“I don’t like this,” I said as quietly as possible. Five seconds ticked by. Ten. Twenty. It seemed like Hawk was taking too much damn time. What the fuck?
Boom!
The bright flash was blinding, the force of the explosion tossing us into against the fence. Rattled, I surged forward on instinct until I realized the entire building holding the prisoners was on fire.
“Jesus!” I managed to say, every part of my body shaking.
“We have to get out of here,” Reaper added, scrambling toward Hawk.
“No. We go in!” Hawk insisted, struggling to get to his feet.
From several sides, I heard the sound of Afghan soldiers, their boots storming toward us. The crackling of wood and the hiss of the fire was paralyzing and for a few seconds, I was unable to move.
Reaper pushed me forward, his grip remaining on my shoulder. “Get it together, soldier.”
I instantly snapped out of my fog, jerking forward. There were screams coming from everywhere. As shots rang out, I could tell Hawk was going into the burning building. I raced toward him, yanking his arm. “No!”
“Let go of me,” Hawk yelled.
“We can’t get to him, Jake. He’s gone. We have to get out of here.”
“No. No!”
Boom… Whoosh!
Pop. Pop. Pop.
“No! Damn it, no…”
Chapter 13
Danni
Woof!
Gggrrr…
I jerked up, gasping for air and immediately reaching for the light on the nightstand. What the hell had I just heard? As the warm glow filtered into the room, I listened for any additional sounds just as Zorro jumped off the bed, racing toward the stairs. A moment of raw fear settled into my system as I jerked back the covers, trembling as I climbed out of bed. Damn it. I’d allowed the asshole to keep my gun.
There were no other loud sounds, although I could hear the dogs snorting and woofing. As least there were no additional growls. Moving toward the bathroom, I studied the open door leading to the hallway, hating the darkness.
I also loathed everything I’d said to Mustang, even though I’d been justified in doing so. Why couldn’t he believe or trust me? I threw on a robe, fighting my nerves as I walked out into the hallway. I glanced over the bannister, barely able to see anything downstairs. Everything was almost completely black, except for a slight highlight as if the fire was barely embers. I padded down the stairs, moving silently into the living room.
The sight of Mustang hunkered over on the floor, cradling both dogs in his arms, his back heaving from his ragged breathing cut a slice into my heart. What the hell had happened? Then I remembered the dream he’d had the night before. Swallowing hard, I walked further into the room, able to tell that he was extremely distraught. God, I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. He’d managed to grab a piece of my heart and letting go wasn’t that easy.
I crouched down near him, unable to tell if he noticed my presence. When I reached out tentatively, finally taking his hand into mine, I was surprised when he didn’t jerk it away. He continued to cuddle the dogs, refusing to look at me. I rubbed his fingers with my thumb, realizing that his hand was trembling. After at least two minutes passed by, I shifted gears, moving to add some pieces of wood to the fire. Now I was shaking, uncertain of how to deal with this.
While I wasn’t a medical doctor, I’d taken enough psychology classes to recognize PTSD when I saw it. Whatever he’d gone through was the reason for his night terrors. I eased back down on the rug, remaining close yet allowing him some space.
“I’m going to keep Rattler,” he said oh-so very quietly, his words so soft that I had to strain to hear him.
“I knew you would. I can tell how much you love him already.”
Another full minute of dead quiet passed, but at least his breathing had calmed. “He reminds me of a buddy of mine’s dog.”
“Hawk?”
“No, Hawk hasn’t decided to get a pup for his little girl yet, well, his niece but he’s now her guardian. It was a buddy we all went to boot camp with, and Snake and I even served a tour together. We ended up working out of the same base in Afghanistan years later as contractors, along with the other guys who were considered the bad boys of Montana.” He laughed bitterly, as if the memory was