Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (6 page)

She quickly shook her head and pursed her lips, knowing full well she’d cave if he tried to talk her out of this. “Please, Max.” Gaze on his bare feet, she tried to blink back the tears. “Don’t …”

His rough, calloused hand came to her cheek, and he swept his thumb over her face.

Smooth and creamy, her skin was as soft as he remembered. Every pulse of anger he experienced over the fact that she’d come into this high-crime disaster he lived in, every muscle that knotted at finding her on his doorstep, drained at the silkiness of all that was Sydney. She’d violated the court order—the very one
she
had requested—to bring him a collage, one she knew he didn’t want, one he’d said she could keep.

No, Sydney wasn’t here because of a box of medals. She’d come to see
him
.

Oh, he wanted her back, wanted their life back, wanted things to be right. Good. The way they were before.

But that hope vanished when she stepped out of his reach. “Please,” she said, her throat processing a nervous swallow as she avoided his gaze. “I just …”

His anger vaulted over the hurt and took control. “You just what?”
Keep it cool, man. Keep it cool
. He held up the medals. “Brought me something I told you I never wanted?”

Sydney leaned against the wall, her shoulders hunching.

Max ground his teeth. “I want you, Syd. I don’t care about things. I don’t care about my job. You. That’s all I want.”

Tears spilled from her eyes. “You get mad …. You lose control.” Sorrow filled her face and carved a gaping hole in his heart. “I can’t live like that anymore.”

He balled his fist, hating the painful truth of her words and how his anger took over. Always took over. Hating that she’d resolved their marriage couldn’t work without him changing. Changing what? He had been like this the day she’d vowed to love him till death parted them. And as far as he knew, neither of them had died. “Then why are you here?”

A sob ripped through her. “I can’t …”

His chest tightened.
Get it together
. He choked back the anger and frustration. Let out a huff. His entire life was slipping down a one-way track to hell, and he was utterly powerless to stop it. “Let’s get you back in the car and on your way to safety.”

She pulled out of his grasp. “I don’t need you to walk me out like a child.”

“What?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I—fine. Okay.” Hands up, he sighed. “Fine. Go, leave.”

Everything in him railed as she disappeared down the stairs. He waited until he heard the creak of the door then hustled down the steps after her. Watching through the rectangular block of glass, he waited until she climbed into her car and started the engine before he released the tension. What was she thinking coming out here, a place where there were more guns than people?

He glanced down at the collage box. She’d been so proud of it when he opened it at his birthday barbecue last summer. Their guests had
ooh
ed and
ahh
ed over the dozen awards. What good were awards when everything in you, everything in your life, was falling apart? About all they were good for was to make empty frames look good. Still, he’d thanked her. And he knew she would expect him to hang it up, but he didn’t want it in a high-traffic area. Matter of fact, if nobody saw it, he’d be happy. Thus the prime location at the back of the closet next to his cleaned, pressed, and stored duds.

In his apartment, he slid the box across the counter and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. For the first time, he considered that closet—it had contained all his SEAL equipment, his uniforms, the gear, and his medals. Nicely and neatly contained. Tucked out of view. Sort of how he dealt with everything. Neat little closets nobody could see into, not even himself unless he needed to.

It was the only way to cope.

Ain Siro mountains loomed in the darkness, cutting off the small village from the somber glow of moonlight. Shrouded in the anonymity of night, Max huddled among a group of firs at the base of the mountain. Rushing water cascaded over rocks and tumbled southward fifty yards north.

Armed with his M4 and a rucksack full of adrenaline, he crept along the perimeter of the village huddled near the vital river. Each step purposefully placed. Each breath measured. Nestling against the tree gave him the temporary cover he needed. Using his night vision scope mounted on his weapon, he visually confirmed each member of the team was in place. Their first mission, yet after months of training, they operated seamlessly.

Shifting to the right, he swept his gaze over the interior of the village where Janjaweed forces reclined around a small fire pit. The spiked drinks Nightshade anonymously donated to the forces had the necessary effect. Talk and laughter drifted on the hot winds and invaded the tranquil setting. The underlings remained clustered around one man. Colonel Paka. Nightshade’s primary objective.

Even now as Max watched the man, he understood the neutralize order. According to the recon Legend and Cowboy had gathered, the man had raped and butchered more than a dozen of the villagers huddled in structure one-eight in the last twenty-four hours. This mission wouldn’t end soon enough.

Sweat dribbling down his back, Max monitored the progress of Fix as he hustled to the last vehicle in the parked convoy by the creek. Just one more device to plant before his man would scurry back into the trees with the Janjaweed none the wiser. Listening to the gentle swish of Fix’s tactical pants ten yards east, he knew the time had come.

So it begins
.

At the signal, Legend slipped out of the trees and snuck to the lone Jeep between two mud-and-stick homes. Waving Midas into action, Max glanced at the Kid, who hovered behind him. He nodded, and they both sprinted into the dwelling northeast of Legend.

