Julie Walker - Hell for Leather

She wasn’t being selfless. She was simply being realistic. If the terrorists found and used nuclear bombs on American soil, World War III would soon follow. The U.S. government would unleash hell on one faction after another, one rogue nation after another, allies would come to the aid of allies until the whole world was in flames. And it all, everything , hinged on this one moment. On two people being able to stay strong. Stay…silent. Endure.

“I am waiting, Theodore,” Qasim sing-songed, removing his hand from her shirt. She huffed out a soft breath of relief, but the feeling was short-lived. Because Qasim drew back his hand and punched her left breast. The blow was enough to knock her from her kneeling position, her ass landing on her ankles and driving her shin bones into the cool, wet rock.

Again, she had to bite into the gag to keep from crying out. Pain buffeted her from all directions. It was searing, relentless, savage. And she knew it was about to get worse.

Her uncle’s furious yell rang in her ears like a death knell. The sound of his boots scrabbling against the stone and echoing around the cavern was macabre as he fought to free himself from the man holding him. But he was far too weak to manage anything more than ineffectual struggles. And when she pressed herself back up to her knees, lifting her chin—they could beat her bloody, but she promised herself she would not yield; she would never yield—she saw the tears streaming down her uncle’s battered face. Her thundering heart ached for him, bled for him. Then the organ slowed and stopped altogether when his look of anguish slid into one of desperate indecision.

Oh, God. No! She tried to shake her head, but the hand in her hair precluded the moment. “Don’t tell,” she garbled around the gag. “Uncle Theo, don’t tell.”

Her head was wrenched back and a traitorous squeak of misery slipped from her ravaged throat. She squeezed her eyes closed, felt hot tears seep from the corners.

“Sorry,” she heard her uncle choke, and her eyes shot wide, her breath shuddering from her lungs. No. Surely he wouldn’t…

The man with his fist in her hair allowed her to lift her chin, and she did so with trepidation. She didn’t want to see defeat in her uncle’s eyes. She didn’t think she could stand watching him surrender. But one quick glance at his beloved face, one swift look into those blue eyes she’d always adored, and she knew…

Her uncle wasn’t apologizing for giving in to the terrorists. He was apologizing because he wasn’t giving in to them. He was apologizing because he knew they were both going to die here today. And he was apologizing for the pain they were both going to suffer beforehand.

She’d never been prouder of the man than she was in that moment. It took everything she had to hold back the sob burning like a bonfire in her throat. And she couldn’t hold back the tears continuing to stream down her face, soaking into the salty gag and stinging her split lip. But she raked in a deep breath and managed around the gag, “Love you.”

His chest quaking, his face crumpling as he sobbed uncontrollably, her uncle nodded. And then, three precious words… “Love you, too.”

Qasim threw back his head and bellowed his fury to the ceiling. He’d been watching the exchange. He knew what’d just passed between them. He understood the pact they’d made. Delilah’s entire being, body, spirit, and mind, trembled at the terrible sound of rage as it echoed around the cavern. She’d never heard anything like it. It was awful. Obscene. She closed her eyes against it. Wished she could close her ears against it.

And then, as quickly as it began, it ended. Like a switch had been flipped.

She swallowed, glancing up to find Qasim staring at her.

Evil… Again, the word whispered through her head. Then Qasim snarled something to the men holding her. She didn’t understand it, but then he translated, “I told them to throw you to the ground so I can fuck you bloody.”

Her uncle howled and struggled against his captor. She kicked and bucked as two sets of hard, bruising hands pushed her to the floor. The bones in her tied arms cried out as the appendages were smashed between her back and the rock. A knee landed on her chest, digging into her breastbone, making it impossible to breathe. Cruel fingers bit into the skin of her thighs, wrenching them wide. The tart smell of unwashed male bodies tunneled up her nose, causing her to gag.

She crushed the cloth between her teeth with such force her jaws popped. But she didn’t make a peep. She refused to—

BOOOOOMMMM!

The explosion was tremendous. Thunderous. It shook the earth.

A split second later, the knee was gone, the hands were gone. Bodies fell around her, slamming into the cavern floor with disgusting-sounding thumps and crunches . Confused, disoriented, she dragged in a shuddering breath, staring up at the ceiling, at the golden light playing with the shadows.

Wha —

And then she could hear the hollow thud of boots against stone, the steady beat of running feet. The sound was distant, empty, competing with the ringing in her ears. She turned her chin, blinking, trying to make sense of the scene laid out before her. The four terrorists were sprawled around, dead to a man, blood pooling beneath their heads.

And then she knew. It hadn’t been one massive explosion; it’d been four simultaneous ones. Four shots from four guns that had instantly taken out the threat. And, sweet Jesus! Was it over? Could it really be over?

The sobs shuddering in her chest broke free as she finally allowed the shock and the terror and the pain to pour from her.

“Delilah!” She heard her name. Heard his voice.

“Mac!” she tried to yell, but the only sound to issue from her throat was a pitiful, hiccupping wail.

“Delilah!” And he was there, beside her, gathering her up in his arms, peppering her face with kisses, reaching around to undo the gag. He crushed her to him, burying his nose in her neck—God, he smelled good. Like Mac—and that’s when she saw it.

Movement…

The terrorist closest to them, the one who’d had his fist in hair. He was reaching for the pistol tucked in his waistband, the deep bloody furrow along his temple proof he’d only been grazed.

“Mac!” she screamed, bucking in his embrace, her hands still tied behind her back.

Later she would marvel at Mac’s speed, at the battle-honed reflexes that allowed him to raise his gun, aim, and fire all in a split second. But right then she was too busy wincing at the deafening roar of his Glock, at the bright flash as the bullet left the muzzle, at the hot spray of blood that landed on her arm and leg when the terrorist’s skull exploded like an overripe melon.

No one moved for a beat. The shock of it all overwhelming. Then Mac recovered and yelled over his shoulder, “Somebody bring in a stretcher!” before gathering her shaking form close once again, murmuring, “Shh, now, darlin’. I gotcha. It’s all over…”

Northwestern Memorial Hospital

Chicago, Illinois

Delilah turned from her uncle’s bedside and gifted Mac with an ear-to-ear smile. He felt the jaws of a trap—one that was both deadly and strangely alluring—closing around him.

In the forty-eight hours since the spooks choppered them to a farmer’s field just outside the city, then loaded them into an SUV for a quick ride to the hospital, Mac had had to tell the story of the “backwoods car wreck” that caused Theo and Delilah’s injuries a total of one time…to the attending ER physician when they first arrived. That’s it. Just the once. Explanation…swallowed whole. It was almost as if he heard an audible gulp .