Romeo, p.9
Romeo, page 9
Four what? Did I care?
“I see them,” the third voice replied calmly. “Sending traffic control request for emergency clearance now.”
“That’s drawing unwanted attention,” the first voice warned.
“Medical clearance, not VIP status. MacElheran, get her on board. Zulu, start the engines. I’ll handle the SUVs.”
“The second they see us, they’ll open fire,” the deep voice warned.
The voices started to blend together.
“I already alerted airport security. They’re on their way. Get her aboard. No one fire back, and we’ll get out of here clean.”
“Copy. Let’s go, MacElheran. Flanking. November, cover our six.”
“Good copy.”
The stiff wall of heat around me moved, and I was jostled.
Pain radiated from my ankle, and a cry escaped my lips.
“Fuck.”
Shots exploded in my head and in the air around us.
My eyes popped open.
Roark
Scanning the apron, looking for incoming airport security, my gaze cut to what was now four black SUVs clustered by my Cessna.
Vowing to kill those assholes if they touched my plane or shot at us, I stepped out of the vehicle with the woman in my arms. Missy followed, and the woman cried out in pain.
The front doors on all four SUVs opened, and Kentworth’s guards poured out, aiming right for us.
“Fuck,” Zulu muttered a split second before the guards opened fire.
The woman came to and looked right at me.
Doe eyes. Terrified.
Fuck November’s no-return-fire bullshit. Marine to SEAL, I spared Zulu a glance.
“Loud and clear.” He nodded, drawing. “Covering, go.”
Zulu opened fire, and I double-timed it toward the Gulfstream, opening the forward cabin door. “Missy, board!”
My bitch hustled and I followed suit.
Rushing down the aisle to the divans in the aft cabin, I dumped the woman and issued her a single command. “Buckle in.”
Not waiting to see if she was conscious enough to follow orders, I hauled ass back to the cockpit and climbed into the first chair. Ignoring prechecks, I started the engines, drowning out the sound of gunfire.
Zulu came flying up the airstairs and took second chair. “Those fucks better pray they didn’t hit my Gulfstream.”
“You take captain’s seat,” I ordered, starting to get up.
“No time,” he clipped, buckling in and grabbing his headset. “Get us out of here.”
Laptop in one hand, November ran up the airstairs and closed the hatch. “Clear!”
I thrust the engines and put on my headset.
Ground control was already on us. “Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey, this is Key West ground, do you copy?”
“Key West ground, Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey,” I answered. “Say again.”
“Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey, priority clearance granted. Clear for taxi. Proceed via alpha two, hold short of runway two-seven.”
“Key West ground, Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey, proceeding via taxiway alpha two, holding short of runway two-seven. Appreciate the priority clearance.” I muted the mic. “November, get the woman buckled in.”
“Copy.” November headed aft cabin.
The radio crackled again. “Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey, you’re welcome. Over to Key West tower on one-one-eight-dash-two. Good day.”
Unmuting my mic, I scanned the apron out my side window. “Roger, Key West ground, good day.” I switched radio frequencies. “Key West tower, Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey, holding short of runway two-seven.” Pushing my mic up, I glanced at Zulu. “Sitrep.”
“We’re not leaking fuel, doing what prechecks I can.” He glanced out his side window. “No visible damage. Get us in the air.”
“Copy.”
The tower came back on the radio. “Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey, Key West tower, taxi into position.”
“Roger, Key West tower, Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey, taxiing into position.” I muted the mic again and glanced down the aisle. The woman was huddled in a ball in the aft cabin with Missy at her feet while November, that fuck, already had his head in his laptop. “November,” I barked. “Cabin secure?”
The woman flinched.
November barely lifted his head long enough to look out his window. “Secure.”
Fuming, I glanced at Zulu. “The second we’re wheels up, you’re taking over.”
“Good copy.”
The tower came back online. “Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey, you’re cleared for takeoff, runway two-seven. Good day and good luck.”
