Shadow Ops: Danger's Heat (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 2) (7 page)

Justice’s dank office was cluttered with old pictures covered in dust, empty whiskey bottles and a broken shadow box that held a Medal of Honor. Rose was saddened at the thoughts of what had driven the most highly decorated warrior in the military into this hellhole.

“Rose, now that the showboating’s done, let’s get down to business. What exactly are we fucking with?” Justice’s somber demeanor shifted her perception of him. His massive frame settled across from her, heavily inked forearms rippling against the small military surplus metal field desk. His eyes, sleepy and deep brown, narrowed their focus until her eyes locked into them.

“We’re not sure, but suspect a bio-chem variant of fentanyl. The Preacher’s disciples tried dispersing it in a few locations around the D.C. area over the last few months, but we’ve been able to stop them in time. Even managed to take out the Preacher in the process.” Her stare remained strong but not uncourteous—this had become a meeting of professionals.

“I heard—good work. Then what happened?”

“His death was like throwing dust into a storm—his blood family, disciples and off-shoot networks went wild trying to unleash his master plan. Most hadn’t the intellect or resources, but one in particular has been successful so far.”

“The Rougarou,” he whispered.

“Yes, whatever the hell a Rougarou is, it’s remained one step ahead.”

“The Rougarou of my childhood was mythical, seems like this one is real. You believe in legend?” Justice’s tone shifted and he appeared to be flirting with her.

“Not in the least bit. I deal in facts, and the fact is that this one—myth or real—is going to get busted sooner or later. We’ve intercepted a member’s diary and have been translating it from an obsolete Eastern bloc language, before being able to decode it. We’re getting closer to a full debriefing soon. Until then, we’ve tracked leads as they’re revealed.”

“Is that how you arrived in Chicago?”

“Honestly? Hollywood spotted a four-leaf clover on a ship we were searching in Moline. I guess we’d been so focused on the hunt that Saint Paddy’s day slipped my mind. Where better to cause highly visible chaos, than down by the Chicago River, that the city colors green every year?”

“Well wasn’t that lucky?” Justice kept an eye on the closed door behind her. He reached over to a dusty bookshelf and snatched up two tumblers and a bottle of bourbon. Rose hated sitting with her back to the door, but there weren’t any other options. A chill snaked across her skin. She grasped both arms and shoved the chair against the door.

“Sometimes being lucky is better than being good,” she offered, and raised her glass to toast before she touched the whiskey to her lips.

“Being prepared is better than either. You don’t seem too prepared, Rose. What’s got you off your game?” His solid chin rocked back as he gulped the full glass down.

“Speaking of prepared, how the hell did a CIA agent end up as president of an outlaw motorcycle gang?” She swirled the brownish liquid around the glass—uneasy, her eyes never left him.

“Club. It’s not a gang—it’s a club.” He smirked. More whiskey gurgled into his bourbon-coated glass.

“Sorry, my mistake—club.”

“It’s easy. I love this country, but I fucking hate the government. I killed to defend it—wasn’t anyone better at it. With the exception of you, my dear. But politicians stuck their fingers up my ass and tried to fiddle my balls with threats of cutbacks and reassignments to positions that would expose my cover. They knew it’d mean my death but said I was their property–therefore, expendable.” His face pinched into sinister lines and the vibrant inked colors exploded to life across his arms. The images embedded within the bold, dark tattoos spoke of evil.

“I understand. If you’ve seen my file, then you knew what the government did to me.” Her eyes averted his glare. Memories would always ride the surface of this topic.

“I needed the rush and the freedom I had working undercover ops. How the hell would I mold into their bureaucratic cubicles back stateside? This shit is the life, sister. Too bad you ain’t a fucking dude, you’d love it.” Justice’s eyes grew excited. Even his full, genuine smile looked menacing.

“No thanks, but I can see the attraction. What put you over the edge?” She sensed it wasn’t the culmination of a career of getting dicked, it had to be a final straw.

“I’d worked with the Mossad to rid Israel of Khalid Mishal. The Hamas were gaining power and the Jews knew they’d become a threat if not stopped. We’d prepared for a straight sniper shot, but in the end, politicians said it’d be too messy. They wanted 007 bullshit–blow the poison in his ear and let him sleep to his death. Total fuck up. Mishal’s protection detail captured two of Mossad’s agents and the gig was up. President Wild Bill threw us under the bus—even offered my identity to save a peace treaty with Jordan. Fuck that and them. I went off the grid.” Rose noticed strands of hair stuck against his forehead, while moisture beaded his upper lip and the bridge of his nose. He looked like he’d just relived the entire ordeal.

“I hate them too,” she mouthed as her hand extended to touch his. He nodded.

