Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Redemption for Misty (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Pierce Securities Book 5) (10 page)

Misty was pissed. Grateful the fear subsided, Misty embraced the anger.

While everyone else ran to the kitchen area, hands thrown over their heads, Misty stood at the register, fuming.

“Saul, what the fuck are you doing?”

The silent man walked back to the kitchen, raising his own gun in the air, shouting words in a different language into a walkie talkie. Saul faced Misty.

“You need to get in the kitchen, too, Misty.” Saul’s voice was back to the quiet she was used to, although his face was still angry.

“Why?”

He gave her a small smile, one she’d seen before, but only now realized the secrets it hid. “Just go.” He raised his gun level with her heart, and Misty was helpless to refuse him. Heart pounding, she raised her arms in a gesture of defeat while her mind raced.

In the kitchen, one of her employees—a girl not much younger than Misty—was doing her best to calm everyone. For the most part, they all followed Misty’s movements with wide, pleading eyes. Most of the customers were young; there was one family with a young boy, probably about eight years old. His wide blue eyes would haunt Misty’s dreams for a long time.

She had to put a stop to this. That little boy’s eyes were the stuff of all new and improved nightmares. Dirty clothes in a garage were nothing compared to what she would dream of if something happened to that child. Misty had to come up with a plan.

Chapter fourteen

On the other side of the square from Misty’s coffee shop, Chris was crawling out of his skin. The protesters seemed peaceful enough, but it was the idiots who were just showing up to start shit that had him nervous. There was a group of people, totally unorganized, who were shouting things at the law enforcement officers about being pigs and baby killers, and then shouting at the congress people trying to go to work that they were evil. They were the pot-stirrers, and they were the ones causing trouble here.

Meanwhile, he was sure the same thing was going on over in Misty’s neck of the woods, and he was stuck here with his buddy who wasn’t speaking to him.

“What the fuck am I doing here, man? At least let me go check on Misty and make sure she’s safe. That’s what you wanted me to do.”

Crash’s eyes hardened as soon as Chris opened his mouth.

“You know what? Fuck you,
Andrew
. I don’t like this. I’ve told you my intentions toward your sister are good, but you’re the one being a dick face. I’m going to go check on her. You can fuck the hell off.”

With that, Chris set off at a jog around all the people. He was only about a half a block away when he saw a man in black fatigues melt out of the shadows. He grabbed a man in a choke hold and dragged him back between the buildings, melting away.

Ghost
.

Fuck.
His jog turned to a sprint. He’d known Ghost was military, and his words yesterday came back with a vengeance.
Don’t leave her alone here.

And he’d left her alone. Dude had to be some sort of Special Forces. Maybe even Delta. At Fort Hood, he’d heard about the Deltas but had never seen one that he knew of. They were legends. Myths.

Ghosts.

Knocking people out of his way, Chris could only hope he reached her in time. The crowd was working itself into a frenzy and his nerves were shot. He could only hope to find Misty safe, convince her to close up shop until all this shit was over, and get her home safe.

Then the explosions started. One deafening boom after another, knocking Chris off course.

He was back in Syria, bombs going off, gray dust everywhere as he searched for survivors. He couldn’t let that happen here. This was Texas, for Christ’s sake. He was finished with his time in the military. He remembered finding an entire family, huddled together for safety under a bunch of rubble, dead. Chris saw, in his mind’s eye, the random, detached limbs on the roadside, amid rubble from the buildings.

He couldn’t tell what was real and what were memories from another time. All he knew was he needed to get to Misty.

His steps only faltered briefly. Chris was a man on a mission. People around him were going crazy. The protesters were screaming and running. A cop was firing wildly into the crowd, getting tackled to the ground by bystanders. People were yelling and crying as smoke poured into the air.

Chris squelched the panic in his gut.

He had to get to his girl.

***

Everyone in the kitchen screamed when the explosions started. So far, the front door to her shop hadn’t blown up, but Misty was afraid it was just a matter of time. She was dancing with the devil right now as she looked at Saul and his soft smile. He seemed to be enjoying this, and it made her a little sick.

Panic welled in her gut as the scent of the explosives drifted in through her air conditioning system. The fear came back, but it was a different sort of fear. She wasn’t afraid for herself, which was what her fear months ago had been all about. Now, she was afraid for her customers—the people who had only come in for a cup of coffee and some people-watching entertainment. Guilt filled her at her earlier thoughts of the increased business from the protests. It was the fullest her coffee shop had ever been, and now they were all going to die at the hands of a madman.

Misty had to do something. She could hear the little boy sniffling near her, but she couldn’t stand to look at his cherubic face. Sirens wailed in the distance, and she heard the muffled
pop-popping
of gunfire nearby in neighboring businesses coupled with the sound of screaming. She wondered how many other people had been taken hostage. Or killed.

It was surreal. This wasn’t her life. Then again, she’d had that thought before, hadn’t she? It
was
her life, and she wasn’t going to lay down and play victim again. She took a deep breath, filling herself with resolve, hoping to block out the fear. This was a mind over matter mission.

Misty caught the eye of a young man—a hostage like her—and pleaded with him to understand her. She flicked her eyes back and forth to the gunmen and him and his buddies. His eyes widened, as if she were crazy.

Taking a deep breath, Misty tamped down her frustration. This was two men against maybe twenty-five customers. The guns were just machines, and she understood how they worked. As long as the barrel wasn’t pointed at anyone, she could take one of them down if she had a little help.

The only thing stopping these people from doing it was fear. The gunmen were banking on their fear to make them pliable. Well, Misty had been scared before. It wasn’t going to work this time.

