met a woman. She painted the symbol on my stomach.”
Seconds hung like anvils.
“It’s the mark of your people. You cannot harm her,” Midas said, fierceness cutting a hard line into his words. He winced as the men holding him jerked his arms behind him, bringing him to his knees. “If you do, you forfeit your position. And your life.”
The man whirled, eyes dark and narrowed. With a roundhouse kick, he drove a boot into Midas’s face. His head snapped back, and he dropped against the ground, unmoving.
“I know the laws of my people. I do not need an American to tell me anything!”
Adrenaline urged Max forward, but he caught himself.
God will save us. His eyes bounced to Kezia. A serene expression soaked her face—and served as a lifeline to Max’s soul. He felt the peace, the serenity.
“Take the other girl,” the leader ordered.
Sydney rushed to the girl and held her. “She is under my protection.”
“Syd!” Max lurched, but hands clamped onto his shoulders.
“Give her a chance,” Cowboy said, then gave Max a pat on the shoulder and a look that conveyed a message. A message to be alert.
The leader slunk closer to Sydney, sneering at her before he slowly dragged dark eyes to Max. Through his thick brow, he stared at Max.
And in that second, that silent challenge, Max knew. Knew this wouldn’t end peacefully. Knew the man had no intention of letting her go—or letting her live.
The leader lifted a knife from a scabbard on his belt and poked the tip against Sydney’s side, watching Max. “I could carve that symbol off her fat body, gut that infidel child from her womb, and finish this. For good.”
“And your guilt would remain.” Sydney stared up at him defiantly.
“Sydney!” Heart pumping sludge, Max watched everything as if in slow motion. The oversized bad guy’s hand balling so tight his knuckles turned white. Kezia’s eyes fluttering closed, her lips moving—he hoped in prayer. Cowboy using his expert stealth skills to steal into the vegetation as he ever-so-slowly raised his Remington 700.
Max’s gut churned. No way the leader would walk away from this. He had too much at stake. That meant Kezia and Sydney were in danger. What about the team? Were they ready?
Max eyed Legend, who slithered to the side, unnoticed by the radicals. He slanted a gaze to Midas, who lay on the ground still unmoving but looking directly at Max. He fisted his hand as if to say, “Let’s do this.” The Kid’s lips were pulled tight, determination etched into his face. The team knew it was coming. They were ready.
Kezia turned a gentle face to the man intent on her death. “Allah will not forgive you for breaking your own laws, but the voices you try to silence serve a God who will.”
“Our symbol may protect you, but there are those coming behind me who will not care. The Higanti will eat you for dinner!” The leader turned, considered the Nightshade team who froze from their repositioning, then took one step, swung around with brute force, and backhanded Sydney. She flew backward and landed on her backside. Almost as quick, he hooked an arm around Kezia’s neck and raised the knife to her throat.
Crack!
A split-second later, red streamed down the man’s face. His knees buckled. Nailed by Cowboy’s expert marksmanship, the leader dropped at the girl’s feet.
In that stunned instant, as the radicals stared in confusion at their fallen leader, Nightshade responded. Max snapped up his M4 and pegged the men behind Sydney, the sound of his weapon firing mingling with the flurry of gunfire and shouts. Midas dove at Kezia, pinned her down, and fired at two tangos rushing the girl. The crackle of the firefight echoed through the early morning.
The Kid darted forward—then stumbled, gripping his leg as he grunted and fired to the side. He’d taken a bullet, but nothing life-threatening.
Max scrambled to Sydney as more rebels emerged. He lunged toward her, easing back on the trigger. Two rebels fell while their three buddies skidded to a halt and sprinted past two date palms. Max fired into the bushes. On his knee, his gaze surfing the dense foliage, he reached toward her. “Sydney!”
She rolled onto her hip and pulled up, a stream of blood sliding down her chin.
Quiet rustling in the jungle kept his attention and adrenaline sharp. “Secure the perimeter. Verify the body count,” he shouted to the team. Once he saw them in action, he turned to Sydney.
Wide blue green eyes watched him nervously. He helped her to her feet, feeling the trembling in her fingers, and pulled her into his arms. Kissed the top of her head. He cupped her face, holding her close. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, tears glossing her eyes.
Relief washed through Max. He would’ve done anything for her not to have to see him kill a man or to be in the line of fire. She clung to him, the fingers of one hand digging into his left bicep and the other into his side. She sniffled, cried.
He tried to hold her closer, tighter, but it just didn’t seem enough.
Half his mind gathered the data from the men: fifteen dead radicals, Fix was dead, and the Kid bit his first bullet. But Max tried to smear from his mind the image of what had happened to Sydney.
He gazed down into her beautiful eyes. Her beautiful face. Wiped the trail of blood from her chin. “I don’t care.” He took in her face. “I don’t care if it’s Lane’s baby. I’m ready. To do whatever.”
Easing back but not out of his hold, she blinked. Hesitation and hope jockeyed for first place in the eyes that had always made his mind numb. “You’ll go to counseling?”
He swallowed hard, knowing the team listened. He didn’t care anymore. Pride had cost him too much. Almost cost her life.
