Chapter 206
Every fiber of my body is on fire and I am helpless, caught by the lightning, every muscle clenching and releasing, lights bursting behind my eyes, my hips thrusting against his mouth crazily as he sucks and licks and flicks with his tongue, driving the detonation inside me into ever more furious waves of o.r.g.a.s.m.
I cannot sustain this and go limp, unable to move, wrung into exhaustion. Hunter stops then, when I collapse. He rests his face against my hip, and I can feel the sweat smearing on his forehead. His body trembles.
I lean forward and pull at his arms. He crawls slowly back up next to me and then crashes to his back. He is gasping; sweat is pouring from his face, and his eyes are shut tight. His hands are fisted into the blankets.
I touch his chest. "Hunter? Are you okay?"
He nods. "Fine. Just...need a minute," he answers in English.
I can barely breathe, and I feel my eyes burning. I am still trembling, and even as I lie worrying about Hunter, an aftershock hits me, a mini-explosion rocking through me, and I curl against Hunter's side until it abates. His arm wraps around me, pulling against him. We shake and tremble together for long minutes.
My gaze roams his body, his thick muscles slack as the pain recedes, his stomach no longer heaving with every breath. My eyes catch on his groin. I can see his manhood outlined behind the b.u.t.tons of his pants. He is huge and hard. He adjusts himself with his hand, pus.h.i.+ng at his manhood through his pants, shoving it aside, one way and then the other, as if seeking comfort that will not come.
It is time to repay him. I touch his stomach, let my hand drift down, but he catches my wrist yet again. I meet his gaze.
"Why?" I ask, in English.
He responds in Arabic. "Not for me. Not this night. Another. Maybe." He kisses me softly. "This was for you. Only you."
His eyes betray the fact that he is still in agony, the lines of his forehead deep, the corners of his eyes wrinkled in focus. He twines our fingers together on his stomach, as if to a.s.sure himself that I will not try to touch him.
This really was a gift to me. He expects nothing in return. He put himself through unimaginable pain to give me pleasure, the greatest pleasure I have ever known, and will not let me do anything for him in return.
I cannot stop the sobs then. He is too much for me to bear. What will I do when he is gone?
Another thought strikes me, and this one is worrisome, making me sob uncontrollably: How will I work now? I have tasted heaven, and I cannot forget it. I have known the pleasure that is possible. It will be difficult.
No, it will be impossible.
I glance at Hunter. He is asleep, his handsome features relaxed. His forehead is still wrinkled with pain. I cannot stop my hand from touching his brow, smoothing the lines. I touch his cheek and marvel that one man can contain such fury as I saw when he fought Abdul, along with the tenderness with which he kisses me, the strength and stubbornness to refuse pain its paralytic hold over him. So many contradictions. I know he wants me. I see the way he looks at me. I sensed it when he touched me, when he kissed my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, when he moved over me to begin his journey downward. He denied himself pleasure, taking instead pain.
I let myself cry, pressing my cheek to his chest, away from the tender area where he was wounded, and eventually fall asleep, held close by Hunter's arms, contented, confused, awash with physical pleasure and emotional pain.
One last thought pierces the fog of impending sleep: Is this love?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
HUNTER.
I'm woken by a male voice shouting Rania's name. Rania, not Sabah. Before we can move, a familiar-looking young man appears in the doorway, heaving and sweating from extreme exertion.
Rania gasps, and I look at her. She's pale and visibly shaken.
"Ha.s.san?"
s.h.i.+t. That's her brother, whom we both thought was dead. Rania is still naked except for her miniskirt, and she's sitting up, bare nipples peaking in the cold air. Her brother halts in the door, stopped short by what he sees: his sister in the arms of an American soldier.
He starts jabbering in Arabic too swift for me to follow. Rania listens, clutching the sheet to her chest.
My heart is pounding, and I can feel adrenaline begin to rush through my system. My skin is p.r.i.c.kling, and my spine is s.h.i.+vering. I'm sweating, even though I'm cold in the early dawn.
Battle.
Rania tells me her brother is claiming that Abdul is coming to kill us. That evil f.u.c.king camel c.u.n.t who tried to rape Rania. He thinks he's gonna get revenge.
Fury boils through me.
There are nearly fifty men coming for us, Ha.s.san says.
I turn to Rania, who has put a s.h.i.+rt and shoes on. "Hide. Don't come out for anything. No matter what you hear, stay hidden. I'll come for you."
She shakes her head. "Hunter, you cannot do this." Her English is nearly unintelligible. "You are badly hurted. Please. Come with me. We run."
I s.n.a.t.c.h the rifle from Ha.s.san's hands, check the clip, and then limp out the door. My leg blazes with every hitched step, but I have no time for pain. "I'm not running, Rania. I'm a f.u.c.king Marine. Marines don't run."
Ha.s.san follows me, jabbering in rapid, angry Arabic. I don't catch any of it, but I'm guessing he's p.i.s.sed I stole his rifle. I swing around and face him. "Protect your sister. Hide her. Protect her."
"Give me my gun, American." Slowly-enunciated Arabic.
