plik

High

stakes.

Low

margins.

And  everyone  wants  the  woman  I’m  teamed  up  with  dead.

BANE
Swagger, strut, snarl. Three things I can do with both eyes closed. Oh,
and  shoot  the  shit  out  of  tangos.  I  always  do  my  job,  whether  it’s
patching  up  a  fellow  operative  or  taking  down  a  serious  threat.
Apparently  this  time  my  job  is  to  babysit  Baby  Spy.

We’ve followed the Los Reyes de Guerra cartel to the drug-trafficking
capital,  Mexico  City.  Our  orders?  Get  in  with  the  guerrillas  and
ultimately take them down. There’s only one problem—I have another
set  of  mission  directives  linked  to  Kiki  AKA  Baby  Spy.

Should be easy enough. Except it seems I’ve developed an unhealthy
attraction to Kiki, along with an inconvenient conscience. She’s a wild
woman  with  an  unforgiving  attitude  that  definitely  makes  me  bone
hard

for

her.

Nothing

appears,

least

all

Kiki

Damage.

KIKI
Yeah. They call me Baby Spy. I’m fully aware the entire T-Zone team
blames me for narking out a previous mission gone wrong. So, I can’t
understand why the powers that be assigned me to this op. Or maybe I
can,

which

just

makes

situation

even

dire.

I know Bane wants me, but I’m beginning to think he has an ulterior
motive for keeping me close. And it’s not just the panty-melting hot sex
with the big, gruff, silent killer. There’s something incredibly
vulnerable in the way Bane watches me, like he’s looking for one last
saving

grace.

None of that matters now. When the situation heats up, I find out
Bane’s real mission. I may have fallen in love with him, but it’s already
too late. This entire web of lies goes a lot higher than any of us ever

This  is  a  work  of  fiction.  Names,  characters,  places,  and  incidents
either  are  the  product  of  the  author's  imagination  or  are  used
fictitiously,  and  any  resemblance  to  actual  persons,  living  or  dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Bane
Copyright © 2016 by Rie Warren
Excerpt from Hunter © 2015 by Rie Warren
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may
not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author except
for the use of brief quotations.

https://www.riewarren.com

Warren, Rie.
Bane / Rie Warren - 1

l.Contemporary Romance—Fiction. 2. Alpha Male—Fiction. 3. Black
Ops—Fiction. 4. Erotica—Fiction. 5. Action— Fiction. 6.
Thriller—Fiction. 7. Military—Fiction I. Title ASIN: B01HOPZ0NK
Cover Design
By Judi Perkins of Concierge Literary Designs

Chapter One
Location: Mexico City November 2015
I RUSHED INTO THE crib, shouting, "Justice!"
Walker—slung  across  my  shoulders—hung  like  dead  weight.  Blood
from his bullet wound oozed through his pants and dripped down my
back, a warm sticky reminder of how badly we'd fucked up.
The goddamn narcos.
And goddamn Walker with his big mouth.
I  s  houted  for  Justice  again,  but  all  I  got  in  return  was  the  stomping
sound  of  my  own  boots  on  the  concrete  floor  of  our  Mexico  City
outpost.
Blaize had said she was just sending Kiki and me, but she changed her
mind  at  the  last  minute.  Everyone  had  relocated  to  this  kitted-out
warehouse—Walker, Justice, Storm, Kiki, Blaize, and me. Which was
A-OK  on  the  one  hand  because  I  had  no  desire  to  be  alone  with  the
woman we dubbed Baby Spy.

Or maybe the prob was I had every desire to be alone with her. Really
alone. Naked, sweaty, fucking, and alone with Kiki Damage/Baby Spy.
None  of  the  dudes  had  a  damn  clue  what  I  really  thought  about  the
woman.  They  all  pretty  much  wanted  her  dead  after  Walker's  near
mission-fail last spring. Kiki was the only possible target to blame.
Me? I'd had a huge hard-on for her since the first time I'd set eyes on
her. All bad attitude and wild, long, half-shaved hair. Those enormous
ice blue eyes. Her absolute fearlessness and the rockin' body that could
probably withstand every single thing I threw at her.
One massive reason having the entire gang in Mexico City definitely
wasn't  a  good  thing?  I'd  been  given  private  orders.  Not  from  Blaize.
From those above her head. No one else knew. Turned out my fellow
operatives weren't the only ones who'd rather see Kiki more dead than
alive.
When I'd gotten the kill order through secret channels just before our
mass exodus from DC, I'd almost lost my shit.
I'd  been  tasked  with  killing  Kiki  Damage.  Apparently  I  was  the  one
operative  the  higher-ups  at  T-Zone  considered  to  have  absolutely  no
morals whatso-fucking-ever or a

conscience to dictate my actions. Nice.
And even though everybody on the team, plus the boss lady, had been
mobilized for this mission, not a single motherfucker answered my
distress call as I stormed through the crib.
Typical.
Walker struggled in my fireman's hold, coughing. "Put a rush job on
shit? Kinda bleeding out here, Bane."
"Justice, goddammit!" I bellowed again, my bulging mus cles finally
beginning to tax out from the weight of the heavy man stacked on my
back. "Where the hell are you?"
Stalking through the cavernous sectioned-off warehouse, I checked the
barracks, our armory, the computers and logistics unit.
Empty. Empty. Empty.
"Shit," I muttered, making it to the high-tech triage I'd outfitted like a
miniature combat support hospital.
Laying Walker down on his front as gently as possible on the
clean-sheeted gurney, I spun around to hit the operating room lights.
With the area thrown into high beams, I washed my hands in the sink.

Walker moaned from his prone position.
Storm skidded around the corner, a frown puckering his forehead as
soon as he caught sight of wounded Walker, who'd turned pale beneath
his normally mahogany-colored s kin.
"What the fuck happened?"
Storm. Great. Just what I needed after tonight's FUBAR detail. There
was no way this night could unfuck itself now. "Where's Jus?" I asked.
"Out."
"Blaize?" I dried my hands after two thorough cleansings. Snapped on
a pair of nitrile gloves.
"Out."
"Kiki?" Pulling a pre-prepped surgical tray from the shelf, I set it on the
wheely-table next to Walker's side. "Dunno."
"I'm really bleeding here, dudes." Walker started shivering, maybe in
shock, but it wasn't like he'd never been shot before. "Know you hate
each other, but what say you bury the hatchet long enough to make sure
I live to see another day?"
"What the hell happened out there?" Storm scrubbed

