Sky's Lark
A Silver Publishing Book
Sky's Lark
Copyright © 2012 by Cheyenne Meadows
E-book ISBN: 9781614957720
First E-book Publication: November 2012
Cover design by Lee Tiffin
Editor: Jason Huffman
All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Silver Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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This book is written in US English.
PUBLISHER
www.SPSilverPublishing.com
Note from the Publisher
Dear Reader,
Thank you for your purchase of this title. The authors and staff of Silver Publishing hope you enjoy this read and that we will have a long and happy association together.
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Publisher
Silver Publishing
http://www.spsilverpublishing.com
Dedication
For everyone at LOS who read my stories over the years, provided encouragement, feedback, and stuck with me as I practiced my writing skills. Without everyone there who pushed me to write professionally, who took the time to email with praise, I wouldn't have pursued this dream. Thank you all.
For E who suggested creating a female Wind Warrior. Without his idea, this book would have never come to be.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Mustang
: Ford Motor Company
Suburban
: General Motors LLC
Wonder Woman
: DC Comics Inc.
Lexus
: Toyota Motor Company
Army
: Department of the Army
Marines
: U.S. Marine Corps, a component of the U.S. Department of the Navy
Navy SEAL
: Department of the Navy
West Point
: Department of the Army
Playboy Channel
: Playboy Enterprises, Inc.
Rambo
: StudioCanal
Chapter 1
Why am I doing this? Again?
Lark muttered under her breath, mentally chastising herself for accepting this job, once again playing a blonde bimbo with no more on her mind than finding a sugar daddy and latching on to him like a life vest after the boat sank.
Nearly a month ago, she'd turned in her status change with the DEA from full time to as-needed contractual, opting for a new opportunity and direction in her career by becoming a Wind Warrior. The small group, made up of former special ops military personnel, worked in the private sector with contracts to take out the mean and nasties of the world, targets that normal police or even government agencies couldn't touch. Most made their riches in the illegal drug industry and possessed too much money, power, and pull for the authorities to tackle.
That's where the Wind Warriors, who were able to circumvent many legal barriers and regional policies, came in. They held the golden stamp of permission to take care of business in any way they saw fit. Their toy boxes held the latest and greatest gadgets and gizmos, all high-class, military grade, necessary and handy for many of their missions. After all, once one drug kingpin ceased to exist, their entire operation had to be blown to smithereens or another bully would rise to the top, seize control over the already established empire, and never miss a single beat.
Flexibility, excitement, respect, and the ability to make her own decisions. All those qualities had drawn her to the small group. The fact that she rode along and participated in a mission while still employed by the DEA and had a chance to learn the personalities and dynamics had sealed the deal. A raise, freedom to do her job as she wanted, getting to play with brand new weapons only the top ranks of the military owned, and one-tenth of the paperwork. What more could a girl want?
Not to be standing in four-inch stiletto heels with a miniskirt that barely covers the crotch of my panties with the temperature outside hovering around freezing.
She'd hoped by joining the action-packed Wind Warriors, she had traded in her slinky "screw me" undercover persona for wearing black and camouflage and combat boots, and sliding around in the dirt while in stealth mode. Unfortunately, the worst part of her former job returned with a vengeance, landing her in an outfit that set her teeth to grinding and her feet to hurting, and forced her to tolerate wolf whistles, jeers, and more pats on her barely covered rear than a baby went through diapers. Each time, she clamped down on her waning patience, reminding herself if she disconnected the offending hand from its male chauvinist owner, her cover and the mission would be blown. Times were tough and she needed an income, thus she plastered a smile on her face, put a wiggle in her walk, and strode toward the roulette table, her miniscule blouse hanging low enough to give just about anyone a free viewing of her braless cleavage.
"Hey, doll." A robust, sandy-haired man cupped her butt, giving it a squeeze. "Come to my room. We can see what kind of blow job you can manage."
She growled low, clenching her hands to keep from throttling the guy.
"Lark. The mission. Picking a fight will only drive Santora back into hiding." Night's voice of reason carried through the tiny receiver neatly doubling as an earring.
Glaring at her offender, she altered her route, getting away from temptation before she kneed the guy's balls into his body cavity.
"This job sucks," she grumbled between clenched teeth.
"Just a bit longer, then you can whale into any other man you want," Night, her boss and leader of the Wind Warriors, said.
"How would you like it if a man grabbed your ass while making lewd sounds and suggestions?"
"He would wake up in the hospital wondering what truck ran his ass over." Loco snorted through the communication link. The lone Marine in the group tagged along for backup, or in her opinion, to annoy the crap out of her.
"If you squeezed my ass like it was a ripe melon, that would give me a hard-on." Spoon said in his lighter tone.
She huffed, barely resisting the urge to beat her head against a nearby slot machine. "I better be getting hazard pay for this."
"Get Santora out of there and alone. Then we'll discuss it," Night ordered, essentially dismissing her until she worked her wiles on the drug tycoon target.
Lark released a long breath in an attempt to push out all the frustration and distractions that came with her undercover position. Once refocused, she plastered a "come get me, I'm yours" smile on her face and sauntered up to the table, squeezing in at an angle from where Santora stood with one person between them.
The slim Hispanic man with a short mustache matched perfectly the picture and description given to her earlier in the evening. His dark suit and the large rings on several fingers spoke of his wealth. While not much on appearances with his acne-scarred face and slight build, he possessed enough money and power to control an entire region with a simple command.
He pushed chips into a small square outlined on the green cloth, called out his number, and waited for the small marble to find a momentary home.
The roulette dealer set the ball in motion and a moment later called out a match for Santora's selection. A couple other gamblers grumbled, their faces screwed up in disgust as they took their remaining chips and left.
Lark edged closer. "Wow. Handsome and lucky." She purposely dropped her tone to a sultry purr, using every asset she possessed to catch her target's interest. She trailed the fingers of one hand across her upper chest, drawing attention to the overly exposed cleavage as the slightly taller Latino man looked her way.
His gaze followed her caress and lowered before lifting finally to meet her eyes. "Pretty." His accented English carried easily.
Tucking her chin, she batted her long mascara-covered eyelashes at him, playing the coy beauty ripe for the taking. All the information she'd read on her target indicated he liked total control with no questions, and women who knew how to please without crossing a certain line. Hookers weren't his style. From what they gathered, he shunned women who dressed, acted like, or asked for money in exchange for sex, preferring a loose lady in the market for a sugar daddy. If she happened to be dumb as fruitcake, all the better.