Scandalous Heroes Box Set (28 page)

She ran on, checking her watch’s compass to ensure the right destination.
Great! Hell of a time to realize just how right your brother is about Miles,
she reprimanded herself.
So where does this leave me? Oh, right. Alone in the Australian Outback with murderers on mah trail.

She ran harder, until her lungs burned and the already present blisters on her heels screamed in agony. Once again, among the rocks, she did her best to hop from flat surface to flat surface, avoiding the chance of leaving any footprints.

Collapsing in some shade, she drank a fair amount of water then dug through her pack for her cell. She flipped it open and saw one bar. And roaming. She didn’t care. In her estimation, she had one chance to get this off. Moving to type her text, she swore when the signal died. She typed it anyway and pressed send. No signal flashed at her. Ignoring the pain leeching through her, Affrica scrambled upwards. Four rocks later, she got the break needed and, with a prayer, sent the message.

Her relief turned to anguish when she lost her precarious hold and fell backwards. The world went black, and later when she came to, she gingerly sat up. Blood trickled from her arm and head. She used her bandanna to hide the one on her head and wrapped a second one around her arm. It didn’t feel like anything was broken.

“Great,” she muttered. “Just fucking great.” Her phone lay in pieces.

Flicking through the pieces, she retrieved her SIM card and stored it. “Get moving,” she instructed herself.

But to where?

For, as fast as the sun went down, her options were dwindling. She fumbled for the map and gazed at her necessary trek.

“Over the river and through the woods…”

Twenty klicks. Could she do it?

“Hell yeah. Or die trying.”

A weapon would be nice, but why wish for what one couldn’t have? She ate a protein bar and got back to it. Moving as cautiously as she could.

She heard her brother in her head with each step she took.

No, Affrica. Not like that. Yer making too much noise. I heard ya coming a mile away. If you dinna want the animals to hear ya and bolt before ya get your shot, pay attention. Do it over, and this time, do it right.

Who knew, it could be saving her life? How she wished him with her now. Hell, any of his SEAL brethren; she wasn’t picky. Just one.

It wasn’t to be. She was on her own. People trying to block her in. Her only chance that Miles hadn’t woken for a while to give them a head’s up.

Anger grew in her gut. Miles. The fucking traitor. One day, he would pay. First, she had to get free and clear. So she pressed on, pushing her exhausted body to its physical limit.

That night, she hunkered down and ate an MRE to provide nourishment. Covering up as much as she could, she used the light on her watch to check coordinates.

She had a bit less than ten klicks to go. It wasn’t happening. Not right now. So she sat against a rock and drew her knees to her chest and dozed. It wasn’t restful, for every little sound woke her. Bugs skittering across the rocks, cries of animals, and occasionally, one screeched before silence reigned. Death was all around her.

Still, she felt a wee bit better when she woke and readied to continue on. The splinters of dawn’s first light informed her, despite how exhausted she still remained, she’d rested longer than first planned.

She drank a bit, finishing off the first canteen, and ate another MRE. Feeling better, she checked her supply. Not many meals left either, but in her defense, she’d not counted on running for her life…what was it now…four days? There was water there. Or there had been.

On her feet, Affrica grabbed her stick and set out, ignoring each and every one of her aches and pains. Of which there were quite a few. She checked her compass and got moving, knowing exactly where she needed to go.

She passed snakes, spiders, and more as she—as her brother referred to it—humped it the remaining distance. It wasn’t easy, moving fast and trying to remain invisible.
I’m getting Adrian to teach me more if I make it. When,
when
, I make it out of here.

The sun burned high in the sky as she struggled to put one foot in front of the other. She could see the trees she’d been aiming for—they were about five hundred yards away. Seconds later, shots rang out, and she bit back her scream as a bolt of fire streaked across her arm.

She stumbled back, hand gripping her bloody arm.
Shit!
They had beaten her to the copse of trees. Chest heaving and lungs burning, she whirled around and headed back to the rocks, refusing to stand out in the open like a fool.

Running hard, she zigged and zagged every step of the way. Bullets spat around her, digging into the ground and making her wish fervently she resided anywhere but there.

