Authors: Abbie Zanders
“Target acquired. Fall back, Kane.”
Fuck
. Kane looked again at the woman. “We got room for one more?” Not that it mattered. Kane couldn’t leave this woman to those animals, not after he’d seen her eyes. They would haunt him the rest of his life. He’d make sure his brothers got out first, though. No sense forcing them back into this suck-fest.
In the short hesitation that followed, Kane already had his feet beneath him and had moved to a better angle. “Affirmative.”
That was all he needed.
Kane took the two in front out easily before they even knew what hit them. The other one held the female as a shield, ducking behind her. It made no difference to Kane. In a blurring move, he suddenly appeared behind the man and slit his throat, breaking his grip on the girl and forcing him away. The spray of blood coated her robes, but thankfully, she did not panic. If she lost it now, they’d both be fucked.
* * *
S
he couldn’t breathe. The man had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, smiting her attackers with unbelievable speed and precision. Fire gleamed in hair so black it reflected the flames. Ice blue eyes outlined by thick, black lashes focused on her with the intensity of a laser. He was at once fierce and beautiful and the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen in her life.
His mouth was moving; he was speaking to her. English. Weird, she thought, how subconsciously she’d been half-expecting him to speak in Latin or Greek or some other language of her childhood Orthodox Catholic church. He was an archangel, after all, wasn’t he, raining justice and vengeance upon those that would have hurt her? No human man could move that fast or that silently, or strike deadly blows with such lethal efficiency.
Yes, it was English, but she must have been in a mild state of shock because she couldn’t quite make out the words at first. All she could process was the deep, velvety sound of his voice, as powerful and beautiful and terrible as the rest of him.
He rose to his full height, towering above her as the cadence of his voice grew urgent. As terrifying as he was, he would not hurt her. She knew that to the depths of her soul, and with that realization some of her clarity returned.
* * *
T
he woman was staring at him with big, golden brown exotic eyes, scared but curious. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to allay her fears. They had to get out of the open and fast. Kane grabbed the woman’s hand and began to run as more shouts echoed around them. As they broke into the underbrush he sensed the shot before he felt it, yanking hard on her arm in an attempt to fling her in front of him, but she was already in the air. He felt the slam of her body against his side about the same time his left hip exploded in agony. Kane stumbled and released her.
“Run,” he commanded through clenched teeth. “Only a mile or so east. My brothers will get you home.”
After only a moment’s hesitation to catch her balance and a decidedly female grunt – probably from the force of the collision against his much larger, much harder body, the woman turned to look at his face, then her eyes dropped down to his hip. Without a word she pulled the semi-automatic from his shoulder and stood in front of him. He didn’t miss the way her arms shook, or the awkward way the gun sat in her hands.
Jesus.
A nun with a semi. They were totally fucked. She’d never actually –
The sharp staccato rang out, stunning him as she pointed it at the men charging them and took them down.
She looked like she was about ready to throw up; her body was trembling so badly it was a wonder she could stand at all.
Jesus.
This woman was not a killer.
Then she flipped the gun across to her back and he felt her small hands on his arm, pulling upward. Not having much luck, she crouched down and slung his arm over her shoulder, trying to use her legs to lift him.
“We’ll never make it,” Kane said, the urgency in his deep voice apparent. “You have to go.”
She ignored him and he wondered if she knew English at all outside of the Lord’s prayer. There was something slightly exotic about her features; she might not actually be American.
But apparently, she
was
obstinate. He let himself become dead weight and dropped to the ground, knowing there was no way her small form could hold up his two-hundred and fifty densely packed pounds.
“Go!” he barked, pushing her away from him roughly to stress the importance of obeisance.
Both slick with blood, he slipped from her grasp. She paused for a moment, regarding him. Despite the situation, despite the fact that her whole body was shaking, her eyes were calm, focused, and he could sense her mind working furiously, deciding what to do next.
