Savage Secrets (Titan #6) (28 page)

Rocco nodded to himself. “Somalia it is. Let’s roll.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Fifty yards off the Somalia coast, Rocco dove through another crashing black wave. The Indian Ocean seemed content to drown him, but he ignored the churning water and threats of riptides and powered toward the shore. Nothing would take him down. Nothing would slow his stride. Certainly not Mother Freakin’ Nature.

His team was on course and on time. Tonight, he was back with Titan, and it felt good to get back into gear and ready for war, especially with Delta lurking in the wings. Titan would find Cat, and he’d
help
with whatever she needed.

El Mateperros had to know they were gunning for him. Why else take off to Somalia? Bad things happened there. It stank of trouble, lawlessness, death, and destruction. But Titan was prepared. Between the two teams, they had naval back-up and air support. They’d pull Cat out after she eliminated El Mateperros. Simple. And that was the plan as they surfaced at one of the most deadly locations on earth.

Parker’s words played through his head. “Statistically speaking, there’s nowhere else in the world she could be, also nowhere more dangerous.” Parker knew stats and numbers as well as he knew a good kill shot and evac plan. His warning didn’t go unheeded.

If the extraction went south, both teams were ready to avoid a Black Hawk Down situation. They’d get out and get out fast. But they all wanted blood, and all involved wanted El Mateperros. Rocco was done for if they didn’t bring Cat home. His feet found the sandy ocean bottom, and he ducked up the beach bank a dozen yards away from land.

Water dripped off him as he cradled his weapon to his chest, waiting for the cue in his ear piece. It pinged.

“My team, you’re a go.” The neck microphone picked up his whisper and he charged forward as a wave pulled then broke over his back.

Cash and Winters flanked his right, and Roman and Jared had his left. They rose from the murky depth, the dark bathed in night vision green. Perfect approach. No moon overhead. Roman and Jared fanned out, and minutes ticked by while Rocco crawled into position with Cash and Winters. Cash was on sniper duty, and Roman would feed him intel until they hit a planned radio silence. Rocco and Winters scurried through the brush, eyeing a small hut and taking their offensive positions.

A hundred yards back in the air, Delta team waited. The waiting killed him. Where were Jared and Roman? Where was the call? Why was this taking so long?

“Delta. You’re a go.” Jared’s order triggered the nearby team’s expulsion from the water. They did it without a sound, but Rocco knew it had happened with surgical precision and the viciousness of rabid Rotties. Four men on the ground and two men in the sky moved perfectly in sync.

The Delta go-ahead was also Winters’s trigger. He had set up two blast zones, one on each side of a hut believed to house Caterina. There were several other buildings nearby, but Titan only wanted El Mateperros. Casualties were to be kept to a minimum, and blasts were to be used as distractions. Draw ‘em out, so they could get their mark and his girl.

The minute mark passed. Rocco checked his watch. Three, two, one… and… Above, two helos dropped in, lighting the building as if dawn had broken. Winters’s blasts went off in… three, two, one.

Bam
.
Bam
.

Light. Smoke. Fire. ACG forces scrambled, taking the defensive and protecting their building like they protected their fort and king.

Rocco’s breathing slowed down as he watched them perch on the roof. Burrow at four corners. The certainty of that Cat was nearby calmed him as he caressed that familiar curve of his trigger. The whirring of the choppers blew debris, dulling shouted ACG commands. Villagers screamed, and lights went out in nearby houses as if that would stop danger if it were coming for them.

The enemy might’ve expected something but not this type of arrival. Rocco and Winters pushed forward. Behind them, Delta’s four-man machine provided cover, while Cash and Roman were sighting and shooting in tandem while Jared provided logistical orders. The operation was a thing of tactical beauty.

Tango free, their enemies scattered on the ground. Rocco breached the door. Winters rolled around the corner. First room. Clean. Second. Same. Third and—

Shackled, lying on the ground, hands pinned above her head to a cinder block wall was the love of his life beaten and bloody with her eyes shut against all the hell he’d brought with him. His lungs had stopped. Heart stalled. Throat clamped. Winters shouted over the roar outside that Rocco needed to get his bitch ass in gear. He hit his knees, tore off a glove, and reached for her neck. A pulse… It was all he wanted.

