Текст книги "Collateral Damage"

Автор книги: Kaylea Cross

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Liam shuddered and bit back a strangled moan as her lips wrapped around the swollen head. Both his hands slid into her hair, his fingers contracting around the sleek red-gold strands. His heart pounded out of control, his breathing shallow. It was so hot, so perfect, her soft little tongue caressing the sensitive underside of the head while she sucked on him.

More. He guided her head down farther, forcing her to take more of him before backing off, waiting until she’d almost released him before repeating the motion. Slow and easy, letting the sensation burn up his shaft, boil in his balls and belly. One of her hands smoothed over the shrapnel scars on his left hip, the side of his thigh.

The touch should have been soothing, healing, but it only ramped him up higher. Then her eyes lifted to his, and the sight of her sucking him off while she gazed up at him like that nearly did him in.

“Stop,” he managed hoarsely, tugging on her hair to still her. He pulled out of her mouth and rolled the condom on with shaking hands. Without hesitation Honor lay back and reached for him. Her arms wound tight around his back, her legs coming up to encircle his waist as she pulled him down into her embrace.

Pure need pounded through him. He propped his weight onto his elbows and paused, his cock sliding against her slick mound. Then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes and froze.

Her expression was so open, so full of tenderness and longing as well as heat that he almost balked. This was supposed to be about closure, about having the goodbye they’d never gotten last time. How was he supposed to leave after if she gave herself to him this completely?

Her hand came up to cradle the side of his face, her thumb stroking back and forth across his jaw, her touch gentle and loving. “Need you,” she murmured, rocking her pelvis against him.

For the life of him, he couldn’t pull away.

Unable to refuse her or himself, he braced over her and slowly sank into her warmth. Honor’s eyes fluttered closed at the slow penetration, her mouth parting in a soundless cry of pleasure that set off a warning buzz at the base of his spine. The feel of her slick heat surrounding him, squeezing him tight, was indescribable.

And in that moment, he realized he’d made a colossal tactical error.

What was supposed to be just sex and getting her out of his system had become a thousand times more meaningful. Emotion poured through him: grief, longing and a deep-seated tenderness he couldn’t shut off.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice tight with unfulfilled desire.

Fuck. Heart pounding, back and chest slick with sweat, he pushed deeper.

God, it was good. Even better than he remembered. Liam buried his face in the side of her neck and sucked in a breath, struggling to hang on.

Being cradled in Honor’s arms, buried to the hilt inside her while she opened her body and heart to him was the most incredible thing in the world. How the fuck was he going to walk away later?

Without warning his eyes began to sting.

As though she sensed how close he was to coming unglued, Honor murmured to him and pressed kisses to the side of his face, her hand urging his head to turn toward her. Liam shook his head, unable to bear that final level of intimacy when he knew this was their last time.

Keeping his face in her neck he fought back the swell of emotion and began to move, a slow, shallow rocking motion that was more profound than words could ever be. He loved her. Would always love her, but it wasn’t enough because some things couldn’t be undone and he just couldn’t let her in the way he had before. All they had left was this bittersweet farewell, and he was going to make it memorable.

He shifted the angle of his hips to hit her sweet spot and Honor gasped, holding him tighter, moaning as she lifted into his rhythm. He drove deeper, a little harder now that her body had adjusted to him. A lump settled in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, torn between the excruciating pleasure swelling inside him and the need to see her face as he took her this last time.

In the end, his heart won out.

Powerless to stop himself, he lifted his head and looked down at her. Anguish sliced through his chest when he saw the tears glistening in her beautiful eyes.

Don’t. Don’t cry. Shit, he didn’t want either of them to hurt anymore. He was sick of hurting. That’s why he was ending it all tonight.

With a low sound of regret he covered her mouth with his, his tongue sliding against hers as he took her. Honor kissed him back deep and slow, the steady friction between their bodies pushing them both closer and closer to the edge. Liam reached one hand down to stroke her clit gently as he pumped into her.

Her answering whimper of pleasure and need made his protectiveness rise to the surface. Cupping her cheek with his free hand he gave her everything he had left to give, allowing his emotional shields to drop for these final moments.

