Covertly Strong (The Strong Series Book 1) (46 page)

NIX’S HEART NEARLY CLIMBS OUT of his chest once his eyes take in the appearance of the woman on the cot. It’s her. It’s
Sloan.

“Fuck!” A terrible, heart-wrenching sound escapes his lungs as he practically runs to her side.

Her helpless form lies bloodied and beaten. She’s only dressed in a torn T-shirt and underwear. A discarded rubber tourniquet is underneath her right arm and an empty syringe is discarded on the ground. Three distinct track marks mar her skin. Sloan’s eye lids are open, but her russet irises are rolled in the back of her head, showing no signs of the vibrant woman he loves. Her tiny, fragile chest struggles to inhale and exhale with shallow, uneven breaths.

Slade cuts the rope that’s firmly tied around Sloan’s wrists and ankles, blood oozing from the raw skin that’s left in their wake.

“Wake up, baby! Open your eyes!” Nix urges with anxiety leaking from his normally composed voice. His fingers check her delicate neck for a pulse.

Bum…Bum…………Bum…Bum………..Bum…Bum

The feel of her weak, unsteady lifeline vibrates underneath his fingertips.

“Fuuuuuuuck!”
Panic consumes his soul as he struggles to inhale a shaky breath.

Nix knows that her condition is deteriorating by the second. The deep, open wound imbedded in her thigh continues to excrete blood past the poorly applied tourniquet. Her body is visibly in shock from the large blood loss and unknown substances that have been forced into her system. Her pale complexion and unconscious state are evidence of this ominous fact. Sloan’s life is hanging on by a mere thread. Every shallow breath—every feeble beat of her heart—leaves her one step closer towards that thread—
her lifeline
—snapping and unraveling towards something Nix refuses to let happen.

I can’t fucking lose you twice,
his shattered heart cries as he pulls her unconscious body into his strong arms. He buries his nose in her hair, grief overriding his capability of rational thought.

Thirty seconds…

“Boss!” Slade hisses towards Nix, striving to pull his focus. “Wrap her up in the sheet. We have to move,” he voices sternly.
“Boss!”
Slade shouts adamantly, knowing that he needs to get his Team leader to regain his composure. “Get. Your. Ass. Moving!”

Nix nods in understanding as he slides the sheet around Sloan’s prone form and stands up with her secured in his arms. “Come on, Meli. Open your eyes,” he whispers into her ear. “Fuck, baby. Don’t give up on me. Don’t you fucking dare give up on me!”

Fifteen seconds…

Julian resides in the corner of the room, his knife slicing the ropes that bind the other woman’s hands above her head. Her piercing, brown eyes bore into his soul as she sits destitute on the putrid ground—her pitiful body only covered by a ripped-up T-shirt. Her skin is marked with bruises and bloody wounds from obvious beatings.

Slade sees Julian in the corner of the room as he helps the other hostage to her feet. Her injuries not nearly as bad as Sloan’s, but her body has been visibly beaten while she’s been at Arturo’s mercy.

“Julian! We have to go!
Move!”
Slade urges with a stern tone.

“I can’t leave her here,” Julian responds obstinately.

“God damnit! We didn’t come here for her!”

“I’m. Not. Leaving. Her. Here
!” Julian shouts as he pulls the woman into his arms. “Hold on tight, doll. This might be a bumpy ride,” he tells her as her large doe eyes peer up into his. Gratitude permeates from the relief that consumes her face—tears beginning to fall down her cheekbones.

“No tears,” he demands as he files out of the cell behind Nix and Slade.

A small, relieved giggle escapes the woman’s throat, stress playing into her back-and-forth, yo-yo-like emotions that force strange reactions to overwhelm her.

Julian smirks down at her. “No laughing either.”

A small smile threatens the corner of her mouth as she keeps her arms tightly wrapped around her hero’s neck, holding on for dear life.

“What’s your name?” he questions as his combat boots move quickly, already heading through the tunnel.

“Alejandra,” she whispers to Julian.

Her eyes are no longer open, her brown irises blocked by her delicate lids, which are now firmly closed. Her battered heart has already seen too many bad things. She forces her mind to go somewhere else—somewhere far away from her terrible brother, Hector, and the cruel man she was going to be forced to marry, Nico. Alejandra silently prays that these men get her and Felicia out of the compound before any of Hector’s men catch up to them.

