Wicked Choice Page 10

  I turn to look back at Jerico. "Deal. Let's get started."

  Everyone starts chattering, and I vaguely hear a few people laying down bets. I glance across the table at Bodie, and he's staring at me. At first, I can't read a damn thing on his face, but I've spent a lot of time staring at it this past week. I've become adept at reading the nuances.

  It starts to become clear to me. He's frustrated my abilities are being questioned, and he's a little worried about something happening to me while out on the boat with no medical help. He's also burning with a need for me to avenge myself, all while being put out that he can't do it for me.

  It's a lot of fucking emotion brewing in him, but all I can do is give him a confident smile. His in return is tight and guarded.

  I want to tell him "I got this," but I'm not sure he'd believe me.

  "You okay?" Bodie asks with a quick glance as he pulls my Maserati into my driveway. He asks because the motion of the car is making me nauseous, which is in turn making me sweat and pant.

  "I'm fine," I say through gritted teeth as he brings the car to a halt. As soon as he puts it in park, I've got the passenger door open and I'm puking my guts up all over my driveway.

  Ten hot dogs and buns.

  Which means I throw up for quite a long time.

  I'm vaguely aware of Bodie standing just outside of the range of vomit, patiently waiting for me to get it all out.

  When I'm done, my head swims and I sit back in the car seat, breathing hard. My head rolls on the headrest, and I look at him balefully.

  He grins back. "You were fucking awesome."

  My smile is weak but genuine. "I was, wasn't I?"

  As expected, Sal creamed me in the knife throwing and I wiped the floor with him on the shooting range. When Jerico had twenty hot dogs brought in from Pink's and laid ten each out on opposite sides of the conference room table, my stomach started churning.

  Sal sat across from me, cracking his knuckles and already smiling in victory as he took in the pale green tint of my skin and the sweat beaded on my brow. Morning sickness really sucked ass. It hasn't been plaguing me too bad, and is easily controlled by nibbling on a few crackers, but ten greasy hot dogs?

  It may have been the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

  The competition was simple. Whoever could eat ten hot dogs in the fastest time was the winner. That meant fully swallowed, nothing left behind. There was also a five-minute puke clause added, where the hot dogs had to stay down that length of time to be declared the victor.

  Despite the nausea and violent need to hurl, I cleared my mind and swallowed hot dog after hot dog. All I could think about was taking Bodie's cock down my throat, and that had to have helped in some way. Sal still had half a hot dog left when I swallowed my last bite.

  It was agony waiting out that five minutes, and even when it was up and I was declared the winner and resounding leader of Team Two--Sal gave me a grudging handshake after--I still refused to puke.

  I did not, however, hesitate to ask Bodie to drive me home. I had some serious shakes by the time we got in my car, and I moaned and groaned all the way home.

  Right now, I'm feeling a little bit better. The fact Bodie thought what I did was awesome makes it an even better victory.

  "Thank you," I tell him softly, looking at him across my pile of vomit. "For defending me in there. Supporting me."

  "It's nothing," he says nonchalantly.

  "For trusting me to do my job," I add. That's really what I'm grateful for. "For not holding me back, even though I know damn well you're worried about me going."

  Bodie doesn't respond other than to wave his hand. "Come on. Let's get you out of the car and inside. Maybe some ginger ale for you."

  With a sigh, I swing my legs out and deftly sidestep the vomit. I'll come out later and rinse it off. When I meet him, I tug gently on the bottom of his t-shirt to get his attention. "No. Seriously. Thank you for not fighting me on going on this mission. For letting me do this. I know you could raise a stink about it, so I know you're taking a risk right along with me."

  "Doctor said you were cleared, right?" he asks, although he knows this is so. Dr. Anchors wrote a letter to Dr. McCullough, and it's in my employment file.

  I nod. "And I feel fantastic. Except for a little nausea. As long as I stash some saltines in my duffel when we leave, it will be fine."

  "Then there's no need to worry," he says lightly.

  None, I think to myself. Other than the fact I've had a miscarriage before.

