Shadow Ops: Danger's Passion (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 3) (6 page)

Dated fluorescent lighting flickered and buzzed above the gathering. A dirty yellowish light bathed everyone as the factions traded verbal assaults but kept well away from each other. Curses and threats of violence rose and fell until the big man stepped up.

“You know what happened in the upper room when Jesus broke bread with his disciples?” Justice’s voice filled the cavernous space.

“No.” KC stepped into the natural gap that formed between the two groups.

“A fucker betrayed him. Difference is Jesus forgave Judas but I won’t.”

“Then make sure you keep your goons in check, because we won’t either.” KC glared up at him, her head angled sharply to make eye contact.

Justice rolled his head around until his neck cracked. Both shoulders lifted and fell as he stabbed a thick finger toward the windows. “I’m talking about that one.”

Back bent and palms pressed against the sill, Lawless’ attention was directed away from his brother’s scoffs. His sidearm poked from beneath his shirt, and he made no effort to conceal it.

Hollywood, still winded from his scramble up the stairs, stepped forward. “Settle this later. Right now, we gotta do something. Bonny and those shit-bag bikers are raping Voodoo.”

He shoved his cell and the pictures at Rose. She turned her eyes away.

“We’re on it brother,” Justice patted Hollywood’s shoulder. The other Savages glowered in disbelief. “Rose, what’s the status on tracking her text messages?” Justice paid no mind to the other bikers, his shadow ops training was on full autopilot.

“I’ve still got resources, but not those. Lawless was running the info through his Task Force,” Rose suggested. She padded across the floor toward him.

“They have a general area, but her smartphone’s GPS is shit. Maybe my IT team will have a better location soon.” Lawless’ interest beyond that window had begun to bother Justice.

“I’d say we relocate to a rally point closer to where we think Voodoo is until his team contacts us, but we’re safe here.” Rose tried to establish eye contact with the other Savages, but met cold, dead stares directed back to her group.

“Safe?” Lawless chortled. “They know we’re here,” he muttered—gaze fixed outside.

“How do you know?” Justice asked.

The room silenced.

Lawless leaned closer until his forehead pressed against the glass. “Because your Judas is pushing his bike down the street.”

Justice spun, his big leather boots grinding into the filthy carpet, as he counted heads. Lips shut, eyes open. Anger boiled from his gut and up his neck until rage whistled through his ears. He was fucking pissed.

Three huge steps and he stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother. Neither budged.

“Think he called them?” Rose asked.

“Not without this,” the pledge approached Justice to surrender Rat’s cell phone.

“You steal this from another brother?” Justice snatched the phone, and then reared back his fist.

The young biker cowered. “No, sir. While he was out, he was saying some shit about calling the devil. Figured it’s better to be safe, so when his cell fell on the steps, I grabbed it.”

“Army fucking intel for ya. Good job, boy.” Justice smashed his thick paw atop the pledge’s shoulder. The man sagged beneath the pressure, but forced a grin.

“Should’ve known one of yours would flip,” Chase grumbled while unzipping a long nylon bag.

The unmistakable sound seized everyone’s attention.

Justice towered over Chase, but the former Force Recon Marine’s attention was welded to assembling the TAR-21 assault rifle. Skilled with a wide variety of weapon types, he preferred the 5.56 round of ammunition offered by the Israeli bullpup rifle. The 7.21-pound gun’s 18-inch barrel whirled together as Chase’s hands worked in a flurry to assemble the Tavor.

They heard the unmistakable roar of Rat’s Triumph ignite prior to take off.

“Come on, man, get it done,” Justice demanded.

Chase worked faster, locating the pieces that had jostled around inside the carry case during transport. The bikers closed in around him—anxiety filled the room. Justice felt it. One of his own would have to die.

“Y’all back off, give him some light,” Billy said.

The pledge shoved Billy.

Before the pledge’s fingers left Billy Price’s chest, the former Delta Force operative, and STR number two, had wrenched the man’s wrist until his knees pounded the floor.

Chase kept working.

The sputtering V-Twin growl wafted through the closed windows. Time was running out.

Billy drew back to smash his fist deep into the pledge’s face.

“Stop,” Justice yelled. The big man’s roar rattled the confined space. “Everyone shut it down and let the man focus.”