“Now that we’ve shared sad stories, what’s the plan?” His expression flattened.

“I’m expecting comms from HQ anytime. We’ve less than two days until St. Patrick’s Day, and I have to believe they’ll use the Chicago River to deliver their attack.”

“Didn’t you say y’all had a description of the transport van? I’ll have my men run the city until we find it. At the least, it’ll keep them busy and away from wanting to sneak attack your team.”

“Hate us do-gooders that bad huh?”

“Yep, I could lose my position within the gang if this shit blows up on us.”

“Gang? Don’t you mean club?” Rose smiled.

“Yeah, you right sis,” he said with a grin. His broad fist swung toward her to bump knuckles.

“I’m in the same boat. The Senate oversight committee doesn’t know we’re still running covert ops, and we never bothered to call the Chicago PD. If it goes bad, I may be calling you to join your club.”

“Just stick to the promise. Don’t let your team get distracted by what they see or hear. I’ve got a business to run and I can’t order a shut down because your own government screwed you by withholding backup and resources. I’m trusting you, Rose Prospero.” His brown eyes blinked, softer than they’d appeared earlier. His potshots at intimidating STR’s agents had stopped, and she felt she could trust him too. After all, they were both Americans.

“Your brother is a good man, Justice. You really should call him,” Rose said before walking out to take a phone call.

The bed and breakfast was another of Rose’s network resources. She knew every moment of comfort the team experienced, the more it’d pay off when the chips were down. This Victorian style resort sat on the outskirts of the city, and the quiet neighborhood hadn’t a clue what the band of vagabonds was doing to save their very lives.

Hollywood was roused from a decent sleep made possible by the pain meds he’d eaten to dull the gripping pain in his shoulder. Voodoo stroked his head to sooth him. He jerked from beneath her touch—a defensive response.

“Baby, why you pulling away from me?” Her voice was singsong and sincere.

“I’m not sure what’s up with you, and I’ve gotta keep my head clear right now.”

“Dwight, not this shit again. I’m doing my best undercover acting to keep Justice moving in the direction we need. He might look like a freakish devil to you, but he’s Justice Joseph Boudreaux to me.” She smoothed his hair down against the back of his head and he forced himself to remain still.

“Maybe you’re too good an actress. I’ve never felt jealousy before—don’t like the way it makes me feel. Every time he puts his hands on you, it drives me mad,” he confessed. She leaned over his ribcage, careful to avoid his shoulder, and kissed him.

“Is my baby feeling threatened by the big bad wolf?” Her hands roamed over him, and he feigned a struggle to defend himself.

“Enough, or this animal is going to devour you,” he grumbled. His beard had continued to thicken over the weeks, and his usually spiked blonde hair was longer than preferred.

Failing to heed his warning, Voodoo continued to taunt him with a baby-talk voice that excited him. He kissed her, but she kissed him back harder. His head tilted and his eyes locked into hers. Consumed with the underlying intensity of adrenaline flood, Hollywood pulled her body close to his. She jerked at him to come even closer. His dick rocketed into erection and she beamed at the pressure it created against her thigh.

“Feeling frisky?” she taunted.

“Don’t tease me,” he warned, teeth nipping against her golden brown skin.

Her head rolled back and she moaned. He saw her skin bloom with chill bumps as he feather-caressed her body. His tongue was hungry for her breasts. Lips sealed and sucked at her double-pierced nipples. The cool, metal contrast against his warm mouth excited him. His fingers scrabbled up her waist until they rolled her left nipple between them. He became more rigid at her body’s reaction to the slight painful pinching.

“Fuck me, baby. You won’t break me, fuck me now.” Her rumble sent waves of heat into his groin. The slightest spurts of cum leapt from the head of his cock. There was nothing that could’ve held him back from her.

“You want me to fuck you?” he sounded angry, almost hurt or vengeful as he slipped around back of her body. Strong fingers dug into her hips and he lifted them until her ass was propped firm on all fours.

“Oh, baby, from behind. I love it,” she taunted. Hollywood became weak-legged as she arched her spine, causing her voluptuous bottom to lift even higher. He massaged her butt with both hands, and snarled each time his fingers came closer to entering her ass. He pressed—she pressed harder.

“Baby, I feel him, all of him waiting for me,” she gasped while reaching between her legs to grab his shaft. His back bucked at her touch. “I want him in me.”

“I’m too hard, I’ll come before I’m in your ass, baby. You make me wild—I feel alive.” He eased his hips back from her curves. She leaned back against him. “No baby, I’m too close to coming,” he stuttered, eyes batting furiously to control his sense of ecstasy.

“I need to surrender, please take me.”

“Baby,” he moaned louder.