It only took a second for her to come to a decision, and in Kane’s opinion, it was the wrong one. In one smooth movement she pulled off the covering she wore, using her teeth and hands to rip it into strips. Surprisingly, she wore shorts and a tank top beneath it, with something that looked like a multi-pocketed toolbelt/apron type thing. Not what he would have pictured a nun to wear beneath her outer habit.
She pulled something out of one of the pockets, ripped it open with her teeth and pressed it to his wound. Whatever it was it burned like a son of a bitch. He pushed her hands away impatiently, knocking her on her ass more than once, but she just kept scrabbling up and trying again until she had managed to bind his injuries the best she could with the tattered remains of her covering. It had all the makings of a slapstick comedy, and it probably would have been funny had the situation not been quite so dire.
She was quick. And tenacious as hell. He had to give her that. Finally she plopped down in front of him protectively, so close she was almost in his lap, pulling the gun back toward her and pointing it away from them.
“Here,” she said, pulling yet another item from her pockets. “Chew this. It’ll help with the pain and assist with the clotting.”
He looked at her as if she had lost her mind. So she did know English. She was definitely American. And she was totally, one hundred percent, certifiably insane. He glared at her, putting the full force of his power – what he had left anyway – into it. It should have been enough to scare away the bravest of men, but if the slight quirk of her lips was anything to go by,
she
seemed to find it amusing.
“And if you’re a good boy, I’ll give you a Tootsie Roll afterward to get the bitter taste out of your mouth.”
Well, that explained the whiff of chocolate he got every time she spoke in his direction. It was not something one typically smelled in a looting massacre out in the middle of the jungle.
Kane blinked. The situation had gone from insane to surreal. A nun half his size – and with more curves than a Penthouse centerfold - was sitting beside him, soaked in his blood, speaking to him like a child and offering him candy. Yep, it was official. He’d lost it.
“Son of a bitch. Are you fucking stupid? Get the hell out of here!”
Huge brown eyes fixed on his.
Jesus
. Where his were cold and icy, hers were warm and soft with brilliant gold flecks. A light brown with swirls of something darker, naturally outlined with a rim of mahogany so deep it almost looked black. Her smile widened, just a little.
“I’m not leaving you,” she said simply. Her voice – it was like warm honey, soft and flowing, like her eyes. Despite the fact that her body was still shaking, that her clothes were saturated with blood, that she was sitting there with a semi-automatic in her lap, her voice sounded perfectly calm and relaxed.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Just what I need. Mother Goddamned Theresa.”
Her lips quirked, but otherwise she seemed completely unfazed. “What is your name?”
She really was nuts. What was this, a social? But her voice was compelling enough – or maybe it was simply the blood loss – that he found himself answering anyway. “Kane.”
That seemed to amuse her even more for some reason. She gave a light, musical laugh, one that left an unexpected lightness in his chest at the mere sound of it. Like her, it had no place here.
“Ah. A good Biblical name, that,” she murmured.
Kane snorted in response. He was tempted to tell her the spelling was all wrong, then wondered what the fuck he was thinking. He was on the ground in the jungle, shot through the hip with nasties all around, stuck with a nun who obviously had a death wish for them both. Perhaps she was okay with moving on to the next life, but he still had some things he wanted to tidy up before he was ready to check out. He managed to convey his thoughts to her in one or two roughly hewn but disturbingly clear and concise sentences.
“Maybe, Kane,” she said, narrowing her eyes, her unnatural patience finally beginning to waver a little, “if you put some of that attitude toward getting up we can
both
get out of here. I’d prefer not to die today either, if you don’t mind.”
Sweet Jesus
. She was lecturing him now? But it didn’t take a genius to realize the woman wasn’t going anywhere without him. He supposed he should feel a sliver of gratitude for that, but all he could summon was thorough irritation. If she died, it would somehow be his fault. He hadn’t exactly led a life of purity, but there were probably mega-bonus Hell points for being responsible for the death of a nun. He might not be a staple of the church these days, but his Irish Catholic upbringing would never let him forsake a Sister.