“Gulfstream November four zero niner two whiskey, roger, cleared for takeoff. Good day, Key West tower.” I thrust the engines, and the Gulfstream 650 lifted into the air with ease. Once I was out of the airport’s traffic space, I unbuckled. “Zulu, take the controls.”
“Taking the controls,” he confirmed easily, as at home in the cockpit as I was.
“You want November for second chair?”
“I can get us to Executive, but send him up here anyway.”
“Copy.” I stepped out of the cockpit and paused in the galley to grab three waters and a couple granola bars. Then I went down the aisle, throwing November an order on the way. “Second chair, now.”
Closing his laptop, November stood. “Alpha and Talerco will be on the ground at Executive Airport when we land. Alpha for sitrep and an assist from Talerco for the female.”
I didn’t say shit to the fucker who couldn’t put down his laptop long enough to get the woman a water. Walking past him and taking a seat next to the woman, I dumped two of the bottles beside me.
She stared out the window. “I see the Contender.”
Her throaty rasp kicking me in the gut, I opened a water. “That’s in your rearview.” For the moment.
She turned at the sound of my voice. “Who are those men, and whose plane are we on?”
“Friends. Their plane.” I held the water out. “Drink.”
Her eyes tracking my movement, she didn’t move. “You have friends willing to put themselves in danger for… this.” She whispered the last word.
“It’s what they do,” I evaded. “You need to hydrate.”
She didn’t let it go. “What exactly do they do?”
I gave an answer more palatable than mercenaries. “They’re from Alpha Elite Security, private defense contractor.”
The distress was instantly back, twisting her already pained features. “I can’t afford to pay for any of this.” Her head and voice dropped. “Not with money or any other way.”
Refraining from grabbing her chin and forcing her to put her eyes on me, I issued her a stern command. “Look at me.”
She gave me those doe eyes.
I wanted to fucking rip Kentworth apart limb from limb. “You’re not paying a fucking cent, and no one is going to take advantage of you. You hear me?”
She barely nodded.
“Say it,” I demanded.
“I hear you,” she whispered.
“Good. Now, drink.”
Slow, with a slight tremor in her hand, she reached for the bottle. “Thank you.” Robbing me of her eyes again, she dropped her head and stared at the water. “I don’t remember getting off your boat. What happened?”
It wasn’t my boat, and I’d fucked up is what happened. “You passed out from dehydration. Sip, don’t guzzle.”
“Sip,” she repeated before doing what I told her. “I never realized how unmasculine that word was until you said it.”
Not fucking touching that comment, I took Missy’s collapsible bowls and a pouch of her food from her vest, then filled one bowl with water and the other with her food.
While Missy ate, I tore open a granola bar for the woman. “Any food allergies?”
Her eyes welled, and for a beat, she didn’t respond. Then she shook her head.
I handed her the bar. “Eat.”
The three of us ate and drank.
Missy wolfed her food down, and I finished next. The woman was still picking at her bar after I washed out Missy’s bowls in the lav and stowed them back in her vest.
Now that we weren’t under immediate threat and I had some backup, I took a beat to study her. Her brown eyes had a shadow of dark blue around the edge, her lips were full as fuck and every other part of her face looked like a woman you’d see on a magazine cover—if she wasn’t beat to hell with a mess of wavy blonde hair everywhere.
Her cheeks heated. “What?”
“You nauseous?” Small bites, pausing between each one, her throat swallowing twice each round—she looked like she was going to hurl.
The breath she took seemed like it came easier. “A little.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
She glanced down at the bar. “I’m not sure.”
My nostrils flared. That fuck Kentworth was a dead man. “You want something else? I can check the galley for crackers.”
“This is fine, thank you.” She glanced at Missy. “What else is in her vest of tricks?”
She didn’t want to know. “Supplies.” Including an innocuous looking keychain that hid a knife, GPS tracker, and cyanide-laced needle. The latter of which I’d never used but was now thinking about as I fixated on that fuck Kentworth and what he’d done to her.
