Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1) (31 page)

"
Q
uick
," I say under my breath to Sophie, motioning to one side, "get under the bed." My tone doesn't brook much argument, and she's in no mood to present one. We crawl under the bed. I look up at Sophie's bedside table, where the same drab regulation issue alarm clock that sits by my bedside usually stands, and realize that the ever present red glow of the clock's display isn't, in fact, present.

"I think the power's down," I whisper. It might be the only thing that keeps us out of sight, because trying to fit two of us under a bed that's built for two isn't going to do the trick. Not well enough, anyway – and I'm wearing blue pants, not exactly prime for camouflage.

I reach out an arm towards Sophie, and realize she's trembling. "It's going to be alright," I whisper, trying to reassure her. It looks like she's going into shock – and that's the last thing we need right now, especially if we need to make a run for it.

A floorboard creaks in the corridor and my head whips round. I look at the door to Sophie's room and kick myself for not closing it once I'd made it into the room. Another stupid little mistake, but one could get me killed. I weigh up the pros and cons of trying to get to the door and lock it, but dismiss the possibility almost as soon as my brain generates it – too risky.

"There's someone out there," Sophie says, doing her best to whisper, but too loudly, as though she can't hear properly. She's definitely in shock. I turn to her, placing a finger on my lips to indicate that she needs to stay quiet. She nods furiously, and closes her eyes, clenching her fists until the knuckles turn white.

But she's right. Someone's definitely outside, and that doesn't bode well for us. The floorboard in the corridor creaks again, and my mind generates a hundred different scenarios – it could be someone coming to save us, or another one of the nurses on this floor doing her best to creep to safety, or – my breath catches – it could be Mike, coming to get me, to save our child. I cross my fingers and hope, but know that that's unlikely to be the case. Whoever is outside, they’re moving too slowly, to cautiously for that.

Another noise, and this time a pair of what look like US army sand colored desert boots come into view, at first parallel to the doorway, and then – far more worryingly, pointing inside. In my peripheral vision, I sense Sophie's head turn towards the doorway, and through my arm I feel her tense up once again. I'm staying stock still, knowing that any movement could alert the intruder to our presence. I dig a fingernail into Sophie's arm, hoping beyond hope that she won't yelp in pain, but needing to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid – anything that could risk either me or, much more importantly, my unborn baby.

The thing is, in this state, it might not be entirely under her control. I'm handling the fear better than I thought I might, but not everyone's the same, and definitely not Sophie. She might be unsurpassed at handling stressful situations in hospital – dealing with simultaneous IED wounded soldiers had never been something that taxed her too much, unlike me – but this time, it was different. This time, she wasn't in control, or even in a position to
do anything
except hide.

Thankfully, she doesn't cry out. But she prods me, beckoning with her chin at the man whose boots are pointing into her room. She manipulates the mouth, trying to sign something, and I do my best to figure out what she's trying to say, but just end up completely befuddled. I raise an eyebrow, figuring it's the smallest possible movement I can make that will still convey my point.

She tries again, her mouth forming an ‘O’.
Soldier, she's trying to say soldier.

I slowly and deliberately shake my head. No, I'm pretty sure it's not a soldier. Not an American one at any rate – and that's even more terrifying. But I can see what she's about to do, even before she does it. I'll see that moment in my head a hundred times, maybe a thousand times, maybe every night when my head hits the pillow for the rest of my life, however long – or short – that might be.

"Help," she says, the sound choking out her mouth.

"Help."

G
oddamn
, my leg hurts. I can walk on it again without much problem, especially when it's strapped up as tightly as it is right now, but that doesn't mean it's enjoyable. In fact, I'd go as far to say as it fucking hurts.

Still, there are only two things I really care about on this base, and since Jake's right here by my side, I'm heading to make sure the other one's okay.

Katie.