and gloved his hands then took up a stance across the gurney from me.
"Asshole here got shot . . . in the ass." I took the scissors to Walker's
clothes, shearing his jeans from ankles to hips.
"I'm  totally  not  laughing."  Yet  Storm's  shoulders  shook.  "Yeah.  Me
either."
We  raised  eyebrows  at  each  other,  my  mouth  twitching  and  Storm
chewing down on a growing smirk.
To  say  Storm's  and  my  friendship—not  to  mention  our  working
relationship—had been rocky since that night so long ago in Egypt was
the fucking understatement of the century. We avoided each other as
much  as  possible,  went  out  of  our  way  to  piss  each  other  off,  and
generally hated one another with two years of brewing animosity.
So  whenever  we  caught  ourselves  getting  along?  That  never  lasted
long.
"You want me to put him under?" Storm asked, hooking bags up to the
IV pole.
"Walker" I tapped him on the cheek. "You wanna stay awake for this or
not? Up to you."
"Just dull the    edge.    I'm good.    Don't want you

disfiguring my ass."
"Damn.  Do  you  wax  or  somethin'?"  Storm  glanced  at  Walker's  bare
rear—crusted in iron-colored blood—while I snipped off the rest of his
clothes.
"Didn't  you  fucks  get  enough  of  talking  about  my  ass  in  Yemen?"
Walker barely flinched when Storm sank the needle into the arm he'd
swabbed.  "I'm  Native  American.  We're  smooth  dudes.  Unlike  you
hairy fucks."
Storm rolled his eyes. "I say knock him out."
"Don't worry, Walker. Your precious ass is safe from us."
"Probably  not  from  Jade  though,  huh?"  Storm  outright  grinned  at
Walker's discomfort.
"Fuck you and get on with it. I think the bullet's traveling to my nads."
"I  think  it's  firmly  lodged  in  your  left  cheek,  dude."  I  s  wis  hed
Providine all over the skin surrounding the oozing bullet hole, listening
to Walker's muffled hiss.
"Serves  him  right.  After  all  that  talk  at  his  wedding  about  shoving
dynamite up our asses." For once, Storm looked to be enjoying himself
at Walker's expense instead of mine.
He glanced at me, and I nodded. Without a word, we communicated
like we used to, and he slowly dripped more

of the good drugs into our hurting buddy. Just like old times.
Justice was my right-hand dude when it came to patching up, stitching
lacerations,  sometimes  even  bringing  people  back  to  life—Walker's
wife Jade, and that night in Beirut, case in point.
But Storm used to lend a willing, and adept, hand.
That had been before . . .
The two of us were probably a  Jerry Springer  episode waiting to air
live.  Or  Doc  Phil.  Or  whoever  the  latest  TV  head-talker/train  wreck
mastermind was these days.
I held out my hand, and Storm handed me the 10 blade.
Making the incision, I watched Walker's eyelids peel wide before they
drooped. Then I turned my attention to locating the bullet bored into his
ass with the least amount of intrusion possible.
"Los Reyes de Guerra muchachos didn't much like the new terms we
presented for the AKs." I passed the scalpel back to Storm, and he slid
the forceps to me without being asked.
Moving  like  a  well-oiled  machine,  he  packed  the  weeping  hole  with
gauze to soak up the worst of the blood.

"And?" Storm reached overhead and adjusted the light to shine exactly
where I needed.
"Then Walker started getting lippy with jefe" Gently probing deep into
Walker's gluteous medius, I gripped the
bullet.
But s hit was slippery.
"Suct—"
Before I finished the word, Storm vacuumed up the seeping blood with
the aspirator.
"Walker talked back to Carlos? The self-proclaimed killer? You tell
him about the 50 calibers?" With a grunt of s atis faction, he pulled the
instrument away from the field of s urgery.
"Was saving the best for last. Didn't get the chance before they opened
fire. Big mouth here"—closing my eyes, I concentrated on easing the
bullet out—"just wouldn't take no for an answer."
"I'm still copacetic," Walker slurred.
"Can fix that in a second." Storm hit the plunger again.
"Shit. Liked it better when the two of you wanted to kill each other."
Walker's body relaxed completely, but his eye— the one I could
see—still blinked slowly.

"What are you? A fucking horse? How are you still talking?" Disbelief
crossed Storm's features.
"Raise horses. In Wyoming. Where's Jade? She here?"
"Oh yeah." I chuckled. "He's feeling it."
With one quick move, I tugged the slug free and pinged it into the dish
Storm held out for me.
"Ouch." Walker half-heartedly complained.
"Shut up. Just saved your ass. Literally."
"There, there, brah. Donut cushion for you for a couple days," Storm
drawled out. Then his glance slid to me. "You sure you weren't the one
who pulled the trigger on Walker? You have a habit, y'know?"
Dickbrains. Typical Storm. Getting a dig in anytime he could.
I ignored the cunt, clanking my teeth together.
Despite his jab, he continued to assist me, anticipating my every need.
Like old days, to save a life or to get out of trouble.
Suturing up the ragged hole with neat rows, we worked quickly, in
tandem, trading off-color jokes about Walker's wounded ass while he
muttered and swore and fought against the drugs and pain to stay
awake just because he

was such a stubborn bastard.
"You retaliate against Los Reyes?" Storm asked.
Finishing up the final stitches, I took stock of our tidy work. "Figured
since we're trying to start a trade relationship with the cocaine cartel, I
probably shouldn't kill them all on our first meet."
Storm nodded. "El capitan's wily, my man. Know that from my time
with the Blood Legion."
"You two gonna kiss and make up already?" Walker, loopy from the
drugs, rallied when we swabbed his butt clean and bandaged him.
I  snorted.  "What  are  you?  A  fucking  matchmaker?  Go.  To.  Sleep.
Already."
Storm and I started cleaning up, Walker watching us with glazed-over
eyes.  Jesus.  The  man  had  the  willpower  of  a  fucking  elephant.  Or
whatever.
"I'll pass out when you two finally clear the elephant from the room,"
Walker grumbled.
"What  the  shit?  Are  you  a  mind  reader  now?"  Forget  about  being  a
matchmaker. I glared at the prone asswipe.
"Shaman." He tiredly wiped a hand across his face.
Middle finger. Stiff and sent in Walker s direction.