Ten yards. Eight. Six. Four. Two. Finally, she reached the rocks and lunged up into them, desperate for shelter.

Scrambling, she hid herself, hoping no blood drips would lead them to her. She waited, frozen for a moment, until her lungs seemed not to strain so much. Then, with shaking hands, she tore off part of her bandage on her other arm and tied it around her latest injury. It burned like a bitch but she did her best not to cry out.

Shallow breaths kept her centered as she tried not to scream like a girl.
I am a girl! I can scream like one.
She was out of options. That much was obvious, even as she snuck along searching for a place to hole up. Her half container of water would only get her so far. They—whoever they were—had the only water supply around surrounded.

Options? I can do my best here to avoid them and last as long as I can without more water. Or I could surrender and most likely be raped and then killed.

Not much as far as choices went. She moved farther back and finally discovered a small crevice. Doing a swift creature check, she climbed in as far as she could. It was uncomfortable and painful but well hidden, so she stayed.

Time passed, and she stiffened when a snake appeared, slithered in, and curled up at the entrance.
Could be worse. I could be petrified of the creatures.
She wasn’t scared, but she did have a healthy respect for all snakes. And, from her position, she had no idea what kind it was.

From where she’d wedged herself, she could just see down the outcropping and to the ground below. Twenty or so men moved toward her. Fear rose, and she struggled to combat it. She really didn’t want to die, but from where she sat, it seemed inevitable.

Although, searching everywhere would take a while. One man moved ahead.

“Affrica! Affrica! Answer me, Affrica!”

She didn’t know him and wasn’t about to risk using her camera to zoom in, potentially allowing them a chance to see a glint off it.

“We know you’re somewhere up there, Affrica. You’re hurt, tired, and probably thirsty.” He uncapped a canteen and poured all the water over his head. She swallowed as she watched the precious liquid get soaked up by the ground.

He’s got that right. I am thirsty.

“Come out and give me a chance to explain my position.”

“Right,” she muttered. “I’ll just trot mah happy ass right to you, so ya can bury mah body in one o’ those graves. I think not.”

“I just need the pictures.”

“Like I believe that.” She rolled her eyes in disgust.

“Come on, Affrica. You can’t possibly think you’ll escape. Come out before I lose my patience.”

This man’s voice was smooth and charismatic. And it wasn’t difficult to imagine him charming his way out of any sort of trouble. She shifted slightly doing her best to ease her own discomfort. Keeping one wary eye on the snake, her breathing came easier when it never moved. Staring out past the coiled creature, she squinted, trying to get more of a view on the man who spoke. He wore darker colors which set him apart from the others.

“Affrica Semone O’Shea,” he hollered. “Sole daughter to Duane and Simone O’Shea, currently residing in Ireland. Big brother, Aidrain DeWayne O’Shea. US Navy SEAL.”

Her heart seized in fear. He knew everything about her family.

“Now,” he continued. “One could suppose you were hoping big bad Navy SEAL brother would rescue you, but…not going to happen.”

Okay, so sue her. She’d give anything to hear her brother’s deep voice. She really didn’t want to die. A shadow moved along the ground before the crevice, and she held her breath. Of course, some of his men would be looking while he tried to ascertain where she hid.

Legs moved into view, and she closed her eyes. Only for a second because a sharp pop reached her. Staring at the scene before her, she blinked a few times to ensure she wasn’t hallucinating.
Oh shit!

Another person was out there. Their clothing the color of the sand to blend in. Whoever he was, he currently lowered the man, whose sightless eyes stared beyond her, to the ground. Streaks of brown were on the newcomer’s face, and her heart skipped a few beats. Past the black ear bud and the coil down the right side of his neck, the streaks of face paint and sweat on his face, she noticed a pair of alert gray eyes.

“Ross?” The name was forced past dry, cracked lips.

He froze and cocked his head slightly to the side. “Got her.”

Relief flooded her, and the tears gathered before spilling over. He moved to the entrance and she remembered the snake. Opening her mouth to warn him, she clamped it shut realizing it no longer sat curled up there.

“Affrica,” a smooth Southern male said. “Come on outta there, hon.”