She nodded like she knew what the hell I meant. “More supplies for Missy.”
The vest was her version of a go bag. “Three days’ worth.” The woman not being able to remember the last time she ate was fucking with my head. “Did Kentworth withhold food?”
Picking at another bite of her bar, the woman took a page out of my book and didn’t say shit.
“Cleared for landing,” Zulu called from the cockpit. “Five minutes.”
“Cabin secure,” I replied to Zulu before looking back at the woman. “You need to use the restroom?”
“Um.” Heat hit her cheeks again, and she glanced at her injured foot.
That was a yes. “Arm around my neck,” I ordered as I stood and picked her up.
“No, wait. I mean, please….” She bit her lip, but then it came back. The version of this woman I’d seen in my kitchen. The one who begged. “Please put me down,” she pleaded, her voice turning submissive as hell.
My cock got hard, and I fucking cursed myself. “I’m not a voyeur, woman.” I opened the lav door and set her down on her good leg. “Just minimizing the time on that ankle. Knock when you’re done.” I shut the door.
Then I fucking stood there, hands on hips, wondering what the hell had happened to me.
Before I had an answer, a soft knock sounded.
Opening the door, I picked the woman back up and carried her two fucking paces she could’ve managed herself. And since I was already losing my goddamn mind, I buckled her in.
Mute, doe-eyed, she stared at me as I took the seat next to her. Then she asked the million-dollar question. “What’s going to happen after we land?”
“We’re going to get you patched up.” Then she was going to be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life, or I was going to kill Kyle Kentworth.
Sailor
The lavish private jet that would’ve given me butterflies a year ago smoothly touched down at a noncommercial airport and taxied to a spot on the tarmac near a parked black sports car. The silent, muscular man with the laptop that had an intense but almost vacant stare opened the door at the front of the plane, but then he stepped back.
A blond-haired, green-eyed man with an infectious smile came aboard and greeted laptop man. “What up, November?” He glanced in the cockpit. “How’s it hangin’, Zulu?” Angling toward the aisle, he blatantly checked me out as his smile turned into a grin. Then he glanced at Roark. “Well, hot damn, Mikkey, I was right.” The man who looked like a surfer but talked with a Southern twang laughed as he dropped a duffle and a large black bag with a red cross stitched on it into an empty seat. “It’s official, you’re Romeo.” He patted his leg and glanced at an excited Missy. “Come ’ere, girl. Give Uncle Talon some love.”
Missy bounded over to him and jumped on his leg.
Roark scowled as he stood. “You know damn well she’s not supposed to jump up.”
The surfer chuckled as he scratched behind Missy’s ears. Then he looked at me with mischief in his eyes. “Romeo here’s just jealous his ole girl loves me more ’an him.” He looked down at Missy. “Ain’t that right, girl?”
Missy’s tail wagged but she didn’t lick the man.
November glanced out the open door. “Where’s Alpha?”
“He’s comin’, but he said he had to take care of somethin’ first. Gives me a head start. You can close her up.” The surfer pet Missy one more time. “Down, girl. Go see that pretty lady over there and keep her company.”
Missy came over and jumped onto the seat next to me as November closed the door, then immediately went to his laptop. As if talking to himself, he asked, “Romeo?”
Talon glanced at November. “Yep, I called it. Mikkey’s now Romeo. You hackin’ your way into Fort Knox?”
November looked at the surfer with the same locked expression and intent stare he’d used on me. “If you mean the United States Bullion Depository, then no. Why Romeo?”
“Situational awareness, my friend.” Talon smiled at November like he hadn’t just insulted him. “New situation, new call sign for Mikkey. Speakin’ of….” The surfer slapped Roark on the shoulder. “You makin’ introductions, Romeo, or you gonna leave me hangin’?”