He grumbled again, but stuffed the bitter tasting herbs into his mouth and pulled himself to his feet, grimacing through the pain. Immediately he felt the warmth of her arm around his waist, her insistent tugging on his hand as she ducked beneath it to offer support and felt a surge of intense guilt at how good it felt.
She wasn’t a woman, for Christ’s sake. She was a frigging penguin. He forced the image of his elementary CCD teacher into his mind – Sister Ursula. Small and withered, about a thousand years old, with stockings wrinkled above her orthopedic shoes, starched habit, and constant scent of Ben Gay and mothballs. And with that came the memory of the metal edged wooden ruler rapping sharply against his knuckles. Repeatedly.
That helped. A little. Enough that maybe between that thought and the pain shooting thru his body he might be able to ignore the little shockwaves her touch was sending throughout the rest of him. Oh yeah. He was going to Hell for sure.
“So what do they call you?” he asked as they took their first steps forward.
“Besides Mother Goddamned Theresa, you mean?”
Ah. A nun with a death wish
and
a sarcastic wit.
Fucking A
. And hey – were nuns allowed to curse like that? Maybe God overlooked shit like that in extenuating circumstances.
The sound of gunfire behind them kept him from answering. Together they hobbled toward the east, trying to move as quietly as possible. Neither attempted conversation again. Several times they were forced to stop when they heard shouts nearby, but thankfully, they remained undetected. He could hear her grunt under the effort it cost to support him, but she did not complain.
Shit
. He had a hundred pounds on her, easy. If the situation was reversed, he could have carried her to safety without breaking a sweat. Sometimes life was a bitch and a half. Either that or God had one hell of a sense of irony.
They finally emerged upon the rendezvous point, Kieran running to them and quickly relieving her of the burden. Only much later he would remember how she sagged to her knees behind him as Kieran took over and helped him to the Jeep.
“Package was picked up an hour ago,” Kieran said. “Let’s get you the hell out of here.”
Gladly. He’d had enough of this God-forsaken place. He was getting way too old for this shit. Using his powerful arms, Kane swung himself into the waiting Jeep, clenching his teeth against the pain as his hip took the impact. They still had a way to go until they were out of danger, but with Shane and Kieran there, the odds were considerably better. Kane clenched his jaw, formulating the scathing tongue lashing he was going to give to the fool woman as soon as she joined him. But she didn’t.
A few minutes later, Shane climbed into the front seat, cursing a blue streak as he put the Jeep in gear and began to drive away.
“Wait!” Kane protested. “What about Kieran and the female?”
Shane did not look happy. “The woman said she had to go back, help the others. Kieran went with her.”
“Fuck! Stop the fucking Jeep! “
“No can do.”
“It’s suicide!”
The look on Shane’s face was grim. “Gotta get you to a medic, bro.”
“Fuck that!” But he knew what Shane wasn’t saying, could tell by the expression on his face every time he looked at him. Kieran had a fighting chance to make it back out. With the amount of blood Kane had already lost, he didn’t have the same chance.
Shane got him to the base. After ensuring that Kane was in good hands, he went back for Kieran.
––––––––
K
ane couldn’t get the image of the woman out of his mind. That honey-colored hair, the exotic, soft brown eyes with golden flecks. The calm, soothing voice; the grace and courage under pressure. The complete, all-encompassing aura of warmth and compassion, mixed with just enough spice to make it interesting. She shouldn’t have been in a place like that; a woman like her should be teaching Sunday school in some close-knit, peaceful community, not handling an Uzi in the middle of a freaking jungle.
She didn’t belong there; she wasn’t a killer. Hell, the look on her face after she dusted those bastards was one of pure horror and revulsion. Bet they didn’t teach that sort of thing at the convent.
It was a hell of a waste, that whole scenario. God had some damn good taste in calling her. She would have made a mortal man a good wife – soft and warm, yet feisty ...
Kane instantly shut those thoughts down. He was not going there. He lifted his eyes to the canvas ceiling of the medic tent.
Sometimes,
he thought,
you can be a cruel bastard.