She couldn’t get her limbs to move. Part of her wouldn’t—perhaps couldn’t—actually believe what she saw.
Trap. Trap. Trap.
The word chanted through her mind. If anything, she pressed back tighter. Wanting desperately to trust what her eyes told her not to be a lie.

“She’s scared.” He scanned the area and shifted closer to the opening.

Affrica still wasn’t able to bring herself to move. A few charged moments passed before another similarly dressed man holding a machine gun, M-60 if she recalled correctly, appeared. A brown camouflaged rag had been tied on his head, but when he crouched beside her imaginary Ross and peered in at her, she knew it wasn’t a dream.

Tyson Kincade and his hazel eyes were there. He stared up toward her from his chiseled face and behind thick lashes.

Gunshots rang out, and he whirled around, his words snatched away. The next instant, a strong hand grabbed her arm and jerked. She couldn’t stop her forward fall even if she had the presence of mind to do so. Muscles which had been cramped uncomfortably for hours screamed in immediate agony as they were straightened.

There was no need to brace her fall for she never hit the rock. Instead, she found herself sprawled over Ross, chest to chest. As they lay there, he had one hand against her back, keeping her still. She glanced from him to Tyson, tears continually creeping down her face.

Tyson reached out with one hand, covered by a fingerless glove, and used a knuckle to wipe her tears away. “Can you walk?” She nodded. He responded in kind. “Then, let’s get the hell outta here.”

Once up, Affrica paused, needing her pack. Ross stopped her from going back. “I have it.” He offered her a drink but kept it brief. “You’re in the middle.”

Off they went, scrambling over rocks. Well, she scrambled, they didn’t seem bothered by any of it. Tyson paused and mumbled something. She collapsed against the smooth surface of the nearest rock, grateful for a breather. Two more men showed up, almost like they materialized from the rocks themselves. Osten “Baby Boy” Scoleri and Scott “Harrier” Leighton, commander of the Megalodon Team.

Weapon over his shoulder, Osten immediately hurried to her and sank to his knees. “Can you keep on or do you need medical now?”

“I can go on,” she uttered, praying it was true.

His brown eyes searched hers. He was their corpsman, and she knew he needed to absolutely positive. “Okay then. Wait here.” He left to join the other three.

Content not to move, she sat there and stared at the four men. It was like something out of a damn movie. Battle-hardened men with guns who came to rescue her. Tyson with the camo skullcap, Scott had a boonie hat on, and the other two had on eight-corners in the same sand color.

Three turned to her while Osten kept a lookout and approached. “Where’s Miles?” Tyson asked.

“Probably with them.” She shrugged with nonchalance she in no way felt. “He’s working with them.”

“Then, he’s a dead man,” Ross stated instantly, ice coating his words.

“No. We came for Affrica,” Scott said. “Not for vengeance. She needs to get out of here.”

Their concern touched her. “I have the pictures I need and locales of the graves.”

“Graves?” Scott’s cornflower blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

She quickly informed them of what she’d been doing there. Anger lined each of their expressions by the time she finished.

“We’ll handle that later,” Scott growled. “Let’s get her out of here.”

So they got up and moving. She remained in the middle, protected, as they pressed on. She nearly cried in relief when they uncovered a hidden Jeep, and she climbed in. Head back, eyes closed, she allowed Osten to see to her injuries as they drove away from her own nightmarish hell.

Chapter Five

Reeve stood at the dealership, overlooking the two cars before him. One a coupe and the other a convertible. He loved his Enzo but all he could hear was Affrica’s comment of needing to prove something. Sure, this wasn’t exactly the dirty Jeep she seemed comfortable driving but it also wasn’t an Enzo Ferrari.

“I like the convertible.” He’d taken both styles for a road test; now, he was just deciding which one to order for himself.

“Very good, sir,” the salesman said.

He flashed the man a grin. “Let’s go build one.”

Together, they walked to the office for some privacy while they built his Jaguar XKR convertible. When he left later, he was happy. A kyanite blue metallic exterior color, black top, warm charcoal luxury seats of soft grain leather with ivory contrast stitch. Topping it off, he’d ordered dark mesh aluminum veneer. He was pleased with his purchase.