Read Online Before We Kiss (Uncharted SEALs Book 6) by Delilah Devlin - Free Book Online
Authors: Delilah Devlin
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there?”
Teague’s lips tightened. “Straight to Chihuahua.”
And the Yemeni’s training camp. Cold sweat broke on his brow. Wiley ground his jaws. “I take it we’re intercepting them at the airfield?”
Teague arched a graying brow. “Too predictable for you, Coyote?”
Wiley glanced away at the computer monitor which showed the surveillance footage that followed the large heat signature of a vehicle traveling through the jungle. “Won’t they be ready for us?”
“Does that worry you?”
Wiley inhaled, filling his lungs with air and stalling before giving his answer. He was too edgy. Too ready to slam his fists into something soft. He needed control, needed his head straight, or he’d be no good to Poppy. No help to his team. Again, Poppy’s pale face as she’d glanced back while the jet ski pulled away flashed through his mind. Their gazes had locked. She’d been scared, but she was strong. She’d hold it together until he got to her. “I’m not worried. The bastards are going to pay for ever touching her.”
Teague pursed his lips, but then gave a slow nod to Deke. “I was going to suggest you sit this one out. But I suppose I’d be spitting in the wind to suggest it.”
Wiley crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance. “Damn straight, Teague. I have to be there.”
The older man’s gaze narrowed. “Helo’s being refueled. We’ll do a rope drop into the jungle, not far from the field. You’ll have to hoof it there.” Teague jerked his head to the left. “Better get changed. Hit the armory.”
With a final glance at Deke whose expression was every bit as grim as Teague’s, Wiley turned on his heel. Relief was swift. He hadn’t been ordered to stay behind. Deke would have had to take him down to stop him getting on that helicopter. He’d be on location when Poppy was rescued. There to hold her and to beg her forgiveness for letting this happen.
God, keep her safe until then.
Poppy didn’t know how long she slept, but the sudden application of brakes rocked her violently against hard metal. The door behind her opened with a creak. Rough hands reached in and grabbed her hips then slid up to her waist. She bit back a snarl at being handled, knowing it would be best not to react.
When she stood outside the vehicle, the bag was slowly pulled from her head. She blinked. Darkness was falling, dusk peeking through a thick forest canopy above. She stood at the edge of a cleared dirt track long enough to be an airstrip. Her stomach sank. If she was moved by plane, the team working to rescue her would have a much harder time—if they’d succeed at all. She fought to keep her breaths even to quell her rising panic.
A man stepped in front of her. Dressed in a camouflage uniform, he was of medium height, wiry build, and his skin was pale. He’d almost pass for Anglo except for his black eyes. He smiled as he swept her body with a thorough glance. Then he raised a cell phone to her face and tapped this screen.
She winced at the bright flash. “Are you sending that picture to my father?” she asked, unable to halt the question. She had to know.
His gaze narrowed and shifted beyond her shoulder to the men who had escorted her there. In a rush of Spanish too fast for her to follow, he said something to them. A moment later, fingers wrapped around her upper arm and turned her. Rotten Tooth led her to a metal hut at the edge of the forest. At the doorway, a knife sliced through her rope, freeing her hands, and then she was shoved inside the empty hut where she stood flexing her hands and shaking out her arms to bring back circulation.
A moment later, clothing sailed through the door before it was locked. Camouflage pants, a tee. She didn’t care that they didn’t smell fresh. Instead, she donned them quickly, grateful she didn’t have to stand nearly naked in front of the assholes again. “I need shoes,” she shouted at the door, although she didn’t expect an answer. The
Teague’s lips tightened. “Straight to Chihuahua.”
And the Yemeni’s training camp. Cold sweat broke on his brow. Wiley ground his jaws. “I take it we’re intercepting them at the airfield?”
Teague arched a graying brow. “Too predictable for you, Coyote?”
Wiley glanced away at the computer monitor which showed the surveillance footage that followed the large heat signature of a vehicle traveling through the jungle. “Won’t they be ready for us?”
“Does that worry you?”
Wiley inhaled, filling his lungs with air and stalling before giving his answer. He was too edgy. Too ready to slam his fists into something soft. He needed control, needed his head straight, or he’d be no good to Poppy. No help to his team. Again, Poppy’s pale face as she’d glanced back while the jet ski pulled away flashed through his mind. Their gazes had locked. She’d been scared, but she was strong. She’d hold it together until he got to her. “I’m not worried. The bastards are going to pay for ever touching her.”
Teague pursed his lips, but then gave a slow nod to Deke. “I was going to suggest you sit this one out. But I suppose I’d be spitting in the wind to suggest it.”
Wiley crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance. “Damn straight, Teague. I have to be there.”
The older man’s gaze narrowed. “Helo’s being refueled. We’ll do a rope drop into the jungle, not far from the field. You’ll have to hoof it there.” Teague jerked his head to the left. “Better get changed. Hit the armory.”
With a final glance at Deke whose expression was every bit as grim as Teague’s, Wiley turned on his heel. Relief was swift. He hadn’t been ordered to stay behind. Deke would have had to take him down to stop him getting on that helicopter. He’d be on location when Poppy was rescued. There to hold her and to beg her forgiveness for letting this happen.
God, keep her safe until then.
Poppy didn’t know how long she slept, but the sudden application of brakes rocked her violently against hard metal. The door behind her opened with a creak. Rough hands reached in and grabbed her hips then slid up to her waist. She bit back a snarl at being handled, knowing it would be best not to react.
When she stood outside the vehicle, the bag was slowly pulled from her head. She blinked. Darkness was falling, dusk peeking through a thick forest canopy above. She stood at the edge of a cleared dirt track long enough to be an airstrip. Her stomach sank. If she was moved by plane, the team working to rescue her would have a much harder time—if they’d succeed at all. She fought to keep her breaths even to quell her rising panic.
A man stepped in front of her. Dressed in a camouflage uniform, he was of medium height, wiry build, and his skin was pale. He’d almost pass for Anglo except for his black eyes. He smiled as he swept her body with a thorough glance. Then he raised a cell phone to her face and tapped this screen.
She winced at the bright flash. “Are you sending that picture to my father?” she asked, unable to halt the question. She had to know.
His gaze narrowed and shifted beyond her shoulder to the men who had escorted her there. In a rush of Spanish too fast for her to follow, he said something to them. A moment later, fingers wrapped around her upper arm and turned her. Rotten Tooth led her to a metal hut at the edge of the forest. At the doorway, a knife sliced through her rope, freeing her hands, and then she was shoved inside the empty hut where she stood flexing her hands and shaking out her arms to bring back circulation.
A moment later, clothing sailed through the door before it was locked. Camouflage pants, a tee. She didn’t care that they didn’t smell fresh. Instead, she donned them quickly, grateful she didn’t have to stand nearly naked in front of the assholes again. “I need shoes,” she shouted at the door, although she didn’t expect an answer. The
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