Cutter's Hope (24 page)

“How many men?” I asked. Pyro, Radar and Cutter all looked at me and it must have been something Pyro had just said. I gave them a look that clearly communicated to stop looking at me and just answer the fucking question and Pyro shifted uneasily.

“Three that we’ve seen,” he said and I nodded, turning my attention back to the house. Cutter’s hand closed around my forearm, grasping me gently. I looked at him.

“Baby,” he breathed, “We gonna have a problem with you going OFP?”

OFP, a Marine term, it meant Own Fucking Program. I considered my answer carefully and gave him the truth.

“I don’t know…”

Radar snorted, “‘I don’t know’ ain’t exactly an answer that inspires confidence, Chick.”

“I know, but it’s an honest one… that’s my
sister
in there,” I pursed my lips and tried valiantly not to say anything that would make me sound like any more of an incompetent cunt.

“I get it,” Pyro said, “If it were the Captain or any one of my brothers in there, I would burn the house down around their ears but you can’t go it alone.” Pyro did this bouncing squatting walk to get right up next to me and leaned his shoulder against mine pointing.

“See there?” he directed and swung his finger, I followed his line of sight, “And there? That’s some high end fuckin’ surveillance equipment for a private residence. Top notch shit.” He was right, those weren’t cameras you would find at your local Radio Shack. I sighed out.

“They patrol the outdoor perimeter every fifteen minutes. It’s best we watch ‘em the rest of tonight on through tomorrow,” Radar said. I nodded and they went over a few more things. I paid attention this time and pretty soon it was just me and Cutter.

“Relax, Sweetheart, we’ll figure it out. I promise,” he murmured, and the best part about that was, I believed him. I nodded and took a look through the field glasses Pyro had left with us. We were on until just past dawn but before the light started coming up, we needed to move. In the dark of night this was a good vantage point but during daylight hours? We needed to find somewhere else to keep an eye out.

It showed up in the form of Hex and Nothing, just as things started to get light enough to become sketchy. They rumbled up the road in an old 70’s camper van that was wheezing and choking, which conveniently sputtered and died at precisely the right vantage just past the old house’s drive where there was a gap in the trees in front of the house.

Hex and Nothing got out and made a great show of lifting the narrow hood, fanning steam out of their way and talking about what to do and this and that. Cutter and I made a break for it and made it back to the bikes just as someone started shouting at Hex in thickly accented English about moving his fucking van. Cutter and I waited in the grass, tense. He looked through the field glasses and chewed the inside of his cheek as our boys and theirs had some kind of exchange.

Finally the tension eased out of Cutter and he breathed out, “They’re staying with their van. Russian went back in the house.”

“They’re good then,” I said.

“Yeah but for how long? Swear to Christ that boy has some kind of a death wish,” he muttered and I watched the two figures of Hex and Nothing get back into the van.

“Come on, let’s get going,” Cutter said and Trike took the binoc’s and put them in his saddlebag. We pushed our bikes back down the road away from the house a good ways before firing them up and heading back to the hotel.

We grabbed some food and took it back with us. Sleep was a long time coming but we needed it. I lay in the air conditioned hush of the cheap motel room, the nude length of my body pressed against Cutter’s, my head resting on his chest listening to the steady thrum of his heart and I was wide awake, my mind working in overdrive.

Finally, with a harsh exhale, Cutter was up and over me. His fingers curling around my wrists pinning my arms over my head as he settled in between my thighs, hips moving, looking for purchase. His mouth covered mine, and he swallowed my sound of initial protest and before I could buck or make another, he found what he sought, the length of him sinking inside of me. My initial second attempt at any noise protesting what was going on changed mid voicing into a moan of desire.

I was a little sore from our tryst earlier on and that just added a certain dimension to what he was doing now. His grip around my wrists loosened and he smoothed his hands over mine, palm to palm. His fingers found the spaces between mine and we locked hands which brought another moan out of me. I opened my legs, twining them around his, tangling myself with him until you couldn’t tell where his body left off and mine began.

