Blyssfully Undone: The Blyss Trilogy - book 3 (4 page)

“Travis, are you okay?” I’m so rattled my voice shakes, and my words rush out in a string of panic. “Please, tell me you’ll be fine.”

“Never been better, sweetheart,” he states brusquely. “Just a graze.”

My God.
Just
a graze, he says. I’m not trained for this high intensity shit. I’ve only been trained to shoot and run. They could’ve killed him.

Could’ve?
They still can. I begin to hyperventilate, and I realize I’m so scared; I literally
could
pee my pants.

The firing overhead ceases just as quickly as it started, and I’m thankful for the weight of Travis’ body on top of mine to keep my heart from exploding out of my chest. His faint breathing against my ear gives me some comfort, knowing we are both still alive. I’m thinking with the cease-fire, this would be the most opportune time to get up and run, but Travis doesn’t move as he continues to hold me tighter in his arms, which worries me.

“Travis,” I start off. I’m about to tell him we should get up and make a break for it.

“Shh, baby,” he interrupts, whispering into my ear. “Trust me. We need to stay down now.”

My ears perk up over Travis’ heavy breathing, and I think I hear a set of heavy footsteps approaching. Maybe it’s all in my head. Ah hell, who am I kidding? Shit’s about to get real ugly again; I can feel it.

I squeeze my eyes tight as panic grips at my heart, seizing my last breath. When I do finally inhale, I draw in a breath that is all Travis. I take comfort in his familiarity, his touch, and his strength. His body weight provides me with a consolation that is hard to describe, despite the circumstances at hand.

A set of quick footsteps sound out to my right. Leaves crunch and pine straw snaps under the weight of those feet, and a sickening feeling begins to wash over me. As the footsteps come to a halt, a deafening silence fills the air.

“Well, well, well…what do we have here?” a male’s deep voice laced with evil rings out against the thickness of the forest. “Looks like we’ve got a little love nest going on. Thought you were a little more high-class than this, Travis,” the man taunts. Travis holds stock-still over my body, and I can’t see over him to tell who this man is.

I find it odd, however, that his muscles don’t tense like they did back at the cabin. It’s like he’s actually keeping himself loose and limber on purpose, trying to ready himself for a fight. His lips brush behind my ear as he gives me a chaste kiss before he rolls off me and faces the dark voice head on.

I watch Travis as his eyes narrow on the man, who’s standing before us. “Mitchell.” Travis says his name as if he’s spitting out vile vomit. I shift my eyes between Travis and Mitchell, their heated exchange making my blood run cold.

It’s quite evident these two men have shared a past, and judging by the animosity radiating off both of them, it isn’t a good one.

Mitchell stands tall and strong, arrogance evident in every cell of his body as he speaks. “What were you thinking, Travis? Did you think we couldn’t find out about this place?”

“One can only hope, can’t they, Mitchell?” Travis asks through clenched teeth. Something about this man seems familiar to me, but I can’t place him.

“Hope is all you’ll ever do, Jackson, especially once Nick gets his hands on you.”

I force myself to breathe as this horrifying scene unfolds before me. I’m scared out of my mind; I can’t see straight. There is no stand-off here. This Mitchell guy holds all of the power as he’s the only one with a pointed gun, and here I am at an impasse again.

These fluctuating emotions are enough to send me to an early grave. I’m sick of bouncing between them all, and how my emotions are always in reaction to someone else’s doing. Small things I’ve always been able to ignore, but abduction, guns, and threats always deserve a backlash of fury, and I feel the unleashed wrath snap within me.

I’ve had way more than enough, and I’m sick of continuously being the victim, especially a shooting target. My life has been constantly on the line at every turn. My fear has faded, and in its place, anger and retaliation take place front and center. With my life hanging in the balance, I become determined to get the upper hand once and for all.

As heated anger begins to pool inside the pit of my stomach, I flick my eyes around, looking for my dropped gun. As the men continue to be distracted by exchanging heated words, I slowly inch my hand behind my back, and quietly sift through the pine straw. My heart leaps for joy when my fingers come into contact with the hard steel.

