Bane: Elite Operatives (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 4) (5 page)

I took Kiki’s hand and all but dragged her from the joint. “You and me? We need to talk,
Senorita
.”

Baby Spy

AS SOON AS WE were enclosed in the SUV and speeding away from the ghetto, I lit a cigarette and clamped it between my teeth. “Wanna tell me what that was about back there?”

Kiki propped one booted foot on the dash and lazily rolled her head in my direction. “What?”

“You and your fucking papi, Carlos.”

She snorted. “Papi? That’s just gross. Is that the kind of thing that gets you off?” She moued her lips in a pout and breathed out, “
Daddy
?”

Well, if she was gonna call me
Daddy
like that then hell-yeah-maybe.

“No,” I grunted out, throwing off the skull cap. The shit made my head itch. “Talk, girl.”

“
Ooh
. Girl again. So you do have kinky tendencies.”

“Kiki. Goddammit.” I growled.

“Okay. Jesus. Don’t get your balls in a knot.” She crossed her arms over her chest and slid those stunning arctic blue irises my way. “Special task force. Two years ago. UC with Carlos when he was just starting as the supremo homeboy with Los Reyes. Couldn’t make shit stick.”

“Special task force?” I flicked my smoked butt out the window. “As in the Feds?”

“That’s what I said.”

Kiki and the Feebs
. And suddenly alarm bells weren’t just ringing in my head. Suspicion skittered all along my nerve endings. Because the fucking Feds had been tipped off during Walker’s mission, and that had led to the infiltration of Justice’s warehouse, and Walker, Jade’s, and Majedah’s near arrest.

“Isn’t Mexico a little outside federal jurisdiction?”

“Not when they’re on American soil, smuggling blow.”

“So you trained at Quantico,” I flatly stated.

Kiki had told me not even an hour ago she’d prove her innocence. Right now all she was doing was digging her own hole for the grave I was supposed to put her in.

“That a problem?”

“You know how everyone thinks you fucked Walker’s op from the ground up? If they knew you were a former Feeb you probably wouldn’t live through the night, Kiki.” I stomped on the brake. “Jesus Christ, girl. Do you have any fucking survival instincts at all?”

In the flash of a second, Kiki pulled one of her Glocks and held the cold metal at the underside of my jaw. “I’d say I’ve got excellent instincts and reaction time,
boy
.”

“Take that thing out of my face before I break your arm.” My jaw clenched when she pushed the gun muzzle harder against my skin.

“You got another gun you want me to play with?”

The windows fogged inside the truck as her free hand fell to my lap. The safety on her sidearm clicked—and I could’ve ripped her arm from her shoulder before she had a chance to blink—but I was the one left blinking, gasping, goddamn almost shooting off in my pants when her free hand traced the rigid length rolled tight inside my pants.

Her gun slid down the side of my neck, replaced by her warm and wet lips on my jawline. “Your PA is fucking hot, Griffin.”

She trailed fingertips over the bulge of my cockhead and the steel piercing.

One danger of going commando, my sensitive shaft rubbed against the thin barrier of rough cloth, aided by the teasing flicks of Kiki’s fingers over the domed, pierced top of my cock.

My throat bobbed, and I leaned my head back. “Why don’t you take it out and suck it for me?”

A long lick up to my earlobe she bit with a stinging nip. A final stroke alongside my harder-than-hell dick. “I don’t think Miss Carmichael would think that’s mission imperative.”

“Don’t play with me.” I stilled a last highly aroused shudder before it coursed through my entire body.

“But it’s so much fun.” Kiki holstered her pistol with a smirk, finally dragging her hand off me.

I punched the SUV into drive.

By that point my cock stood up so hard and tall I bet it could steer the damn vehicle on its own.

“How’d you get with the Feds?”

“Oh, it’s a good story, that one.” Kiki reached for one of my cigarettes, and I lit it for her.

She blew out a stream of smoke. “So, there was this little girl named Katherine Dillon”—she halted and looked at me—“it’s kind of a fairytale. Hope you don’t mind.”

An unwilling smile cruised across my lips.

“You know what? I might even rhyme this shit one day.” She huffed a laugh, took a drag. “Might as well start now, right?”

I wound the vehicle through the streets, heading toward operations, and Kiki closed her eyes.

