Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (15 page)

“Did I do something wrong?”

Max bolted to his feet, irritated the woman had followed him. “No.” He held out his hands. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

She did a good job of burying how much that hurt, but not enough. He saw it dart in and out of her carefully applied face. “Hey, it’s not like I want a commitment. I mean, this is a bachelor-bachelorette party, right?”

“Which is exactly why I don’t belong in there.”

Her face went slack. “Oh. So you’re married.”

Until the divorce was final. “Yeah.”

“She must be a really lucky lady.”

Max snorted. Besides being a horrible pick-up line, if she knew the truth about him, knew what he was really like, she’d run as fast as she could back to the luxury jet that had plopped her onto this island.

She gave him a wistful smile then started back to the party.

Only then did Max see Cowboy standing at the end of the dock. The cowboy nodded as Max strode toward him. “You handled that well.”

“You have no idea.”

Within minutes, the rest of the team had gathered on the sand.

“What is this, intervention?” Though sarcasm coated his tongue, Max was stilled by the somber expressions of the team. His pride took a beating. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t know,” Midas said. “You looked pretty rattled when you stormed off that dance floor.”

“Look, I don’t need to discuss my business with anyone.”

“You’re right,” Legend said, his tone calm and even. “But we’re a team, and you need to know that we got your back covered. Anytime. Anywhere.”

Pride swallowed, Max nodded, ashamed that his entire team had witnessed him taking that girl into his arms—disrespecting his wife and their relationship. Weak fool, that’s what he was. “You can go back to the party. I think I’m going to skip out.”

“But
we’re
not skipping out, right?” The Kid spun around in front of them, walking backward. “I mean, come on, guys.
Chicks
. I’ve been locked up here for almost a week with no phone and no girlfriend. I say we dive in.”

“We’re supposed to be keeping it quiet,” Cowboy said.

“Maybe it’s that you’re too old,” the Kid taunted the much larger man.

“Come here. I’ll show you who’s old.” Legend popped the Kid.

Even though the others were teasing Marshall, Max noticed they didn’t argue with the idea of returning to the party. Like they needed the trouble of company, female company.

“What do you guys say?” the Kid persisted.

Fix shrugged, his eyes on the glistening ocean. “Why not?”

When the two high-fived again, Max tensed. Surely he could count on the MARSOC boys to choose the wiser path, the path of least estrogen.

“I’m for hanging here, might even turn in early,” Legend mumbled. “I mean, who knows how long the partying will go on? I need my beauty rest.”

Cowboy laughed. “Yeah, you do. But I’m thinking it’s too late to start now.”

“Aww. That’s low.” Legend and Cowboy continued laughing.

Marshall turned his attention toward Max. “Come on, man.”

“Not interested.” Maybe he’d do some running, burn off the weight of what just happened. The knots in his muscles kinked and threatened a revolt. He started away. “I’m going to take a walk.”

“For the love of …” The Kid groaned loudly. “Look, just let her go.”

Max stilled. Exactly what
her
did the Kid have in mind?

“Hey.” Cowboy’s quiet, stiff voice carried a warning to Marshall. “Leave it alone.”

“Nah, man. He’s gotten meaner. And I think it’s because he’s obsessed with his ex-wife.”

The world tilted. Spun. So did Max. His left eye twitched. “Excuse me?” He took a step back toward the team, his focus locked on Marshall Vaughn.

“She ain’t worth it. Just let her go. Get on with your life.”

Fingers curling into fists, Max lowered his head and voice. “That’s none of your—”

“So what if you screwed it up?” The Kid shrugged and tossed up his hands. He gave a halfhearted, almost mocking laugh. “Or is she just too dumb to appreciate what you’ve done for our country, for freedom? I mean, I see those tree huggers who don’t get it. Is she like that? Ya know? Is that the problem? Does she even have a heart? What kind of sick—”

Rage drove Max head first into the guy’s chest. The Kid landed with a thud. Pinned to the ground. His arms and legs flew out. Max yanked onto his knees, straddling the puke. He slammed a hard right cross into the Kid’s face.

Crack!
Blood spurted.

Another punch.

The Kid’s fist jabbed out. Nailed Max’s mouth. They rolled. Flipped. On his feet, he waited. But Marshall came up with a growl. Max planted a solid right uppercut and lifted the Kid off the sand. Marshall doubled.

He’d make the Kid eat every word about Sydney. “She’s my wife!” He grabbed the back of the Kid’s high-and-tight head and shoved it hard into the packed white sand. Grains puffed out as the Kid clawed for air, a groan ebbing through his chest and back. “Keep your mouth shut!”

Pressure hooked both of Max’s arms and jerked him backward. He hit the ground with a jarring impact.
Oof!
Spots sprinkled his vision. For all of two seconds, he saw a clear black sky and started to pull himself up, but Cowboy and Legend dropped on him, stretching his arms to the side.

“Let me go!”

“Max!” Cowboy hissed, his mouth near Max’s ear. “Get it under control.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Max growled. “No one
—no one
talks about my wife like that.
Ever!
” With everything in him, he lurched forward, his momentum started by the two muscle-bound Marines whose feet slid backward in the sand but held.

“Reyes, Midas,” Legend shouted. “Get Vaughn out of here.”

Max struggled against them, cursing and vowing to hurt the Kid. Somehow he managed to free a hand and land a solid punch against the side of Legend’s head.

The barrel of a man shifted. With a grunt, he drove a fierce jab straight into Max’s face.

