ROMANCE: BIKER ROMANCE: Werewolf Rider (MC Shifter Pregnancy Romance) (New Adult Paranormal Romance Short Stories) (121 page)

“Right.” The other two agree.

Storm radios the rest of his team, and has them enter from the other side of the bay, casting a twinkle in his eyes toward Frankie. Unaware of Team 7’s support, Frankie is only too thrilled, not to mention relieved, to have them for back up and quietly decides to scold Storm later, in private, smiling as she considers a clever way to accomplish payback.

They all set off at an easy, loping run. Towards the harbor, and whatever waits there.

***

The containers form a maze of scattered forms, haphazardly piled. In the center, looming dark and looking out to sea, is a single, great warehouse, clearly unused and overgrown. Even in the half-light, one can see the neglected, dilapidated walls and roof.

Frankie, Rex and Storm are on the edge of the harbor area. They look at each other.

“In there?” Frankie asks.

The others nod. “Yeah.”

“I'll go round the back,” Storm suggests. “Cover the back exit.”

“I'll do the side. Make a reccie, then come back and join you up the front.”

“Sure.” Frankie agrees. She sounds firm, assured. Inside, she does not feel quite as much of either, anything can happen. Still, they have come this far and there is nothing that will keep her from discovering her hunch.

“Right.” Storm's eyes glow in the pale light as he turns off his radio and puts it in his backpack. “See you all in about twenty minutes.” He grins, and is gone. Disappearing into the night. Frankie watches him until the form of him blurs into the margins of the dark.

She and Rex turn to each other. Take a deep breath.

“Right.” Frankie says. “You circle the side of the building, then come back to me and signal that it's safe. Then I'll go in.”

“Right.”

They set off towards the squat, dark form of the building before them.

Frankie waits, alone in the darkness, while Rex disappears around the side, to make a reconnaissance of the side-wall and check for any exits there. While he is gone, Frankie finds herself thinking aloud.

“Gareth? Be there.” Her voice is a whisper, and her finger rests on the trigger of her weapon. She is ready to go.

A low whistle alerts her to Rex as he emerges around the side of the building.

“There's someone there, alright.” he confirms. His voice is tight; eager, it seems, for conflict.

“Right.” Frankie swallows.

“I'm going round the side again...there's an opening there they could use to escape and come up behind you.”

“Right.” Frankie agrees. “See you soon.” She echoes Storm's words without thinking about it. They are, it seems, very alike in some ways.

“Right.” They look into each others eyes a moment, and then Rex is gone.

“Right.” Frankie whispers to herself. She waits, and counts, slowly, to ten. Rex must be in position by now.

“Right.” She says it again. Then she walks forward, weapon at the ready.

She sidles to the door, standing at the hinges. It is iron, and rusted. She can smell the scent of rust, over the sour scent of see and the dust in the night air.

She counts to three. Frankie readies her gun, as though there wasn’t a hole that had recently pierced her shoulder. She kicks the door-hinges. It moves, gratingly, inwards. They don't even have it locked.

She has a chance to look briefly round the door, to take aim. She sees four or five faces, around a table, illuminated by the light of an oil-lamp. Then they are erupting from their seats, whooping and shouting in a fluid, foreign tongue. Frankie moves back hastily, and fires.

The shouts turn into yells, and the sound of firing. Then, she hears more firing coming from the side of the building, or the back. Someone has, clearly, tried that way of escape, Frankie thinks. She pulls herself around the side of the door just as a bullet whizzes past the place where she had been. A body follows it, the white of a loose cotton robe shining in the dark. She fires. Sees him fall. More people are pouring towards the door, and one hesitates there, as he sees his companion fall. Frankie fires, and does not see whether the man is hit or not. From around the back of the building, the sounds of conflict are getting louder. Storm and Rex are evidently as busy as she is, here around the front. The rest of the team come charging forward, out of nowhere, covering each of them, as the three of them press forward.

Twenty minutes later, and it is over. Frankie stands a moment, suddenly with nothing to do. The smoke is hanging in a cloud around the door, and the first light of morning is filtering slowly over the sea.

She hears running, and Rex appears from around the side of the building.

“Frankie?” He calls, “They're all down, coast is clear.” His voice is light, lifting. He sounds like a man who has been doing what he was born to do.

“Same this side.” Frankie says, compelled to move forward and see if there are any captives. “No more coming this way.” She pauses a moment. “Storm..?”

They both stand a while, breathing heavily. Then,

“Hey! You tired people.”

Storm.

Frankie feels her face break into a wide grin. She walks the two paces over to where he is crossing the space before them, vital, electrifyingly, alive and optimistic. The grin he flashes in return would light the world.

“How many casualties?” Rex asks it, after a moment.

“About twelve.” Storm says briefly. “After a while the bastards decided it was better to stay inside, and live. The boys have it taken care of. Let’s check this place out.”

The three of them smile at that.

“Frankie, care to lead the way?” asks Rex.

The three of them approach the building, cautiously, knowing surprises come with the territory. The door is still a smoking hole, the darkness looming beyond. It smells close and musty and quite awful inside.

Frankie lifts her arm to her nose to keep out the redolence. Even Storm looks a little green.

“Right.” He says, after a moment. “Clear.”

The others look round, carefully. “Wait...” Rex cautions. “There could be someone there.” He indicates a corner, where there are containers, piled as if to make a wall. The inside of the warehouse is large, their voices echoing in the silence within.

“Right.” Frankie breathes. She takes a few cautious steps forward. Rex walks a little behind, covering her. Storm follows, covering her back.