“Katherine Dillon didn’t even have a shilling when her parents up and disappeared. Twelve years old, no place to go, no money to make unless she wanted to become a ho.”

I cranked my neck around. She sat with the cigarette ember-red between her fingers. Eyes shut, a slight smile curling her lips, she tapped a rhythm with her free hand.

“Through cold nights on cold streets in New York City—the Big Apple—she almost died of hunger. Thirteen. She learned to stay away from pimps and freaks but still wanted to own her own thunder.

“She learned how to survive.

“Through grift and graft and theft but never charity.” Kiki popped an eye open. “Katherine didn’t like to be given things.”

“You can stop . . . Kiki.” My throat had tightened, my hands on the steering wheel, too.

I knew exactly what she was doing—why she was telling her story that way. The rhyming. Her eyes closed. A way to distance herself from what was very real and probably pretty fucking painful.

Been there.

Done that.

“Katherine Dillon never stopped. There was no shelter, just helter-skelter. She became an excellent pickpocket, the little moppet nobody wanted.

“Through it all our heroine went to school. She fought her way through college. She got noticed in more ways than one. Because she was so frosty-cool.

“An agent discovered her, found out she had a low tolerance for fear. His name was Jenkins.” She took a last tug on the cig then tossed it out the window. “Sorry. That didn’t rhyme so much.”

I reached over, cupping a hand on top of her shoulder. And in that moment she felt tiny despite all her balls-out bravado.

“Jenkins took Katherine in, under his wing. His pet project became number one Feeb material. She’d never been ethereal.” Tapping her fingers against the butt of her pistol, Kiki concluded, “But she did become one damn good killer.

“Katherine Dillon—the girl who’d been hurt—became Kiki Damage.” She sighed, rolling her neck. “Probably need to change the ending,
huh
?”

“Could have a happier conclusion, yeah.”

She slugged me on the shoulder. “Your turn next, Griff. You know I was just making that shit up, right?”

The bravado was back in place. The mask as much a part of her as the Goth eyeliner and wild hair. But I saw the sheen on her eyes before she looked out the window.

“Probably won’t rhyme as good as you, girl.” I said
girl
again, but it wasn’t as gruff and bluff as before.

I reached for her hand, hesitating. Until she pushed her palm under mine, and our fingers linked together.

We held tight through the remainder of the ride. No more words spoken.

Maybe we were both in our own dark places.

Maybe we felt the thing we had in common.

Outcasts.

Street kids with steel-plated hearts and bullet-proof consciences.

We entered the compound, and I cut the lights on the SUV. I drove into the underground garage, and Kiki pulled her hand from mine. We slipped into the crib on silent feet, and thank motherfuck no one else was on night-ops. They all seemed to be racked out in their beds.

Computers blipped from Justice’s info-center.

The armory was locked down.

Walker had returned to his bunk in the cubicle with Justice, meaning his ass must be healing right on schedule. Tough motherfucker.

I pushed open the door to Kiki’s and my room, let her pass in front of me, and closed up behind us.

The silence thickened as we undressed in the close space, aware of every slip of skin bared as clothes fell to the floor.

Her body. Jesus Christ. Skimpy panties, nice ass, no bra to hide her cute tits in the tight white tank top.

I shucked off my pants. With no briefs underneath, the status of my cock was immediately revealed. Fully hard, fully ready, the piercing at the top as hot to the touch as the entire long length.

Kiki stared, her gaze roaming from my shoulders and tats to my deep-cut chest, the muscled ripples of my abs, to the dick spearing upright from my groin. When her eyes returned to mine, the dark pupils had totally blown out the light, light blue.

I stalked forward, pushing my body against hers.

Grasping her neck in one rough hand, handling her ass with the other, I groaned when she swiveled against me.

“What you said earlier, about me not talking much. Remember?” I tugged her soft earlobe between my teeth, earning a hot whimper from her.

“Yeah.”

“Just remember”—I thrust against her then dragged my cock between her legs—“still waters run
deep
.”

Her fingers clutched my shoulders, and she rolled up to her tiptoes.

I backed away. No kisses. No more feeling her up even though my lungs chugged hard and a fresh drop of jizz sped from the tip of my dick.

Kiki stood, dazed.

Dropping onto my cot, I pulled a blanket to my hips. “And you should probably get some shuteye.”

With a punch of her hands to her hips, she flipped her hair over her shoulder then flipped me off.