  Dr. Anchors spent a lot of time telling me that meant nothing. He said most miscarriages are a one-time thing, and the majority of women go on to have healthy pregnancies after.

  I feel guilty because I've made a conscious decision not to tell Bodie about my miscarriage. I didn't feel it relevant after talking privately to Dr. Anchors, and I did it for a very selfish reason. I knew that Bodie would have increased worry if he knew. He might even fight me on going out on missions.

  So, I chose to keep that to myself and hope and pray for the best that this baby will continue to stay healthy and the pregnancy will be normal. There's going to be a time soon where I won't be able to go out on missions, so I want to take every opportunity to do so.

  I hope that doesn't make me a bad person, but I still have to preserve some part of myself because when this is all said and done, I'm going to lose a big part of me.

  CHAPTER 13

  Bodie

  There's a slight crackle of static in my earpiece before Benji's voice comes across. "We have a potential hostile bearing 325 at four nautical miles on course 180 at fifty knots. I want the team on the port side."

  "Shit," I mutter, but then state louder into the thin wire microphone that runs from my earpiece, along the bottom of my cheekbone and ends just before the corner of my mouth, "Roger that."

  The fact Benji has us moving to one side of the ship tells me that whatever they see on radar is of a size that worries them.

  Not a big boat.

  A smaller vessel that's traveling at a high rate of speed toward us.

  If these are pirates, they are in for a huge surprise when they get in range. The Thai shipping company that hired us for security has wised up after two of their tankers have been robbed in the last seven months. They've equipped their ships with expensive radars and badass security professionals with very big guns.

  This type of piracy is very sophisticated and has become a major criminal enterprise in Asia. Vessels like the one we're on with a low freeboard--the distance that separates the surface of the water from the top deck--makes it easy for a band of pirates to stealthily board an unsuspecting ship. Once the crew is overpowered and communications disabled, a larger boat is brought in to siphon off the black gold.

  Bad news for the pirates. This tanker isn't so unsuspecting anymore.

  I make it to the port side, noting Kara is already stationed at one of two Browning fifty caliber machine guns we have temporarily mounted on each side of the ship. She nods at me while double checking the ammunition belt, which is equipped with tracers so the pirates can see the bullets coming in the dark of the night.

  My adrenaline spikes, and a pleasantly antsy feeling makes my heart beat a little faster. These are the situations I love best when I'm working with The Jameson Group.

  I turn away from Kara and head toward the bow, where another gun is mounted. Merrit will be on that one. I'll patrol in between with my night-vision goggles, reporting to Benji who is in the control room with the captain.

  A door to my left bursts open, startling me for a moment before I realize it's Rachel. She's got her M27 automatic rifle strapped over her shoulder and a pistol holstered at her hip. She looks bright eyed, even though I know she was sleeping soundly not fifteen minutes ago when I did a quick check on her. She's on day shift and I'm on night, so we've not seen each other much the last two days.

  "What are you doing up here?" I ask.

  "I heard Benji on the comms. Figur
ed I'd come lend a hand. Sal and Cage are coming up, too."

  "We've got it covered," I tell her curtly.

  Her chin jerks inward, and she blinks at me in surprise. "You got it covered? Since when does any teammate refuse another's help?"

  "Since we have two Browning's that we'll unload on them before they can get anywhere close to this ship," I tell her confidently. "Once they realize we're armed, they're going to turn tail and run."

  Rachel narrows her eyes somewhat. "If that's the case," she says slowly as she removes her rifle from her back and sets it against the wall. "No sense in me lugging this around. But I think I'll just stay and watch for funsies."

  "Rachel," I say in exasperation. "Go back to bed. Get some rest. You have a shift starting in about four hours."

  "Not tired," she says stubbornly. "I'll just hang with you guys and watch the action. The tracers are pretty at night."

  Frustration hits me hard, followed by an anxious squeezing to my chest. "I don't want you up here--"

  Rachel's eyes flash with fury. "You don't want me up here?"

  I refuse to answer, setting my jaw into a stubborn clamp of tightness.

