Handing them to his partner, he said, “Tie their hands behind their backs.”
It took everything Jake had to not turn on Asshole Two —a.k.a. the short, pudgy bastard—when he came at Jake with the rope. If he’d been alone, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but the man behind Olivia looked as though he wanted nothing more than to pull that trigger. Not willing to risk her, he obediently moved his hands behind his back.
Olivia’s were tied next. She flinched when he pulled the rough ropes tightly against her skin, giving Jake just one more reason to put a bullet between the fucker’s eyes. Not that he needed one.
After picking up the two guns Jake had tossed out onto the ground earlier, the men lead them back out into the jungle’s humid air. A couple hours later, Olivia began to move at a slower pace, her exhaustion noticeable. Asshole Two pushed her from behind, and she stumbled, falling to her knees.
“Watch it!” Jake snapped. He was really looking forward to killing these two.
Ignoring him, the guy yelled, “Get up!” and yanked on Olivia's arm to pull her to her feet.
She only let out a tiny whimper, but Jake knew the prick’s tight grasp had to hurt. He schooled his temper, forcing back the need to kill. Over the next several minutes, he imagined himself torturing both men. Slowly.
Jake knew a dozen different ways to kill a man with his bare hands. These two had no idea how lucky they were that he couldn’t put action to his thoughts. Even with his hands behind his back, Jake would do whatever it took to protect her.
Yeah, ’cause you’ve done a bang-up job so far, asshole. She wouldn’t even be in this mess if you’d been thinking with your brain instead of your dick.
Never, not once in all his years with Delta or R.I.S.C., had he ever made such a monumental fuck-up. Jake had let his emotions take over—something he never allowed on a job.
This time was different, though. With Olivia, everything was different. Because of that, he’d acted like a fucking teenager in heat, and these men had gotten the drop on them. Some hero he turned out to be.
“Walk faster,” Asshole Two said, pushing her again. Olivia stumbled, but thankfully didn’t fall.
Jake gave her another glance. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable, but she gave him a small, reassuring smile anyway. Christ, she was amazing.
For the next few hours, Jake’s mind worked overtime to figure a way out of this mess. He played out several different scenarios in his head, walking through each one, step-by-step, until he came up with a plan of action.
Neither of the two men had radioed anyone else yet, so Jake assumed there was no one left at their camp to contact. If that was truly the case, then these guys had no reinforcements coming in to help. It was a huge fucking assumption to make, but Jake could only go by what he knew.
If all went as planned, he’d make his move the next time they stopped for a break. He’d take these two out quickly, and then, he was getting Olivia as far away from this place as he possibly could.
Jake couldn’t tell her his plan, for fear they’d overhear, but he needed her to trust that they were going to be okay. Turning his head, he bent it down toward her and spoke low.
“I’ll get you home, Liv. I swear to God I will.” For him, there was no other option.
Olivia looked up at him, and with more faith than he deserved, said, “I know.”
****
“We need to call Ryker,” Derek grumbled again. It was the third time he’d made that statement in the past hour.
Trevor sighed. Sitting on the bed with his back against the cheap headboard, he tossed the TV remote onto the nightstand to his right. He glanced over at Derek.
The Texas native was currently sitting at the small, round table next to the room’s one window, playing what had to be his hundredth round of solitaire today.
A former SEAL, D was dressed in his go-to downtime attire—well-worn cowboy boots, faded jeans, and one of his many, many graphic t-shirts. Trevor didn’t know where the man shopped, but his supply of smartass nerd T’s seemed endless.
Today’s pick was a simple white V-neck with black lettering that read, Geeks do it better. Between his choice of wardrobe and shaggy blond hair, the guy looked nothing like the tech genius he was.
Grant sat across from Derek, cleaning one of his many guns. With the exception of a few grunts and short, to-the-point responses, the guy had been silent. No surprise there.
Like D, Grant was a former Frogman. However, the similarities between the two men stopped there.
Grant kept his light brown hair almost military-short, and the man’s square jaw was covered in a perpetual, five-o’clock shadow. Unlike D, who loved a good joke, Trevor couldn’t remember ever seeing Grant smile, or show any sort of feelings at all, for that matter.
Even now, with one teammate injured and their boss’s fate up in the air, Grant’s face was void of all emotion. Trevor wondered—and not for the first time—whether the man ever felt anything about, well, anything.
Everyone else on the team swore the guy was more machine than man. Maybe, they were right.
Nothing short of a demolitions badass, Grant’s military record was impeccable. After a few years spent blowing the shit out of the Taliban, ISIS, and whoever else proved to be a credible threat, he’d needed a change.
Thankfully, that change came in the form of joining R.I.S.C. Given the numerous times he’d saved their asses, Trevor was damn glad he had.
As far as sharing feelings went, Derek was a different story, altogether. There was a reason he normally worked their operations from behind the scenes. The man wore his emotions like some women wore their cleavage—out there for everyone to see.
One look was all