If anything's happened to her, I don't know what I'll do. Other than Jake, she's been the only thing keeping me sane over the past couple of weeks. After Tommy – my breath catches, even the memory of what I've lost is hard to take – after Tommy, she is the only other human I've trusted in a long time. And now I know she’s bearing my child, the instincts to protect her, to save her have been ramped up in my brain – some age old evolutionary circuit driving me to protect my cubs.

I console myself with the thought that it's pretty unlikely that whoever's attacking the base has made it behind the defenses – the turrets, ditches and fences that make up the perimeter of this enormous base. And hell, even if they have, what are the chances that they'll have navigated to Katie's hut out of all the other hundreds, maybe even thousands of identikit plywood buildings.

Not high.

That's what I'm telling myself, anyway. But I'm not sure if I believe it, not really, because the further I get away from my own hut, the more I'm beginning to realize that the sound of gunfire's coming from the general direction of hers.

I break into a run – well, not really a run, but the best approximation that I can manage.

It's not the pain that's stopping me, that I can deal with, is that my muscles won't do what I'm asking them to. I grunt with exertion, but don't stop barreling forward, using my walking stick as a third leg, and making use of my not inconsiderable offer body strength to push me onwards.

Jake's loping along a couple of yards ahead of me, with an easy gait that makes me want to curse him. The sound of gunfire's growing louder, and the growing sense of dread in my stomach is coagulating along with it, because I know for sure now that we're heading directly towards the section of the base where Katie lives.

I can hear engines springing to life around me, scattered shouts of men startled out of their sleep and probably searching with crusty eyes for their rifles and body armor. I know that's what I'd be doing, if I was on duty. In the distance, I hear a radio squawk something unintelligible, and then another, and then it sounds like I'm in the middle of some kind of communications battle, as radios in tents and huts all around me go off at once.

That confirms it. Whoever they are, they must have made it through the base's defenses.

Shit.

I turn a corner, and look up at one of the hastily scrawled street signs, probably erected by annoyed or lost residents, rather than anyone in command, judging by the disorganized state of them. I'm close. I hear something, a cracking sound, and then see a puff of dust as a bullet pings off a nearby wall.

"Jake, heel," I call to the obedient dog. The last thing I need is something happening to him as well. True to form, he quickly paces his way back to me, and we crouch with our backs against the wall, making ourselves small. I'm not armed, and I know how reckless this is, but we're only a hundred yards or so away from Katie's hut. And apparently, also a hundred yards or so away from the gunmen.

"Sir!"

I look around for the source of the noise, and noticed a scared looking private with the straps of his body armor hanging loosely off him, like he's run straight here from his bunk bed. In fact, he probably has.

"It's sergeant, kid," I say, "how you doing?"

"I'm okay, si-, I mean, sergeant."

"Where's the rest of your squad, private?" I call back, as quietly as possible. I'm pretty sure the gunmen know where we are, but I don't want to give them any more hints, if I possibly can. He seems to realize what I'm doing.

"Lost ‘em, sergeant. It's dark, and we weren't really told where to go," he whispers back, helplessly.

"Got a side arm?" I hiss back, urgently. I feel kind of naked without some kind of weapon, and while a handgun won't do much, especially as the enemy definitely has rifles with them, it's better than nothing. I hope.

He nods.

"Toss it over here. Safety on," I emphasize, because he looks pretty green and the last thing I need is for an accidental discharge to end up in my other leg. When he looks pretty unsure about whether to toss it over, I do my best to reassure him. "Don't worry, if I lose it – I'll pay for it."

He smiles and upholsters his weapon, quickly checking the magazine is full before limbering up to chuck it over to me. He's definitely a rookie, because if I was his sergeant, and I'd seen him do that, he'd get a clip round the ear at the very least. The gun should be fully loaded at all times, unless you're either firing it or cleaning it. Still, neither the time nor the place to call him up on that one…

He tosses, I catch.

