Scorch: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance (Military Bad Boy Romance) (4 page)

Oh yeah,
there
she is. Fuck, she looks even better from down here. I grin as I start to make my way around the pool, already musing over all the wickedly sinful things I’d love to do with this girl. But I barely make it five steps before something pings at my brain, and I stop cold.

There are thing being a soldier does to you. Well for one, my social graces are absolute shit. But more importantly, you see things before you'd
normally
see them. Most people wouldn't
see
the two black SUVs screech to a halt next to the hotel. Most people wouldn't
see
the five guys in black suits pour out of them, or maybe even find it strange that anyone in this fucking beach-side paradise would be wearing
black suits
at all.

But the, I’m not most people. Years of fighting in that piece of shit desert with the Spanish Legion, and then chasing the coin through the mercenary circuits of Africa have taught me one thing: that annoying voice in your head? Yeah, you should listen to that asshole as often as you can.

My first thought is that they're here for me, and as my pulse roars in my ears, I'm already turning to run. It isn't the first time, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. But when I glance back, I realize that they don't even see me, and in half a second, the puzzle comes together. They're moving like a slow-motion black wave towards the pool area, and every single one of their sunglass-covered eyes is
right
on
her
.

They’re after the blonde.

Time freezes for a second as I step back into the shadows, my eyes darting between the girl and the men she’s clearly not even aware of who are quickly making their way right for her with weapons drawn. She's still reading her book, her legs curled up underneath her, a small smile on her face as she grins at something in the pages. She reaches up and brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ears and just looking so fuckin perfect and innocent.

Walk away, you fucking idiot.

I grit my teeth, trying to shove that voice in my head away. I’ve done some truly horrible shit in this life. I've hurt, I've stolen, I've blackmailed and cheated; I've killed. I'm a bad, bad man.

But I'm not a monster; as much as I want to be one in that moment.

I know I
should
walk the hell away right then. I don’t know what the hell this cutie did to piss these guys off, but it’s
not
my fight; that much I know. I’m a Goddamn fugitive, I’m here
illegally
,
and I’ve got three stolen credit cards and an unlicensed gun on me. Now is
not
the fucking time to play hero for the first time in my life.
 

But my gun is out of the waist of my shorts and in my hand before I even know it. God, or fate, or karma didn't give me this freedom for me to sit back and let the world happen like this. This is my shot to do something different, right? I mean thats the whole point of being "saved"; so you can do good, right?

Yeah, growing up Catholic fucks with your head sometimes. Or maybe I’ve seen too many movies.

In any case, the world slows to a crawl as I look up again to see the men have hit the fence by the pool. One of them is throwing his shoulder against the gate, and its as they start to pour through, she finally looks up.

Her book drops to the ground, and she's lunging to her feet and reaching for her bag. The men are shouting and raising their guns, and its about to go down. And all I’d have to do is walk away. All I’d need to do here is step back into the shadows and go on with being Javier Toro; escaped prisoner, war vet, mercenary, general piece of shit bad guy.

Yeah, fuck that.

The gun feels almost weightless in my hand as I raise it, the thundering of the chamber seemingly muffled as I level it at the men and start to empty the clip at them.
 

And Total. Fucking. Anarchy. Ensues.

The men scatter, ducking back for cover as I fire away, my lips tight as I move towards the, I’m sure, terrified blonde girl. I grab her by the arm and yank her behind me, pushing her back towards the other exit to the pool as I jerk my arm back up and fire a few more shots into the group of men.

“Go! Move!” I’m yelling as I grab her hand and start running towards the dock of the hotel marina, ignoring the way she's screaming at me as I calmly reload the one backup clip from my pocket and turn back to train the gun on the gate to the pool.
 

Just try and follow, fuckers.

They’re firing back as I shove her back behind me again, backing us onto the docks. She’s hitting me and yelling at me, and the spray of metal clanging off the side of the dock next to us sends a jolt of adrenaline through me;
fuck
, I kind of missed this.

But then something happens. The screaming girl I can ignore, but it's when I feel the press of cold steel into my back that she has my
absolute
attention.
 

What the fuck is happening?

"Javier Toro, you're under arrest by the United States of America. Drop your
fucking
gun, and get on your knees."

I whirl on her in a flash, and it’s only then that the last puzzle piece falls into place.

Holy fucking shit.

We’ve never met, but that doesn’t matter because I know exactly who she is. In fact, there’s no way I
couldn’t
know her. Nine months ago in another lifetime, her older sister plunged a surgical scalpel three inches into my neck and put me as close to death as I’d ever like to be.
 

