Aarabelle
It’s never the best-case scenario. I learned that in training and in preparing for what wassupposed to betomorrow’s mission. In the cover of night, we’d take the Zodiacs, the smaller, rubber boats from our ship and board the pirate ship. Intelligence determined that’s their busy time so they wouldn’t be on alert and we’d have the element of surprise.
Now we’re hanging out somewhere near worst-case scenario, in a delicate balance of kill, but not all the way, because we need things from them. I grabbed my boot from medical, wiggled my foot in and ran up the stairs, the searing pain starting at my ankle and ripping up my leg is all but forgotten when I round to starboard. They’re on the ship. I don’t have time to think about who fucked up—who wasn’t on top of their game. To allow this to happen means something fantastically awful and negligent has taken place. Thisismy first rodeo and that fact is evident to me. I don’t have my sidearm. I have a knife in my pocket that I slip out and open as my heart drops nearly all the way to my feet. Hand to hand combat isn’t something a SEAL ever hopes for. It’s for when all other options have been exhausted. My first and only option is the last option. My pulse thumps against my neck as I press myself against the hull before I’m noticed.
I lay a hand on my chest and take a moment to compose myself as I rationalize what will happen next. The snipers should be getting into position right now. I look at my watch and begin to count seconds. Then I peer around as slowly as I can manage and hear three men speaking Zulu. I can understand bits and pieces from my studies, but there’s no way I can speak it to negotiate. Plus, there’s the unfortunate fact I’m a woman. Fat chance of any peaceable encounter right now. At the mere thought of my gender, I worry for Marissa. The pirates we’re tracking are kidnap-for-ransom villains. With the money they receive in ransom, they fund underground crime rings. Marissa would be a prime target as a female.
Mossimo and Babe creep up next to me. I’ve never felt such relief.
“How many?” Babe whispers, his bushy brows knit together with extreme focus.
As I hold up three fingers, he eyes the knife in my hand and raises one brow. Sliding a hand down his leg he comes up with his spare sidearm and passes it to me. I rescind what I just thought, the heavy metal in my hand brings the most relief I’ve ever felt. I mouth a thank you, but he’s not watching me, he’s listening to the pirates with a stoic professionalism. A day at the office. That’s what it is for him and Mossimo. Practiced. The admiration is truly something that brings me the strength I need right now. I tell them positions and give details like they’d expect from me. I’m their officer. Even if I’m flailing inside, I’m ready to fight.
Finally, our snipers fire off a warning shot from above. I close my eyes and wait for Babe’s count. The shots serve two purposes. To let the pirates know shit is about to get real, and also as a signal for the rest of us. As we count down from ten, bits and pieces of my life flash. All the things I’d want to keep if I had a choice. Liam bouncing me on his knee when I was four. One of my first memories of him. Most dads play pony with their children on their knee. We played battleship as I fired from my finger guns at approaching enemies. Then another of my brother Shane falling down on the driveway. He stood up with a bloody mouth and only wanted me even though our parents were sitting feet away. Shane. My chest pierces as I think of never seeing him again. My dad always treated us equal even though Shane was his biological child. The memories speed up, in a flash flood of light and happiness.
Babe’s whispered count finishes and we round the corner to find the three men waiting for us. My gaze locks on the pirate I’m to subdue. They said that women can’t separate emotions from action. That we’d fail in spur-of-the-moment decisions because we’re too emotional. Maybe part of that is true. Maybe it’s why I’ll be a more fluid operator. Letting that cloud my judgment now isn’t an option, though. I don’t meet the guy’s eyes. I watch his hands and see he’s unarmed, at least at this moment. Babe already has his guy in a headlock and is guiding him away from the edge of the boat where further potential threats lurk.