"Good lad," I grunt, the effort of tensing up my core muscles to receive the loaded weapon having the unfortunate side effect of sending a jolt of pain through my injured leg. "Now, I want you to lay down some covering fire. Okay?"

He nods, and nervously fingers his trigger.

"But we've got civilians around here," I say, looking around – acutely aware of the depression I’d sink into if a stray round ended up so much as scratching Katie. I'm pretty sure, if Katie's living here, then this is also the area where the rest of the base's contractors will have been housed. Most of them are probably cooks, cleaners and builders – only here for a good paycheck. "I need you to just fire down into the sand, got it? The last thing we need is anything to ricochet and kill someone…"

He gulps, but nods his assent.

My brain chooses now to ask me what the hell I'm doing. I'm not exactly a cripple, but my leg sure as hell isn't working like it should, and if the boy next to me is any guide, the good guys will turn up any time now.

But then again, if the boy next to me is any guide, whoever turns up isn't exactly going to be the cream of the crop. The best of the best tend not to be left on the base, the real killers are usually out there in the field. It's the paper pushers, rookies and guys, well, guys like me – walking wounded, who get left behind. Would I trust this guy to save Katie's life?

Probably not.

So it's up to me. I check the magazine, sliding it out and counting every round. Fifteen. "You got a spare?" I ask, holding up the weapon. He shakes his head. Dammit. I'm going to have to make them count.

"What's your name, private?" I ask, trying to reassure the kid. I need him calm – the last thing I want is his adrenaline to be pumping, and heart rate soaring while he's supposed to be covering me. I don't need to be shot at from both sides.

"Jim," he says, voice quavering. "You?"

"Mike," I say, keeping my voice firm. "You don’t need to worry about anything when you’re with me, kid," I say to calm him down. I’m Delta." Long experience has taught me that your average army grunt has a special belief that special forces can do no wrong, and I use it to my advantage. "Tell you what Jim, on three – yeah?"

He nods, looking suitably in awe.

"Okay then. Remember, shoot at the ground, near them if you can, but don't take any risks. I just need you to keep their heads down. Ready?"

No reaction. I'm going to take that as a yes. "Good. Three. Two…"

"One."

Turns out he was listening. He starts firing shots in groups of three, and immediately there's returning fire, but not for long, because whoever's on the other end of Jim's rifle has clearly decided to duck.

"Come on Jake, let's go," I signal, patting him on his coat. He's dusty, and I make a mental note to give him a bath when we get back. Funny what your mind starts thinking about in stressful situations. His ears are peeled back, and he keeps low to the ground, like he's stalking his prey, just the way he was trained. In a way, I suppose he is.

I go with him, keeping low to the ground, and our progress is slow – but steady. I don't bother keeping the handgun out in front of me, it's not like the movies. Especially not now, when I've got a walking stick in my other hand to concentrate on. I mask a smile, briefly thinking about how ridiculous I must look. If I run across some trained Taliban killer, what's he going to think? He's as likely to think I'm some kind of circus act as someone who poses him an actual threat.

On the plus side, that might be a good thing. I shut down that line of thought – it's ridiculous, and it's not going to get me anywhere – other than the wrong side of a wooden box.

"Good boy," I breathe quietly, scratching Jake behind his ear. We're almost there, and I can see the dark shapes of men moving around in the darkness, occasionally – and randomly – stretching a rifle out and firing it into the distance.

Definitely not good guys.

It looks like they've got – I'm not sure, dirt bikes with them? It would make sense, given how precarious the terrain is on the other side of the fences in this part of the base. Still, if they manage to get on them, then this is over.

I creep in closer, trying to get a better view, sticking to the shadows and cursing the full moon hanging low in the night sky, and the fact that Afghanistan barely has any like pollution, so the sky's full of starlight.

When I do get closer, my heart sinks, and then it plummets.

They've got her, Katie. Shit, they've got her. They’ve got my woman – and they’ve got my kid. In that moment I know I’ll do anything to save her, even if it costs me my own life.