Scrubbing my hands, I remembered that night everything went wrong
between Storm, me, and our mission in Egypt two years ago.
Egypt: holiday destination and terrorist hotbed. That shit needed to be
on a postcard. A T-shirt maybe. Probably not a compelling slogan, but
hey, I never was good with the words.
Just Storm and me, and we'd been surrounded by the Bedouin tribe
we'd been trying to take out. A group who'd kidnapped a husband and
wife couple, American aid workers. The simple hostage-retrieval and
hostiles-takedown had gone from tits up to totally fucking ballistic in
the space of ten minutes. Our nighttime retreat from the land-locked,
mud-daub, desert buildings cut off, there'd been little hope of escape.
Storm had stashed our Land Rover a klick away, hidden in what little
brush cover we could find, but we couldn't reach it, taking heat from in
front and behind us.
Hiding out behind one mud hut with Storm holding out at the back of
another, I'd faced the advancing targets and he the rearguard coming
closer.
"No green targets. Repeat. No green targets!" Storms

voice came over the coms unit.
The Bedouin warriors hadn t come out alone. Smart fucks. Too many
women and children mingled between, in, and around the armed men
for us to get clean shots on our pursuers.
We'd rescued the hubs and wife, but only by the skin of our teeth with
bullets flying at our heads. The two of them had been beaten and almost
executed,  to  be  broadcast  on  TV.  As  it  was,  they  huddled  beside  me,
working on adrenaline alone.
We'd only made it as far as the settlement's outbuildings, caught in the
middle of nowhere on a Hail Mary mission.
And we weren t the only ones after the natives.
Maybe the other agency was our saving grace that time.
Maybe  the  Mukhabarat—also  sent  in  for  the  same  shakedown  of  the
tribe—would get us well and truly fucked.
When  I  turned  back  to  check  on  the  welfare  of  the  couple,  goddamn
bullets started crackling like a hailstorm toward us. Hunkered in front
of  the  former  captives,  I  provided  a  big,  black-dressed  barricade,
hefting my Sig

Saurs and popping shots.
Mayhem. Total fucking mayhem. Storm, me, the Mukhabarat, the
Bedouins . . .
By sheer luck, I managed to keep the husband and wife unharmed.
Not Storm, though.
He went down, still firing.
During the chaos created by the other agency's volleys of shots and
shouts for order, I managed to army-crawl to Storm.
He clutched his side, a grimace on his face, blood pooling between his
fingers. I hauled him onto my back. More fire snapped around us.
I returned with my own bullets spraying, regrouped with the rescued
couple, and made a dash for safety. For escape.
I didn t care if those who remained razed each other to the ground.
We crossed the endless sandy terrain at a limp-run, me manhandling
Storm and shooting behind my back, the husband and wife huddled in
front. Every step like walking

through wet cement the farther away we trekked. In the end, I'd been
nothing  more  than  a  human  herder,  continually  urging  the
shell-shocked  and  beaten-near-death  couple  onward.  Grunting  at
Storm to stay awake.
Stay alive.
Keep breathing.
The minutes it took us to reach the vehicle felt like hours. My muscles
almost gave out. Sweat dripped into my eyes.
Storm's blood dripped down my back. Just like Walker's had earlier.
Walker  wasn't  the  first  T-Zone  specialist  I'd  carried  on  my  back,
humped for miles, and sewed up. By some miracle, we'd made it.
Just when I though we'd reached the safety zone, a burst of fire bit into
the sand at our feet.
"Down! Down! Take cover!" I sent the couple scrambling behind the
jeep.
Storm slid off me—dizzy with blood loss. He stood, weaving, between
the target and me.
His eyes started rolling back, his arms flung outward. Could he make a
bigger fucking bull's-eye?

"Get down, Storm!"
The last thing he had to have heard was the crack of shots fired with
him standing like a scarecrow in the middle of the African desert and
me aiming at him before he dropped.
I watched, my gorge rising to my throat, when a bullet plowed through
his chest.
Behind him, when Storm fell to his knees, I killed the last tango. Bright
crimson pooling on the sun-trapped, moonlit sand.
I'd had to arrange transport out of that shithole, Storm's specialty. He'd
been lights out and barely breathing. Touch and go. Emergency
measures. The kind of shit that gave me nightmares.
When he'd regained consciousness twenty-four hours later, stateside, in
a hospital bed I'd sat beside the entire fucking time, he'd been
immediately combative, hostile. Toward me.
And he still fucking thought I was the one who'd shot him.
In the makeshift operating room, Storm jostled beside me at the sink.

"I know you think the renegade bullet was mine, man. In Egypt." I
tossed my dirty gloves into the hazardous waste bin. "Why would I try
to hurt you? Then do everything in my power to keep you alive?"
Storm's face never shifted from hard-edged. "The bullets came from a
P226." He rubbed his hands dry. "Your make."
"P226? Shit. That could've been anyone that night. Did you have the
bullet traced? Because it's a sidearm used by a fucking lot of operatives.
Hell, even you carry the same piece. And Mukhabarat was there. They
weren't gunning for nothing."
His scarred eyebrow notched high. "You saying you didn't do it?"
"You don't think if I wanted to kill you I'd have done so already? Point
blank and between your eyes?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "If I
was intent on your death, you'd be six feet under already."
"That's cold comfort."
"The truth."
He locked his elbows, his fingers curled around the edge of the sink.
"Why didn't you just tell me before?" "Why were you so quick to blame
me?"

"You saved my ass out there." He turned his head in my direction,
easing up. "Seems so."
"I owe you an apology." "Looks like it." I shrugged. "Are we having a
girlfriend moment?" "I miss my girlfriend . . ." Walker bleated in the
background, still motherfucking conscious. "He's still awake?"
"Jade's your wife, douche-face. Not your girlfriend," Storm riffed.
We almost bumped fists.
We s topped and peered at one another.
"So, you didn't shoot me?" Storm asked.
"Like I said. You'd be dead if I did." Simple fact of the matter.
"You're a wild gun though."
"I don't pump holes into my own team"
"You don't share much either."
"And you do? Did I miss our Boy Scouts campout or something?
'Kumbaya' and all that crap?" I started peeling off my shirt, which was
dried and crusted with Walker's

blood.
"You have a record. A death toll." Storm leaned back, hooking his
thumbs in his pockets.
"Didn't kill that man on purpose . . ." I looked up with my mismatched
eyes—one blue, one hazel.
That night in NYC, before my time working with Operation T-Zone.
Another battle gone wrong, that one on home turf. The illegal
cagefighting ring in the bowels of Hell's Kitchen. I'd been on a winning
streak. Muay Thai, my s pecialty. I'd been one hell of a draw by that
point, my final match.
Final, because I'd been arrested on manslaughter charges.
My opponent had gone down after I'd punched him in the windpipe.
He hadn't gotten back up. Ever.
That shit I'd remember until the end of my days—a wrong I could never
make right.
"And Blaize saved you from prison," Storm added.
"She saved me from a lot more than that, man."
He inhaled, filling a chest as big and hard as mine. "Yeah.

