Shadow Ops: Danger's Heat (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 2) (3 page)

“Shit, Team 6—one man down. Non-life threatening,” Cobra’s voice sounded pissed. Voodoo knew the feeling.

“Two down and departed. Thanks 5,” Cobra said. “Coming up with one medevac.”

Voodoo pressed the communications headset against her ear to follow the action. Her heart grew heavy. She’d had enough of this bullshit. Penny ante meth heads playing shoot ’em up while the fate of thousands drifted up river. Not to mention her damn roommate Bonny being central to the whole mess.

She heard the soft touch of a sole upon diamond-plated steel. Raised her weapon, and rattled off three rounds. An emaciated bag of skin dropped a sawed-off shotgun as he crumpled. Brass casings from her Colt 9mm jingled, as they bounced along the metal platform. Burnt powder saturated the filter to her mask.

“Look who’s awake,” KC teased as Hollywood shook his head and tried to lift himself to a seated position. Voodoo heard her transmission but kept her sights down the passageway. She was sure another voice had gasped as the shooter was dropped.

“I’m okay. Just had the wind knocked out of me. Back in the game,” Hollywood assured.

Voodoo’s heart leapt—there was no denying how she felt for him.

“Good,” Chase radioed. “KC, come back my way to clear this last room.”

“Moving,” KC responded.

Hollywood gave Voodoo a thumb up as he leaned against the bulkhead taking in deep gulps of tanked air. She’d never been so happy as right then. What better way to build a relationship than fighting with, and for, the one you cared about most.

“Team 4, assist Team 6 with casualty,” Rose said. “Chopper coming into hot LZ, so make transfer quickly. Weather getting worse. We’ll meet up at hospital later.”

“Team 4 moving,” Billy acknowledged.

“Team 5 move to captain’s bridge to help Teams 1 and 2 finish clearing.”

“Yes ma’am,” The SEAL’s acknowledgement showed no signs of apprehension over taking orders from a woman. Of course, Rose Prospero was no typical woman. Voodoo knew she could learn plenty from her as a role model.

“This ain’t the Peabody Hotel?” Chase asked the obvious. Their flat panel van strolled across a bumpy gravel-paved path off Macon Cove Road—about 15 klicks east of downtown Memphis.

“Brief and bunk here tonight. Intel Section promised more diary decoding by this evening. No need hustling back to HQ—the path to Bonny is up river. We just don’t know how far at this point.” Billy sat on the floor of the van, his forearms hugging bent knees. His body swayed with the motion of the transport as it had in the chopper.

“I ain’t ever seen this type of haul and switch operation up a river before. Hell, up any body of water in all my years with Team 6. The guy Rose winged from the balcony said Bonny and friends traded them the ship for a hand in offloading barrels. He said the next boat was about the size of a river ferry.” Hollywood was exasperated, but made sure his touch was gentle against Voodoo’s back. She’d leaned against his shins, which set his groin on alert.

“Good point. How does a ship that size cruise up river and no one notice?” Billy said. “At least we’re not tied down to a HAZMAT decon. The zombies must’ve been the meth cooks,”

“So zombies do die?” Voodoo giggled nervously. Her pupils were so large they almost consumed the green of the iris. Hollywood knew all too personally that everyone reacted differently to taking a life—and she’d taken two. He rubbed fingers up and down her spine making her head roll side-to-side.

“Almost there,” Billy said. “Hit the head, chow on your own and prepare to brief once Rose returns from Methodist Hospital. Your Navy squid’s almost back to good.”

“You mean back to freaking awesome,” Hollywood corrected. Their eyes met, “Yes, what you said,” Billy humored him—he knew everyone’s adrenaline affected them differently.

“Any word on Lawless?” Billy asked Voodoo.

Hollywood watched Voodoo’s reaction, and assumed Billy asked her as a strike against him. She shook her head no.

*     *     *

“How’s Rose pull it off?” Voodoo asked.

“Pull what off?” Hollywood asked.

“The armored truck, the van, the hotel, knowing my size in SWAT gear and boots. And now, I’ve got a wardrobe laid out for this evening. Amazing.” Voodoo gushed over the clean clothes and toiletry supplies left organized in the hotel room.

