Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) (53 page)

“You want him to pay.”

“I want justice,” the Kid said earnestly. “Do you see what he’s caused? Every villager who’s worked that mine will need to be tested for radiation poisoning. He may have wiped out an entire village. Then he attacked us—went after your wife and kids.”

Max felt the anger rising. “I don’t need a history lesson.” “It wasn’t me. Why won’t you—?” Vaughn groaned. “I know where he is, where he’s going. You can stop him.” Max turned to the senator. “Who?” Vaughn seemed to waver. “Nathan.” “I knew you were a loose cannon.” Max turned toward the new voice.

A man in a suit with sandy-blond hair stood with a weapon. Despite the twenty feet that separated them, the muzzle seemed but a breath away. Even the wisp of smoke and the miniature explosion when he fired seemed close.

The Kid dove into Max with a primal shout,
“Nooo!”

CHAPTER 39

M
arshall flew through the air, his pulse ricocheting through his chest. He’d seen Nathan Sands emerge from the side just as his father mentioned him. Disbelief had spread through him as the weapon registered—aimed at Max.

The sensation of free-falling startled him.

Because it didn’t end. Still…falllllinnng…

Fireworks crackled in the air.

Why are there fireworks?

He heard his head hit the boulders that lined the outer tunnel of the mine that led to the loading bay. Heard himself hit the ground. Heard shouts.

But felt nothing.

Staring up, he saw the gray sky streaked with storm clouds. Sun blocked out.

Max’s face burst into his field of vision.

Marshall blinked and smiled. “Ma—” The word gurgled in his throat. He coughed. “Dude…” He choked.

Max’s hand clamped on his throat. “Shut up, Kid.”

Why did Max look worried? “S…kay…” What was that noise?

“Medic!”

CHAPTER 40

W
hite. Like a ghost. The Kid’s lips had no color. White in the folds of his nose. Even his tongue was gray. Griffin’s chest knotted and tightened as the Kid’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

To the side, he saw Sands sprint out toward the chopper.

Navas sprinted after him.

An explosion rocked the ground. Griffin spun, glancing back. Navas lowered his weapon as dirt and body parts rained from the sky. Fool Sands had run straight into the minefield. Served him right.

Max’s curses and panicked noises pulled Griffin back around. He knelt beside Marshall.

“Kid, don’t chicken out on us.” He pressed his hand over Max’s.
“Medic!”

“Let me help.” Warren Vaughn shoved Max back. “Get back. Let me help.”

Max came up swinging. He punched the senator. “Get off me, you piece of—” Max pushed him against the wall. “You don’t deserve a son like him!”

“Say what you want,” Warren shouted, his lower lip quavering. “But he’s
my son.
Get out of my way.” He lumbered back to where Griffin held both hands over Marshall’s neck.

The Kid coughed. His eyes refocused.

Warren dropped next to him. “Marshall? Marshall, can you hear me?”

Blood pooled beneath Marshall’s head, forming a sick, wicked halo. It grew…spreading closer and closer to Griffin’s knee.

The Kid gurgled, “Wa…hap…?”

A stream of curses flew as Max pressed his hands back over Griffin’s. “Kid, shut up. Don’t talk.” Max shouted. “Where’s the medic?”

Nothing they could do. The bleeding had slowed—a lot. That wasn’t good. Griffin fisted a hand, pushing back the tide of emotion as Max took over.

The Kid’s dazed eyes rocked to Max. Then to Griffin.

Blood dribbled from his mouth. He coughed as he gripped Max’s vest. “So…rr…y.”

“Shut up!” Max cursed again, his face screwed tight. “You fight. Do what you do best! Hear me, soldier?”

“…make…proud.”

Oh Lord God—stop this!

A wheeze issued the breath from the Kid’s lungs.

Griffin stumbled back, crouched against the earthen wall, hands fisted as he watched the nightmare unfold.
It’s no good. No good. He’s dying.

“Kid?” Max sounded frantic. “Marshall! No, don’t you die—fight!” Max glanced over his shoulder. “Medic!” He turned back. “Kid! Kid, come on. Don’t do this.” A half growl, half whimper sprung from Max’s chest.

Griffin hung his head, hands on his helmet.

Footsteps pounded behind them.

He looked up. An Aussie rushed toward them, slung a pack from his back. As he dropped on the other side of the Kid, his movements slowed. Though he went to work, Griffin saw it. Saw he’d already given up. Strapped a high-oxygen mask over the Kid’s face. Jabbed two fingers on the other side of the Kid’s neck. “I…I can’t find a pulse.”

Griffin lifted his head. Buried his head. Gripped his helmet. Unsnapped it. Yanked it off. Threw it aside. Paced. Shaking his head. Shaking off the fear. The tears. The pain.