Silence, Chase racked the bolt action to test for assembly. He was done. Though the gun was capable of firing nine hundred rounds per minute, there’d be time for only one shot. He jumped up slamming a thirty round magazine into the receiver.

Lawless flexed his biceps until the painted-shut window broke from its seal. Chase ran to the opening. Rat twisted his accelerator to pump more fuel into his tattered engine.

Elbows pressed against the narrow ledge, Chase cocked his torso at an angle that gave him a supported line of sight. Justice heard the commotion and twisted his attention away from Billy and his pledge.

“Wait. What the fuck you doing?” Justice barked.

“Back off biker,” Chase growled.

“He needs to die, but be damned if a badge is gonna do it.”

“Fuck off.”

Chase eased his eye to the scope and slipped his right index finger inside the trigger guard. Justice grabbed the barrel and jerked the rifle sideways.

“I’ll take care of my own,” he growled.

Chase pulled against him with all of his might. “My shot.”

“Let him do it, Chase,” Hollywood yelled. “Or she’s going to die.”

Justice saw the busted taillight on Rat’s bike dip as the engine roared to full power. Rat had dropped the machine into gear and was seconds from escaping.

Justice dropped to one knee to clear the window frame. Everyone behind him froze. His eye settled behind the 4x32 scope and balanced the red dot with the reticle. He viewed Rat through the circle of death.

Rat’s left foot was already off the street to activate the gear lever, his right foot still planted until he released the clutch. Justice sucked in hard to fill his lungs with air then allowed the breath to fall from his body in a steady flow. Rat lifted his right foot onto the footboard. The brake light deactivated.

Rat’s motorcycle travelled about ten feet before Justice emptied his lungs of air, and eased the trigger back. A single bullet ripped through the calm night. Rat’s skull exploded beneath his plastic helmet.

No one flinched.

“You sure it’s scrubbed?” Justice asked Rose. Both leaned against the far wall of the empty New Jersey warehouse.

The unexpected evacuation of their safe house put a wrinkle in strategy, but ironing out problems was her specialty. “Taken care of.”

Both bosses watched over their crews as they crept into the darkened crevasses of a former Hudson River port terminal just across from New York City. Justice watched Billy’s movements—he’d picked up on the vibe that he and Rose were an item. He had no intention of making a play for Rose, but the last shit he wanted was some jealous boyfriend hanging him out to dry in the heat of battle.

“It won’t be long till the pigs figure out what happened. I had the pledge snatch his colors but the tattoos will identify him as one of mine,” Justice said. He squatted with his back pressed into the tin wall. He saw Rose studying his face, but knew the shadows concealed his concern.

“Justice, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t get caught up in the aftermath.” Rose laid her hand over the chaos of colors that covered every inch of his exposed bicep. Though the dimness prevented her from making out the images, bold lines and demonic shapes were obvious.

“It’s cool, babe. I can’t believe we never ran into each other on ops,” Justice swirled his finger through a rusty puddle of rainwater and oil. The dump of adrenaline that usually occurred through fucking or fighting would have to wait. Still, his emotions stirred having killed one of his brother bikers.

“You know how the Agency is—always playing both ends against the middle. No wonder no one trusts them anymore. Bunch of bureaucrats trying to play secret spy with our lives.” Her cell flashed with an incoming message.

Justice surveyed the vacant cargo area while Rose texted a reply. He spotted Lawless in a deep corner—light from his cell phone showed his features. Justice snorted expecting his brother to know better than to light himself up in the dark like that.

A quiet tension filled the space where conversations usually meandered. Experienced operators shift into a zone of focus prior to each mission. The heightened sense of concentration limits their scope of interaction with other operators. Everyone in the warehouse had been through the fires of combat—they knew what was coming.

“Lawless said they got a lead on a one-block radius,” Rose whispered.

“Figured it was him messaging you. Chicken shit too afraid to come here in person.” He spit out a toothpick and groaned, putting a hand to his back as he slid up the wall.

“Its odd, I feel as if I know you better, but he’s a lot like you.” Rose looked up at him.

“It’s not your concern.” He stomped across the empty concrete floor and told his men to ramp up.

Fourteen warriors crunched into a ring surrounding Rose. Wind howled through an open front awning blasting everyone’s nostrils with the stale odor of the river. With no electricity, they broached the shadow’s edge in an attempt to remain concealed. Approaching midnight, everyone carried the burden of exhaustion. Shoulders slumped. Forms leaned. Tough people felt the fatigue, they just didn’t acknowledge it, and went on with what they needed to do.