She's good at that." Storm held out his fist. "Guess you saved me too."
I knocked my knuckles against his. "We solid?"
"Yeah." He shook his hair from his eyes. "What about this wanker?"
On cue, Walker-the-wanker rolled his head in our direction. "I am so
tired of being the International Poster Child for this unit."
"He's feeling better." Storm pulled the blankets over our patient.
"I think he'll survive." I checked the monitors, his IVs, his temperature.
"Can you amp up the drugs though? Knock him out cold?" Storm
asked. "Less talking . . . Good thing."
"Some fucking nursemaid you make." Walker whined, "Wan' Jade."
I hit the morphine pump, and his eyes rolled back into his head.
"Nice." Storm slapped me on the back. Then the high security locks for
the building bleeped. I looked at Storm. "Like we need another fucking
catastrophe tonight."

"I hear that."
"What should we do about Walker?" I asked.
"Silence him with a pillow on his face."
I  withheld  a  chuckle  as  we  went  immediately  from  medical
professionals to dark ops.
Wary  and  always  on  guard,  Storm  and  I  strafed  through  silent  black
rooms, gutted of everything but our necessary equipment.
With  a  nod  at  one  another,  we  moved,  quiet  and  unseen  as  ghosts.
Rounding corners, keeping stealthy, hands on our sidearms.
Only to get jumped from behind when we neared the main entrance. I
blamed  Storm's  and  my  momentary  distraction  on  the  bro-moment
we'd just shared.
"Got you, fucker." Justice drop-rolled me to the floor, laughing with a
near-silent chuckle as our bodies tangled— strength for strength.
"Get off me, dickbreath." I held my Sig at his jaw.
Storm,  likewise,  had  been  taken—so  taken—by  Blaize.  He  was  n't
fighting  her  off,  though.  No,  he  was  groping  her  ass  with  two  huge
hands while she struggled against him.
Kicking Justice away from me, I pushed up to my feet

before lending a hand down to him. "Where's Kiki?"
"Out."
"Out of pocket or what?" I glanced at Blaize, worry s kittering through
me.
I  didn't  want  to  be  worried  about  Kiki.  Shouldn't  let  mys  elf  be
concerned  about  her.  But—goddammit  it—the  woman  had  gotten  to
me in ways I could never admit. Might never recover from.
"What  does  is  matter  to  you?  You're  not  exactly  her  biggest  fan."
Blaize asked while Storm helped her to her feet, then helped himself to
dusting off her backside.
And she swatted at him.
"You tell me. You're the one who decided I oughtta be her bodyguard."
"She'll be back in a couple hours."
Great. What a relief. Two hours during which I didn't have to torment
myself over the woman's face, or her body, or my secret detail.
My  mission  wasn't  just  two-fold—take  down  both  the  Los  Reyes  de
Guerra  and  the  terrorist  cell  they  had  armed  to  infiltrate  American
soil—it was three-fold.
I also had to kill Kiki Damage, and she was getting more

Chapter Two
Elite-Ops?
STORM AND I LED the way to the triage area.
Drawing back clear plastic sheeting, I let Blaize and Justice get a good
look at Walker, laid out flat on the bed we'd moved him to.
"What'd he do now?" Blaize asked as soon as I gave her the rundown
on his vitals.
"The usual," I answered.
"Spouting off at the mouth?" Her red hair glowed by the low lamp at
Walker's side. "Copy that."
"Any explosives this time?"
"Nope." Figuring I'd do Walker a solid, I mentioned, "He tried to play
friendly."
"Didn't work out so well." Storm's eyebrows twitched.
"He got shot in the ass?" Justice full-on grinned. "Gotta tell Tilly." He
pulled out his phone and started shuttling off a no-doubt
double-encrypted message to his wife of three

months.
"So, Walker's off recce for a week at least. That really does mean you
and Kiki are up, Bane." Blaize closed Walker's chart and handed it to
me. "Storm's already recognizable—"
"So you just brought him along to be your toy boy?" Jus tice peered
over from his cell phone long enough to put in a complaint. "How's that
fair when the rest of us have to
fly solo?"
Storm. Big middle finger. "Sucks to be you. Try auto-
fellat—"
"Don't think his dick's big enough for that," I cut in.
Blaize ignored us all, her famous temper on the rise. "As I was saying,
the cartel might recognize Storm. And Justice, you're too—"
"Pretty boy." I snickered.
"Wholesome." Storm colluded.
Aaand a two-fingered salute from Jus.
Blaize just carried right on. "So that leaves the aforementioned leaders
of the op. Bane and—"
"Baby Spy."
"Two street kids . . ."

"Gangster-style."
My fuck you too was the biggest of them all. But I managed a tight grin.
Pocketing  his  phone  with  a  last  chuckle,  Jus  looked  from  Walker's
unconscious  carcass  to  me  to  Storm.  "Hang  on.  You  two  worked
together? To patch him up?"
"Without killing each other?" Blaize looked equally astounded.
"Yeah. About that . . ." I smirked.
"Decided to bury the hatchet—" Storm knocked my upraised fist.
"Not in each other's skulls, for a change."
"Holy shit! I gotta text Tilly." Justice got back on his cell, grinning like
a fool.
Guessed I'd never really realized just how much tension Storm and I'd
carried  around  between  us  like  a  big  black  cloud.  How  much  it'd
affected everyone else.
And now I needed to get off the processing my shit like I'm in therapy
train.
Storm helped with that, saying, "Bane's still a freakshow though."
And he didn't even know about my cock piercing.

"And  you're  still  a  Cajun  cunt."  I  flashed  a  pleasant  s  neer  in  his
direction.
"I'm so proud of you." Blaize cruised into Storm's arms.
"Does that mean I can take you to bed now?"
"What about me?" I tucked Walker's chart into a slot at the end of his
bed,  flicking  the  bottom  of  his  dangling  bare  foot  just  to  test  his
reflexes and watch him snarl in his drugged-out sleep.
"Just  because  we  made  up  doesn't  mean  I'm  into  sharing."  Storm
ushered Blaize away. "Ever," he shot out over his shoulder.
"Great.  Another  night  of  listening  to  those  two."  Justice  palmed  his
phone  as  a  message  bleeped.  "I'm  resorting  to  Skype-fucking  with
Tilly. And no, you can't join."
"Tell her I said hey. She up the duff yet?"
Jus walked out with a shake of his head, leaving me alone with Walker.
"Fuck if I'm spending the night with you, asshole."
I pumped him with one more bump of pain meds and
made sure he was cozy before shutting off the light.
****
I took a quick shower and changed into nothing but