Slade, Nix, and Julian reach the other two SEALs waiting at their exit path. Smith leads the group while Rob flanks the back, both men maintaining a watchful eye for the enemy, who is undoubtedly hot on their trail.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunfire echoes inside of the darkened hallway.

Looks like the Arturo clan moves slightly quicker than anticipated...

“GHOST, ACE, THE PACKAGE IS secured and we’re coming in hot,” Slade says, updating his other teammates that they’re en route and they have company.

“Roger that. Trigger’s ready,” Jack voices.

Both snipers have already relocated to the south entrance of the compound and are ready to utilize their infamous sniper skills. They are completely camouflaged within the brush that surrounds the compound. Andrew and Jack observe four trucks heading towards the south entrance of the compound—each vehicle holding eight men and visibly armed with assault rifles—approximately eight hundred yards out.

“Alpha two, this is Black Mamba. Five frogs coming in hot with the package. Two will clear. Eagle Eyes requesting a decoy with an alternate location,” Andrew informs their ground transportation and gives them insight to their current situation. Shit isn’t going as planned, and in true SEAL fashion, they always find a way to work around it.

The snipers receive verification immediately. “Roger that, Black Mamba. Decoy is a go.”

“Alpha two is en route. Alternate decoy in place,” Andrew informs his team.

“Roger that, Ace. Medic needed for the packages,” Slade verbalizes as he follows behind Smith.

Nix clutches Sloan’s limp body tight in his arms as his combat boots make quick work of the tunnel. The sounds of the SEALs’ footsteps echo quietly off the murky, cement walls. More gunfire emanates from behind them as male voices shout in Spanish about the two missing females from cell five.

Both snipers continue to pick off any targets that reside on the outside perimeter with precision, doing their best to keep their Team’s exit path clear.

“Ghost, I’m on the move,” Andrew updates Jack as he leaves his camouflaged perch.

His medic skills are a dire necessity for Sloan’s survival. He reaches the Humvee that resides twenty feet from the south entrance without difficulty, his fellow sniper covering his back.

“You’re coming in hot, Black Mamba. Hit the ground running, boys. Your ground transport is twenty feet away,” Andrew voices to his Team once he’s inside the Humvee—ready and waiting.

Nix whispers into Sloan’s ear, “Stay with me, baby. Don’t give up.” Then he proceeds to throw her limp body over his shoulder so he can better access his weapon.

Julian tells Alejandra, “It’s going to get heated, doll,” and then continues to do the same—placing her body securely over his broad shoulders. With both women firmly in their strong hold, Nix and Julian grasp their M4s, prepared for their exit.

The five Black Mamba SEALs—along with two forms of female cargo—find their way out of the south entrance of the Arturo compound as gunfire continues to resonate behind them, each echoing shot moving closer. They find their new exit vehicle mere feet from the door. Jack continues to clear their path while all five SEALs climb in with Sloan and Alejandra in their protective hold.

“Go! Go! Go!” Rob shouts to their ground transport’s driver.

Jack stays back, continuing to pick off Hector’s men with ease while he patiently waits for the decoy. Once the real ground transport—containing all but one member of Black Mamba—leaves, the decoy pulls up. Two Marines hang out of the Humvee’s windows, clearing Jack’s path, as five of Hector’s men run out of the south entrance door with guns blazing. Bullets ricochet off the impermeable vehicle’s frame. The Marines handle them with ease, promptly putting a bullet into each of them within the blink of an eye.

The decoy drives away with the four trucks holding Hector Arturo’s men following ignorantly in their wake. They recklessly trail the wrong vehicle—under the impression that it holds their two hostages.

Arturo’s men obliviously head in the direction of fifty pissed-off Marines ready and waiting to go to war.

NIX HELPS ANDREW ADJUST SLOAN’S body in the back seat as the medic swiftly pulls supplies from his pack. Her life is in the balance, every shallow breath becoming weaker by the second.

“Check her pulse,” Andrew instructs Nix as he acquires intravenous access in her right arm.

Her veins are clamped down from her body’s visible state of shock. Her skin is cool and clammy to the touch; her normally olive complexion is ominously pale.

His fingers feel along her delicate neck, her pulse weak under his anxious fingers.