Rose planted herself in the middle of the crew. Justice cocked his head to one side and nodded in agreement as she explained the mission. He admired her—one badass chick.

After days on end and little time for hygiene, it’d become difficult to separate STR from Savage Souls. Except for KC and Rose, women were property in the outlaw world—never seen as equals, much less in a position to give orders.

“Hell yeah, the Task Force has it nailed. Her last message was sent from a barroom along Essex before Jersey Boulevard. Lets go kick the shit out of them.” Lawless interrupted the briefing.

Justice nodded stiffly, holding back from spewing an insult. His gaze flicked upward as if to balance his concentration on the mission versus decades of hard feelings toward his brother. He understood they held different worldviews, but it was the way those differences were carried out that unsettled him.

“Okay, I need everyone’s attention. Time’s getting tight and negotiations with Bonny throughout the night have turned to shit. They’ve figured out we won’t swap the sniper rifles.” Rose’s voice was low but clearly discernable.

“So they’re going to kill Voodoo?” Hollywood asked.

“We need to move, now.” Justice scuffed the worn soles of his boots through a puddle created by the constant drip of stagnant rainwater. His fists opened and closed to release the flood of endorphins pumping through his veins. He had to release the adrenaline, otherwise it was like a drug with the potential for overdose.

“Lets hold on. We can’t run in there like animals—we need a plan.” Billy interjected.

“Kill ’em all and let God sort ’em out is my plan,” Justice said. “Ain’t no time for surveillance and your federal bullshit. They’ve been torturing that baby since last night. Now that we know where they are, I’ll be damned if we’re sitting here any longer chewing the fat.” Justice showed visible tension. Veins corded through his neck as he pressed a ringed fist against his mouth.

“Just hold your ass. We don’t even know where the building is. What, you gonna go knocking on doors until you find it?” Billy’s impatience cracked his usually cool exterior.

“Fuck off, Billy Price,” Justice barked.

“You, fuck off, Justice,” Lawless growled.

Everyone spun toward him. He’d barely spoken a word since they arrived. Legs apart, his fists were balled next to his sides—eyes narrowed and black.

“Back the fuck off,” he repeated.

“All right, lets just cool off and focus on rescuing Voodoo,” Rose said to interject calm.

“You’ve mouthed off before and I let you walk. It won’t happen again, little brother.” Justice’s structure swayed atop the cement floor. The twin towers didn’t advance; it would’ve been a blood bath.

The windows were rolled down as Chase Westin piloted the suburban across railroad tracks and around potholes. Lawless navigated their way to the former Snake Pit Saloon. Half past midnight, the waterfront air was thick with moisture. Hollywood’s hand rode the breeze as his glove collected drops of humidity.

His mind relaxed amid the chaos of tactical communications between their team. He drifted to much simpler times. Sunny afternoons in an old pickup racing through wheat fields. His hand rode the wind back then like now. Different times.

And just as quick, reality hit. The very same family who’d rescued little Dwight as an orphan was now in exile thanks to former SEAL JW Colt and his tell-all movie about the hunt for Osama bin Laden which had placed everyone in SEAL Team 6 in jeopardy. Their families had been more collateral damage.

I hate that motherfucker.

That would never change.

Essex resembled any other bullshit street in any forgotten America city. They all looked the same and gave the same shitty vibe, Hollywood thought. Except New Orleans. His mind drifted again to his night at the French Quarter’s Old Absinthe House. Aside from the mugging he had avoided with a hundred dollar bribe, it was where he finally connected with Voodoo.

His gut pinched beneath the bulletproof vest recounting their turbulent reunion. His fist beat against his chin at the thought of her in the clutches of the merciless Devil’s Own outlaws. He tried to reassure himself if anyone had the skill to survive, it was her. A slight parting of his lips attempted a smile. Thinking of how badass she tried to be gave him comfort. She was soft when she needed to be but the lady carried a core of steel. Hang on, Voodoo. He sent a mental vibe. He knew what had to be done, and was most anxious to do it—they’d get bloody, but bloody would get it done.

“Almost there,” Lawless announced.

“Remember, it’s a two story brownstone. No idea where she is, but from the picture backgrounds, the basement is our best guess,” Rose said.