  "What is it, Bodie?" she asks sarcastically. "Getting on the bandwagon with your other buddies who think I'm inferior now that I'm pregnant? Think my emotions might overwhelm me? Make me a danger to you?"

  "That's not what I'm--"

  She rolls right over me. "Or maybe it's just that I'm a woman? Not quite as strong as you. Is that it?"

  "No, Rachel," I say angrily. My blood boils that she would even think that.

  "Oh, I know," she says, getting in my face. "It's because I'm your brood mare, isn't it? Got your baby inside of me, and you want that precious cargo tucked--"

  My hands shoot to the sides of her head, and I take in her wide eyes and the little "o" her mouth forms into. I press my thumbs under her jaw to close her mouth, and yank her to me so my face is hovering right over hers. "I don't want anything to happen to you. It's got nothing to do with your abilities or the pregnancy. It's about you, you dumbass."

  She blinks at me in confusion.

  Again, she blinks.

  She stays silent. Thank fuck for that.

  "I would worry about you," I continue in a gentler tone. "And that would make me ineffective."

  "But there's no danger," she says in a raspy voice, her jaw working against the pressure of my thumbs. I release my hold on her and take a step back.

  "If they have guns like ours," I say in a defeated voice. "Then there's great danger."

  "I'm more than capable--"

  "It only takes one stray bullet," I cut her off. With a sigh I lean over and pick her gun back up. I push it at her, and she takes it almost reluctantly. "But I also know that it's wrong of me to ask you to go hide just to appease me. This is what you do, Rachel."

  Her eyes hold mine, and I wonder if she's actually going to appease me and go below. The moment is broken when Benji comes across our comms. "Suspected hostile a mile out, course unchanged. Take positions."

  There's no time to debate this further with Rachel. Cage and Sal come out of the same door that Rachel had just a few moments ago. She orders them to position as backup to Kara and Merrit on the port guns.

  Before she turns to leave, she reaches a hand out and touches the back of mine briefly.

  "Stay safe," she murmurs.

  "You too."

  Then she's gone.

  The blaring of the ship's horns--two long blows--is the indication to the crew that danger is approaching, and they are to get below deck. There's a scrambling around of the few night-shift members, but it doesn't take a lot to run a small tanker like this. There are only twelve crew members, and they'll all be below to minimize injuries. The exception is the captain and navigator, who will stay in the control room with Benji. If pirates were somehow to make it past us, there's a fifth Browning in there set up on a tripod aimed at the door. No one is getting in without Benji's say-so.

  I see the light of the speeding boat just before Benji announces, "Two thousand yards out. Merrit and Kara... at your will."

  The approaching boat is closer to the stern, which is Merrit's gun. It's coming at a high rate of speed with no signs of slowing, so it's clear their intentions are nefarious. As such, Merrit doesn't wait. He lets loose, the booming noise of the machine gun drowning out everything. Tracers light up the bullets' trajectories, helping Merrit to keep his aim just short of the approaching boat. At the same time, Kara lets loose a volley of bullets, spraying the water from bow to midship, letting the approaching pirates know we're heavily armed.

  I stand braced, my own M27 trained on the boat. I want to look to my right, lay my eyes just briefly on Rachel to know exactly where she's positioned, but I can't.

  The ear-splitting bursts of rounds lasts no more than ten seconds in totality, but it's enough that the approaching speedboat now five hundred yards out swings hard to the right, throwing a wave of seafoam outward at the abrupt maneuver. For a moment, I think the boat might tip over. It's close enough to the lighting of the tanker that I can make out perhaps ten men on board, some with rifles. They grab hard onto railings so as not to pitch over the side, and while I can't quite make out the detail, I suspect their faces are masks of fury and frustration they won't be sacking this vessel.

  Within moments, the boat is out of sight and soon out of earshot. Benji will be watching it carefully on radar, but I seriously doubt they'll be coming back. If they had weaponry to rival ours, we'd have seen it. Besides, they have to know we have radar capabilities by how quick we were to defend our space.