Blood-crusted lashes fluttered. Cracked lips parted. Caterina’s unfocused eyes narrowed. “
Galán
.”

“
Galán
?” he asked even though that moment wasn’t the time for a question and answer session. He’d heard the word before.

“You’re mine. My beau. My Handsome,” she whispered, ignoring Winters working on her shackled hands.

Handsome
. She’d loved him as long as he had her, since the very beginning, when he didn’t even know what he didn’t know. “I fuckin’ love you, Kitten.”

A sparkle in her swollen eyes and an uptick to her broken smile was all he needed. She groaned. “I’m hurt.”

He looked up. “Almost done?”

Winters nodded. “Trying. Another second.”

Caterina coughed. “I didn’t kill him. Yet.”

By the looks of it, she had tried. He swallowed away the words dying to come out of his mouth.
I’ll do it. I’ll rid the earth. He’s mine. I want his blood
. “Still can, Kitten. Just hang on.”

She coughed, maybe trying to swallow. “Big Ben.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“He tried to make me work for him.” She coughed again, and blood kissed her scabbed and scratched lips. “I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. But then I thought—” Cough. “If could find out. When. How. You’d come get me—” Cough. “And I could tell you.”

Her hands dropped. Winters stood. “Let’s roll.”

Rocco wrapped his arm behind her, and she cried out in such agony his eyes burned.

“Broken ribs.”

Rocco’s blood boiled. This helping bullshit was over. El Mateperros would die at his hands. “Alright, Kitten. I’m taking you home.”

“Big Ben. He has someone else. Not in weeks. Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Winters looked at him.

“What day is it?” Her eyes furrowed. “I couldn’t stop him. It’s happening—” Cough. “What—” Cough. “Day is it?”

His stomach bottomed out. They’d been off the grid for about five hours. “Saturday.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Winters and Rocco helped Caterina to her feet in her jail cell hut. The room spun fast, fast, fast… and began to slow… slow… and stop. She swallowed, parched, a metallic taste in her mouth and the stench of dried blood staining each inhaled breath. She hadn’t taken out El Mateperros, and now she hadn’t stopped the London attack. Complete failure.

“Was there an attack?” Caterina asked, but she couldn’t hear her own voice. It sounded muddled and echo-ish.

Neither of them answered her. They didn’t know, or they didn’t want to say? Her stomach sank again, cramping with the possibility of a terrorist attack that could have been prevented. She closed her eyes, thinking about all the missed opportunities to save lives. First her family, now Londoners. The guilt was suffocating.

“I don’t know.” One of them answered, but there was a distorted rush of blood in her ears masking voices that should’ve rung distinct and familiar.

Finally, she opened her eyes. They were just as sick over the possibility as she was.

Every move hurt. No doubt she had a couple broken ribs and a few bruises that went down to the bone. There wasn’t internal bleeding. Enough time had passed that she would have been dead if there was, so at least that was ruled out.

“Can you walk?” Winters asked.

Now wasn’t the time to play heroine. “Not really.”

Winters reached for her, but Rocco enveloped her in a hug, an arm hooking behind her legs and the other holding her back. Somehow, he did it without moving her too much, then handled her like she weighed a tissue’s weight. The hold hurt far less than she’d expected.

Outside there were blasts and bombs. A helo, maybe two, hovered and lit the night like it was a day at the beach. Beyond the faux safety of this shack, Somalian war lords were in the throes of battle. None knew who Titan was or why they were there, but this neighborhood specialized in terror, blood, and the trade of all things in between, every man running and gunning to safeguard his illegal lifestyle.

Tucked in Rocco’s arms, the chaos barely registered. She was safer than she had been in days, even with the ping of bullets and rattles from explosives. Rocco equaled relief. Soon she could sleep, eat, drink—

“Where is he, Kitten?”