I hand him my knife. "Use this."
"Wait," Rania says. She comes out dragging a bundle wrapped in a sheet. "It is your weapons, Hunter. I did not know what to do with them, so I hid them."
I open the bundle to see my M16, spare clips, and body armor, which is battered and rust-red stained with my blood.
"f.u.c.k yeah," I say to myself. "Real gear."
I toss Ha.s.san his rifle back and strap the armor on over my wife-beater. My M16 could use some love, but there's no time for that. I can feel s.h.i.+t coming. My blood runs hot, ready for battle. I'm gonna f.u.c.king finish that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Abdul. He's dead-he just doesn't know it yet.
I feel a small hand on my arm, and Rania's breath on my neck. I
She gazes up at me, brown eyes liquid now, hot chocolate framed by loose blonde tendrils. "Please, Hunter. Come with me. Come away. There are too many. You are only one man. I...please." She presses her warm, soft lips to mine. Her next words are whispered. "I need you."
I'm rocked down to the core of my soul by her admission. She needs me?
I'm tempted. It would be easy to run.
But, tactically, I know better. They'll catch us. I can't run. I can ambush them, fight them door to door. Go down swinging. Give Rania a chance. I don't expect to make it through this, but I'll d.a.m.n well give it a try. Ooh-rah.
I don't know what to say to her. I'm in battle mode. Shut down. Hard. I'm not Hunter anymore. I'm Lance Corporal Lee, USMC. Semper Fi, b.i.t.c.hes.
I look down at her, brush a stray wisp of hair behind her ear with my forefinger. "It'll be fine. I promise."
She frowns and backs away from me. "Go, then." She seems angry. "Stupid men. Always wanting to fight."
She turns and runs, vanishes around the side of the mosque.
Ha.s.san laughs. "She is afraid for you, American. She is angry at me for becoming a soldier." His eyes are hard and challenging. "I have killed many of your kind."
I blink. "Just keep her safe."
He spits. "For once in my life, I will." And then he's gone, chasing after her.
Finally, I'm alone. I spin in place, looking for the best spot. There, a burned-out wreck of a car nudging into a wall on an angle, not far from an alley. Cover, and a retreat. I limp to it, hide in an agonizing crouch. I can see the road in both directions, and the alley behind me isn't a dead end. All I have to do is wait.
There, a dark face below the red and white of a keffiyeh. Wait for it. My finger twitches on the trigger, seeing the rifle in his hands, but I wait. Spring the ambush after they're committed. Two, three...six...ten. All in a line. I've got no grenades, nothing but my rifle and three clips. They're stopping, now, crowding around the mosque. I see Abdul, striding in the middle of a cl.u.s.ter of heavily armed thugs.
Now.
Crackcrackcrack. I drop two, wet spray, pink mist, red blooms on chests. I don't get Abdul, who ducks and runs as soon as the gunfire echoes.
Crackcrack...crackcrack...crackcrack. More drop, spreading red life into the dust. They can't see where I'm shooting from yet, so I keep firing. My bad leg is beneath me, screaming, my good leg supporting my weight, tensed, ready to propel me into flight when they catch sight of my muzzle burst.
They're dropping like flies. I don't miss. There are too many of them cl.u.s.tered in the street. They were expecting to ambush, not be ambushed. Thank f.u.c.k for Ha.s.san's warning.
Then they see me. Or rather, they see the flash of fire from my M16. I duck behind the rusted hulk of the car, listening to the metallic thunk and ping of bullets..h.i.tting the vehicle, the snap-buzz of rounds hissing past my ear. I shuffle sideways laboriously, s.h.i.+fting positions. My chest burns, still-healing muscles not ready to wield a rifle but given no other choice.
Hackhackhackhack...hackhackhack. A few rounds..h.i.t too d.a.m.ned close for comfort, plugging through the weakened, rusted, blackened metal. Time to move. I lurch to my feet and throw myself backward, firing into the ma.s.s. They're spreading out now, seeking windows and doors. I move down the alley, duck through a random door, and crawl out the window, ignore the huddled mother and children and aged grandmother in the corner. I flop to the ground roughly, cursing as I try to catch my breath. I roll to my stomach, gasping, panicked as my lungs struggle to release. I hear the m.u.f.fled sound of a round going past my face, roll again and again, lift the rifle and find the muzzle-burst, fire. Hit, wounding but not killing.
Then I hear a sound more welcome than anything I've ever heard in all my life: the answering crackcrack of M16s in the distance. Marines. I fire again, pinking an elbow sticking out from behind a wall.
Crackcrackcrack.
There, from the east. Now AK fire chatters up, individual rifle voices blending into a cacophony. I think I hear four rifles. One fireteam. There, there's the SAW, short coughing buzz-saw bursts. I could cry I'm so relieved. I make it to my feet, then duck again as bullets whine past my ear, reminding me I'm out in the open. I feel a stinging burn cut along my bare arm, a bullet scratching a red line. I run awkwardly, dragging my stiff leg behind me. I need to tie in with that fireteam.