With my hand already being in the most opportune place it can be, hidden from sight, I calculate what it would take to get the grip of the pistol totally in my hand, and at the same time, be able to whip it around my body to shoot.

“Not so quick, young lady,” Mitchell says as his deep voice cuts through me, making me go numb from head to toe. I bite the inside of my cheek as I look up at him. He points his gun at me, and my pulse spikes sky-high. “You’re a tough little shit, aren’t you?” he asks, sounding half impressed, and then he flicks his eyes between Travis and me. “You’ve wasted no time, I see.”

“I don’t waste my time on trash, like some people do,” Travis states with a smooth, scary calmness.

Mitchell shifts his pistol, pointing it directly back at Travis, and says, “Neither do I.”

The loud thunderous bang of a gun goes off, and I scream at the top of my lungs. I look to Travis, expecting to see him bleeding out, but am surprised he’s sitting tall wearing a satirical grin on his face. I whip my head in Mitchell’s direction and realize I’m not the one screaming anymore; he is. Mitchell is down on the ground, rolling around in the pine straw, in some serious agony.

My heartbeat thrums in my ears as another man approaches out of the hidden foliage from between some trees. His face is unreadable, and he’s powerfully built, like a Mack Truck. Black streaks of war paint decorate his face as if he just came off a football field, except he’s wearing camo gear instead. His weapon is huge, and the way he’s holding it with such confidence and skill, one would think it is an extension of his arm. Everything about this man reminds me of Rambo, from his imposing stance to his muscular build.

I shift my eyes to Travis and watch as he gives the man an icy look. This shit is just too much, so I reflexively make a go for my gun. I’m not quick enough. The approaching man sees what I’m about to do, and with his gun being at the ready, he merely lifts it and holds me at gunpoint.

“Don’t do it, Jules.” His hard, rough voice freezes me in my tracks, and as he nears, I almost piss my pants. He is freaking huge.
How does he know my name?

“About fucking time, asshole,” Travis says with ungrateful scorn.

The man has the sudden audacity to smirk at Travis as he says, “The Travis I know wouldn’t have fallen to the ground in the first place. Looks like your ball-and-chain took you down.”

Travis lets out a puff of air in a half-laugh. “Fuck you, man.”

Rambo starts to chuckle as he secures his gun and steps toward Travis, offering his hand.

Confusion begins to take place over their exchange. My brows furrow, and I doubt my sanity. Didn’t Rambo just have his M-whatever gun pointing at me? Travis gets up and stands to his full height, and I angle my head back to stare at the two giants. I’m guessing this guy is on our side, especially when they do a quick, back-slap man-hug. I thought Travis was a big man, but Rambo definitely has him beat. My mouth is left gaping wide open as I scope out the muscles on the hulk. They are insane.

Travis breaks through my confused state and holds out his hand for me to take. “C’mon, Jules. We have to keep moving.” I glance at Mitchell and see he is still alive. He’s almost unconscious now, but his labored breathing tells me his heart still beats. “Jules,” Travis warns.

I look over at Mitchell, who is sprawled out on the ground. “What about him?”

“He’ll be taken care of. No worries,” Rambo pipes in. Then he reaches into his back pocket as he kneels down on one knee, pulling out a few zip ties before he starts to secure Mitchell with them. Mitchell makes an ungodly guttural sound of pain when Rambo rolls him onto his stomach so he can tie his wrists together behind his back. I sit here stunned, in a daze. Travis squats down to get in my line of vision, blocking my view of the spectacle in order to gain my attention. I stare at Travis wide-eyed while searching his face for answers.

“It’s okay, baby,” Travis says softly, as if I’m a scared and frazzled little kitten. I probably am. He extends his hand out for me to take. All I can seem to do is stare blankly at his hand like it’s a foreign object. Taking matters into his own hands, he slips them underneath my arms and lifts me up. My legs tremble and shake as he makes me stand on my own two feet. I begin to sway, and my eyes close reflexively. I’m feeling a tad dizzy. All the crazy has finally caught up with me.