s tark naked covered by a damp towel before I headed to my bunkroom.
One week into this mission and we'd made no headway into the Los
Reyes de Guerra cartel. Kings of Cunts was what I called them, not
Kings of War.
Patting down my body, I slung the towel aside before hitting my cot.
And several weeks earlier I'd waited until T-Z HQ had emptied of all
but Kiki and me after the guys had hazed her during her first time in the
war room.
Couldn't tell her I thought she was better than what they made her out to
be.
A traitor.
Couldn't show her I wanted her in the very worst ways.
But I had asked her out for a drink that afternoon.
An afternoon that turned into a night.
And a night that'd ended in a lashing, soul-searing, cock-hardening kiss
from her lips I hadn't been able to get off my mind since.
A kiss that hadn't been repeated.
The drinks at the bar had started with me feeling bad for her. I quickly
found out there was no reason for that

mis taken sentiment. The woman had totally grifted me— Griffin
Bane—on the pool table.
She was smart. Sassy. Funny. And continuously under the gun from my
crew.
In totally civilian terms, we'd hit it off.
But that'd been scuppered as soon as I'd gotten my new orders.
I had a decision to make about Kiki, and it wasn't even mine to make
anymore.
Being in the cage made a man hard, never mind being a cagefighter.
Prison was no goddamn joke.
Solitary confinement?
Did that.
Fighting was in my blood.
I wasn't about to be anyone's bitch-boy.
And I wasn't sure I was ready to cut Kiki off yet, either.
As the lead operatives, she and I bunked together. Storm was in bed
with Blaize, natch. Walker usually shared a cubicle with Justice—so
they could pine away for their wifeys no doubt—but tonight Walker
was on rack-ops in the triage, conked out cold.
I slid an arm beneath my head, imagining Kiki's smooth

skin beneath my hands. Her kiss on my lips. Her body rolling beneath
mine.
The door creaked open, and I slit my eyes in that direction. Between the
dark and shadows, I fathomed Kiki's s lim frame entering the room.
"Where you been, girl?" I grumbled from my cot.
"Went shopping with Blaize. Got mani-pedis too. What'd you think?"
Her low voice shivered across the quiet room— the sound alone setting
my cock on edge.
I barked a laugh. That attitude. Damn. My dick stiffened even more
beneath the thin blanket.
"That's all well and good, but Blaize returned hours
ago."
"Had to get my hair blown out too." She snarked back. "Mind if I turn
on a light?"
Like fuck she got her hair done—or her nails. The woman was rough
and tumble, just the way I liked her.
"Go ahead." Hell yeah. Shine some light on her getting undressed.
I was already naked, and as the light popped on, I sat half-up. The
blanket rolled down to my hips, revealing the beginnings of the tats on
my shoulders that ranged up the

back  of  my  neck.  A  gritty  design  of  all  black  ink—symbols  that
resonated. Brass knuckles, a smoking gun, bullets on fire . . .
No  unicorns,  rainbows,  or  fluffy  shit  for  me.  No  wise  sayings  or
inspirational words worn on my skin.
But—dead enter—one name hid among the other marks on  my skin.
Someone I'd always carry in my heart.
Kiki's gaze took a clean sweep of me—my muscled torso, the brown
hair  centered  down  my  abs  and  leading  to  my  cock  below.  She
probably noticed the tented fabric, too.
No mistaking a hard dick practically waving in your face.
She wore a small grin as she started shucking the sweet leather yoke
holster strapped across her chest. Kiki came included with a fucklot of
gear all attached to that yoke. KABARs she handled with skill and care,
twin Glocks she set on safety.
"You going to watch?" She asked, bending over to unbuckle her boots.
"Yeah." Rubbing a hand over my mouth, I hid the wolfish grin. "Could
do the gentlemanly thing, but I'm not really that guy." I shrugged.
She chuckled. "I can see that."

"Oh.  You  ain't  seen  nothing  yet."  My  grin  stretched  even  wider  if
possible.
"Really?" She whipped off the boots, letting them fall where they lay.
"You hiding something?"
She tugged her shirt over her head, revealing a simple black bra and a
mesmerizing body. The woman wasn't a classical beauty. She wasn't
BBF. She was gorgeous, edgy, different, and I liked it.
"You  can  come  find  out  if  you  want."  The  words  rumbled  from  my
chest as the heat in the room intensified with every shred of clothing
she shed.
"Maybe next time." With her belt unbuckled, she shimmied her narrow
pants off her perfect hips and lean legs. "Thought you didn't like me,
anyway."
"I'm  usually  not  that  quick  to  judge.  Been  on  the  receiving  end  of
assholes' preconceived notions before." I hungrily watched as she bent
over.
Nice ass. Firm full cheeks. Skimpy black bikini panties.
I could definitely work with that.
"So, do you have the other guys' backs or mine in this op?" She stood
before me, nothing but ivory skin, wicked eyes, nicely shaped tits.

Very fit for a fuck. Totally in shape for a nightlong naked workout.
The  pale  blonde/light  pink  streaked  fauxhawk.  The  inked  sleeves  all
the way down to the backs of her hands—black tats in delicate paisley
and  sunburst  designs.  Too  recognizable  for  someone  in  our  line  of
work?  Maybe.  But  she  had  an  instant  in  with  the  younger,
hot-on-the-button criminal element.
And with me.
Kiki  usually  covered  her  hair  with  a  skullcap,  her  ink  with  leather
gloves.
She was one fucking cool cat. I didn't care what the other dudes thought
about her.
"Your back. I've got yours." Unless I have to shoot you in the back.
I pushed my blanket even farther down, showing off the hard-worked
cuts of muscle on my lower abs. Six pack? That and more.
"Why don't you come have mine?" I invited, the words growling out.
"That bed isn't big enough for the both of us." Kiki sauntered toward
her cot. "But your ego sure the hell is

Chapter Three
Rack-Ops or Maybe Not
THAT UNFAILING ERECTION KIKI gave me? Woke me up several
hours  later.  Or  maybe  it  was  the  sex-noise  coming  from  the  cubicle
adjoining ours.
Goddamn Storm and boss lady Blaize.
Never would've pegged Miss Carmichael for a screamer but ho-lee shit.
The  wails  that  came  out  of  her  made  me  wonder  if  she  was  getting
nailed good and hard or about to be split in two.
I didn't really want to think about Blaize like that—my wicked thoughts
centered around Kiki—but goddamn.
Were they trying to smash the cot to smithereens?
Just  then  I  heard  a  blistering  creak,  a  groaning  sound  of  s  plintering
metal.
Yep.
Done broke their cot.
Shoving up from my pallet, I dragged on some clothes and hit the door.