She tightened around him, her inner muscles squeezing his cock as she met every stroke of his tongue. Hunger took over. It burned through everything else, leaving both of them defenseless.

Together they strained toward the peak. He drove into her over and over as the pressure built and her moans turned to cries of pure ecstasy. More perfect than he’d remembered.

Breaking the kiss as she neared the edge, Liam stared down into her face, drinking in the sight of her, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and parted, lost in what he was making her feel. Her inner walls contracted around him and then her cries of release filled the air.

Liam fused his mouth with hers and drank them down, driving into her deeper, faster. His own orgasm barreled at him through her silky contractions and he went after it with single-minded intensity. Sensation burned through him like fire, gathering low in his belly and spreading outward. With one last thrust he buried himself deep inside her and exploded.

He threw his head back, teeth bared as a raw groan tore free. The climax blasted throughout his entire body, wiping out thought and sound. When it faded at last he sagged on his forearms, panting for breath. Honor made a murmuring sound and gathered him close, and he was too weak in that moment to pull away.

Utterly destroyed, he lay atop her with his face resting against the side of her neck, her sweet, clean scent invading his senses. She ran her fingertips up and down his back in a soothing motion, her body limp and pliant beneath his, legs still wrapped around him.

And all of a sudden he felt like crying.

He felt too much, was in too deep again.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Liam pushed out a hard exhalation and allowed himself to rest in her arms a while longer, dreading what was coming. Silence settled over them as their breathing returned to normal, an ominous quiet filling the room. Gradually he felt the subtle tension taking hold of her body.

Though it felt like he was peeling his own skin away to pull out of her arms, he made himself roll off her and sit up, his back to her. Honor stayed quiet until he reached for his clothes and began pulling them on, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

“So that’s it?” she asked in a flat kind of resignation that made it feel like his heart was being crushed in an invisible vise.

Knowing he shouldn’t, he risked a glance at her anyway. She was sitting up, wearing his T-shirt again, watching him with desolate blue eyes.

“I gotta go to work,” he muttered, and stood, shaken by the emotional upheaval inside him. He’d tossed his boots at the side of the bed. He put them on, the enveloping silence going from uncomfortable to suffocating in the space of a few seconds. Shit, he didn’t know what to say to make this any easier. After what they’d just shared he was more conflicted than ever about what to do.

“I’ll miss you,” she murmured, and he caught the slight catch in her voice.

Ah, fuck.

He gritted his teeth. It would be so much easier if they could just hate each other. For a moment he considered saying something to make her do exactly that, but couldn’t. Even he wasn’t enough of an asshole to end things that way.

And that look on her face…

Against his better judgment, Liam sat back down on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms with a ragged sigh. Honor went willingly into his embrace, pressing her face to his chest as she hugged him tight in return.

“I’ll miss you too.” His own voice was rough with regret as he rubbed a hand over her back. Dammit, he should never have come here tonight. “I wish it could be different, but I just… I can’t do this anymore.” I’ll always love you but I can’t afford to let you back in again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. She held the power to destroy him, almost had the first time around.

No. Never again.

Except that didn’t seem like a good enough reason to keep his distance anymore. In fact, right now it sounded like a sorry-ass excuse.

Honor sucked in a ragged breath and managed a nod, as though she either understood or had expected his response.

Her bravery in the face of his rejection almost killed him. And dragging this out any longer would just be fucking cruel, to both of them. He had to be strong and do what needed to be done, no matter how hard it was. Even if the fear of going through life without her made him feel cold and empty inside, and even if he was starting to doubt his decision about this.

Releasing her, he stood and headed for the door, his chest full of concrete. He removed the chair from under the knob and paused with his hand on it. When he looked back at her she wiped her face and gave him a brave, wobbly smile that broke his heart all over again. And dammit, as he stood there he could feel himself caving, on the verge of blurting that he wanted to try and make it work again.

Which meant he had to get the hell out of there, because that was stupid fucking knee-jerk emotion talking. He needed time to think things through. Even if he was willing to forgive her and try to trust her again, logistics made a relationship impossible for now.

She was leaving for the other side of the world in two days. He had a war to fight here and he didn’t know when or if he’d be going back stateside.