“She takes care of the team that takes care of America.” Hollywood boasted.

“She’s fantastic.”

“No, you’re fantastic. You saved Chase’s and my hides today.” Hollywood kissed her.

He held her gently, a contrast to the furious badass that had led the charge on locking down an entire ship. Voodoo’s adrenaline, however had spiked, and hours after the shooting, she still felt the aggression of survival. She bit against his bottom lip. Held it between her teeth and growled.

“Oh, baby’s frisky?”

“Yes, sir, I’m feeling very frisky.” Her hands roamed across his shoulders and up his neck. “You got soft skin, why no tattoos?”

“Scared of needle pricks.” She felt the tension escaping his shoulders in waves, responding to the sensation of her touch. The rain had calmed but continued to patter against the balcony doors.

“You’ve got a needle—a big needle. Gonna prick me with it?” Voodoo couldn’t contain her touch to only a sensual caress. Her fingers dove into his waistline and struggled to yank the belt’s buckle loose. Hollywood, drained from the tactical encounter, and sore from from the shotgun’s concussion, feigned excitement.

“Old man, you better get your act in gear or this gator girl’s gonna get’cha.” Playfully, she pushed against his shoulders. He winced at the sharp pain. “I’m sorry, baby.” She closed the gap and drew him into her arms.

He scowled. “I didn’t realize how bad it hurt until after we showered and ate. My body’s cooling down, so the aches are heating up.” Still a young man, he dreaded the older side of active field ops. The inevitable bothered him—though he’d never admit it.

“It’s okay, we can just hit the hay after Rose’s intel briefing.”

Hollywood couldn’t shake the anxiety of feeling on edge. Experienced with post-critical incident trauma, the Navy SEAL prided himself on self-assessment and treatment. Getting your ass back in the fight, and keeping your head on straight were his specialties. Of course, he’d never had someone like Voodoo on his team before either.

“No way, we never did get to finish what we started in Biloxi.” He pulled her close with his left arm, letting the right one dangle against his side.

She growled again, but less aggressive. “Let’s get back to you tattooing me with that giant needle of yours.”

No two ways about it—Voodoo was fucking horny. He knew it was time to re-engage the battle. They stood in the middle of the micro-hotel, unfazed by the roar of airplanes overhead hitting their take off and landing patterns.

“You’re so beautiful. I’m glad we’re here together.” He smoothed the long waves of black hair against her temple. He rested his forehead against hers and inhaled.

“Big boy, look, I love you, but I’m about to doggone explode. I know it ain’t lady like or not much on the romantic side, but if I don’t get you inside of me right now, there’s going to be bloodshed. Navy SEAL or not—this Cajun momma’s hot,” she howled. Lightning crashed in the distance, followed by the roll of thunder.

Hollywood’s back arched and shoulders rolled like a boxer entering the ring. Her sassy attitude excited him, and that little tirade had awoken a sleeping giant. His empty expression now reflected an inner idea about what would happen to her. Hollywood groaned as the flood of endorphins blocked his pain.

“Come here, Cajun momma.” He grabbed her by the swatch of hair that taunted him every time he looked at her. Fuck, she was a turn on. She stumble-stepped into his chest. His pectoral muscles flexed. “Take your clothes off, now.” He breathed through his nose—head tilted up.

Voodoo obeyed. The jeans and orange-colored long-sleeve blouse Rose had purchased for her were tossed into a neat pile atop the loafers. She stood before him—arms against her hips, feet shoulder width apart. It wasn’t the most seductive stance, but neither was she in the mood for niceties. He finished undressing himself and stepped back to examine her.

Hollywood’s pain was obvious, but so was his erection. He tried to lift both arms for her, but his face exploded into a twisted wreckage of agony. He gritted a grin and tried to laugh it off.

“Son of a bitch,” his body folded in agony.

“Baby, please, we can wait.”

“Don’t patronize me.” He reached out again to grab her by the shaved hairs around the nape of her neck and she flinched. “You scared, baby?” he asked in a much more calm tone.