This round of sex wasn’t rushed or hurried, if I had to describe it, I would say it was fierce but gentle. I loved the feeling of his skin against mine, the taut planes of his back beneath my hands, as he stroked every place that counted both inside and out.

“Mmm, kiss me?” I begged and he did. I tangled my fingers in his hair and held him to my mouth, drinking him in deep. Soon his thrusting became, hard and fast and wild, as if our kiss were the match to ignite the kerosene inside either of us.

“God I love the way you make me feel!” I gasped and was rewarded by one of the most dazzling smiles I’d ever received from him.

“Just the beginning, Baby,” he murmured and God was it true. He made love to me until I was too tired to think, which I think was his whole intent in getting things started in the first place. Problem was, it was having the unexpected side effect of making me love him just that much more… this man who took care of me, took command of me, who turned me on and turned me inside out like
nobody’s
business.

We slept, and woke sometime mid-day to Cutter’s burner cell ringing. He picked it up off the nightstand and flipped it open.

“Yeah?”

I could hear clearly, Atlas’ voice from the speaker, “Yeah Captain, lap dancer just showed up and went in, was in there maybe five minutes. She just took off.”

“Shit, any movement?” Cutter asked, I’d stiffened in apprehension upon hearing the news myself, he was on my wavelength, speaking my thoughts aloud.

“No, Sir. It’s business as usual, whatever the fuck that is for these assholes.”

“What time is it?” Cutter asked.

“A little after thirteen-hundred.” Christ, we’d had around four hours of sleep. Not enough, but better than none.

“Call us if there’s any movement.”

“Aye Captain,” and the line went dead.

“Sounds like they’re still in lockdown,” I mused.

“Yeah, think it’s time we crashed their party. You up for it?”

“Hell yes, when do you think would be a good time to do it?”

“Dusk sounds about right, guess we’d better sit down and make some plans.”

I nodded against his chest and debated with myself, finally sighed and pushed off of him, struggling to sit up in the tangle of sheets and legs. I looked down at him.

“Thank you,” I said, chickening out at the last second. He traced a thumb lightly across my cheek and smiled softly, searching my face with his gaze as if he were committing it to memory.

“Any time,” he murmured.

He knew. I saw it plain as day, that he knew that by ‘thank you’ I meant ‘I love you’ and it was as clear as the bright blue sky outside that by ‘any time’ he meant ‘I love you too’ so why was it so damn hard to say the fucking words out loud?

Because to say it now was to admit out loud that the situation we were going into, that he was following me into… that only one or neither of us might come out of. Which was bullshit, but true and heartbreaking none the less. I rested my forehead against his and closed my eyes.

“Don’t do that, Sweetheart,” he murmured.

“Do what?” I asked.

“It’s gonna be fine, we’re going to get in, get her out and get gone and it’s gonna be fine.”

I pulled back just enough so I could nod, “Yep, so let’s get planning to give us the best chance of accomplishing all of those goals in that order, shall we?”

“Sounds good, grab a shower and pack your shit. We need to go for a clean break,” he said and I slipped from the bed.

I showered and dressed and while he was in showering I packed my bag. I was as dressed for the occasion as I could get. Combat boots, black of course, my black tactical pants which were none the worse for wear, but could definitely stand to be washed after this go around of wearing them. I slipped on a fitted black Under Armor brand long sleeved heat gear shirt and tucked it in. It was made of a thin, lycra or nylon type material designed to vent and keep you cool, wicking sweat and moisture from your skin and dispersing it for quick evaporation.

I liked it because it took up barely any space in my bag and it was pretty damned good at its job. We’d worn similar in Iraq and while it wasn’t perfect, it did the job. Of course there was only so much you could do in that hot box when it came to keeping cool. Likewise in the oppressive heat and humidity here in New Orleans.

Cutter put on something pretty similar, although where I looked like I was trying to participate in the summer gothic weight loss program, (wear all black all summer long guaranteed lose fifteen pounds,) the coloring he donned was much more… I don’t know… hunter chic.

He wore some desert issue combat boots and a pair of cargo pants in the classic civilian deer hunter camo. He pulled a long sleeved olive green tee over his head and tucked it in. Over that, he shrugged into a brown leather holster. While I tucked my Ruger into my inner pants holster at the small of my back, he tucked a big bad .45 something or other under his arm.