  Yeah... pretty sure these pirates are just shit of out luck when it comes to this tanker. I expect the added benefit to tonight's attempted raid is that word will pass that this shipping company has put the money into security and won't be trifled with. The pirates will move on to a weaker prey, but I'm betting more and more companies will be hiring companies like Jameson to escort them through dangerous waters.

  "Hold positions," Benji instructs over the comms, but that was unnecessary chatter. It's protocol to do so after an aborted attack, just in case they make a quick turnaround for a foolish second run.

  To my surprise, Rachel slings her rifle over her shoulder and comes walking my way. She's technically not on duty. Had Benji needed her, Cage, and Sal, he would have called them up.

  I hold my place against the railing at midship although I harness my rifle as well.

  "That was exciting," Rachel says drolly when she reaches me. She leans her hip against the rail, resting her arm on the top. The swishing sound of sea spray as the tanker cuts through the water is almost relaxing in a way, particularly now the adrenaline has waned.

  "For Merrit and Kara at least," I reply. "They got to fire the big guns."

  She doesn't respond, but looks out over the black water. I turn my head that way as well.

  "I don't think we should go on ops together," I tell her carefully.

  Rachel shrugs. "It's not like I have many more to go on. I'm sure Kynan will cut me out after the first trimester is up. He won't have any problem assigning us to different teams."

  "Just the really dangerous stuff," I clarify. Because fuck if I can concentrate on what I'm doing if I'm worried about her. I hated admitting that to her, but she sort of forced it from me.

  "I understand," she replies quietly, still looking out over the water. "But concert security isn't so dangerous, right?"

  Chuckling, I turn to look at her. The breeze is whipping the shorter locks of her hair that have fallen out of her little ponytail. "No, I wouldn't worry about you quite the same providing concert security versus going up against pirates."

  "I'm sorry you worry about me," Rachel says, taking a step in closer to me. "I wish you wouldn't."

  I don't even need special skills at reading between the lines here, because her meaning is blatantly clear.

  What I'm sure she really means is, I'm sorry you worry about me because I just don'
t really feel the same about you.

  While Rachel has warmed up to me tremendously over the last three weeks, I still know that this will never be anything more than what it is right now. We're sharing an experience--childbirth--and because we're wildly attracted to each other, we're using the baby as an excuse to continue fucking each other. I know damn well had Rachel not gotten pregnant, we would have never hooked up again. We barely spoke to each other unless it was work related in those weeks in between the first time we were together and when she found out she was pregnant.

  I don't respond to her last statement. No need to. I'm not going to stop worrying, and she's not going to stop wanting me not to worry. Instead, I nod back toward the door that leads below deck. "You should go get some sleep. Your shift will be here before you know it."

  As if the mere suggestion of sleep hits her body in a physical way, she gives a long yawn followed by a sheepish grin. "Yeah... I could use a little more sleep. Call me if the pirates come back."

  I laugh and shake my head. "You know that I will not do. I hope you sleep through any potential attack that may come."

  Rachel then does something so uncharacteristic I almost doubt I'm seeing it. She wrinkles up her nose and sticks her tongue out at me like a petulant five-year-old. It's fucking adorable, but before I can even laugh, she's spins around and heads for the door.

  I take a few moments to admire her ass as she walks away from me. It's a great ass... round and toned. I wonder how her body is going to be changing over the next few weeks. It won't be long before that flat tummy gets a little bump going, and the thought of it turns me on.

  What a fucking perv I've turned into, but I can't be too abashed. Everything about Rachel Hart turns me on, and it did long before I ever fucked her. I've always had the hots for her like every other dude at Jameson. I'm just the lucky bastard who is currently fucking her, and fucking her exclusively.

  It will totally suck when it's over.

  And it would be over. There is simply no way I can make it work--being a single father and leading this type of career. In fact, as soon as we make it past the twelve-week mark, I plan to tell my parents about what's going on. They'll need to get ready for their oldest son to move back home. The farmhouse is big and sprawling, but even I know it's going to be a tight fit with the baby and me in there along with everyone else.