Justice  peered  out  from  his  tiny  two-roomer  across  the  way.
"Incoming?"
"Not with your security measures." "Storm and Blaize again?"
Their  door  opened,  and  Storm  stood  front  and  center,  holding  his
discarded  jeans  in  front  of  himself,  deep  breaths  gusting  from  his
sweaty chest.
And his hair stood all on end.
"Sorry 'bout that." He pointed backward. "We were doing a little room
reorganization?"
"Whatever." I pushed him back. "Get out of my face, fucknut."
Jus  smirked.  "Can't  believe  you  two  like  each  other  again.  Twilight
Zone shit."
I  hit  him  with  a  rare  smile.  "That  Rod  Serling.  Now  that  was  some
damn good shit."
"You are so out of touch, Bane."
"And you're such a pretty boy, Jus."
His goodnight? The ever-popular giant middle finger.
Whatever.
I  continued  through  the  interconnected  rooms  of  the  warehouse,
making a point to check in on Walker. He was

s pending time in la-la land c/o our good friend morphine. I pulled out
my burner and texted Jade a quick update on her hubs .
She immediately pinged back and asked about Kiki, because she was
all up with the T-Zone gossip.
I had no comment, other than I wanted to get the new woman beneath
me, but that probably wasn't a possibility— or wise at all—given my
super-secret motherfucking orders.
I hit the digits on the keypad for the back entrance of the building and
stepped outside. A cool night. The bright halogen lights haloing over
acres of empty tarmac.
Cigarette in hand, I lit up. Inhaled. Exhaled. Rolled my neck.
Kiki peeked her head out the door. "Mind if I join?"
"Not at all." I shoved over a couple feet, holding the pack of smokes out
to her.
"Don't smoke. But I sure could use a drink."
She stepped beside me in combat boots flapping open and sweats with
a hoodie on top, the black sweatshirt covered in white skulls and
crossbones.
She'd wound her hair on top of her head, showing the shaved sides until
she shrugged the hood up, all but

covering her features.
"I've got a bottle in the room," I said, mashing the cig underfoot.
"Ugh. Don't know if I can go back in there right now"
"Storm and Blaize going at it again?"
"Jesus. Yes."
"But Blaize likes you."
"I like her too. Doesn't mean I want to listen to her have sex for hours
on end." She peered out from the deep hood. "I thought that boss and
the subordinate shit was just a romance cliche."
"You'd have to ask Jus about that." Chuckling, I pushed away from the
wall. "We could bunk with Walker"
"In your OR?"
I s hrugged.
"Why don't you just get the bottle, and we can drink until dawn, Bane."
"Depends." I squinted at her. "Are you a messy drunk?"
"The last time I was drunk was the first time I kissed you." She leaned
back, propping her shoulders against the wall. "Wanna try it again?"
No brainer.

****
The tequila had gone down smooth, and Kiki was pretty easy to talk to
when  she  didn't  have  her  back  up.  We'd  sat  outside  the  back  door,
huddling close, sharing warmth, slugging straight from the bottle.
"So who'd win in a fight?" she asked. "Storm or
Walker?"
"Walker"  I  lit  another  smoke,  exhaled  on  the  slow.  "He'd  just  blow
Storm's nads to bits."
"I'd place my bets on Storm. He's killer with a gun."
"Justice could probably take them both," I said. "Oo-rah and all that."
"Pretty boy?" Kiki curled her lip. "Not my type."
Good to know.
The  stars  above  started  glowing  brighter,  the  night  growing  colder.
Couldn't  much  feel  my  toes  anymore,  but  who  cared  about  that?  I'd
learned from being in prison freedom came with a price, and the price
was always worth it.
Bonus?
Kiki s itting right next to me.
I angled my head down at her. "What was your detail before you upped
with T-Z?"

"A little cleanup mission in the Korengal." "Afghanistan?" Jesus.
Some  of  the  worst  shit  in  the  Afghan  War  had  happened  in  the
Korengal valley.
She nodded. "Yeah. Couple of specialists fell off the radar."
"CIA?"
"Off book," she answered.
"CIA?" I persisted.
"If I told you I'd have to kill you."
"Good luck with that, Bond girl." I handed her the bottle, watching her
appreciatively  as  she  took  another  swallow  of  the  strong  stuff.  "So
you're a real life Sydney Bristow."
"^4lias?"
I grunted in acknowledgment. Now that shit had been good TV Almost
as top-notch as Nikita. I'd still take Kiki any day over both those spy
babes.
"What about you, Griffin?"
"What? Before T-Zone?"
Her fingers glancing against mine, she handed the tequila back. A hot
spear  of  want  skittered  through  my  body.  After  taking  a  burning
swallow of liquid that did nothing

to cool the heat inside me, I deadpanned, "Mascot at Disney
World."
With the back of her hand pressed to her mouth—her smile showing
through—she asked, "So, in a fight . . . Mickey Mouse or Goofy?"
We headed back to our room not long later.
All was quiet on the home front . . . finally. Thank fuck.
We went to bed kissless.
In our own cots.
Bummer.
We'd bonded, but there wouldn't be any boning tonight. This sucked.
Morning came too early in the depths of our barracks. I'd s et my damn
alarm  so  I  could  check  on  Walker  periodically  throughout  the
remainder of the night. Watching him get loopy from the drugs took my
mind off Kiki and her proximity. Her crazy hair and gorgeous body and
those moments she made me laugh.
Walker's sleepily slurred confessions about Jade—her terrible cooking,
her  monthly  obsession  with  streaking  her  hair  that  weird-ass
red—made  me  momentarily  forget  I'd  fallen  for  Kiki,  the  possible
traitor in our midst.

Blaize gave no shit about Walker's wound or morning rations for our
growling  stomachs  before  she  called  us  into  the  slapdash  war  room,
AKA Justice's little slice of heaven complete with a bank of flat screen
monitors, cables dangling from the ceiling, and uplinks to his satellite
bounce-back wifi.
Six in the AM, and I rubbed sleep from my eyes.
Justice wheeled in Walker's gurney.
Storm drooled over Blaize like he hadn't torn up the s heets with her
into the small hours of the night.
Kiki?
She  showed  up  with  that  goddamn  leather  holster,  her  Glocks
crisscrossed over her chest.
Wanted her to wear that hardcore gear for me and nothing else.
I glued  my eyes to the computer screens  in front of me as I lounged
against  a  desk,  the  muscles  in  my  thighs  jumping,  and  something
somewhat north jumping from my groin, too.
Was n't s ure how much longer I could maintain my defenses against
Kiki. Not while we shared a ten by ten room.
I swore sometimes that woman went braless just to

torture me.
For the meeting, she'd pulled on tight jeans, tight boots, and braided the
multi-streaked hair into a thick twist down her back.
A cord of tresses I could wrap around my wrist when I drove into her,
doggie-style. Disgusted with the fact I couldn't shake her from my
mind, I dropped down into a chair.
"Bane, Kiki, you've got one last chance to get in with Los Reyes before
T-Zone pulls the plug, and that just isn't an option, is it? We need to
make a deal in order to start building trust." Blaize's eyes lasered first
me then Kiki. "Unfortunately, it appears Walker may have
compromised our mission."
"No more than Kiki did mine." Walker grunted from the gurney.
"At least I didn't get shot in my ass." Folding her arms across her sweet
chest, Kiki winked at Walker.
Me and Storm. Yeah. Mortal enemies. Made up. Bygones. All that.
Walker and Kiki?
They'd still rather kill each other