And, the sad truth was, sometimes love simply wasn’t enough to keep two people together. So he would make this as final and humane as possible, put them both out of their misery this time.

“Take care of yourself,” she told him before he could continue.

He made himself nod once. Go. Leave now before you hurt her more or commit to something you’re not ready for yet. “You too,” he managed.

With nothing left to say, he turned and walked out into the cool night air, aware with every step that he was once again leaving his heart behind with her.

Chapter Thirteen

Safir accepted the hot cup of tea from Behzad with a smile of thanks and settled cross-legged on the rug spread on the dirt floor with his back to the wall. These day he couldn’t relax without having clear lines of sight to all exits in the room—and the only one in here was the narrow, rectangular doorway formed by an outline of rough mud bricks. Anwar was outside along with several of Gulab’s fighters. Qasim sat to Safir’s right, dividing his attention between the door and the meeting.

“I have more men to fight the next battle,” the warlord said to him in Pashto as he sipped at his own tea.

Behzad retreated to the far side of the room, a silent, stoic presence. Offering his home as a meeting place without getting involved in their business or expecting anything in return. Safir had decided he would hire the man to be his eyes and ears in this part of the tribal region in northwestern Pakistan. He could certainly use the money it would bring, and it would give him and his family some much needed security. Maybe even an easier life.

Safir turned his attention to Gulab. “How many?”

“Twenty-nine. Your latest videos have been very helpful so far.”

He seemed surprised about that. “It’s also raised almost a million U.S. dollars since it went live. More than enough to buy the weapons and supplies you wanted and pay for everything else I have going on.”

The man’s battle-hardened features went slack with surprise for a moment. “I did not realize…”

Safir shrugged. “We have many supporters the world over who are willing to help us get what we need. It’s my job to make sure we reach others like them who are sympathetic to our cause.”

His various contacts and other jihadists around the world, along with mainstream media, had made the video of the attack on Bagram go viral within two days. Even now, money from admirers and those who believed in their cause sent a steady stream of funds into the offshore accounts Safir had access to. Buried in a series of shell companies, of course.

Gulab appeared awestruck by the news. Or maybe simply the dollar amount. “You will make more of these videos?”

“Of course. But I have an important project to complete first.”

The man’s expression turned sly and curious. “Such as?”

“Something that will bring the war to the Americans’ doorstep.” He’d been working on this for months with Omar, one of the best hackers money could buy. The operation would blow a hole in U.S. security and strike a devastating psychological blow to the country.

If everything went as planned.

The inside man Safir’s people had secured was on the payroll, and via the Afghan local working on base, had been extremely helpful in providing details for the attack thus far. Safir had made certain that the man wasn’t linked directly to him, and he would continue to monitor the situation with extreme caution from afar.

“God is good,” Gulab murmured.

“Yes,” Safir said for the sake of ease, though he silently disagreed. If God was so good, then why were his people still suffering under the tyranny of the U.S.-led coalition? God would not bring back his dead relatives or heal the warriors injured while fighting in His name.

No, religion was merely a part of this, a tool to unite them against a common enemy. Once a man had nothing left to lose, power and revenge were all that really mattered, the only things worth fighting and risking his life for.

The radio on Qasim’s hip squawked. He rose and exited the house before answering it. Safir continued to listen to Gulab’s plans for operations in the area over the next few weeks, not really caring about any of it. All his focus now was on the upcoming attack in the U.S., involving technology that was way beyond this man’s or any other warlord’s comprehension.

Qasim appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, his expression grave. “We need to move, right now,” he said to him in English, the use of it and dire tone making Safir’s stomach grab.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Americans have been to some villages close by, asking about you. They know you by name and have been showing pictures of you.”

Safir wasn’t all that surprised, but the news still sent a frisson of fear snaking up his spine. Ever since the latest American Chinook helicopter had been shot down the area had been crawling with enemy forces. Intelligence agencies had stepped up their efforts to identify him.

His name and face were circulating in the news and on posters and he now had a sizeable bounty on his head. The American media were calling him “Rahim 2.0”, which he found both flattering and insulting at the same time. He was so different from his predecessor, better, and had access to technology Rahim hadn’t been interested in.