Darkness devoured him.

Warbling and distant shouts echoed through his head. Max shifted, something rubbing his neck and shoulders raw. Where was he?

“You need a doctor?” Hollowness swallowed the question.

“We’re good,” Legend’s gruff voice boomed nearby.

“You sure? He doesn’t look as bad as the other guy, but—”

“Thanks, we’ve got it.”

Bright light tore through his skull. Max groaned and lifted himself up. Everything in him throbbed. “What …?” He pressed the heel of his hand against his jaw joint then propped his arms on his knees. Stretching his neck, he groaned again as the memory of the fight stole into his awareness. “How’s the Kid?”

“Broken nose. Couple of busted ribs. Maybe a concussion.”

Humiliation crowded him. Holding his head, Max pried himself off the beach. He started walking. The quiet crunch of sand nearby warned him he wasn’t alone. Legend? Cowboy? He couldn’t look back. Instead, he stumbled toward the house, noting the party was all but abandoned. How long had he been knocked out? He lowered himself to the steps and cradled his pounding head in his hands.

Boards creaked on either side of him.
Great. Both of them
.

“Look, I got to be straight with you,” Legend said, his words quiet and stern. “What happened out there—that can’t happen again.”

“Tell the Kid to keep his trap shut.” Max knew it wasn’t the Kid’s fault. And he knew the point Legend was making without threatening. But he just couldn’t own up to it, not in front of these guys. Not here.
Failure
.

“Marshall might have the experience for Nightshade, but the Kid lacks maturity. Nobody’s arguing that. But Max …” Cowboy let out a long sigh. “Your anger is a problem.”

How many times had Sydney said the same thing?

Flexing his fist, Max winced at the tightness of his skin under the dried blood. His blood. Marshall’s blood. His mind careened back to the night he’d knocked Lane Bowen out cold. And accidentally clipped Sydney in the process. At the stinging reminder, his gut churned.

Sydney was right—he was out of control. His temper had shattered their marriage. Tear-filled eyes had pleaded with him, but it was her words that scalded his heart.
I’m afraid of you, Max
. He clenched his eyes and swallowed the bitter truth filling his mouth.

“How’s your head?” Legend asked.

Max shot him a sidelong glance. “You coldcocked me. How do you think it feels?”

“Maybe that will teach you to think before you try to go at it with me.” On his feet, Legend patted Max’s shoulder and volunteered to get some painkillers. But Max was well aware of the silent conversation that had taken place between the two buddies, a chance to let Cowboy give it to Max straight.

“When you hit Legend, I think he wanted to pound you to China and back.”

Max stretched his jaw, pain flaring up through his skull. “I’m sure he would’ve if you hadn’t been there.”

Cowboy rubbed his hands together. “What’re we going to do about this?”

His own wife. His own team. He’d failed them all. “Better off dead.”

A low chuckle. “Not an option. Plan B?”

Max ran a hand along his neck. “I don’t know, man. It’s … I …”

He shrugged, hating that he couldn’t sort it all out. That he couldn’t figure out what demon possessed him. “Syd said I had to get help, but I told her this is how I am, this is who she married.” The retort sounded as empty today as it had each time he’d barked it at her.

“Do you believe that?”

“No. Yes.” Max’s eyes slid shut. “I … I don’t know. The things in here,” he said, tapping his temple, “are things I can’t explain to a woman who’s never seen the backside of a jungle or riddled a twelve-year-old with bullets because he aimed a fully automatic weapon he knew how to use at me.” He met his friend’s gaze. “I don’t want her to know about those things. I don’t want those images in her mind. She’s good, pure.”
She’s Sydney
. “But it’s clawing me apart—I can’t sleep. It screwed
me
up. Why would I give her that misery?”

“Because in barricading that pain, you’ve also bricked up your heart and soul.”

N
o, no!” The woman waved her dark hand at Sydney, shooing her out of the small, cramped apartment. “Mistake. All mistake.”

Sydney blinked. This couldn’t be possible. “I’m sorry? I spoke with Anisia not two hours ago, and she—”

“Trauma too much. Say things she no mean,” the woman insisted, again nudging Sydney from the darkened hall.

Casting her gaze around the sparse living quarters in hopes of finding a reason to stay, to speak with Anisia herself, Sydney spotted a little boy coloring on the floor. It wasn’t his brilliant eyes against his near-black complexion that froze her. It was the artwork. A five-pointed star inlaid on a sword. Mangeni had mentioned a similar symbol.

She quickly detoured from the path the women urged her on and crouched next to the boy, turning his page slightly so she could see it better. What was it?

The other woman, Anisia’s aunt, snatched the paper away. “You go! Only trouble come.”

Rising, Sydney frowned at the woman. “What do you mean?” Maybe she should hold her ground, insist on speaking with the woman who’d witnessed the intervention.

“Nothing. You go now.” She took Sydney’s arm and led her to the door. “No come again. No come.”

Shuttled to the small stoop, she stood staring back into the house. In the seconds before the door closed, a woman’s wrought face appeared around the corner at the end of the hall. Sydney shoved her foot into the door. “Wait!”

“I call police!” the aunt yelled and pushed Sydney.

Anger slithered around her chest. The woman didn’t want her talking to Anisia. Why? What had changed in the two-hour span since she’d left the
Independent
and driven across state lines to meet with this refugee? There’d been no mistake, as Anisia’s relative insisted. The boy’s drawing convinced her of that.