“Just the head. Come inside my ass, baby, please. I need to feel naughty.” She wrenched his cock as it bounced upward and against her pierced clit. Her torso twisted sideways and she squirmed until the head of his cock met her open ass. He didn’t resist her need. He pushed gently through her still tight grip on his member.

Hollywood reached to moisten his fingers from her moist pussy, and used her own juices to massage her rectum. She squirmed, but soon relaxed. A little spit added to the mix then his thumb plunged into her asshole. He’d prepped her opening for the size his dick. She pressed back against it and moaned louder.

Hollywood perched straighter onto his knees. He reached again for her moisture-covered hips and wrapped fingers around her pelvic bone. The pressure and tension around the increasingly sensitive head of his cock meshed pain and pleasure until it had entered her as far as the ridge. Dick head snugged just inside of her ass, she writhed like a wild animal with pants and curses.

“You okay?”

“Yes, baby. Fuck yeah.”

“Krystal, slow down you’re gonna to make me come.” His breathing grew rapid. He began to suck in fast shots of air while muscles contorted beneath reddened skin preparing to orgasm.

“Come. I need to feel you come,” she wailed in delight. Her short hair whipped in quick head jerks. Her body’s twists and arcs excited Hollywood. Her skin was soft, the tattoos moved fluidly over her curvaceous physique.

“Baby, I can’t stop…Yes, Krystal, yes,” he struggled with capturing breaths and tried not to fully enter her rear end. Watching just the head of his cock, while the rest of his shaft suspended outside of her body was an exhilarating sight. He stroked his shaft and loved the sensation of exploding his semen inside her ass.

His fingers yanked her hips closer to his pelvis. He repeated the word baby endlessly as sweat erupted across his body. Even his feet were wet with the moisture of sex—pure animalistic sex.

*     *     *

[SWAT up. Brief n 10]

Hollywood’s pulse quickened as he read Rose’s message. He tossed the secure cell over to Voodoo. It landed on her rock-hard abs, and made a ping sound as the metal casing bounced off her belly button ring.

“I wonder what news broke? It’s been fun and all but I’m ready to head back to Biloxi and finish our weekend.” Voodoo swooned over Hollywood’s nude physique.

“Not sure, but I’m with you on that one. Seems there’s a video floating around that reminds me of what we were up to when we got roused off the Beau Rivage rooftop. That seems like so long ago,” Hollywood said as he tugged his tactical uniform over a pair of gym shorts and UnderArmor shirt. “Gotta get moving, baby. No keeping Rose waiting when shit’s going down.”

Tires crunched gravel and cement as the SUV swung across the vacant parking lot behind an abandoned barroom at West 59
th
near Central Park Avenue. The Hog’s Wart Saloon looked like it had seen more deviant days. With boarded up windows and metal doors locked tight, only the Fire Marshal’s notice stapled to the wall appeared recent.

“Eyes up,” Chase sneered as they rounded the east side toward ten Harley Davidson motorcycles backed into a straight-line formation. The hogs ranged from piecemeal rat bikes to showroom-floor pristine.

“All probably stolen,” KC added.

“Not our problem. Don’t mention anything other than the mission. I could care less if they had a full-blown meth lab inside—our job is to stop Bonny. Understood?” Rose’s unusual recital didn’t set well with Hollywood. The expressions on the others’ faces showed the same.

Billy pulled the vehicle around until it was situated with the driver’s door away from the barroom. He also intentionally pulled the extended SUV parallel with the building, thus blocking the motorcycles in between the bar and vehicle. Hollywood reached over the seat to pat him on the shoulder—Billy was always thinking ahead three or four steps.

“There were eleven at their clubhouse, but only ten bikes,” Chase said.

“Maybe one’s riding bitch,” Voodoo said.

“Doubt these devils ride bitch. They’d kill you and steal your bike before asking for a ride on it,” Chase said.

“Keep your eyes open and mouths closed. I’m sure this’ll still run out in a power play once they arm themselves. They don’t need anymore info than necessary. I trust Justice, but not the others,” Rose instructed.

At the admission, Billy’s head snapped toward Rose. Hollywood assumed it was the casual way she’d announced her trust for the leader of these vile criminals.

“It’ll be okay—these guys can be trusted if Justice says so.” Voodoo’s warm green eyes burned with an excited energy. Hollywood wished her smile wasn’t so eager, but then she glanced at him and blew a silent kiss. He patted his right hand over his heart—he wasn’t so sure about this scenario.

“Get out of the fucking car and show us your hands.” In a tactical maneuver as swift and slick as STR had ever executed, nine bearded, potbellied over-the-hill outlaw bikers had surrounded their heavily armed SUV.

I wish she’d stop smiling.