“Whoa, there.” He quickly holds me in a tight embrace, and I lay my head on his hard chest. I can’t hear his heart beating through the bulletproof vest, and I want so badly to hear the relaxing sound of his strong heart. “Are you okay, Jules?”

“I think so,” I mumble into his shirt. “Very freaked out, but I think I’m okay.”

“We will get through this. I promise,” he solemnly whispers over my head while keeping me within his protective hold.

“All right, Travis. Mitchell’s all tied up,” Rambo says from behind me all matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t just shoot somebody. “I have Stryker and Chase on clean-up duty. We need to move to the bunker and regroup.”

Travis bends his knees slightly and slants his head to the side with a worried look on his face. “Can you walk, baby?” I blink a few times, take a few deep, calming breaths, and then nod. “All right then, let’s get going.”

I must be in shock, as I don’t remember the walk to the bunker. It’s not until the steel door slams shut with a loud resounding clang that I come to my senses. Standing in the middle of the living room, I begin to find my anger again. I take out my shitty morning on the man who saved my life; I can’t help it. I turn around and narrow my eyes on Travis, and he stops in his tracks as he pauses to decipher my mood. It must be written all over my face.

“Travis, mind telling me just what the hell is going on?”

He lifts a brow, studying me for a moment, and to his credit, he doesn't get flustered with me.

“Jules, just calm down,” he replies calmly.

I feel hysteria coming on, and he tells me to calm down? The pitch of my voice could break glass I’m so irate. “I’ve just killed someone. Bad men are gunning us down. I thought you were shot, and you’re telling
me
to calm down?” I pause and point at my chest. “Why me? I don’t understand any of this!” I turn around and wave toward the hulk of a man who’s standing in the kitchen, rummaging through some cabinet drawers with purpose, and then my voice goes deep and low. “Then there’s freaking Rambo in here who just appears out of nowhere to save the day. What the fuck, Travis?! Mind letting me in on your little games?”

“Jules, calm the fuck down,” Travis growls, his temper sounding just as short-fused as mine. “Just calm down and I’ll explain.”

I take a deep breath, even though I want to yell and scream, but I’m flustered for words right now. I feel shaky and distraught, and I suppose it’s because I’m out of harm’s way.

“Your adrenaline is running wild.” He steps toward me to hold me tightly against his chest. I tremble in his arms as I start to hyperventilate. “Shh, sweetheart. Easy breaths,” he commands softly. How the hell he continues to stay strong and put together through all this, I’ll never know. He acts so unaffected from our circumstances, and it baffles me.

I startle when Rambo sneaks up behind me and whispers in my ear, “By the way, my name’s not Rambo. I’m Quinn. I’m saying sorry on the front end, but I have to do this.” My forehead wrinkles in confusion. That’s an odd statement, and before I can turn around to see what his deal is, I feel a needle jabbing into the side of my arm.

“Ow!” I jolt back reflexively, but I don’t move as Travis catches me in a vice grip. I’m stuck. “You bastards!” I hiss. I can do nothing but stand here in shock and dismay, all the while feeling helpless against the stinging sensation in my arm. God knows what kind of drug is getting ready to run the gamut through my veins this time. The prick of the needle and pain subsides only when Quinn pulls it out of my shoulder.

“You sorry sons of bitches.” My lip curls in contempt as I narrow my eyes on Travis with a mixture of anger, pain, and betrayal while my head grows fuzzy.

I blink my eyes several times, trying to shake off the effects of the drug before I lean my forehead into Travis’ chest. Whatever this shit is, it’s working damn fast. I claw and clutch onto Travis’ shirt, grasping at straws to stay upright and alert, but I’m failing miserably. I’m so tired; my eyelids begin to flutter, and then they finally close as my consciousness begins to dissolve into a sea of oblivion. The last thing I remember is Travis bending down to scoop me up into his strong arms.

Travis

After Quinn injects Jules with a healthy dose of sedative, I’m met with a string of heated expletives. As the drug begins to take effect, I can see her trying to fight it, but it’s useless. Now that she’s going down for the count, her anger has quickly faded, and in its place is the look of utter betrayal.