Sure enough, there is someone there. Frankie's eyes catch the movement, and, as it disappears around the wall of containers, she darts forward. She is lighter on her feet than the others, and she darts between the containers, following the movement of a robe, a short way ahead. As the figure moves through the narrow corridor created by the close-packed containers, she stretches out a hand. Feels it contact cloth. Hears a shout. She tugs, and hears someone stumble. She steps forward, and uses her weight to keep whoever it is pinned there.

“Here!” She calls to the others.

The two appear a moment later, weapons at the ready. The figure Frankie is holding down is writhing, and shouting in a foreign tongue.

“Right, you. Keep still.” Storm. She and Rex roll the figure over.

It is a boy, perhaps seventeen. He is wearing a dirty white robe and is painfully thin, his eyes white in the darkness.

None of them can understand what he is saying. When Rex makes a move around the corner, in the direction he had been headed when Frankie stopped him, the youth lets out an emphatic, desperate shout.

“What's that mean?” Rex looks back at Frankie.

“I think there's something he doesn't want us to see, round there.” Frankie ventures. She hopes she knows what that might be.

Storm's eyes meet hers. “Let's go find out what it is.” He says, evenly. She nods.

“Right.”

The two of them round the corner, slowly. Rex is behind them, his gun held at the back of their prisoner.

They walk along a narrow passage between containers, piled high. As they do, the air becomes more fetid.

The corridor opens out into a room of sorts, also carved out of the warehouse by an arrangement of containers. It is dark, and dank. Storm pulls out a flashlight. Frankie does the same. They scan the room.

“Anyone there?” Frankie calls out.

After a moment, they hear a groan.

Frankie moves in the direction of the sound. Storm covers her. She falls to her knees, and gives a cry.

“Yes!”

It is an out-breath of amazement. What she has discovered is a man, bearded, sitting, huddled, on the floor. It must have been him that called out. He is filthy, emaciated, seeming almost too weak to stand. But the look in his eyes, when Frankie shines the flashlight on his face, is one of a relief so fervent it could make her weep.

“Storm! Rex!” She calls. “Come here!”

She helps the man to sitting. He is skinny, dressed in filthy clothes, and he smells accordingly. She does not care. She shines the torch eagerly, scanning the room. The man seems pleased to see the light.

“Are there more of you?”  Storm asks it. Rex is still covering the prisoner.

The man looks up at him, and nods. “...there...” he manages faintly. He jerks his head in the direction behind him, where the room narrows into another corridor. Then he seems to lose his strength, and simply sits, shaking.

She reassures him they will be back for him, and then she and Storm move to the far side of the room. Rex walks behind them with the prisoner.

It takes them five minutes to negotiate the narrow corridor. Then they are in another hidden room. Frankie holds the light. They gaze into the gloom. Perhaps thirty faces look back at them.

There are people, all men, seated on the floor, shackled. Most look like stick figures, starving and all filthy. Frankie feels her heart fill with a mix of elation and despair. Elation, for having found these men and rescued them, despair that they are in such a state.

“Gareth” Frankie yells, looking back and forth at all the men, trying to recognize him, behind one of the many beards.

“Touchdown, little sister” someone whispers.  

Frankie's heart stops. That’s what Gareth would say, when she played football with her brother and pals, as he intentionally would set her up to take the points.

“Gareth?” She breathes it, daring to hope.

The man looks up, a weather-beaten face, two perfect, deep brown eyes, gold-flecked, stare up at her. He looks at her, amazed. 

“Gareth!” She is crying, and smiling, and laughing all at once. “It is you!” Also in shock, that his capture just a few months ago, must have meant severe deprivation given his current plight.

“Frankie!”

He stands carefully, practically falling into her arms. He smells awful. Frankie does not mind a bit.  The two of them draw back after a moment, look at each other.

“Gareth?” She is laughing, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Hey Little sister, what took ya’ so long? Didn’t I teach you better than that?” The others, all laughing at his loving tease.

They embrace again.

“Hhhm.” Storm clears his throat, reminding Frankie there was more work to be done.

“Okay, guys.” he addresses the group, who all look at him, round-eyed and completely quiet. “Here's the deal.”

He pauses a moment, then continues. “We're from the US Navy, and we're here to take you guys back to safety. We are going to get the shackles off of you, and we are taking you home. If you cannot walk, let us know and we’ll provide assistance. We are going to do this quickly, and quietly, and we will save the festivities once everyone is safely back on board. 

He looks at them all sternly. “There are 7 Seals here, plus our fearless leader, Frankie, making 8 of us.” Any questions?

“Right.” Shackles removed, “Let’s go”.

He is moving through the group, taking a place behind them, opposite the door.

“Thanks, Ma'am.” a man whispers hoarsely, as she lifts him under the shoulders with her good arm.

She could almost weep, at that. Rex is near her, helping as well. He has tied their prisoner to a container, looping the cord through the holes that serve as door handles. The rest are back in the building, and won’t be going anywhere any time soon either, until they have all safely left. It will probably be hours before they come too, not to mention untie themselves.

Ten minutes later, they are all assembled along the shoreline. Outside, the sun is rising, slowly; the sky aflame with orange fire.

“Okay.” Frankie breathes, taking stock of the situation. “We've got thirty-five guys here, plus eight counting us, the walk is too long for them…”

“We've got a boat.” Gareth interrupts, smiling at her, warmly. “Let's take theirs.”

Storm and Rex look at him in bafflement. He grins at them, and sketches out a plan.

Gareth, true to his word, knows where the pirates keep their ship. Within long, they are all aboard the ex-fishing ship.

Two of the Seal Team 7 were to retrieve their dingy, to take back to the ship. Now Frankie, Rex, Storm and Gareth are on deck.

“Right. Uhhh. Who knows how to make this thing go?”