"I am sick of both your shit. There are no favorites on this team. If you
don't have each other's backs, I'll just go back to my offer in DC when I
told you I can replace you top to bottom." With a finger point—more
potent than a fuck you—Blaize put on her mean face.
Which meant Storm would be fucking her into hot submission later.
"Not replacin' me," he muttered under breath, twitching his eyebrow.
Of course Blaize ignored her lover
Favorites much?
Only  took  the  boss  lady  and  Storm  a  year  and  a  half,  plus  one
fucked-up  mission  with  an  outlaw  MC  in  New  Orleans,  to  get  it
together.
Maybe it would just take a kill order—given to me—and a fucked-up
op in Mexico for me to get it together with Kiki.
I  didn't  want  to  think  about  how  cunting  screwed  up  that  line  of
thinking was right now.
"Kiki, you ready to work the angle tonight with the cartel?" Blaize sat
down at her desk and continued flicking mugshots from Los Reyes up
onto the monitors.
"What angle would that be?" My chair legs scraped on

the  floor  when  I  angled  my  face  at  Damage.  "You're  not  selling
yourself or slutting yourself out to cut us a deal."
"Getting protective on me?" Kiki's lips curled in a half-formed smile.
"What are you cooking up?"
"Not meth."
"Cute," I said.
Fucking infuriating, I mean.
Blaize pounced to her feet. "Regardless of the fact we're women, we
don't rely on it."  Her fingertips  met the top of the desk, stabbing the
surface until her knuckles turned white. "Would I ever ask an operative
to pony up like that? No."
"What  about  you  and  Storm?  You  as  his  old  lady  in  New  Orleans?"
Justice idly scribbled on a pad of paper, probably writing more fucking
smut for the fun of it even though he'd said his sell-all, tell-all shadow
ops book was dead in the water.
Storm  half  stood,  his  face  blanched  for  some  reason  I  couldn't
understand. "Shut the fuck about that, Jus." Jesus.
Storm  rarely  lost  his  temper  and  usually  only  with  me.  Seemed
something else had gone down in NOLA.

Reaching over, Blaize laid a soothing hand on his arm.
He sank back into his seat while Justice sputtered apologies and the rest
of us looked on with nothing short of s urprise.
Even  Walker  popped  up  on  his  gurney  to  get  a  closer  look  at  the
goings-on.
"It's none of your goddamn business what went down with Storm's and
my  mission."  Blaize  took  a  deep  breath.  "And  we  are  not  having
therapy hour here. That'll happen when we get back to the Beltway."
"Whatever. Like I care. Set up the meet with Carlos, and get us there." I
put  the  order  in  with  Justice  and  Storm,  kicked  back  my  chair,  and
stalked from the room.
Didn't even look back at Kiki or her braless tits.
Props to me.

Chapter Four
Stacked and Ready to Roll
1700 HOURS.
I  jerked  open  the  door  of  the  latrine.  After  taking  care  of  biz  in  the
urinal in the  Spartan bathroom/locker room  of the barracks, I started
stripping off.
I'd  gotten  down  to  commando  status  when  Kiki  strutted  in,  a  towel
under one arm, her kit in the other.
Spinning to face the wall, showing her a whole lot of muscular ass and
tats, I asked, "You mind?"
"Nope. Not at all."
I heard her drop her shower bag onto a bench, then the telltale sound of
a zip being lowered.
Wanted to beat my head against the concrete wall in front of me.
Wanted to turn around and watch every slip of her skin unveiled.
"Was  just  gonna  hit  the  showers,"  I  gritted  out,  my  cock  growing
rapidly hard at the idea of Kiki naked behind me as

another swoosh of fabric hit the floor. "Me too." Goddammit.
Sharing a room with the woman? Jesus. Christ.
Now I was sharing a bathroom.
In the buff.
Showers. Unisex.
Emphasis on the S-E-X.
I hobbled to a cubicle care off  my stiff cock and turned the water to
dick-shrinking,  ball-curdling  cold.  "Don't  know  who's  fucking  bright
idea this was."
"New management."
I could only face the wall for so long, water pinging off my chest, abs,
cock, and balls before I turned to wet my back.
Kiki had chosen the stall right across from me. Fuuuck.
Maybe  I  needed  to  do  a  polar  ice  dive  in  order  to  shrivel  my  dick,
because the thick shaft and broad crown immediately bolted upright at
the sight of her.

Wet.
Sudsy. Sexy.
I ran one hand across my stomach, trailing soap bubbles, and reached
behind  to  crank  up  the  heat  on  the  water  falling  from  the  pipes
overhead.
Licking my lips, my nostrils flaring, I dragged a soapy fist up my rigid
cock, making my balls shake.
Kiki rolled her hips and slid her fingers—her wrists and hands with all
those amazing tats—down her belly to her smooth pussy.
Steam billowed between us—not just the hot clouds forming in the air,
but  the  temperature  of  our  bodies,  the  attraction  rising,  the  need
swelling as fast as the come in my nuts ack.
"I  like  your  piercing."  Her  eyes  drifted  close,  her  hips  rolling,  her
fingers slipping inside her cunt.
The Prince Albert pierced my cockhead, and when I was hard like this,
it engorged the slit at the tip where drops of pre-ejaculate welled out,
coursing through soap bubbles.
"I  like  your  tats.  Your  tits."  I  grunted,  gripping  the  base  of  my  cock
mercilessly hard.

I liked a little pain with my pussy.
Kiki gasped, and her bright white-blue eyes opened halfway—hooded
and vulnerable in the moment of her orgasm.
I couldn't. Just couldn't stay away from her Cock in hand, steam rising
from my body, I padded to her.
"You coming, girl?" I thrust up against her, so fucking horny I was
blind to anything but her.
Wrapping an arm around Kiki's waist, I hauled her to me.
Wet, slippery, slinky female flesh against bigger, harder, rougher . . .
and hotter.
I gripped her wrist and pushed her fingers hard into her cunt.
Her short nails cut into my shoulder, her teeth into my neck, and the
sounds she made unscrewed the last fierce knot inside my groin. I
spilled, sprayed, jetted over my hand, her stomach, all the way up to her
tight tits.
I grunted, harsh noises, taking her lips with mine.
She grinded against me, milked me, came again crying out my name.
Water pounded around us, the hot soaking wetness pulling us together.