I round a corner and have to scramble back. There's a cl.u.s.ter of rag-heads-I feel a twinge of guilt at the racial slur, thinking of Rania-insurgents gathered with Abdul in the center. They're surrounding a door, and there's a lot of shouting, rifles pointing, but no one is shooting.
I have to drag a hasty translation from my whirling head: Give her up, Ha.s.san-No! You're a devil, Abdul!-One last warning, boy...
They've got Rania and Ha.s.san cornered. f.u.c.king s.h.i.+tf.u.c.k. What do I do? I slip a fresh clip home, peer around the corner, count. Seven, plus Abdul.
M16s bark a few hundred yards away, answered by AKs and interrupted by the SAW, and then there's the glorious sound of an M203 coughing up a grenade, followed by the dull thunder of the explosion. An RPG, whistle-whoosh, boom. Not far away, moving this direction.
I have to fix this. Can't let that t.u.r.d-sucker Abdul get his filthy hands on Rania.
I lick my lips, drag a burning breath, knead the howling muscle of my injured thigh, wish this was over, wish I was still holding Rania's sweet soft naked body against mine in the gray dark of dawn.
No time for that, d.i.c.khead.
Roll around the corner, open fire, swing the barrel horizontally, spraying recklessly, against all training. Hose the f.u.c.kers down. Get them looking this way.
Bullet pluck at the stone wall and whizz and hiss-snap; that got their attention, I'm thinking. Wait...wait...drop to a knee, pivot, fire. Blood blossoms, Abdul is yelling, screaming orders. Need him to f.u.c.king die. f.u.c.king die, a.s.shat.
Yells in Arabic, curses, and insults are directed at me, and I realize I shouted that last out loud.
There's three left, plus Abdul. They're coming this way, crouching, firing, sneaking. Abdul has an AK held in one hand, the stock held across his forearm of the fingerless, bandaged hand. Be d.a.m.ned if he's not fairly accurate that way, too. I back away, knowing I can't win a four-on-one showdown in the open.
They round the corner just as I duck into a doorway, pressing my shoulder tight against the splintering wood. Hesitate, suck up my fear, push down the pain, teeth grinding so hard my jaw aches, sweat running down my face along with trickles of blood from where shards of bullet-sprayed stone peppered me.
Deep breath, roll out and fire, drop back. One down. They scramble back under cover. Roll out, suppressing fire, wait...glimpse a body as he peeks out, plug him with ugly holes, drop back behind cover.
New clip, last one.
My breath comes in grunting gasps. The pain is winning.
Cannot f.u.c.king give in. I grind my teeth and suppress a groan of agony.
I see Ha.s.san peek out the doorway, rifle barrel first. He creeps out into the road in a pa.s.sable tactical crouch, rifle against his shoulder but not tucked up, waiting for a target. I roll out, he sees me, I point at the dead-end alley where Abdul and the last one are waiting. He nods. I hold up two fingers, pat my shoulder to indicate rank, although I'm not sure if Ha.s.san will understand that. It was the gesture Rania first used. Ha.s.san shrugs, holds up two fingers. I mime cutting at my fingers with the knife edge of one hand, then make a fist, and Ha.s.san nods, comprehending.
I creep toward Ha.s.san and the alley mouth, muttering f.u.c.k under my breath with every step. Throbbing pain gouts through me with every motion, every breath, every step, every eye blink. I'm running on stubbornness now.
Abdul has to die before I'm allowed to collapse.
We rush the alley at once, together. Abdul is waiting for us, his last man standing next to him, holding Rania captive. The goon has his arm around her neck, one hand groping her breast greedily, the other pointing a pistol at her, near her, not pressed directly at her head.
It's a standoff. Ha.s.san has his rifle aimed at Abdul and I'm kneeling, my bead drawn on the other one.
Tense silence.
Ha.s.san s.h.i.+fts his feet, drawing the gaze of the man holding Rania. It's all the distraction I need.
Crack.
Rania bolts the instant she feels his grip loosen. A black hole blooms red in the center of his forehead. Rania is behind me now, Ha.s.san beside me.
Abdul doesn't even flinch. His rifle s.h.i.+fts between Ha.s.san and me, as if he can't decide who he's going to shoot first.
A real Mexican standoff.
Seconds stretch like taffy.
A shot blasts, deafening in the confined alley.
RANIA.
I see it happening. I see Abdul's finger tightening on the trigger. I do not know who he is aiming at, because Hunter and Ha.s.san and I are all close together now.
Ha.s.san moves like a serpent striking. He jumps in front of Hunter as the rifle goes off, and I see him jerk, jerk, jerk. Abdul is shooting wildly. I am on the ground, unhurt, watching helplessly. Ha.s.san is on the ground, too, but he is bleeding out into the dust. Again.
Hunter is moving, knife in hand, cras.h.i.+ng into Abdul. The black blade flashes and Abdul screams. Screams. Hunter growls like a feral animal, rabid and snarling, his blade is a claw and Abdul is dead and gurgling but Hunter does not stop, stabs, stabs, ripping, slas.h.i.+ng, killing the killed.