Bane: Elite Operatives (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 4) (15 page)

I peered at Kiki.

She placed her hand on my stubbled jaw. “Whaddya say?”

“I’m in if you are.” I kissed her quickly on the forehead.

“We gotta ditch the old name though,” Walker grumbled.

“How about”—Justice grinned at everyone—“Force-Reckon?”

Figured. Mr. Wannabe Writer showing off in front of Pops-in-law.

Blaize sat back, satisfied. “But make no mistake about it. I’m still in charge.”

No complaints about that. She hadn’t steered us wrong yet.

A Company Christmas Party

THE NEW FORCE-RECKON DIGS ranked even though the rooms were all decked out for the Christmas holidays. Which was just plain fucking weird. The building resembled our first mobilized unit in Mexico City, but the square footage had been trebled. One and a half weeks after the T-Z takedown, we were fully operational . . . and here we were, celebrating Saint Nick and all that shit.

Kiki and I had almost ditched the whole thing.

Neither one of us had ever been much into the holidays.

Pretty hard to get into the spirit of the festivities when you were a street kid or the only child of a deadbeat dad.

In the end we’d both agreed to turn a new leaf, open a new chapter,
yadda yadda yadda.

Kiki was good for me.

No doubt about that.

I had no idea how she’d turned out so kickass . . . and optimistic. Even if a little dark around the edges.

Probably why I liked her so much.

Correction.

Loved her.

When she’d entered the living room earlier, dressed to head to this shindig, I’d definitely wanted to beg off from the party.

“You like?” She’d pushed a hand to her hip, her pale blue irises never more shimmering.

I couldn’t even speak. Might’ve grunted my approval.

Kiki wore a dress. It was red. Not stripper red but film noir red. French fuckhot red. Fuck me hard red. Some kind of lush strappy contraption that reminded me of her yoke holster, the top skimming the hills of her tits, and the skirt barely covering her ass.

High heels. High
high
heels—black with carnal red soles.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but black before.” My words were husky, definitely toned with lust.

“So you’re not color blind.”

I laughed, pulling her to me. “No. Despite these weird eyes.”

She kissed my jaw, her hands rubbing my chest. “Not weird. Sexy.”

Cupping her ass, I grinded against her. “Sure you don’t wanna stay home and play Santa’s little helper?”

“Little?” Her hand slipped below the belt.

“I was referring to you, not my cock.”

Kiki flipped her hair back; I noticed she’d made narrow braids capped by tiny silver bells.

“Bells?”

“In case you lose me.”

“No chance of that.” I kissed her neck, helping her into her jacket.

With a heavy snow falling all over the eastern seaboard three days before Christmas, we had to take my jacked-up, big-ass, black Ford Raptor. Also, I didn’t want random passersby to get a money shot of Kiki straddling her Ducati in the short
festive
fuckhot red dress.

Even weirder than attending a holiday party hosted by Blaize at our new facilities was the fact Kiki had finally convinced me to visit Allegra.

That caused an entirely different tightening in my throat as I’d handled the wheel of the truck through the growing weather conditions.

We would arrive early Christmas Eve in upstate New York, but Kiki said she’d remain off scene for the time being. She didn’t want to spook my ten-year-old daughter.

Fuck.

Neither did I.

Allegra’s mom hadn’t shut me down the second she’d heard my request for a visit. Would wonders never cease?

I couldn’t believe I was going to meet my baby girl, almost for the first time. My chest hollowed out every time my thoughts turned to Allegra.

We’d spent the past few days shopping for presents. Like I had a clue. Luckily, Kiki was pretty keyed into the fads.

“She won’t need any of this, you know?” Kiki had looked up after passing me the tape while we wrapped the gifts. “She’ll just be happy to know her dad.”

Family meant so much to Kiki. And she had none.

“Come here, babe.” I’d pulled on her hand.

She crawled over crackly paper covered in sleighs and ornaments and snowmen, lighting in my lap.

“I ever tell you how good you are to me?” I asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” I laid her down, carefully undressing her. “
Always
.”

I’d kissed her everywhere, from the peaks of her tits to the indent of her waist, listening as she’d giggled. The giggles stopped in a hot moan when I sealed my lips against the juicy pink of her smooth pussy.

After her first rippling orgasm, she’d hauled me over her and I’d thrust inside. She twined one arm around my neck, finding my swinging balls with the other. She’d cupped my wet pumping cock, flattening her palm on my thick shaft every time I withdrew.

My face at her neck, my hands on her ass, I’d tilted her up until she was almost bent in half.

Kiki was a screamer.

Never had to worry about her coming. She was on a hairpin trigger.

Panting and writhing, she’s seen my smile.

Slapping her hips up to my groin, she’d squeezed me inside the hot depths, massaging my cock, milking it.

A jolt hit me just like that—the smile replaced by a sneer of lust. My grunt turned into a growl as I bowed over her and let loose. Every aching thrust sped my hips, and Kiki pulsed around me.

“Oh, hell, girl.” After blasting rope after rope of come inside her, I’d collapsed onto the floor.

I’d still been disjointed, breathing hard, when she leaped to her feet.

I grabbed her ankle. “Where you going?”

She’d jerked free. “Upstairs. By the way, your spunk got on the wrapping paper.”

I thwacked her on the ass with an empty cardboard tube. “That’s not even funny.”

“Yes it is.” She laughed, naked, as I’d chased her upstairs.

That was two days ago. Now we were in the middle of a company Christmas party nightmare.

Except it wasn’t so bad.

Not that I’d ever admit that.

At least there was top shelf liquor, not fruity freakin’ punch cocktails.

