Authors: Misty Evans
Avathaar Shiva
. The incarnation of God as Shiva the Destroyer.
Realization hit, even through the fog in her brain. Izala saw himself as God’s vessel to uplift humanity by destroying anyone and anything that got in his way.
As the limo driver delivered a bag to the plane, a man in coveralls and a hardhat came toward them. He wore an ID badge around his neck and carried a clipboard.
His large, dark eyes barely glanced at her, rain running down his brown cheeks. He and Abdel exchanged words in an Afroasiatic language that combined Arabic and Berber.
Morocco.
A common dialect there.
Abdel said something more to the man and hitched his thumb at her as he withdrew his hanky and dabbed at his nose. The man’s gaze landed on her, distant, unemotional. She took a step back and pivoted, ready to run.
The sound of guns being cocked echoed in the hangar. Everywhere her gaze landed, more men with dark skin and hard eyes stared back.
A hand clamped in her hair, pulling her head back. She couldn’t hear well out of her left ear. Her pulse throbbed thick and slow in her temples.
The man in the coveralls used her hair to drag her toward the plane, a gun now replacing his clipboard and boring into her ribs as she stumbled across the rain-slicked runway.
Better to die here than live as a slave in Morocco
.
She dug her heels in, took a swing at him with her bound fists.
He didn’t take kindly to the revolt and swiftly struck her across the back of her head with his gun.
The tarmac came up to meet her, her knees hitting the ground. She groaned and fell forward, flat on her belly. The man didn’t break stride, grabbing her bound wrists and dragging her over the rough ground to the plane.
Rain fell into her eyes. Her head pounded. The rest of her body felt numb. The dead weight of her head increased, her poor neck no longer able to keep it up.
Her head lolled from side to side. She dug deeper, trying to find any kind of fortitude, power, anything. If she could just roll over. Or pull her legs under her, or…
At the steps to the jet, another man grabbed her feet. Together, her captors carried her up the steps, into the plane, throwing her at a man’s sandaled feet.
“Welcome, Ruby McKellen,” Mohammed Izala said to her. He was smoking a cigarette, his dark head shaved and gleaming under the overhead lights of the plush cabin. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
At least she thought it was Izala. She’d never seen him without long hair and a beard. The man in front of her was slick and polished. His suit, like Abdel’s, was high quality. His nails manicured. With the exception of his sandals, he looked as if he worked in one of the downtown Chicago banks or attorney offices.
Her throat was dry, but she managed to work up enough saliva to spit at his feet.
An unseen hand grabbed her hair and drew her off the ground into a kneeling position. Her damaged knees screamed in protest. She felt the trickle of blood down the back of her neck.
“She is as anticipated,” Abdel said with a hint of resignation in his voice. “She will be an interesting one to break.”
Mohammed stared at her, seemingly unconcerned about her defiance and the saliva coating a couple of his toes. “And her bodyguard? Where is he?”
“We picked up a tail—probably him—but we lost it on the interstate. He won’t be an issue today.”
Mohammed leaned forward, one hand rubbing his shaved cheeks as he put his face close to hers. “But he will follow you, won’t he, my little
bulbul
? He’ll follow you all the way back to Marrakech, where we will all be reunited.”
Bulbul
. Arabic for peacock. Ruby’s mind raced. Reunited? What did he mean by that? “How did you get into this country?”
A flat smile. “I have friends here. Diplomatic friends. Those who have strong connections with certain men in your Department of Homeland Security. Besides, no one pays attention to prestigious businessmen, do they?”
His English was as good as Abdel’s. His insolence just as infuriating.
“I hear your bodyguard is quite the expert on reconnaissance and extractions,” Mohammed went on. “Also a fair medicine man. I’ve lost too many soldiers—valuable ones—lately. I’m in need of a warrior who can rescue those who are lost and mend those who are broken.”
Expert
. Oh, crap. Mohammed Izala hadn’t been just after her for her CIA secrets. He was after Jax. A former SEAL very familiar with military operations in Northern Africa.
She kept her gaze steady on his, refusing to be intimidated. “Jax won’t come for me. He hates me. Blames me for everything that happened with my partner in Marrakech. It ruined his career, you know. That’s why he’s nothing more than a bodyguard these days.”
Mohammed’s liquid brown eyes studied hers. She kept her face impassive, her body language resigned. Inside her chest, her heart beat with a manic rhythm against her rib cage.
Her earbud was silent, dead. She prayed that her comm worked anyway, transmitting everything Mohammed was saying. Beatrice would keep Jax from risking his life for her.
“I don’t believe you.” The terrorist who fancied himself a god reached out and fingered a lock of her hair. “He will come for you, and then you’ll both be mine.”
Abdel pulled her to her feet, dragging her down the aisle to a seat in the back near the kitchen and restrooms. Despite her resistance, he and one of the other men overpowered her, fastening each wrist to an armrest of the leather chair and tying her ankles to the seat’s legs, bolted into the floor. Next, Abdel wrapped a webbed belt across her chest and tightened it in the back, making her ribs cry in protest.
A moment later, the plane’s engines revved. They began to move. Wet, bleeding, and pissed off, Ruby stared out the window, trying to clear the thudding pain in her head so she could form a new plan.
The pilot’s voice came over the speaker system, alerting Mohammed that they were ready for take off. Mohammed responded; Abdel belted himself into a seat facing Ruby.
The plane started down the runway a minute later, inertia pushing her deep into the soft leather as the plane accelerated.
She’d blown it. From beginning to end. She’d been duped by Izala, Al-Safari, Elliot. Every one of them had used her and now here she was, about to be used again as bait to draw Jax to Marrakech.