The guy watches warily, noticing the gun by my side. He reaches a hand under his oversized t-shirt and pulls out an AK. The second I identify the gun, I know my small sidearm doesn’t stand a chance. I lunge forward quickly and kick the gun out of his hand. He didn’t expect me to move. He expected me to raise my gun. It slides across the deck, spinning. Mossimo already secured his target so there’s no one to grab the weapon. My goddamn ankle throbs with pain as I pop up to stand in time to take a punch to the face. Staggering backward a few steps, the blackness sweeps violently, but I regain my footing. My gun is no longer in my hand, so I hammer back, leaning all my weight into the punches.
A SEAL sniper bullet whizzed by my head and a rush of panic sets in as the pirate takes out my feet and I hit my back. He’s on top of me, his weight bearing down.
Blood trickles down from my nose. I swallow and the iron burns my throat. Another bullet slices the air above us. I need to get him standing.
And because I’m a woman and I’ll always use what I have to, I slide my knee up and drive it into his balls as hard as possible. He buckles forward and I roll from under him as he stretches out a hand to grab my foot.
I take my knife out of my pocket and flick it open. There’s no more fumbling, even though I can’t feel my foot anymore. Pulling him to stand, I angle the knife under his neck with my right hand and hold his hair with my left.
Then I turn to face the boat to see if I can glimpse my teammates from above.
* * *
Luke
I’m fucking up left and right. Dagger is cussing at me. Hoffer, also a sniper, looks at me like I’ve gone fucking mad. I think I am a little mad right now. I’m watching Aara wrestle a bad guy through the scope of my rifle. She’s bleeding. She’s injured. I want to run down and save her, but that’s not how this works. Not in a well-oiled machine where we all have individual roles just as important as others. Pirates are on the stern, too. The fight rages on all sides. I can’t control my breathing. I feel like I’m out of my body, but I’ve also never felt so realized. What I stand to lose is taking my breath away. Literally. In every possible way.
“Take the shot,” Dagger hisses. “It’s clear.”
It’s my target. I shouldn’t have missed the first two times.
My hand is shaking, pointer finger trembling. “I’ll miss.” I could hit her, is what I mean. Dagger knows it.
Hoffer clears his throat, his impatience growing with my fucking obsession.
“Take the motherfucking shot right now. She’s literally got him in perfect position,” Dagger replies. She does. I have no idea how she managed to give me a better shot. She’s a fucking operator under pressure. I’m a mess. “Unless you want her to have to slit his throat with her pocketknife. Jesus, Hart. Grow a fucking pair and protect your teammate.”
He should have pulled the trigger at my first hesitation. I think Dagger is proving a point that I’m an ineffective operator when Aarabelle is involved. That I’m tainted. Worthless in love. Even more worthless without it. A liability.
Aara’s gaze seems to meet mine, even though I know it’s impossible. It’s a fucking gun scope. Not my eyes against hers. They’re pleading, then something changes—a hardening realization. Aara slits his throat, one hard yank with a knife issued for camping, from ear to ear. I cough on a breath as his body falls to the deck, a dark red puddle forming around his head. She’s staring straight ahead, breaths jagged as she turns her gaze behind her to where the pirates boarded. Another climbs up, peeking his head above the bottom railing. She throws her arms out to the side and screams. “Come get me.” She shakes her head, dripping knife shaking in her right hand. “I’m a woman. An easy target.” The man must see his friend splayed out below her because he tries to lower himself.
I pick him off quickly. A straight shot to his head. He disappears, falling back down below. Aara staggers backward, her injured ankle visible from here. “She’s hurt.” My voice cracks. “Badly.”
“That didn’t stop her from getting the job done,” Hoffer mutters.
The second alarm sounds to signal clearance of ship.
Dagger chuckles, standing. I face him, trying to control the emotions roiling through my body. He punches me in the face. Not as hard as he could have. Because he is my best friend, after all. But hard enough to know I fucked up hardcore. I deserved it. I wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth and look at it as he walks away from me shaking his head.
“You don’t deserve her, you weak motherfucker.” He tosses the words over his shoulder like a curse.