Jade showed up with Walker, keeping mum about any Special War Ministry ops she might have in the works. The half-Asian, half-British woman brought a sprig of mistletoe and some paper creations she called
crackers.
Funny, that was what I’d always called Storm when he’d dubbed me
freakshow.

Tilly—the southern belle with the smart mouth, the photography professor who had flawless aim with a rifle—arrived on Justice’s arm. They were so perfect together I had to shade my eyes from the light they shined out.

Technically Jade and Tilly weren’t supposed to know our HQ location, but technically we now made our own rules.

And fuck that shit anyway.

Then there was Blaize and Storm who couldn’t keep their eyes—or hands—off each other. Leave it to the Cajun man to snag the boss lady.

Fuck
. All the happy couples, and I was one of them.

Never thought that would happen either.

Seemed my luck had turned.

Walker hung the mistletoe then stepped down off the stool. He placed two fingers in his mouth, sending out a shrill whistle.

“Got an announcement to make,” he shouted.

Justice killed the music.

“Jade here won’t be joining us just yet, because”—he puffed up his chest, curling an arm around her shoulder—“we’re having a baby.” He choked up a little at the end, turning his face to take a swipe beneath his eyes.

The immediate claps and whistles and cheers were deafening. Everyone knew the hardships Walker had survived. His first wife and his daughter dead from a freak unexpected accident.

Jade’s eyed glistened as she accepted our congrats, and Walker struggled to compose himself.

I slapped him on the back, my voice thick in my throat because I was two days away from walking back into my own daughter’s life.

Justice smiled like he had a little secret of his own, and he gave the happy couple the biggest, longest hug of all.

Bing frickin’ Cosby started crooning in the background, and Blaize—of all the people—announced it was time for Secret Santa.

After she passed out another round of drinks. Nonalcoholic for Jade, of course.

Secret Santa. What a laugh. Not so secret. For men and women who made a living out of hiding off the grid, we couldn’t wait to dish the dirt and place bets on who bought the filthiest or funniest present.

So we gathered around like good little boys and girls.

Not quite.

I just hoped Blaize hadn’t hired a real Saint Nick to bust in with a red sack of gifts because we didn’t take well to strangers in our midst.

Boss lady handed Storm his present first. Obviously. Because he was her favorite. And her lover.

With an unlit cig clamped into the corner of his mouth, he ripped into the lopsidedly wrapped package.

“Oh. What the fuck?” He flung the cardboard box in the air, beaning it toward my head. “Asshole. Had to be you.”

I ducked from the missile, and Walker caught it in one hand, immediately crowing with laughter.

“What is it?” Justice leaned forward.

“An STD testing kit.” Walker wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

I smirked. “You know, because of the syphilis.”

“He does not have syphilis!” Blaize railed, but her shoulders shook, and Storm turned his glare on her.

She cleared her throat. “So Bane, looks like you’re next.”

She passed me something heavy and perfectly wrapped. Bet it was from one of the chicks.

Probably a sexist thought, but, hey, us guys were not all that handy with the wrapping paper and tape. Ammo, explosives, and grenades? Now that was a whole different matter. Although, come to think of it, our women were all as well versed in the art of combat, even Tilly, considering she knew her way around a Martin hunting rifle.

Kiki watched avidly as I tore open the paper. Inside a carved wooden box was a small heavy copper octagon with swing levers and what looked like a short pipe sticking up from one corner.

“And
what
the hell’s that?” Justice, sounding like a broken record.

“Some kind of old, old, old school bong or something?” Walker peered at the instrument cradled in my palm.

“
Um
.” I scratched my jaw. “I believe it’s a scarificator circa 1800s England.”

“A
what?
”

Kiki stepped in. “An antique. Specifically medical, for the use of bloodletting. For Bane’s collection.”

“Collection of what? Torture devices?” Justice curled his nose.

Walker leaned way, way, way back. Tilly hooted with laughter.

Grasping the nape of Kiki’s neck, I brought her to me for a slow, deep kiss. “Thanks, babe.”

“Freakshows. Plural.” Storm renewed his scowl, but his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Kiki received the next present. Needless to say the bulky biography of Benedict Arnold wasn’t from me.

She sent the big middle finger in Walker’s direction. “You are such an asshat.”

“But a loveable one.”

“You played that same exact argument with me once.” Jade’s eyebrows arched at her hubby, and she was simply glowing.

Pregnant.

“And it worked. Little wifey.”

“Don’t be a wanker.”

Ah. The happy couple. Breeding.

More laughs.

Walker got a really cool explosives kit I wouldn’t be able to figure out without a diagram and instructions written in two languages.

“Hell yeah. This shit’s quality,” he boomed out after tearing into the package.

“How come he got the only decent present?” Storm was still frowning.

I passed out another round of drinks.

“Because I rate,” Walker replied.

“
Couillon
.”

“I gotta guess who gave me the dyna-blow, right?” Ignoring Storm, Walker peered around the group. “I’m going with pretty boy here.”

“
I
could’ve gotten the bomb kit.” Jade protested with a pretty pout.

“Not. You weren’t very happy last time I blew up the remains of our Bentley at the ranch.”

Jesus. Happy families indeed.

“Yeah. You got me,” Justice admitted. “My turn.” He hooked two fingers at Blaize, Missus Secret Service Santa. “Gimme.”

He did the whole shaking the gift thing, trying to puzzle it out. Because he was still eight-years-old apparently.

Giving up, he peeled back the paper. Then cursed up and down.
And
tossed the bright yellow and black book at Walker.

Romance Writing for Dummies.

I choked on a laugh.

Everyone else cracked up, too.