“All right.” He got to his feet and thanked Gulab before turning to Behzad, now standing near the far wall. “Thank you once again for your hospitality.” Reaching into his pocket, he crossed to him and withdrew a wad of Afghan currency then held it out to him. Probably more than the old man earned in a year, and more than enough to improve his and his family’s living conditions.

Behzad’s eyes widened and he shook his head, his long gray beard brushing the front of his tunic. “I cannot accept this.”

Safir took one chapped, leathery hand and pressed the money into it, curling the old man’s gnarled fingers around it. “It’s the very least I can offer to repay you for your kindness.” And he’d offer more later when he came back next and asked him about sending him periodic reports from the area.

The old man’s eyes grew wet. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Safir smiled and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are most welcome, Uncle. I appreciate your friendship.” He was an honest, hardworking man. He deserved far more than this bleak existence and if Safir could help him, he would.

“Safir,” Qasim said impatiently from the doorway.

“All right, I’m coming.” He left the house with Anwar and Qasim while Gulab stayed behind to organize his men. Safir followed behind the other two as they took the narrow dirt path down toward the valley floor. They’d left the truck parked in the remnants of an old shed down the hill, out of sight from prying enemy eyes.

“Do we have a safe route back to the border, or do we have to use one of the safe houses tonight?” he asked Qasim in English so the other man wouldn’t understand.

His friend walked a few paces ahead of him down the dusty trail, directly behind Anwar, AK-47 held at the ready and his head swiveling back and forth as though he expected the enemy to jump out at them at any moment. “Not sure yet. Waiting for word from one of my—”

The roar of an explosion tore through the air behind them.

Safir’s heart shot into his throat as the shockwave blasted out and hurled him off his feet. He slammed into the ground in a heap, his ribs taking the brunt of the impact and knocking the breath from his lungs. No sooner had he landed than another explosion shook the ground. Struggling to his side, he wheezed in a thin breath of air as he took stock. His ears hurt and his head was ringing from the percussion.

“Safir!” Qasim was reaching for him, the whites of his eyes showing all around the irises.

He tried to answer his friend but couldn’t get anything out. Strong hands grabbed him beneath his armpits and began dragging him backward toward the hillside. Seconds later Qasim’s worried face appeared above him and Safir realized Anwar was the one dragging him. The man hauled him into the recesses of a shallow cave and quickly took position in front of him, putting himself between Safir and the opening.

Qasim dropped to his knees beside him, his expression anxious, dirt and thin streaks of blood streaking his face from where he’d scraped it on the ground. “Are you hurt?” he demanded in English.

Safir managed to shake his head, feeling nauseous as he did so. “No,” he wheezed, attempting to sit upright. Qasim helped him up and propped his back against the rock wall. “Wind knocked…out.”

The concern on his friend’s face eased but then he swiveled toward the cave entrance. “What happened?” he said to Anwar in Urdu.

“Something exploded back at the village,” he answered, his gaze trained in that direction.

Qasim peered past him out the opening and swore. Safir slowly got to his knees and crawled forward to risk a glance up toward the village. Fires were burning up there and already he could smell the acrid stench of the smoke.

Qasim pushed him back with a solid hand planted on his chest. “They’re still out there somewhere. Maybe they’ll call in another bomber—”

“It wasn’t a bomber,” Safir snarled, causing Qasim to look at him sharply. A bomber for such a small target? At such a high altitude that no one had seen or heard it coming through the clear evening sky? No. “That was a drone strike.” A laser-guided missile launched from a drone, maybe directed here by one of the men hunting him.

He settled back on his haunches, his entire body feeling bruised and a deep, lethal rage building inside him. “We have to go and see if Behzad is alive,” he said to them in Urdu.

Qasim made a scoffing sound and responded in English. “That’s just what they want, for you to come out into the open.” He eyed the darkening sky warily. “They might already have found you.”

If they had and launched a strike on this cave, his death would be quick and he’d likely never even know what hit him. Maybe he hadn’t been their intended target. Maybe they didn’t realize he was here. Still, knowing there were drones in the area made fear lick over his suddenly cold skin. Had they been hunting Gulab, or him? Just like his family, he wasn’t safe anywhere with eyes in the sky hunting him.

