Phantom Game (GhostWalkers 18) - Page 152

No matter how hard they tried, the violent tendencies raged through both of them. At times, the aggression was useful, like when they were on missions, having to break through enemy lines or defend their team, but then they couldn’t just easily put it all away when the mission was done. Oliver found it harder and harder to control himself. He smashed things in his room, tore up fences, went to bars and got into fights. More than once, Jonas had to stop him from killing civilians and regular soldiers.

“The last mission with Oliver was a bad one. We knew we were set up. We walked right into an ambush. I warned Ryland we couldn’t go through the pass, but the men we were supposed to pull out were in that valley, and the only way in was through a narrow pass. There was steep rock rising on either side. I felt the danger. I could actually taste it in my mouth.”

“The underground network was telling you to stay back.”

He nodded and reached around him to take her arm and bring her to his side. Locking her against him with one arm, he stroked her silky hair with his free hand. He needed to touch her, to hear her heart beat close to him. He listened to the hum of bees, the steady drone of insects and the rustle of lizards and small rodents in the dried vegetation on the ground. The bright sound of water, as it ran over a series of rocks and fell into a shallow pool, brought a sense of harmony to the garden.

Jonas tried to ground himself in the blossoms and Camellia. He didn’t want to remember that valley and that day and night of blood and violence that ended with the loss of his best friend.

“It wasn’t that Ryland didn’t believe me. It was that we couldn’t find another way in. We were prepared for an ambush. Oliver and I went in first. It was overcast but still relatively clear, giving neither of us anything we could work with. I stayed to the shadows of the rock as much as I could. Oliver did the same.”

Jonas wrapped her hair around his knuckles, the silk trapped inside his fist. “We were good at blending in with our surroundings, and we could go up the rock fast if needed. I eliminated seven of their assassins, but it wasn’t enough.”

Guilt weighed him down. Pressed on his shoulders, in his chest, pounded through his skull as it did every time he thought of that time. “Half the team went down in a hail of bullets, wounded, the moment they stepped into the mouth of the valley. I should have known where all the enemy were. They were too far above us, and I didn’t have their locations.”

“Jonas, you’re taking on too much. You know you are. How could you know where every single man would be lying in wait? That isn’t even logical.”

“It was my job.”

“You had a partner. Where was Oliver? What was he doing while you were eliminating those lying in wait to kill your fellow team members?”

Jonas found himself uncomfortable. This was always the moment he hesitated when giving a report. He didn’t put that shit on paper, nor did he talk to a shrink about it. He wasn’t ever going to betray Oliver that way. Ryland and the others knew because they were wearing small recorders. He had destroyed every version he had but one. Ryland had insisted on keeping that one to protect Jonas. Jonas didn’t give a damn about protection, but he did about Oliver’s reputation and his legacy. As far as Jonas was concerned, Oliver had earned his hero status on the other hundreds of missions he’d run.

“He was having problems, Camellia. Sometimes the headaches are so severe, it’s nearly impossible to think straight.” He touched his temple where his head felt as if it had shrunk several sizes and his brain was trying to burst through his skull.

“Like it is for you right now?” she prompted gently.

He despised admitting he had a migraine, but that was the truth. He’d had one since he’d started out after Shaker and his team. He’d known from the beginning he would be racking up the kills. He didn’t want his woman to see him in that light. Not now. Not ever.

“It’s pretty bad this time.”

Instantly, Camellia reached up with her slender arms, sliding her palms up his chest, her hands going up his neck, her touch delicate as her fingers moved over his jaw. Her touch was light, but it was as if an electrical charge had rushed through his entire system, sparking every nerve ending to life. Blood thundered in his ears, rushing and receding like a never-ending tide, pounding through his temples to add to the mounting pressure in his skull.

Tags: Christine Feehan GhostWalkers Paranormal
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