There are two of them, two women, struggling against their captors. One of the terrorists barks something in a language I don't recognize – maybe Pashtun? It doesn't matter. Whatever he shouts, it quiets the two girls, and they stop struggling – clearly terrified.

One of the Taliban raises a handgun, pointing directly at Katie’s face, and my fingers tighten against the grip of the gun in my right hand, getting ready to fire. But it's just a threat, not an execution, and the tight ball of fear in my stomach relaxes, just a smidgen – but enough for me not to make a risky play, with so much riding on my next move.

Okay, don't panic.
Ordinarily, panic wouldn’t even be an option – but ordinarily I don’t have the mother of my future child in mortal danger…

I count the bikes – five of them. Not the best odds, but I've dealt with worse. And I've got Jake with me, and he's as deadly as two men. I lower my head, whispering into his ear.

The engines on the bikes begin barking into life, and the countdown begins.

I've got only seconds before they speed off into the darkness, prizes secured. They start climbing on, one by one, Katie's forced onto the dirt bike in the middle first, and the other girl – I don't know her name – seems to be in so much terror that she can barely even climb aboard, no matter the threat to her life. All the bikes are purring now, and I slap Jake on the thigh. He speeds out of the darkness, and I can't even imagine how terrifying the prospect would be if you weren't expecting it.

These guys certainly aren't. He barrels into the nearest of the Taliban, forcing him off his bike. The most terrifying thing is he's not growling, no barking, he's just deadly silent – and in the darkness, the enemy can't risk firing at him for fear of hitting their own man. Lucky.

I step out, firing at the next closest militant before he's figured out what's happening. He drops to the ground.

Fourteen bullets left.

"Katie, run!" I shout, firing twice at the furthest of the terrorists, but missing both times. I'm suffering the same problem, I can't shoot at the two men nearest the girls, in case I hit the civilians.

Twelve bullets left.

"Mike?" Katie replies, confusion and terror reigning in her voice. "Help me, Mike!"

I shoot the Taliban soldier trying to force Katie's companion onto his bike. He's fumbling with his his rifle at the same time as trying to concentrate on her, and he can't do both at once. He drops like a stone, and so does the girl, but I'm pretty sure she's not hurt.

It costs me four bullets, though.

Eight left.

I move with grim efficiency, trying to get into a better firing position. "Jake, back," I shout, knowing that he'll risk too much if he tries to go in for another one. The element of surprise is gone, he's out of the game now, it's up to me.

"Let her go!" I shout, indicating at Katie. The Taliban soldier standing behind her snarls, and his companion, one of only two militants left standing, lowers his rifle and points it at me.

It's a stand-off. The terrorist next Katie pulls out a handgun and points it at her temple. She's trembling, visibly shaking with fear, and my heart goes out for her. Watching it is almost more than I can bear, but the fear quickly turns to anger as I begin to consider what kind of a coward he must be to threaten a woman like that.
A defenseless mother.

The terrorist racks his gun, and his meaning is completely clear. If I shoot, if I do so much as move, then she dies. And with her, my dreams of a family.

Fuck! Eight bullets, and I can't do anything with any of them. He forces Katie onto the dirt bike, and then climbs on himself, all the while maintaining his grip on her and his gun. If it wasn't the situation, I'd be impressed by his professionalism. As it is, I'm sickened by what he's doing with it.

"Mike! Don't let him take me!" Katie cries out, plaintively. But the terrorist guns his engine, and start screaming off into the distance. Fuck!

I put a bullet through both of the last remaining terrorist’s kneecaps, and he falls to the ground howling in pain. In seconds, ignoring the screaming pain coming from my own leg, I'm upon him, pressing my handgun into his temple.

Six bullets left.

"You speak English?" I shout, not caring how hard I'm pressing the barrel of the gun into the soft part of his head. The sense of loss is almost earthshattering, I feel like the world is falling apart around me. I just found her, and now she's gone.