“None of us have any electronics on us except for the one satellite phone and the battery’s not even in it. The only way they could have found us is by human intelligence or satellite.” Which was highly plausible. More and more, he was convinced that he wasn’t the intended target.

This time.

He’d tried to keep the meeting brief, not wanting to put Behzad at risk, and now… He swallowed as guilt filled him, a foreign emotion he dismissed as soon as it formed. He was the leader now and there was no time for things like guilt.

“We’ll wait here for another hour and then move out. I’ll call someone to come pick us up in a different vehicle,” Qasim said.

“No. We stay for an hour then go to the village.” Although anyone wounded in the strike would likely be dead by then.

Qasim blew out a frustrated breath and raked a hand through his hair. “You have a death wish now? You know about the money they’ve offered for you. Even men you considered your allies might turn you in.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that now.”

His friend shook his head, his mouth tight. “Why is Behzad so important to you? Gulab is likely dead, and all of his men with him—but you don’t care about any of them. So why the old man?”

“Because he reminds me of my grandfather,” he snapped, shooting a quelling glare at his friend. “The only person who ever really gave a damn about me. He raised me until I was twelve, then used his life savings to send me away to a better life in the U.K. A farmer, like Behzad.”

Qasim shook his head. “There’s no way he survived that, mate. You know that. And even if he did, we don’t have a doctor or supplies with us.”

“I have to see.” It was his responsibility.

His friend muttered something under his breath and turned back to stare out the opening of the cave. They sat in eerie silence as the agonizingly slow minutes passed. There were no more explosions, no further sounds coming from up the hill. Finally Qasim gave the signal. On wobbly legs Safir ran back to the village, the other two men flanking him. He stumbled when he saw the first body part lying on the ground.

What was left of an arm, the flesh charred and peeling away from the bones.

Bile rushed into his throat. Safir covered his nose and mouth and continued on, already turning numb inside. He’d lost family and friends to this same kind of weapon. Yes, he’d killed men; shot them or stabbed them. That kind of violence didn’t bother him because those men were traitors.

This was different. Yet again a drone strike had taken innocent lives that the U.S. didn’t give a shit about. He’d seen the carnage on videos online and heard about it from survivors but he’d never seen it up close before.

More body parts littered the ground as they neared the village. The explosion had cleaved away part of the hillside, leveling the mud brick houses that had stood here only an hour before. Blackened corpses lay scattered about the rubble, some poking out between gaps in the scattered rocks and stones. The acrid stench of the smoke combined with the burned flesh made Safir’s stomach roll.

“Here,” Anwar called out from up ahead.

Safir rushed over. In the light of the flames licking at the wreckage he could see pools of black liquid shining. Blood, he realized. One of the pools thinned out into a trail that led away from the rubble of what had been a house.

Heart pounding, Safir rounded the pile of rock and brick to see Qasim and the bodyguard bent over a figure lying on the ground. Without them saying a word he knew it must be Behzad.

Safir ran over and dropped to his knees, bending over the old man who was on his side, crumpled up like a broken doll left forgotten on the ground. In the firelight he could see those dark eyes were still open. A large chunk of rock lay across his lower legs, more black liquid spreading out from beneath him. One gnarled hand lay on his belly, the front of him soaked with blood. It glistened in his beard, trailing out of his mouth. Terrible wheezing sounds were coming from his shattered chest.

“Uncle,” he said urgently, sliding a hand beneath the limp neck.

A gurgling noise came out and those dark eyes rolled toward him, focusing for just an instant.

“I’m here,” Safir told him, not knowing what else to say. Over the smoke he caught the metallic tang of fresh blood. His stomach rolled, a terrible sense of helplessness invading him. Masking his emotions, tamping them down into the deepest, darkest part of him, he maintained his confident bearing. “I’m here.”

Those pain-glazed eyes stared into his for a few seconds, then turned vacant. Behzad’s eyelids drooped slightly. The wheezing slowed, then stopped.

Qasim looked up at him, his features illuminated by the dying fires. “We’ll have a team come in to give them all proper burials,” he said in a low voice.