“The building and permitting office’s database lists the property as a commercial and residential mix use—bar on bottom, with apartments on top. The top is probably where they ran prostitution. We stick together, no matter what.” Billy emphasized the last point.

Hollywood drug his hand back inside the SUV as Chase rolled the windows up to ensure they weren’t detected by counter-surveillance on the approach. His mind returned to a razor sharp focus as he snapped his helmet’s chinstrap and keyed up his tactical radio’s microphone. It cracked to life.

Hollywood’s pulse began to beat faster, until he noticed the change and became concerned enough to begin breathing exercises to settle his heart rate. Many considered his mission to capture bin Laden to be his most dangerous but he disagreed.

The world’s most tested and trusted combat technicians had drilled for years to execute that operation into Pakistan. Tonight, at almost one o’clock on Easter Sunday morning, he was riding into a place no one had ever seen, to fight no telling how many outlaws, to rescue a woman he loved if she was still alive.

And if that wasn’t harrowing enough, his team consisted of ten felon outlaw motorcycle gang members. His pulse was pounding for damn good reason.

“One block out. Again, the Savages will take the first and second floor. They can fuck or fight all night long if they want too. Our only mission is to get into the basement, rescue and extract. Understood?” Rose’s voice always raised an octave as an operation was about to unfold. Hollywood knew it meant she was focused on detail, not on delivery.

“Chase, take us around back. I don’t want to get caught up in the slaughter,” Billy said. Even through the thick Nomex hood, Billy’s voice was clear and commanded respect. It’d be his attention to detail that would get STR through this shit storm.

“Last turn, rear door half a block ahead. You know the drill—lock and load,” Billy said.

Hollywood snugged the HK MP5 submachine gun close against his vest. His fingers darted across the nylon tactical belt and ballistic armament to make sure equipment and ammunition was in place. Multiple metal thirty round metal magazines were jammed into pockets across his chest, and Def-Tec 25 flash bangs strapped and ready to deploy. It was an assessment he’d mechanically rehearsed millions of times until muscle memory made it involuntary.

He began to gnaw on his bottom lip—a habit he’d managed to break once with the SEALS. Actually, it was the Navy who broke him. They said it showed his intentions—a trigger signaling an action. Now, the tell revealed his edge, but he was a much more experienced operative than when he first passed BUD/S training.

Chase clipped a left turn as Hollywood’s peripheral vision caught the swarm of Harley Davidson motorcycles screeching to a halt. Big men in black leather moved like shadows, blasting grins that torched the darkness. The Savage Souls charged toward the front door. And just as quickly, he lost sight of them.

I’m coming, Voodoo. Hang in there, baby.

Clicks signaled doors were unlocked and opened. KC positioned herself against the passenger’s side front corner. The rest of STR lined up behind her. Hollywood was fourth in line behind Chase. He scanned the rear of the building, noting two windows upstairs, and only a metal door on the first floor. He gripped the steel battering ram as he felt the squeeze of Rose’s fingers against his left shoulder.

His legs felt heavy. His feet drug across the small concrete courtyard. Murderous howls and gunshots from inside concealed their approach. Hollywood wished he’d been a part of that melee. Somewhere in there were the two motherfuckers with their dicks out in the picture. Their faces were burned in his mind for when the time came.

KC stopped to the left of the entrance. Billy, Chase, Lawless, then Hollywood and Rose angled their positions at a forty-five degree slant to allow for the fastest way through the door’s fatal funnel. Hollywood pressed his weapon to the left of his torso as he slid from between the stack. Muscles tensed because he knew how dangerous the door was. The first men through made perfect shooting silhouettes as they crossed the threshold.

Tunnel vision began to compress Hollywood’s focus—he scanned to break the visual cone. Inhaled deeply. The crowbar jammed between the gated door and frame. The others had him covered as he muscled open the first layer of defense. Quickly, he dropped the tool. Rose handed him the heavy battering ram.

Eyes swept his team—everyone was ready. Heart pounded while shoulders and biceps strained at the weight of the solid steel tube that would knock the door from its hinges. He flinched at the tats of rapid gunfire on the other side of the door.

“Ready.” His eyes were extra wide open as he stared into Rose’s.

“Check the knob,” she reminded him.

It was unlocked. That was curious. Hollywood hesitated.

“Go,” Rose yelled.

Here we come, Voodoo.