Laughter spirited from the campfire at the center of the oppressed community. Easing into point, he stared down his scope and fixed his attention on the leader of this group, his round belly the result and proof of the easy life compared to the swollen, malnourished bodies of the women and children. Thirty soldiers to Nightshade’s six.

Now to even the odds. With a quick flick of his hand, Max gave the signal.

Thud!

One tango down. Seeing Cowboy’s sniper precision impressed Max. He kept his sights on Paka, waiting.

Thud
.

Behind the leader, two and three dropped.

Why hadn’t Cowboy taken out Paka, yet? The felled soldiers were too close. Max glanced into the woods even though he knew he’d never spot Cowboy’s sniping position.

Still, if the colonel saw them before—

Shouts rang out.

Max’s adrenaline spiked. “Blow the trucks!” He pushed away from the hut and rushed into chaos.

Shots cracked the night.

Boom! Boom!
White rent the darkness, illuminating the Janjaweed darting through the camp. Max squinted against the brilliance of the explosion. They had to make it to the structure in the center, to the women and children. Fifty humans packed into the smallest dwelling.

Half bent, he hurried toward the target.

Ping!
Sparks flew.

He flung himself backward, pressing his shoulder to the hull of the Jeep. With a breath, he peeked up over the hood—

Tzing!

Max jerked to safety. Cordite stung his nostrils. “Taking fire.” With the accuracy of those shots, someone must’ve taken cover and targeted him. Testing his theory, he slowly nudged his weapon up.

Crack!
Glass shattered, raining down on him.

“Cowboy, I’ve got a little problem.”

Behind him and past the Jeep, he heard the heavy thumps of soldiers shuffling around. Scrambling, most likely, for safety. Grunts and the hollow sound of hand-to-hand combat filtered through the night. Max reveled in the realization that the Janjaweed wouldn’t be safe. Those men would fight. So would his. And the wicked would pay for their crimes.

Smoke snaked out from the fire and billowed toward Max. He had to get to the women and children in structure one-eight, but he couldn’t move until Cowboy cleared his path.

“Target acquired.” Cowboy’s voice carried smoothly through the coms. “Tango down.”

Trusting the sniper’s call, Max rolled around and hustled to the next hut. The Kid’s steady movements followed him. As Max neared the marked location, Midas fell into step with him.

“Frogman, we’ve got a situation.” Legend’s tone hissed through the coms and pushed Max against the prickly branches of the hut, his pulse pounding.

“Go ahead.”

“All but one scum accounted for.”

Max ground his teeth. “Let me guess: our primary?”

“Roger that. The man we thought was him is his second. We are minus one bad guy.”

Where had the colonel gone? Hiding? The only possible scenario presenting itself rankled Max deeply. A man like Paka wouldn’t hesitate to endanger anyone and everyone in close proximity if it meant he could live another day to kill and rule. Which pointed Max toward structure one-eight, the one he leaned against.

“Cowboy,” Max whispered.

“Go ahead.”

“You got my twenty?”

“Affirmative.”

“Am I hot or cold on our objective?” He hoped the infrared technology gave Cowboy a line of sight through the wild brush that formed the walls of the home.

A low chuckle seeped through the line. “Red-hot, Frogman.” Cowboy’s smile bled into his words. “One coward hiding behind women’s skirts targeted … and acquired.”

After sending Midas and the Kid back one hut, Max crouched out of sight but close enough to charge Paka if he showed himself. “You know what to do.”

Silence gaped through the coms. Was he asking too much? Were Cowboy’s skills
that
good? Or would it end in a bloody mess, like the rest of Max’s life?

Finally, “Roger that.”

“Do it.”

Seconds ticked by. Bark splintered to Max’s right.

A scream pierced the air.

Max bolted into the hut, weapon at the ready. Two seconds dragged by as his gaze struck the screaming, churning sea of bodies until he spied the hulk of a man spread out on one side.

“Out! Out! Out!” he shouted to the women and children. He scissor-stepped toward the body. No movement. Not even a twitch. Was it too much to hope for?

Bodies bumped and jostled him as the women rushed the children from the hut. Gaze locked on the colonel’s body, he waited until the cramped space emptied. The door flapped shut.

M4 hoisted to his shoulder, Max inched closer. Sweat sped down his temple.

“Whatcha got, Frogman?” whispered Midas.

Anticipating an ambush, Max nudged the body with his toe.

A hand flashed out.

Max pulled the trigger.

His leg flipped up, sending him backward. His head slammed into the hard-packed earth.
Smack!
Stars sprinkled through his vision. He flung himself over. Where was his weapon? He slapped his hand to the right, groping as he shook off the ringing in his ears. His fingers tracked over the muzzle—the pressure of his touch pushed it out of reach.