I chuckled, watching her bed down before I flicked off the light. “G’night, Baby Spy.”

“Goodnight, asshole.”

She beaned a pillow at my face. I caught it, folded it in half, and smushed it beneath my head.

Still laughing.

Death Squad

DESPITE TELLING KIKI TO go to sleep, the same fucking thing evaded me. I wasn’t about to jerk off in my bunk like a horny goddamn teen who couldn’t control his urges or his dick.

It wasn’t even the way she called to me sexually—although, seriously, that chick had to have some all-night staying power.

I couldn’t rest because hearing about her time with the FBI, her so-fucked upbringing . . . I didn’t know what the shit to believe.

Everything with her was a headfuck, and nothing about her made me want to off her.

Get off
with
her?

Hell yeah.

I hit the glow switch on my watch and blew out a slow stream of breath. Only three. This cunting night was never gonna end.

Rolling up to sitting, I glanced at the covered-up bundle across the floor from me.

She
had no prob catching forty-freakin’-winks.

I was forming plans to screw with her easy sleepability when a red light, a fucking pinpoint laser beam, flashed into the room from the small square window.

I dropped down, hauling on my pants. “Kiki. Wake the hell up. We got bogies.”

She jerked upright then slithered to the floor. Pulling on the bare minimum of clothes, she grasped a KA-BAR between her teeth before sheathing the blade and picking up her sidearms. We both planted NVGs on our heads, visors up.

With my back against the door, I nodded to her. “On my go.”

We slunk out, ducking the red laser lights pinging all around the interior from outside.

I raised my fist to Justice’s and Walker’s door. Didn’t get a chance to knock before both men slid out, crouching down.

“How many?” Justice asked, pushing a new mag into his gun.

“Don’t know.” I scuttled to Storm and Blaize’s door.

“Lights coming in from all sides,” Kiki added, one of her Glocks raised and ranging all around.

Storm stepped out, pumping his shotgun. Blaize exited right after him, raising her Walther .38.

Action was going down tonight.

We split up, hugging the exterior walls on all fronts.

“NVGs!” Storm sounded off.

I slipped my night vision goggles over my eyes then peeked up through a reinforced garage-style window.

I bobbed down just before bullets whizzed toward me, shattering glass, spraying gunshots into the echoing interior.

“How many?” Storm shouted.

“Half a dozen at the front.” I called in.

“Six more. Coming in on my three and nine,” Blaize shouted.

“Got a death squad at the rear!” Walker hobbled into the center of the room, keeping his head ducked.

Proving you couldn’t keep a good man down whether he was shot in the
rear
or not.

We huddled together, checking armaments. Talking fast strategy.

Basic plan?

Kill the cunts from start to finish.

I took the front with Kiki.

Storm and Blaize, the back of the building.

Justice and Walker—all other exigencies.

Two RPGs exploded into the cavernous central room, ripping the entire front off the building, with black-dressed bastards rushing behind the incursion.

“We’re green!” Storm shouted.

“Green targets!” I started unloading lead with razor sharp aim.

“Go. Go. Go!”

Strafing through the rooms, I didn’t worry about Kiki. The woman had earned my respect, and she was running with the big dogs this time.

Didn’t mean I didn’t plug a target in the back of the skull when he cornered her.

She held up her bloody blade. “I already had him!”

The incoming hell storm resulted in a mass shootout. Taking heat from all sides, more RPGs fired from outside, we fought through a tangle of tangos.

They had us corralled together at one point. Drawing the noose tighter. Operatives in all black gear bearing down on us with the crackle of gunshot on deafening nonstop repeat.

Blood exploded from bullet wounds—neon green liquid as seen through the NVGs.

Sweat trickled down my back, and I aimed, fired, aimed, fired. No fucking way was I meeting my maker tonight.

Neither were any of my team.

The violent shit-show reached epic proportions. Storm being pinned down by two men, Blaize gunning her way through a stack of others, Walker backing up Justice.

I’d lost sight of Kiki.

Spinning in Storm’s direction, I leaped through the air, landing on an attacker just long enough to plow a bullet into his brain.

Storm finished off the other before taking my hand as I helped him up. “Thanks,
brah.
”

We whirled back into the fight.

Jus stood back to back with me, knifing an assailant with a flick of his wrist, a slash of his blade. “Fuck. Feel like I’m back in the sandpit again.”