We silently went about strapping on weaponry, which for me was just a knife along the outside of my thigh, but for him was a whole lot of knives. I blinked and watched as he tucked them in just about every pocket and added holsters to the outside of his calf and one to each wrist and one to the opposite thigh from the one he’d strapped to his lower leg.

“I take it this is where you actually got the name Cutter?” I asked.

He grinned at me, “Where’d you think I got it?”

“Truthfully with all the maritime stuff I thought you took it from the type of boat, you know like a Coast Guard Cutter.”

The corners of his mouth turned down like he was impressed at my line of thinking, then he spoke, “Naw, got it because a motherfucker pissed me off, so I cut him up.”

“Adorable,” I commented dryly.

“Was still dealing with a lot of the shit from over there, wasn’t exactly in my right head back then,” he fixed me with a look like he was waiting to see what I would do or say so I left my sarcasm at the door.

“Who the fuck am I to judge? I’m the one about to march the lot of you into a house full of Russian mobsters with every intention of killing them all so I can extract my drugged up and probably fucked up sister.”

“Yeah, and we’re the crazy bastards who are excited to do it with you,” he said.

“You know I once saw this quote on the internet, it said ‘When you find people who not only tolerate your quirks but celebrate them with glad cries of “Me too!” be sure to cherish them. Because those weirdos are your tribe.’” Cutter barked a laugh and I couldn’t help but chuckle with him.

“Okay, I take it you feel like me an’ my rag tag crew are that for you?” he said and I smiled broadly.

“You know it,” I told him.

“I’m glad, Baby,” he said and pulled me against him. We hugged for a long minute and with a sigh broke apart before getting back to rounding up and packing up the rest of our shit.

“You ready for what we might find?” he asked.

“Nope. Not in the slightest,” I said honestly, “There’s no way anybody can be prepared for something like this. You can talk yourself up, convince yourself that the worst shit you could possibly think of is behind those doors, but once you see it, you know that whatever you convinced yourself of is nothing but a pack of lies. Like what processed cheese is to real cheese. This is going to be ugly, and what we’re about to do is going to be ugly. That’s just the way it is.”

“Jaded ain’t you, Sweetheart?”

“Isn’t that part of why you love me?” I asked, holding my breath. I knew I was fishing here but I couldn’t help myself, I wanted the admission so badly.

“Yeah,” he said, looking me over, “Yeah it is. You’re real, Sweetheart. That’s exactly why I love you.”

I let out my breath and nodded, “Let’s go get my sister,” I said.

“Sounds good to me,” he smiled and held the door open for me and I hefted my jacket and helmet with one arm and shouldered my pack with the other, slipping out into the slightly overcast day.

Seemed like the Louisiana sky decided it wanted to match my mood and the circumstances we all found ourselves in and I was totally okay with that.

Chapter 26

Cutter

We stood around one of the gaming tables at the Voodoo Bastard’s clubhouse and looked over the sheets of butcher paper. Atlas had roughed out the property on the surface of one sheet and we were deciding how best to proceed.

The cameras were a problem. We didn’t know if they were closed circuit or not and we were waiting on some communications from one of the Voodoo Bastards who was a security systems guy by day. He’d been texted some pictures of the cameras and it was going to be one of the deciding factors on how we played this. Cameras or no cameras we wouldn’t be going in flying colors. The whole point to this was to get in, get the girl; get out and to go the fuck home.

Ruth’s phone rang and he wandered off from the table and returned a moment later, “Not closed circuit, the feed goes somewhere off site. My guy says it’ll be easy to jam the signal, he can be here in a few hours with a device.”

I shot Ruth a thumbs up and we made plans on how to breach the place. It was a white, one story house, pretty sizeable. Maybe a two bedroom one bath. There wasn’t really any telling the inside layout from the outside. What we did know was there were two doors, one in front and one in back. A long drive to the left of the house as you faced it, led right past it and into the back yard where there was some kind of outbuilding, from what we’d been able to see, which wasn’t much, it looked like it could be a two car garage.