“Sailor, Talon Talerco. Talon, Sailor.” Roark looked at Talon. “She’s dehydrated, potential fractures on her left ankle and right ribs. Contusions post and pre ocean immersion. Eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen given at oh seven hundred. LOC twice, SAEK denied. No known drug allergies.”
Talon’s demeanor immediately flipped as he grabbed his bags. “Copy,” he replied, deadly serious as he moved around Roark and came down the aisle. Setting his bags next to me, he squatted so he was at eye level. “Hey, darlin’, heard you been havin’ a rough day.” His piercing green eyes looking at me like he could read every reason in my head that made me jump off that yacht, he casually grasped my wrist. “How ’bout we take a look.”
It was instant.
Fear broadsided me and I was jerking my hand back, shrinking away from him.
Roark was next to me in a nanosecond, barking out an order at Talon. “Stand the fuck down.” Except Roark didn’t just bark the order, he growled it in the most terrifying, threatening tone I’d ever heard.
Still squatting in front of me, Talon held his hands up. “Just checkin’ her pulse, brother. LOC once with dehydration isn’t unexpected, but twice is concernin’.” He looked back at me. “I apologize, darlin’. I should have asked first. Won’t happen again, I promise.”
A low, threatening sound came from Roark, and Missy jumped off the couch and went to her master’s side. If dogs could glare, she was glaring at Talon.
Seemingly unfazed, Talon lowered his hands and reached for the duffle bag. “Brought you some clothes, darlin’. Wasn’t sure what size, so I got multiples. Somethin’s bound to fit. But first, how ’bout I take a look at you, fix you up some, and make you feel better. Then you can put somethin’ more comfortable on than Romeo’s ole sweats. That sound like a good plan?”
I didn’t realize I was shaking until Roark barked another order at Talon. “Clear the cabin. Five minutes.”
“Copy that.” Talon stood and casually went down the aisle, opened the door, and walked off the plane.
November silently closed his laptop and followed.
Once they were both gone, Roark closed the door to the section of the plane we were in. I watched his huge back and wide shoulders rise with a deep inhale before he turned to face me with his hands going to his hips. “Talerco won’t hurt you. He’s a Navy hospital corpsman with special training. He’s the best combat medic I know, and he’s seen it all, but if you want him gone, say the word. I’ll do my best to patch you up with the supplies he brought, then we can reassess.”
Trying to choke down a hundred emotions that’d been triggered with one touch by his friend, and what he was saying to me right now—I shook my head and prayed I didn’t cry. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
The tears came anyway. I didn’t deserve this man’s help or his friend’s. “He was only trying to help. I didn’t mean to….” To what? Freak out? Face my own fears? See something reflected back at me that showed just how far I had sunk? “I’m sorry anyway.”
For three impossible seconds, he stared at me. Then he shattered my very existence. “What do you need from me right now?”
Covering my face, I burst into tears. The one thing I needed most I could never have again. But the fact that he’d asked was more than I knew how to deal with. Embarrassed I was crying, horrified about all of it, I wanted every single thing to be different. But most of all, I wanted to not be the burden I was to this man.
My body shook with another sob, and a rough hand landed on my nape.
Roark’s masculine scent curled around me as his fingers curved around my neck. Holding me steady, he didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to.
I felt his touch, his version of comfort, through every frayed nerve and aching hurt in my body.
This warrior didn’t comfort. Too stoic, too alpha, I knew he wasn’t a man who would hug you and hold you tight. But he didn’t have to because this touch, what he was doing right now, his silent support—it was a thousand times more meaningful.
I never thought I would feel comfort again, not after losing Shane. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to feel life at all. Shane was gone, and I didn’t deserve to be comforted. But this touch, by this man, I felt it all way to my very soul, and maybe, oh God, just maybe, there was something left for me here in this world.
Too afraid to let my thoughts wander any further down that path, but also terrified not to, I pushed it all aside, and I just let myself soak in the warmth of a warrior’s hand.