Safir swallowed and eased his hand from beneath Behzad’s neck. The old man’s head lolled to the side, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ruins of his village. Where his wife, children and grandchildren now lay buried.

He sucked in a breath and pushed to his feet, queasy and shaky. “Let’s go.” There was nothing they could do for anyone here, except see to their burials once they reached a safe house back near Peshawar.

Safir gritted his teeth as a wave of rage blasted through him, so strong it raised the hair on the back of his neck. His skin prickled with it, his breathing growing labored.

He glanced down at Behzad’s body, lying still and broken on the ground. “I will make them pay in kind,” he vowed to his dead friend. “I swear it to you on my life.”

A gust of wind suddenly kicked up, carrying a stream of glowing embers up toward the heavens. Though Safir wasn’t all that religious, he knew Behzad’s spirit had heard him and answered.

****

After the last couple days of nonstop action and the emotional ups and downs he’d been riding since the CSAR op, the last thing Liam felt like doing was being back at the hospital. He couldn’t not come though.

One of his own was in the room at the end of the hall—maybe not fighting for his life at this point, but definitely fighting the battle of his life, and command was transporting him out tonight for further treatment in Kuwait. Liam wasn’t sure what he or Freeman could do for him right now, but they could at least offer their support and show they cared.

Man, he was dreading seeing Blinski like this.

Pausing before the closed door, he shot Freeman a questioning glance. At the man’s silent nod, Liam pushed it open and walked in. Immediately the smell of stale air and antiseptic hit him. His gaze went unerringly to the figure in the solitary bed in the private room.

Blinski was unrecognizable beneath the layers of bandages covering his head, face, arms, and upper body. He lay on his back, the only sounds his shallow breathing and the soft blip of a machine at his bedside.

Jesus Christ. Liam had known it would be bad, but… Shit, he felt so bad for the guy, the thought of the burn damage making him want to crawl out of his own skin in sympathy.

Masking his reaction and ignoring his discomfort, Liam forced himself to approach the bed. The doctors had told them Blinski would tire quickly and might not be all that coherent due to the pain meds he was on. Liam didn’t plan on staying long anyhow. Just long enough to say goodbye and wish him well, offer to help any way he could. It was the least he could do.

At the side of the bed he paused and looked down into his friend’s face. The doctors had amputated Blinski’s right hand and three fingers on his left hand yesterday. Both amputation sites were wrapped with wads of heavy bandages. The only parts of his face visible through the bandages were his right eye and his mouth. The skin around both were red and oozing, his lips blistered. And if they’d been left uncovered because they were considered the least damaged parts of his face…

Imagining what lay beneath the bandages made Liam’s stomach roll.

Taking a deep breath, he gripped the side rail with both hands and focused on Blinski. He had to do whatever he could to help him. “Hey, man.”

Blinski’s one functioning eye opened slowly and focused on him. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice shot. From screaming himself raw the night he’d been wounded. When Liam had asked Cam Munro later, the PJ told him Blinski had screamed until he finally lost his voice a few minutes prior to landing at Bagram.

Liam forced a small smile, banishing that horrific image. “Good to see you’re still with us.”

Blinski didn’t answer, merely shifted his one-eyed gaze to Freeman, who stood awkwardly off to the side.

“Wanted to come see you before they transferred you to Kuwait,” Freeman said, not making any move to come closer.

That light blue eye focused back on Liam. “You heard about…others?” he rasped.

Liam nodded, the reason for the hoarse voice almost as sickening as the injuries themselves. “Yeah, we heard. We were at the ramp ceremony yesterday.” They’d stood at attention, in formation as the two flag-draped coffins had been loaded aboard a C-130 for transport. First to Germany, then back to the States where they’d be buried with full military honors. Seeing strong men he served with breaking down in tears at something like that was always a punch to the gut and the sense of loss had hit him hard.

Blinski’s eye began to tear up and Liam’s stomach muscles grabbed in reaction. The man sucked in a breath, seemed to shift restlessly on the bed, as though he was in agony despite the drugs they were pushing into his IV. Liam could hardly stand it, wished he could do something to ease his suffering. “Shoulda been with them.” The words were a mere whisper from that raw throat, full of guilt.