Chelsea Archer, all young blonde blue-eyed little co-ed in a bikini, is in full-on firing stance with a nine millimeter pointed right at my chest.

I repeat:
what the fuck is happening?

My pulse is racing a mile a second as I squeeze the gun harder in my hands.

Don't let it shake. Shaking shows nervousness and you can't show them anything but cold-hearted killer. You got that?

Yeah, I got that. Training is drilled into your head with the Agency, but training is
nothing
like standing in front of a target with the weight of a loaded gun in your hand. The rush I expected, but the sheer
hit
of adrenaline that courses through me has me fighting to keep my body from shaking with every ounce of my being.

Javier Toro; the devil himself is standing three feet in front of me, staring me in the face like he can't quite believe what’s happening.
 

"I said drop it!" I yell, flashing my eyes at him and tightening my grip on the gun; "
Now!
" You're supposed to give one, maybe two warnings; then you shoot.

I'm not so sure I'm ready for that part.

"
Now, Jav-"

The dock next to us explodes in splintering spray of wood, and I whirl away, covering my face. I look up to see the men from the pool, the men with the guns, barreling towards us.

Javier’s men.

It’s a moment of chaos, which I know is exactly what he's waiting for.

I whirl back to him, my gun raised; "I said on your
knees
, Javier!"

He looks at me wildly; "Are you fucking crazy!?"

"Now-"

His gun is up, and it's right at me; "Look, I saved your ass back there, princess, but I am
walking
away from this,
right
now."

I shake my head, trying to meet his eyes instead of the barrel of the gun pointed right at my face. It’s a surreal standoff, eye to eye and gun to gun with Javier on this dock while a small army of men with guns runs towards us.

"I'm taking you-”

Bullets rake the side of the dock next to us, and suddenly, Javier lunges.

I'm pulling the trigger, but his grip is firm as he shoves my hand back and away from him as we both tumble backwards. I gasp as the gun falls from my hand into the water as we topple back into a rubber dingy anchored to the dock.

"Did you just try and fucking
shoot me?!"

His face is livid, and before I can say anything, he raises his gun. I do flinch this time, shrieking as I close my eyes at the sound of him firing. But he's not shooting me, he's shooting
them
.

Ok seriously, what the
hell
is going on here?

Javier moves like lightening. He's got the rope off the cleat on the boat and the engine roaring before I even know whats happening; "Drive, Archer!” He shouts, standing to raise his gun at the men at the end of the dock.
 

Bullets pepper the water around us as I stare at him; "What?!"

“
Drive the fucking boat!
” He screams at me, ducking as another wave of bullets flies our way.

I'm grabbing the outboard motor and jolting us forward so fast that Javier tumbles back into the boat as we roar off into the marina; “Where the hell are we going?" I scream at him, still eyeing the gun in his hand.

Javier looks up, his eyes wild as he scans the marina, before they narrow; "There." He's pointing to a mid-sized luxury yacht at anchor.

"What?"

"That one."

"That one,
what
?"

"Thats the boat we're stealing."

I start to slow the engine, but he whirls back to me; "You want to die here in Aruba, princess?"

Not really.
 

"No."

"Ever been in a fucking gunfight before?"

I scowl at him; "I've had
plenty
of training in-"

"So yeah, that's a no then?"

My eyes narrow at him, but I don't; answer.

Javier’s eyes dart to the men running onto the dock behind us; “Get us to the boat, spy-girl, or we're toast.”

*****

"Nice driving, princess," He mutters as we clamber up the stairs of the yacht's back landing.

"Will you
stop
calling me that!" I say, snapping at him.

He whirls; "Well that
is
what you are, isn't it? Daddy's little princess? Heir to the fucking Archer throne?" I can feel my face going pale as I stare at him, all the while watching his grin get wider; "Yeah, I know who you are,
Chelsea
.”

His accent is thickly Latin; all smoke and espresso and liquor. It’s salsa dancing and late, dangerous nights.

It’s also the voice of the man who almost destroyed my life, and that’s as raw and dangerous as it gets.

My eyes drop to the gun in his hand, suddenly tensing as the reality of this insane situation starts to really sink in. He looks at me questioningly before he follows my gaze. Quickly, he puts the safety on the gun and tucks it into the back of his shorts.
 

"You're welcome, by the way."

I frown; "Excuse me?"

"For saving that cute princess ass of yours, baby."

"You didn't-"

"Oh, seriously?" He rolls his eyes at me as he turns and marches toward the main cabin.
 

"Hey! Get back here!” I stomp after him, my eyes darting around the boat for
something
to stop him with. This whole thing was
planned
, down to the letter. I spent three days straight figuring every angle, every exit, and every variable of this whole thing.