Closing her eyes, she blocked the depressing thoughts. She needed to preserve her strength, watch and wait for the right time to take out Izala, Al-Safari, and anyone else who got in her way.
Because it would come. Her training had taught her that there would always be an opening for her to breach the enemy’s defenses.
And then Izala and Al-Safari would see the living incarnation of Shiva the Destroyer.
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice at first that the plane had slowed. The pilot come over the loudspeaker again.
His frantic voice cut through her dulled hearing and Ruby snapped her eyes open. Abdel had left his seat and was leaning over her, looking out her window, and rattling off a string of curses in at least three different dialects.
Ruby ducked her head so she could see past his arm where it propped against the window.
There, approaching the plane from the end of the tarmac, was a very muddy, blue Jeep.
T
HE
P
LANE
W
AS
taking off.
No way in fucking hell was he allowing that to happen.
Colt had the pedal to the metal, bearing down on the plane, but the fucker wasn’t stopping.
It seemed to slow for a moment, but then the engines kicked in full thrust again, and the plane headed right for them.
Playing chicken with a Gulfstream didn’t seem like the wisest thing to do, but hell, they’d already done their fast and furious gig back on the interstate and had just now busted through the airport’s security fence, which had knocked out their windshield. The plane was seconds away from leaving the ground. If they didn’t stop it…
Not going to happen
.
Lightning flashed, thunder boomed. Wind roared through the open windshield, driving rain into his face.
Weather sirens were going off in the distance, blaring out a severe thunderstorm warning. Seemed fitting that he would be facing down an act of Mother Nature at the same time he was facing down his arch nemesis.
If he were a religious man, he’d think God was trying to tell him something.
The silver jet was the only plane on the runway, most of the small airport deserted. Of course, even diehard businessmen wouldn’t fly when storm sirens were going off.
Abdel Al-Safari might have been a cunning terrorist, but he wasn’t that smart if he thought he could outfox Mother Nature.
“They’re picking up speed again,” Colton yelled over the thunder and wind. “What do you want to do?”
As far as wingmen went, the guy had been one hundred percent solid. Jax couldn’t have asked for more. “You gotta get me as close as possible.”
He floored the gas, snapping Jax’s head back. “You got it, boss!”
Boss. The term made him feel old.
The pain in his body and the heaviness in his heart justified that feeling. After all he’d lived through, his body, heart, and mind were tired.
Old man, here I come
.
But that was bullshit. He’d driven his body and his psychological state to the brink many times. This time was no different. He had a job to do. Someone to save.
This time is different,
his internal voice insisted.
This time, it’s Ruby.
The Jeep ate up the tarmac; the plane’s nose grew bigger as it accelerated. What exactly was he going to do to stop it? He had one handgun and his rifle. The rifle was a better weapon, but he didn’t have time to set it up and skillfully take out the pilot. Doing so could endanger everyone on board, anyway. He cared little for Al-Safari, but how was he going to stop the plane without hurting Ruby?
Jax had lost his comm in the mud, Colt’s was still working and he’d given it to Jax. Beatrice and Rory were relaying a constant stream of information he didn’t necessarily need to hear. “Feds and locals are on the way,” Rory said, his voice cutting in and out, “but they’ll never reach you in time.”
“It’s us or nothing,” Jax told Colton.
The kid nodded. “The Gulfstream 450 needs at least 5000 feet to take off. They’re going to run right into us.”
Was it too much to ask for Mother Nature to do him a solid and strike the plane with lightning?
More likely, God would hit
him
with a bolt just to laugh at his fucking ass.
Jax checked the cartridge and chamber of his Desert Eagle .45. It was ready. “Know anything about the location of the fuel tanks”
Colton shot him a look. “You hit the fuel tanks, the whole plane will blow.”
“Exactly. I don’t want to hit it.”
The kid knew a lot about planes. Hands clenched on the steering wheel, he gave Jax the lowdown on the Gulfstream and where to aim in under five seconds.
“Stop here,” Jax called over the driving rain.
“You sure?”
He nodded, and Colt jerked the wheel, sliding the car into a vertical barricade in front of the oncoming jet.
Throwing open the Jeep’s door, Jax unfolded his body and climbed out.
The plane was still coming. It was close enough to hear its engines roaring over the storm’s noise. He could see the pilot and co-pilot in the cockpit.
Now or never.
In his head, he heard Beatrice reciting different scenarios. If he shot the pilot, X would happen. If he shot out the tires, X and Y would happen. If he put a hole in the cabin, X, Y, and Z would happen.
All of them resulted in a dysfunctional plane and potential death for those inside.
He raised his gun. Put his finger on the trigger.
Looked down the site.
I’m sorry, Ruby.
It was a nightmare. The jet looming over him, the rain and wind lashing against him. For a moment, it seemed like he disconnected from this body, floating away because he couldn’t bear the pain of knowing he might be sending Ruby to her death.
He’d never be able to live with himself if he let her go, and yet…he was seriously contemplating it.
His finger fell off the trigger.
I’m sorry, Ruby,
ran through his brain again.
He couldn’t do it.
Her voice came out of nowhere, snapping him out of his reverie. “What are you doing, Jaxon? Shoot the goddamn plane!”
Was he hallucinating?
“Jaxon, if you can hear me, shoot the plane!”
Ruby! Her comm was working.
Over the wind and rain, he heard the sounds of commotion, Ruby’s voice, Rory’s voice, Beatrice’s voice. They all ran together, a steady song in the back of his head.
The plane was nearly on top of him. He had to make up his mind.
I love you, Ruby
. Why hadn’t he told her that? Realigning the Eagle’s site, he put his finger on the trigger.