The bastard slithered to the floor like a sliced-open worm.

The fast report of gunfire slowed down.

Guns fell. Bodies dropped.

Walker plugged another asshole in the chest.

No sign of Kiki
.

Gunshots petered out.

We sounded off.

Storm.

Justice.

Walker—the
walking
wounded.

Blaize . . .

“Kiki. Where the hell’s Kiki?”

I received blank stares in return.

Running with the big dogs. Sure.

Backtracking through the rooms with Storm nut-to-butt behind me, I whipped around corners, keeping my Sig raised.

Following a shout, I located Kiki taking heat from two of the black-dressed fuckwits as she sheltered behind a steel girder column. She popped out only long enough to fire off shots, and bullets pinged all around.

“Hey, assholes,” I shouted.

The two wasters spun toward me.

Hit the first one right through the head, but the second soon-to-be-loser managed to get off a round in my direction.

Heat flashed through my upper thigh followed by screaming pain I bit off as the bullet tore through my skin and muscle.

“FUCK!” I grinded my teeth together.

Storm and Kiki both raised weapons to kill the cunt, but I stopped them.

“He’s mine,” I snarled.

Boiling rage chewed through the burning discomfort in my leg. I marched forward, blood spreading and staining my pants.

Hauling the jerkwad to me, I knocked his sidearm away then broke his wrist with a brutal twist of my hand just for good measure.

“Bane! For fuck’s sake, you’ve been shot!” Kiki ranged forward.

Storm, too.

“Back up. Told you. This one’s mine.” The stinging sensation had nothing on the intense anger building inside me.

With adrenaline pounding through my system, I slammed my fist into the dickhead’s masked face, grunting in satisfaction when I heard something snap and break.

His nose.

Nice.

I didn’t so much as limp as I dragged the would-be assailant after me to the main room where dozens of his compadres lay like soulless body sacks—mangled and bloody—on the floor, not to mention the EKIAs scattered outside through the shredded shell of the building.

Throwing the man down, I propped a boot on his heaving chest. I leaned over, my gun in his face, and ripped off the mask.

Kiki, Storm, Walker, Justice, Blaize all circled around—firearms at the ready.

“Who the fuck are you?” I pistol-whipped the bitch-boy across both cheeks, getting high on the sound of his flesh bursting open.

“I won’t talk,” the Caucasian cocksucker hissed in a breath.

“You’re American?” Surprise rattled through me, and I felt shockwaves ripple through the others.

He clamped his swollen lips shut.

“Check all of them,” Blaize ordered.

My team sped into action while I kept the traitor under heel. Blood seeped from my bullet wound, and I felt a little woozy but not enough to lose focus.

“They’re all white. No IDs. No tags. High tech weaponry,” Storm reported.

Not
jefe
or the jihadi. This crew had come from someone else.

Goddamn Americans?

“Classic black ops protocol,” Justice muttered. “No trace back.”

“You shot me, you fuck.” I dropped my Sig in favor of a fist I pounded into the man’s face. “Who the hell hired you?”

No answer
.

Could’ve been because I broke the bastard’s jaw with my heavy blows.

The wild rage from my fighting days grabbed me by the gonads, and I waled on the perp. Pulled his face to me so I could coldcock him. Dropped him down to hammer him with strikes that made his skin break, his bones pop, his body flip and flop.

In those moments nothing existed except the viral, virulent desire to induce pants-pissing, sphincter-emptying, life-ending agony.

“Stop. Stop, Bane!” Blaize’s command filtered in through a blood-red haze.

Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, I stood, shaking out my fists, belatedly remembering the bullet wound bored into my thigh.

“What?” I scanned my slack-jawed team, swiping a hand across my sweaty forehead. “You didn’t exactly hire me for my people skills, Miss Carmichael.”

Blaize’s mouth popped open, but she wasn’t looking at me.

Neither was Storm as he rushed forward.

I glanced back just in time to see the beaten-to-near-death dude pull the trigger of my Sig Sauer . . . on himself.

Jesus Fuck.

Kiki paled.

I spun into the closest seat—righting a chair and slumping down.

Blaize removed my gun from his lifeless grip.

“Who the fuck offs themselves anymore?” Walker limped to the man who’d just eaten a bullet on his own accord.

“Only someone with a huge secret to hide.” Blaize handed me my weapon.