She exhaled all the air from her lungs, then filled them with a cleansing breath. Saul had his back to her.

Big mistake.

With a primal roar, Misty launched herself at his legs. Miraculously, the other man followed suit, tackling the other man to the ground. With that, the father of the boy joined in, and soon enough customers were dogpiled on top of the gunmen, their useless guns flat beneath them.

“Someone open up the freight door and get us some help,” Misty gasped from under the people who had piled on top of her. The mother of the little boy cradled him tightly and mouthed
thank you
to Misty as another woman got up and did as she asked.

***

Chris let out a roar of fear and frustration when he saw the sign taped to the door of Misty’s shop. He yelled Ghost’s name as loudly as he could, hoping against hope the superhero could hear him. There was a gaggle of police officers clustered around him, talking into their shoulder mounted walkie talkies, hopefully getting some help.

Knowing there was a back entrance in her kitchen, he took off at a sprint around the block to get to the alleyway behind the row of shops. Chris had to guess at which was hers but went based solely on the smell of the garbage behind it. When he saw the coffee grinds and familiar cups, he knew he had the right one.

He looked around for more explosives, but seeing none of the freight doors on the alley had blown, he could only make an educated guess that these weren’t targeted. He held his breath, thinking wildly. If he opened the door and it was wired to blow, he’d be killed, as well as any innocent bystanders nearby. He couldn’t have that. What if Misty was standing right there?

Shit.

Before he could think too much, the door opened on its own, and a woman’s tear-streaked face poked out. She gave a yelp and opened it wider, running out as if the devil himself was on her heels. Chris took that as a sign and pushed through the other people trying to get out. Like a salmon swimming upstream, Chris made it inside Misty’s shop.

He stopped, frantically trying to find her amid the chaos inside.

“Misty?” he called out. There were piles of bodies and people racing for the doorway he was standing in front of. Chris moved inside the kitchen and finally saw a headful of curls under a bunch of people.

His eyes took in the scene. People were yelling and screaming and crying. Some hysterically so.

“Everybody that can get out,
move
!” His training took over. “Get away from the building. I think there’s a triage station set up a couple of blocks that way!” He was gesticulating, hoping he was right as his arms waved at the people he needed to get out of his way.

“We need something to tie them up. We can’t get off them.” Misty’s voice came from under one of the piles of people, and Chris’s knees went weak with relief. She was alive. She was okay. And he’d be damned, but she’d taken out the gunmen. Of course she had. His girl was a badass.

“Get those people out of here,” one man grunted from his pile.

Methodically, he began peeling people off the pile with Misty on it, giving instructions to them to leave. He only needed a few to stay and help until the police or more military arrived. He needed to get the rest to safety.

The closer he got to Misty, the better he felt, calmer. They had this situation under control.

Until they didn’t.

Chapter fifteen

Misty didn’t know what happened. One minute she was on top of Saul, with his hands under her and the gun out of sight while Chris peeled people off her.

The next minute, she was being held in front of Saul with his gun to her head.

“Everybody on the fucking ground,
now
!” Saul’s voice was cracking as he saw his plan unravel. Misty watched everything in slow motion as Chris remained standing while everyone else dropped to the ground. He held his hands out in a gesture of compliance, even though it was plain he was not doing as he was told. The other gunman waved his little machine gun around, trying to cover everyone.

“Easy, man. None of us are armed. I’m gonna show you, okay?” His eyebrows raised in question, Chris lifted his shirt and boldly turned his back to the gunman holding Misty hostage. Saul’s gun shook as it pressed against her cheek and his other arm tightened around her. She felt lots of other hard things strapped to his body, probably more guns. Squeezing her eyes shut, she didn’t open them until she heard Chris’s voice again. “What’s going on? Are you guys wanting some refugees in, man? You got family over there you’re trying to get here?”

Chris’s voice was reassuring, unbelievably calm. Misty couldn’t see how he was so placid in this situation. He hadn’t moved, but he was buying some time. Hopefully, he was coming up with a plan.

“My wife is over there.” Saul’s accent had always been faint, and Misty hadn’t ever really cared to place it, but now it was thicker, and a hint of the Middle East shone through. Not that it would have mattered. Austin was a multi-cultural place, and he still would have blended in, even without the suit and tamed hair and his skin tone. He was olive-complected, but Misty was darker than he was.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Chris continued placating him, one eye on Saul but still watching the other gunman. “That sucks. But do you really think this is the way to go about getting her over here? By blowing up Austin?”

Misty wondered how many stores on the square had been blasted. Her mind went to dark places, envisioning a post-apocalyptic downtown area filled with people covered in concrete dust. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and her body convulsed in a shudder.

“A lot of us have family over there. I’m a citizen. I was raised here. My wife’s family has been killed and she’s in a camp, being treated abominably. I want to bring her home to me, but the government won’t let me. There are so many of us.” Saul’s voice choked on tears, and Misty would have felt bad for him under any other circumstances. But sympathy was hard to come by when she had a gun to her head.

“Can we sit down and talk?” Chris asked, his hands still in the air. “Like normal people?” He should have been a hostage negotiator. Misty could feel Saul’s body relax behind her.

***

Chris’s heart was in his throat throughout the entire exchange. He felt for the guy, but not enough to let him put a bullet in Misty. He was panicking on the inside but forcing an exterior calm because it seemed to be working. He tuned out the sobs of the man on the ground next to him.

“You love this one, right?” Saul’s voice held an edge of madness to it—a madness only a man led to desperate measures could attain. “Imagine if she were in living in a tent, sick, with no food and no water.”