Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Redemption for Misty (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Pierce Securities Book 5) (11 page)

“I get it. I really do. You want her here with you, where you can take care of her. I would want the same thing.” He watched in horror as Saul jolted the Uzi against Misty’s face. Again. The irony wasn’t lost on him that the Syrian was using a Jewish-made weapon. But the weapon was perfect for hiding under a suit jacket like the one Saul had on. Thank God for small weapons. He had one of his own, strapped to his ankle. He just needed to get to it. But first, he had to get that gun out of Misty’s face.

Saul’s counterpart, the other gunman, didn’t look like he had much patience left for this charade.

Chris looked to the other man and started making shit up off the top of his head. “Look. I’m former military. So is my dad. We’ve got some connections. Maybe we can work something out. Let me and Saul here go in the other room and sit and talk a minute. Okay?” He was amazed at his voice. He sounded so calm.
Where the hell had that come from?
Looking back at Saul, he repeated. “Just talking. Okay?” It was like talking to a child.

The only problem was, if he got the gunmen separated, there was no telling what this one would do in the kitchen with all the other people. There were eight other people here, and if that other gunman had explosives strapped to him, they would all die.

Saul’s expression showed his internal war. His plans had been thwarted. Whether he intended for people to die on this mission or not, it was clear he wasn’t leaving unscathed now. But Chris saw when he made his decision to take Misty to the main seating area to talk.

The relief flowing through Chris was palpable as he followed Saul, backing through the swinging door and out of the kitchen. He barked a few words to his cohort in a language Chris didn’t speak but recognized from his months in Syria.

Months he’d hoped to have left behind when he came back stateside.

The windows across the storefront showed a buzz of activity. People were everywhere—bleeding, crying, covered in dust from explosions, covering their heads as they scurried around. They were seeking cover, looking for loved ones or someone in charge. Police were barking orders, trying to find sense in the madness. Some hardcore protesters were still yelling at everyone, trying to get attention for whatever cause they championed—it was hard to make sense of it anymore. Chris saw teams of people working on explosive devices on doors around the square through a cloud of hazy smoke, but no one worked on the one on Misty’s door.

But one man stood still in the midst of the bedlam. A man in black fatigues, like everyone else, covered in gray dust—unrecognizable to anyone who didn’t know him.

Ghost.

Saul led them to a small round table, forcing Misty into his lap, gun still trained to her head, and Chris followed, sitting across from him, his profile to Ghost. Saul hadn’t seen the man; he was focused solely on Chris.

Leaning back in a forced gesture of casual nonchalance, trying to portray a visual of confidence, Chris rested his hands on his thighs. He flashed the number two with his fingers, followed by his pointer and thumb in the shape of a gun, to let Ghost know there were two gunmen. He pointed to Saul and then the kitchen to tell him where they were. Then he flashed four fingers and tapped his leg twice before pointing to the kitchen to convey there were eight hostages back there. Ghost took off at a controlled run around the building.

“So… is this a Muslim thing? I’m not sure I can garner a lot of sympathy with the powers that be over a religious turf war on American soil.” Chris spoke calmly, and to his relief, Saul put the gun down on the table. Misty practically sagged into Saul’s lap as the gun came down from her face.

Chris crossed his legs to have better access to his ankle holster. Sitting so casually next to the bomb on the door was freaking him out, but he could only handle one thing at a time.

“No. I told you,” Saul raked his free hand through his hair, “it’s about the refugees needing a home to come to.” The hand resting on the Uzi twitched. Misty sat calmly in his lap, eyes wide, waiting for a signal from Chris. He wasn’t going to give one. He didn’t want her to do a damn thing but stay alive.

“So tell me about it. How many are we talking?” He felt sick talking about this so calmly while his girl sat across from him in so much danger.

Saul scratched his chin while he was considering the answer. “There are thousands in the camps, but we just want our families here.” Chris held back his disbelief that Saul actually believed he could do something. He couldn’t do a damn thing, and he wasn’t about to try. He just needed a distraction, which seemed to be working.