“No, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m a survivor.” He nudged her right shoulder with his left hand. She landed on her knees abruptly. There was no sheepish smile or implied apology—he was in the throws of enduring yet another near death experience.

“Suck my dick.”

“Please?” she resisted.

“You wanted sex, now suck my dick.” He tightened the grip on her hair.

Her eyes combed the length of his torso until they met his eyes. Her eyelids fluttered and she pursed her lips. “This ain’t gonna end well—you about to unleash the Creole in me.”

She swallowed him down until gags replaced her moans. His fingers wrapped into her mane and jerked her by the hair to slow down—she resisted. Water welled in the corners of her eyes, but the fiery lover refused to relent. His knees finally buckled and he twisted his torso for something, anything to hold onto. Nothing—they were in the middle of the hotel room. She snugged her left arm behind his hamstrings, looked up at him, shook her head, and hummed, “Oh no.”

“Come on then badass, swallow it.” His chin juddered up and mouth stretched open where silent screams escaped. Pulsing veins coursed through his temples and tore across his neck. The blazing pain in his right rotator cuff spiked his pulse even higher.

She sucked on his dick as hard as her hollowed cheeks allowed. Lips purpled from the intense friction, creased with intense pressure. He writhed, unable to escape her hold. Neither would relent—adrenaline ignited their animal instincts. The raw emotion had to run its course. Sex—primal, visceral sex was their remedy.

Hollywood’s palm shoved against the top of her head and then pulled her to her feet. His right hand grabbed her waist—he chomped his teeth together in agonizing discomfort. Their lips smashed together and his tongue flittered inside of her mouth. There was nothing sweet about this. His arm still trembled as he pulled her toward the bed. The weather had broken bad again. Rain slammed against the windows and roof. The chaotic storm only heightened his excitement.

“You’re an animal.”

“You’ll see my animal, now lay back.” Hollywood demanded.

Voodoo’s look teetered between ecstatic and frantic as her body surrendered onto the thinly padded mattress. Vibrant colors and designs flexed to life as her tattooed arms reached to challenge his arrival. Bent knees opened to receive him as she curled upward to take his mouth against hers.

Her thighs fell open as his hand slid between them. He pushed two fingers into her pussy—soaking wet. He leered—foreplay wasn’t going to happen, or be needed. He pressed his fingers against her bottom lip and she licked the moisture off them. Her moan ignited his need to fuck her to a fever pitch. Propped onto both knees, he grabbed his dick and aimed its head toward her pussy.

“What’cha got, big boy?” she teased once her voice returned from the mouth fucking he’d given her. Drawn tight, her thighs pressed back together. Hollywood grabbed her by both ankles and straightened her legs. He rested the crossed feet atop his left shoulder to expose wet pussy lips. Watching him watch her made her throb deep inside. Her anticipation was as sky high as her adrenaline.

“This is what I’ve got for you.” He stuck his cock inside, not slowing his force until his pelvis slammed against her ass and hamstrings. She gasped. Green eyes bulged from between bouncing lids. Hollywood leaned back because of the pitch, “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

He slammed his dick into her, and she grabbed for more. Both their bodies covered in sweat and her wetness, they fought the desire to hold or kiss. They needed to fuck each other to feel alive. Both needed to know there was more to risking their lives than a job well done.

His roar reverberated like a tortured brute as she sensed his testicles swell with semen. Veins swelled with pumping blood and raised the tight skin covering his arms and chest. She moaned. His muscles jerked and twitched uncontrollably. Hot breath escaped from deep in his lungs across her hard nipples. Voodoo’s body bucked. She kicked her legs free of his grip. Her heels pushed against the wrinkled bed sheets.

Thunder clashed with rips of lightning. She pressed against his cock until he couldn’t bury himself any deeper inside of her. Their breathing synched. Hollywood closed his eyes to ride the sensation of their bodies racing to orgasm. He cried out in a confluence of pain and pleasure before he collapsed into her arms.

“Dwight.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Your cell’s buzzing. I’m sure it’s Rose, again.”