Well, she’d felt relieved until he brought her back to the moment. All her pain became vivid again. “Gone. To London.” She took a deep breath and wished she hadn’t. White hot strikes of agony pulsed in her ribcage. “They couldn’t break me fast. He couldn’t wait. Said he’d be back.”

Rocco’s face was tight. “Did he… again?”

“No.”

“Thank fuck.”

Her eyes watered. Once had ruined, her but she could see Rocco’s point.

“There’s going to be an attack.” She couldn’t think about herself now, and she’d done all she could but hadn’t stopped the ACG’s plan to strike Big Ben. People would die. Had died? Who knew what was happening in London at that moment? It’d been so preventable. Her throat seized as she tried not to cry over the enormity of a terrorist attack.

Pull it together
. She sniffled but centered, channeled her inner badass and thought about her objectives. El Mateperros might be out of reach, but if nothing had happened in England yet, there was still hope.

Winters turned. “Ready?”

Rocco looked down.

“If London hasn’t happened yet…” She licked her cut lips. “We have to stop it.”

“Gotta get out alive first.” He followed Winters, tucking her against his chest and somehow palming a combat pistol. The two men scanned their surroundings and motioned. Maybe an attack plan. Maybe an extraction plan. Whatever it was, it was fascinating to watch Rocco work with Titan. Undercover as the Lockes had been fine, but this was who he was, covered in weapons and camo and face paint. If he said he was getting her out alive, there was no doubt.

Her captors were all going to die. The team of ACG thugs who had worked her over weren’t going to live to see tomorrow, and she was okay with that. But having met them and suffered at their hands, she could tell why El Mateperros wanted her to work for him. His men had no technique. Brute force didn’t extract information. That was no way to gather intelligence. If she thought about her few days with them, she might have learned more than she gave up. Her mind was too tired to process that thought.

Rocco stared at her again. “Almost ready.”

His eyes shone. Rough whiskers covered his cheeks, the result of not shaving for days. They took off at a jarring pace. She hurt like hell.

Rocco loves me
. It was an instant salve and a flash of adrenaline. Above them, around them as they left the falsely protective walls of the hut, a fire fight hit full steam. Bright flashes. Rounds zipping. Winters and Rocco moved fast. Two choppers arrived directly above them. Whipping air beat down, gusting and blowing dirt in wild swirls. Tiny rocks and leaves hit her face, pelting her with tiny bites. The two aircraft separated, peeling in opposite directions. Air cover remained, and as far as she could tell, there was a never ending supply of ACG fighters. Knock one down, five more popped up, weapons firing in both hands.

Rocco and Winters pounded through brush and broke free. A clearing. The beach. She’d been vaguely aware of her surroundings, and even in the dark of night, she knew they were near the water. The crash of the black ocean added to the sing-song of automatic weapon fire. Chancing a look up from Rocco’s chest, Cat saw that the night was too dark to differentiate her surroundings. The water would be black as the sky, black as the trees that had surrounded them, their canopies obscuring the view of the choppers. Cupped in Rocco’s arms, she took a deep, painful breath when his feet hit the beach. The men didn’t stop—

A pounding boom hit behind them. Violent. Angry. Exploding. Yellow, red, orange lit the night. Rocco’s body tensed, his hold squeezing her tight, digging into her bruises and breaks. Heat and blasting air hit them. The beach brightened. Everything morphed into a candlelit day. Lapping water and waves. Sand packed down. Trees and brush not as thick as they’d seemed but now on fire.

Winters spun, eyes wide, mouth agape. Both men watched. She watched. Their chopper had been hit. Black smoke filled the air as quickly as it took for her mind to understand the situation. The helicopter fishtailed left and circled. Shouts broke her trance. Rocco moved them, cursing.

Winters voice boomed. “Go. Go. Go.”

“Bail out,” Rocco shouted toward the sky. The un-rhythmic hitch of rotors not rotating coughed above. “Now! Goddamn it. Get out of there.”