Rev It Up (Black Knights Inc. #3)(2)
Say what?
Jake resisted the urge to glance overhead—just in case pigs were singing R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly” while zooming past.
He liked Preacher, he honestly did—despite the fact that six weeks ago the guy had up and married the only woman Jake ever loved. Of course, given that whole pride and honesty thing, he had to admit Preacher’s marriage to Michelle was mostly his fault. He had been the one to push the two of them together…
And was it really any surprise they’d hit it off?
Um, that’d be a big, resounding negative. Considering Michelle Knight was the finest, sweetest woman on the planet and Steven “Preacher” Carter was the nicest, absolute nicest guy Jake had ever met, it should’ve been a foregone conclusion they would be a perfect match.
And, yes, he realized that most people would consider labeling a guy who was philosophically discussing slicing open a man’s jugular as nice was more than a bit bizarre, but besides being nice, Preacher was also one hell of a soldier.
He knew the score here.
Then again, if he really believed they could come out of this shit-storm of a situation totally unscathed, he should be voted mayor of La-La Land.
“Gimme a break, brohah,” Jake growled, reverting back to the surfer lingo he’d grown up with, as he tended to do in stressful situations. “You know better than to trust the brass to have our backs. The good ol’ U-S of A wants al-Masri as a prize, a warning to all the other fanatics on the planet that there’s no place you can hide where we won’t find you and bring you to justice. We’ll be skewered if we kill him. No,” he shook his head, “we have to take him back in one piece.”
Although, if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t the thought of being demoted or ripped a new one by the rapier tongue of the general that prompted his dissent. No, no. He didn’t care about rank or any of that other bullcrap. It was the fact that his heart beat with a terrible, hungry rhythm at the thought of slipping his knife from its sheath and ending al-Masri’s existence right there and then that scared the breath right out of his lungs. Because he wasn’t supposed to have any particular feeling one way or another about his missions. He was supposed to remain cool and levelheaded. Detached. But lately that was becoming nearly impossible. Ever since the bombing, ever since the horror of sorting through all those bodies had planted a seed in him that’d steadily grown into a poison-fanged monster, he’d been struggling against a mind-numbing fury that obliterated all thoughts save those of vengeance.
And, yo, wasn’t that just dead-eye wrong? Wasn’t it the exact same type of mentality terrorists employed to justify bombing buildings and embassies and marketplaces? Of course it was. But even though his rational mind might yell Dude, what the hell are you thinking?, the monster inside him seemed to be growing louder by the day. And it screamed one line over and over: Kill them all. Avenge your brothers…
He was ashamed to admit he’d nearly let the reins slip on that monster once. The thought of doing so again terrified him. Like right now? He was piss-his-pants scared that if he unleashed his need for revenge and killed al-Masri outside of his orders, there’d be nothing to stop him from doing it again. And then again and again and again…
“Ya really think it’s possible we can get ourselves outta here before al-Masri’s guys surround us, mon ami?” Rock asked.
“Check it,” Jake said as he wrestled back the bloodthirsty beast growling inside him and the accompanying fear it evoked. Taking out the topographical maps and surveillance photos of the area, he motioned for his teammates to follow him a short distance away, out of earshot and eyesight of the Taliban leader, before spreading them on the ground. “If we go up the mountain and reach the plateau,” he pointed at the map with a dirty finger, “our cell phones should be able to receive a signal. We can call back to base and request an airlift out. Let’s say it takes us fifteen minutes to make the climb, two minutes to make the call, eight minutes prep time for the helo, and thirty minutes flight time for the bird to reach us. That’s fifty-five minutes total. It’ll take al-Masri’s army at least forty-five to fifty minutes to climb up the mountain from the valley. That’s cutting it close. But we’ll have the high ground and can hold our position for those remaining few minutes.”
It wasn’t cockiness that assured him four guys could hold off 120. It was training, superior shooting accuracy, premium weaponry, and better positioning.
“All right then,” Preacher said, nodding once, “you’ve convinced me.”
“Rock,” Jake asked, turning toward the Cajun, “what do you think, bro?”
Rock eyed him for the space of a few interminable heartbeats, and Jake knew his teammate was accurately reading the situation. Rock was there the day Jake had nearly done the unthinkable, and the ragin’ Cajun had to know it was the flat-out, ball-shriveling fear of what he was on the brink of becoming that was driving Jake to make this decision right now.
“Oui, mon frere,” Rock finally nodded, sliding him a look of…Please, God, don’t let that be pity. “Let’s try it.”
Jake blew out an unsteady breath, and for the first time in his recent memory, nary a swear word left Boss’s lips even though the big man must have thought they were making a colossal mistake. Instead, Boss took the vote in stride and simply walked back to al-Masri, pointing at him and motioning for him to stand.