When the gunshots went off in the kitchen, Chris took his opportunity. Misty reacted by jumping to the side and diving to the floor, and Chris’s gun was out of his ankle holster and in his hand in a nanosecond, trained on Saul’s face before he could tighten his hold on his Uzi.

Chris swept it off the table—toward Misty—and stood, towering over Saul. Misty grabbed the gun and held it like a novice, which scared Chris more than almost anything. He held his free hand out for her, and she rushed into his arms.

Checking the weapon, he trained it on Saul instead of his pea-shooter, feeling the familiar heft of the firearm.

“He has more guns under his coat,” Misty whispered.

“Okay.” To Saul, Chris said, “Hands up. I need to see them.” He wanted to know what was going on in the kitchen but needed to keep an eye on Saul. And the bomb on the door was an ever present reminder that there was a cluster-fuck happening outside.

“Misty?!” Andrew’s voice carried through the kitchen, and Chris answered him with a yell. He guessed that answered the question about what was happening in the kitchen.

Crash came barreling in the seating area, panic all over his face. “I heard you had a bomb on your door they haven’t gotten to yet. Why the fuck are you still here?” He looked at the scene before him, and Chris saw the minute dawning struck. “Saul?
You’re
part of this?”

Saul nodded, his chin held high, eyes defiant. Crash’s eyes went from Saul to Misty to Chris before striding over to Saul and grabbing the front of his collar.

“You son of a bitch,” Crash seethed.

Chris knew what was going to happen. “Can you disarm him before you clock him? He’s got weapons all over him.”

But apparently Saul didn’t know how to use them, if the fact he made no move to stop Crash was any indication. Or maybe he knew he was totally defeated.

Holding one of his own guns on him, Crash doubled Chris’s cover. “Police are on their way. Ghost took care of the guy in the kitchen. He won’t be holding anyone else hostage. How long have you been here?” As if it were a normal day and they had this conversation all the time. Chris rolled his eyes.

Saul had gone pale at the mention of his buddy being incapacitated, and Chris was sure he was wondering if he was dead. Chris didn’t care much.

“Andrew, I need to tell you something,” Misty interrupted. Chris was still holding her around the waist, unwilling to let her go as he kept the Uzi trained on Saul. “I love him, too. I didn’t say it back because he caught me off guard, but I wanted to thank you for choosing Chris to take care of me. He’s been amazing, and I’m looking forward to a lot of time in our future.”

Andrew grimaced. “Now really isn’t the time, Misty.”

“I know, but I wanted you to know, since you have a gun in your hand. I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I’m not pointing the fucking gun at your god-damned
boyfriend
, Misty. Chill.” Crash’s words were gritted out of teeth clamped shut. It was like his jaw was wired closed, and Chris grinned at him, taking Misty’s lead. The cops had come to take care of Saul, so there wasn’t anyone to cover anymore.

Pressing her closer, Chris grinned at Crash, who was staring at both of them. “I betrayed your trust. But I still love you, too, man. You’re my brother. And she’s my girl. It’s actually kind of perfect when you think about it. Not that this is a great time to be thinking about it…” But he did. As a bevy of police officers took Saul out in handcuffs and cataloged all the guns he had in his coat, it was all Chris could think of.

Andrew went with them—still on the clock—but before he left, he turned to Chris. “Try and take her back to the house, would ya?” His expression softened a bit as he tossed Chris his truck keys. “I still need to talk to you guys, but just keep her safe for now. I don’t know how long this is all going to last.”

“Will do.” Chris hadn’t let go of Misty since he’d gotten his hands on her. He needed to feel her under his fingers, to make sure she was really here, really okay.