“Whatever it takes. I want us together.” He shrugged, knowing there was only one way to say this, no matter how lame it might sound. “You’re worth it.” He captured her mouth with his, savoring the sweetness of all that was Sydney.
Then, all too soon for his liking, she pulled back. She smoothed a hand over his face, almost as if she were at a loss for words. Tears streamed down her face again, and she shuddered. With a smile she said, “Your son is worth it.”
He stilled, uncertainty rushing through him. He bent closer. “My son?”
“You dope.” She nodded, dislodging the tears from their hold. “I wanted to tell you. But you were so angry. I’m so sorry, Max.” Arms linked around his neck, she buried her face in his neck. “I would never betray you. It’s your baby. He’s your son.”
With her nestled in his arms, he let the revelation dig deep into his heart and mind. Your son. His pulse spiked. He looked at the others. With a stupid laugh, he announced, “I’m going to be a father!”
“What a genius.” Cowboy popped the back of his head.
“Yeah, like you had it figured out.”
“Actually,” Cowboy grinned, “I did. When you had me deliver the gift, I noticed her belly. And any sane man—and I do qualify that with sane—can see this fine woman is as loyal as she is beautiful.” He winked and hugged Sydney. “Right, darlin’? Or should we test my theory?”
“Bug off,” Max said, pushing Cowboy away from Sydney. “She’s mine.” With that, Max honed his attention in on the love of his life. Tracing the side of her cheek, he knew he’d screwed up way too many times to deserve even this one instant in time, let alone that she carried his son. “I love you, Syd.” He swept his lips over hers, relishing her softness, tasting her sweetness when she returned his kiss.
“Hate to break up the lovefest,” Legend said. “But we’re down one man, another will probably be seeing double for a while, not to mention the Higanti, and—”
The Kid whooped and thrust his fist in the air at the sound reverberating toward them. “Chopper!”
Elation worked a magic tonic on her heart and mind, even seemingly erased the pain of the scrapes and bruises that left her stiff and achy. Sydney had seen the light in Max’s eyes, one she hadn’t seen in a very long time. Years. And that kiss … oh, how she missed Max. His strength that always seemed to pour into her at his touch. She tucked Kezia close as the men retrieved Kimber Harris’s body. Jon walked close to the stretcher as they headed to the beach.
Sydney glanced back to where Ghost One assisted Max in carrying the body of their fallen comrade. In spite of the reconciliation that had occurred between her and Max, she saw how the loss of one of his team members weighted him. And in the haze of euphoria and grief, she tried to grapple with the fact that she’d spent the last three months hunting down an elite team, a team led by her own husband!
Fresh tears worked through her composure. He’d been through so much. All these years, all these battles. Just as Holden had said. Max was a warrior. Pride filled her, watching her husband—husband—as they plodded toward the lapping ocean.
Although Max’s anger had erected a virtually impenetrable barrier in their marriage, God had knocked it down. While she knew he bore responsibility in their marriage, she secretly wished she could’ve had this firsthand knowledge of his career sooner. Then maybe she would’ve been a bit more understanding. More accepting of him.
The heavy thuds of the rotors thundered as the helicopter roared closer. Sand and harsh wind whipped into her face. Long strands of hair stung her face, and she closed her eyes against the grains peppering her cheeks and eyes.
“Syd, let’s go,” Max shouted over the din.
He guided her, Kezia, and Lane into the Black Hawk. The chopper crew assisted her toward a small vinyl seat straddled over a canvas hold. They buckled her in and then secured Kezia. Lane sat next to her, his face awash with fear and yet relief.
They were going home. Alive. Reconciled. Her baby would have his father. She’d have her husband back. Things were going to work out just fine. Sydney averted her gaze as Gruff unloaded one of their own from his shoulders. The man had died for her. The harsh reality stung.
Bamboo grated against the steel floor as two soldiers worked to secure the gurney at Jon’s feet. He stroked his baby’s head, his gaze on his wife’s body, now zipped head to toe. For the first time since Sydney had joined the group, the little girl awoke. Screaming and disoriented. Good. At least she had enough bearings and vitality to protest.
Ping! Ping!
The chopper veered to the left sharply—up and away. Sydney grabbed the edge of her seat and thrust a hand in front of Kezia as someone shouted, “Taking fire! Taking fire!” The girl clung to her. What was going on? Was everyone already on board? She scanned the black-clad bodies near the open door. Where was Max? Maybe she’d missed him. With the paint and everyone dressed alike.
“He’s down, he’s down!” Ghost One sat on the edge, his weapon pointed toward the ground. No, wait—he was firing at something!
Her stomach tightened. Weapons’ fire tore through her hearing. Shots errupted from all directions, by all the soldiers.
Where was Max? As the chopper swung back, she saw the spread of brown beach … and a black form stretched out over the sand.
Her breath backed up into her throat. Then rushed out. “No! Max! Stop, he’s not on board!” The chopper devoured her screams.
Gruff motioned the pilot back to the beach as others provided suppressive fire. The chopper slowly swooped back down and hovered over the sandy stretch. Amid the plume of sand swirling around them, she spotted Max.