“I’m…sorry, mate.”

Hands bloodied, Max grabbed the medic. “Do something!”

“I…can’t. His carotid is severed.” The medic swallowed. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

With the back of his fist over his mouth, Griffin stared at the Kid’s face, splattered with blood. Bold, blue-gray eyes. The laughter. The smart aleck. The stupid remarks. The intelligence. The wit.

The hero.

Gone.

CHAPTER 41

Golding Residence, Cyprus

The opening door pulled Sydney to her feet. Silently, she thanked God the men were returning in the middle of the night when the children were asleep. Hands on the chair behind her, Sydney willed herself to be strong. The general hadn’t allowed them to watch the video feed, but he’d reported the ominous news that hovered over her, Dani, Piper, and Rel…especially Rel, as they waited for the men to arrive.

First through the door was Max—with a fistful of an older man’s collar in his hand. He practically threw the man into the couches. “Don’t move.” With a breath, he shifted. Met her gaze.

Three large steps carried her to him. He snapped his arms around her and crushed her to his chest. Face buried in her neck, Max breathed—hard. Each breath harder, more shuddering.

“I’m sorry.” She kissed his ear. “I’m so sorry.”

Max didn’t let go. And she wondered if he would ever let go of Marshall Vaughn.

Quiet sobbing pried her attention to the corner. John Dighton held his little sister, stroking her hair. Rel collapsed against the wall, her cries gaining momentum. Only then did Sydney notice the long pine box placed on the table. She clenched her eyes tightly.

Was it over? Was the battle they’d fought so hard over?

Was Nightshade over?

Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia Three Weeks Later

The somber notes of Taps drifted across the field of green dressed in white solitary crosses. Early morning sunlight glinted off the dew, making the grass seem encrusted with diamonds. Fitting, since that’s where Marshall died.

Warren Vaughn sat on the padded seat and stared ahead stoically, his sobbing daughter clinging to his arm.

In full dress, Griffin stood to the side. Fisted hands at his side. His mandarin collar stiff against his neck. Though the uniform was meant to instill respect, there was none of that today. They’d failed their teammate. Marshall had died saving Max from the bullet of an obsessed man—who’d gotten justice when he ran for the chopper…straight through the minefield. God had his own sense of justice. And this time, Griffin was glad for it.

The honor guard removed the flag, folded it with crisp, haunting precision in perfect silence—save the sniffling of Melanie Vaughn Sands, grieving the loss of her brother as well as the father of her children. She was free mentally but would always have the scars.

An Army chaplain marched to Warren, pivoted, then almost robotically lowered the flag to Warren. The senator stared at it, and the chaplain did not remove his hands till Warren’s closed around the flag. “On behalf of a grateful nation…”

Griffin turned his attention back to the coffin. The grateful nation didn’t know the half of what the Kid had done for them. To protect shores from enemies foreign and
domestic.
And Warren Vaughn didn’t deserve that flag. But maybe, maybe it would haunt him. Maybe it would remind him of how his prejudicial beliefs alienated his son from him and even
killed
his son in the end.

An almost imperceptible nod from General Lambert caught Griffin’s attention. He signaled the team as the crack of rifles signaled the end of the ceremony. As Griffin made a complete U-turn, not for ceremonial drama, but to honor the man who’d sacrificed everything, he marched up to the foot of the coffin.

Paused as he held a token in his hand. Felt the poke of the pin’s nail, then placed it on the center of the coffin. He raised his fist and slammed it down on the coffin. “IN!” Griffin saluted, then stepped back.

Max followed. Planted his Nightshade pin in the wood. “ALL!” He offered a final salute.

Canyon next.
Bam!
The pin glinted in the sun. “THINGS!” He snapped his hand to his forehead, then down, and retreated.

Squirt next. He seemed to struggle. But then he pounded his pin down the line of Nightshade pins into the oak. “PREPARED!”

In a crisp black suit, Aladdin stepped up. With a guttural growl, he hammered his pin. “FOREVER!”

CHAPTER 42

Riddell Residence
One Month Later

S
itting on the back porch where Madyar spent the years rocking away the evening hours, Griffin stared out across the pristine lawn. The annoying
snap-pop
the rocker made wasn’t annoying this time. In fact, it comforted him as images of his grandmother filled his mind. Her sitting here, sipping her sweet tea—and when he said
sweet,
he meant
sweet
!

This home that he’d provided for his grandparents, who were more like parents, had given them great joy. Buying the property and home had been the best investment he’d ever made—not because of the value of the property, but because of the fulfillment and happiness he saw in their eyes each evening. His grandfather took to gardening, taking meticulous care of the yard. Once Madyar passed, he planted a row of roses along the back.
“So her fragrance never leaves our lives.”