And he didn’t let go the entire way back to Crash’s truck, where he’d parked it blocks away. They drove home in a heavy silence as their adrenaline bottomed out. He could barely hold his eyes open as he made his way through the traffic, news vans, and police cars to get out of the downtown area. There were roadblocks set up, but Chris managed to talk his way out of them, practically signing over his first born in the process. This was an unprecedented situation, one without protocol, and he was sure he’d be talking to the police, government, and military, explaining what had happened for the rest of the calendar year.

But right now, he had to get Misty home.

Epilogue
:

One month later…

“This one?” Misty was biting her bottom lip as she thought, and it was sexy as hell. If she would stop that, he’d be able to focus on actually eating on the table, but instead, he was envisioning spreading her out on top of it.
Jesus.
Every dining room table they had looked at, Chris had based his likes on whether or not it was sturdy enough to have sex on.

Ignoring other shoppers and the pushy salesman who he’d already told to fuck off, he crowded Misty against the table. Boxing her in, he palmed the table top while he nuzzled the exposed skin of her shoulder. She tasted so sweet, it made his head swim.

“Okay, so we’re trying it out?” He heard the laughter in her voice before grasping her hips and lifting her onto the top of the table. Yup. His hips fit perfectly between her thighs.

Truly, the idea of fucking her on their dining room table was very important, but the symbol of the table was even more paramount. They were moving in together, into a place with a dining room. He was going to eat dinners with her every night, and eventually they would have a family who would eat around the table, too. Not that the relationship had gotten that far, but Chris was all in. Misty was it for him. He was done fucking around and just knew she was the rest of his life.

Yeah, Misty said she wasn’t ready yet, but she wanted kids someday. Someday, she’ll have the rounded belly that will hold Chris’s child. She’ll be baking apple strudel in the kitchen and cooking her fabulous dinners, while he’ll be outside firing up the grill. And then they’ll all eat around the dining room table.

“This one’s perfect.”

Chris smiled down at her, and as she smiled back, he realized how full his life had become in such a short time. Stroking a curl behind her ear, he couldn’t stop looking into her fiery brown eyes, admiring her strength. Someone had pulled some strings at Crash’s new office, and the local news stations had all done feature stories on the coffee shop. Donations had rolled in, and the repairs had been finished in record time. All the bullet holes were patched up, and it had been repainted, and there was money to spare to send off to Misty and Mia’s charity.

A sizeable donation.

Misty had been through-the-roof ecstatic, and Chris had been proud to be a part of it. In fact, she’d let him be a major force in her success, and he loved that. Ever since the Chamber mixer, she’d allowed him to be a mouthpiece for her and Mia’s work, working up press releases and continuing with their marketing plan. He did the promotional stuff while they focused on getting more help in the coffee shop.

A throat clearing behind them brought him back to the present, and Chris realized he still had her wrapped around him like a monkey trying to crack open a coconut on top of this table in a furniture store. He extricated himself, realizing Misty was blushing.

“Yeah, we’ll take this one. Can you deliver tonight?” This was their first piece of furniture for their new apartment, and Chris was looking forward to christening it.

Crash had been cool with things once he got used to the idea of him and his sister being together. But even after the attacks downtown, and Chris and Misty’s declarations of love to each other, it had still taken a couple of weeks of Chris showing up to dinner—and Crash seeing them together—to make him realize they had the real thing and he wasn’t jerking Misty’s chain.

But now, he was on board and ready for them to get a new place together. Her brother was definitely tired of him staying overnight. And Chris was tired of trying to be quiet with their overnight activities.

They’d signed the papers yesterday and were moving in today. In fact, Crash should be there already, unloading most of Misty’s stuff. After paying for the table, they got in the car with an air of excitement. They were about to start a new life together. A life they both wanted.

“Have you heard from Ghost? I haven’t,” Misty sounded sad at the prospect, and Chris commiserated. The man had been a friend to her when she needed one and had done a lot to warn Chris of the attack. Not that he’d heeded it like he needed to. If he could go back in time, he would have locked Misty away and not let her open up that day.