Kiki's hips released. Her hand loosened. Her body slackened, and when
she stumbled against the wall of the shower, she laughed from deep
inside.
I couldn't stop staring at the gorgeous mess of her. Water trickling all
over. Her nipples bright and rosy. Her small navel and smooth cunt and
swollen labia.
Her satisfied smile temptation itself. My come splattered all over her
pelvis. Her hand.
Her gaze—bold and blue—locked on mine, she lifted that dripping
hand to her mouth and licked my semen with a wild moan, a teasing
sound.
My dick wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
I stood under the drumming spray as she lounged back, rolling her hips
in sultry circles.
I just started to lean into her, dipping my mouth nears hers, when she
slipped around me—cooler air wafting in her place.
She tucked a towel around her body with a wink. "Who s ays romance
is dead?"

Chapter Five
Barrio Badlands
2300 HOURS.
I met up with Kiki outside the crib, and we hopped into the SUV Storm
had designated for our use. Tried not to stare at Kiki.
My legs were still quaking after the hot hot shower we'd s hared.
I figured one way or the other—one of us was gonna end up dead this
time  around.  Dead  because  of  lust,  or  dead-dead  because  of  the
mission.
My lips curled as I handled the steering wheel, foot stomping down on
the gas, cigarette clamped between my
teeth.
She  could've  worn  something  less  appealing.  The  pants  were  tighter
than  skin,  the  boots  hotter  than  sin,  the  leather  jacket  just  a  fucking
short tease to the tits I knew were hidden inside.
Along with a whole lot of weaponry.

"You ready for this, girl?" She laughed to herself. "Girl?"
"Yeah."
"That's how you think of  me after  the locker room?" She just had to
remind me of that when the whole episode had been on reel inside my
head  ever  since.  "Don't  think  we  should  have  a  repeat."  "Don  t  talk
much, do you?"
I grunted into the following silence, and Kiki took my cig, placing it
between her plump, berry-red lips. "Thought you didn't smoke."
"So  did  I.  Guess  we  were  both  wrong."  She  took  another  long  slow
inhale while I inspected her profile.
"Anyway,  nothing  much  to  talk  about."  I  followed  the  directions
memorized like a map in my mind, sending us deeper and deeper into
Mexico City gangland.
"You hate me like the other guys do?"
I glanced at her for all of a second.
Funny.  She'd  armed  herself  with  guns  and  blades  and  that  leather
holster and the black eyeliner, but I couldn't forget her scrubbed-clean
face. The water running down her bare body in a slick slide.

Kiki wasn't as hard as she made herself out to be.
Maybe I wasn't either.
But I had to be. To complete my orders.
Kill her.
I slid a sole finger from her cheek to her sweet jaw, to her neck where
the steady pulse thrummed.
Turning back to the road, I murmured, "No. Don't hate you."
Just wrestling with my conscience. What I want. And what I have to do.
"They have it wrong, you know?" She tossed the cigarette out the
window. "I might've been monitoring coms when Walker's mission got
compromised, but I didn't do it."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?"
Kiki's face glowed with determination, and the stubborn tilt of her chin
had the hard edge she usually wore like a mask. "I'll prove it to you."
Ten minutes later, we came to a halt a couple blocks away from where
Walker and I had attempted to set up an exchange with Los Reyes de
Guerra last night. The area was controlled by the cartel, not the local
LEOs.
The arrival of two crackers in a fully loaded SUV in the

middle the cartel's barrio immediately led to a quiet menacing hum of
slurs  in  Spanish,  narrowed  eyes,  and  shiny  weapons  from  pistols  to
blades to brass knuckles.
I'd left my own fisticuffs back at the crib.
Maybe I should've brought them along.
The  area  was  nothing  but  dim  and  blinking  streetlights,  unsavory
looking bars, heavily graffitied buildings, and narrow roads filled with
the  men  and  women  of  the  hood  gathered  around  gangsta-style  cars
drinking from forties.
Kiki swung out of the truck after me, and we strolled through the crowd
thickening in front of Dia de Muertos bar. It was colder than usual for
late November in Mexico City, and I had a feeling it was about to get a
hell of a lot frostier
We had intel the squat stone structure with the faded sugar skull death
mask  painted  on  the  sign  hanging  out  front  was  Carlos  the  Killer's
hangout  of  choice  and,  possibly,  a  front  for  his  gun/snort  smuggling
business.
The brightly painted door to the place stood half propped open, and we
walked right in, kicking off another wave of unveiled suspicion shot in
our direction. The stares hardened into menacing glares. The murmurs
grew louder. And the crowd didn't exactly part like the Red Sea.

I  quickly  scanned  the  scene—bars  on  windows,  thugs  with
slicked-back hair sitting in booths, women dressed in a mix of leather
and lace shuttling drinks and empties back and forth from the bar.
More guns. More knives.
In the farthest corner of the room? Carlos. He stared straight at me with
eyes so dark brown they looked like oneway mirrors to an empty soul.
Maybe that was my soul.
"Let  me  do  the  talking,"  I  muttered  to  Kiki,  not  waiting  for  her
acknowledgment before I parted the way between Mexicans mumbling
threats-gueros seemed to be the most popular insult slung our way.
"Hola, Carlos." I nodded to the man who returned my hooded stare.
Kiki  remained  behind  me  as  Carlos  merely  grunted  a  greeting.  He
tapped a gun on the surface of the table. The leader of the Los Reyes de
Guerra cartel looked nothing like a South American crime lord. He was
scrawny as a fucking chicken wing with a thick scar pulling down the
whole left s ide of his face. His gang minions wore regulation leather
and black. Not Carlos. He dressed in a three-piece suit in

dandy-friggin'-blue  complete  with  a  perfectly  folded  handkerchief  in
the breast pocket.
Like  these  were  the  old  Prohibition  days  and  he  was  the  His  panic
Al-fucking-Capone.
His  second-in-command  sat  beside  him—no  airs  for  him.  He  looked
just  like what he  was. A big block  of concrete with fists built to kill
with one lethal punch.
The same as I'd been.
"You got some cojones,  cabron, showing up again. Not enough pain
last night?" Carlos's voice was guttural as a bullfrog's, at odds with his
small frame.
"Bastardo" The concrete block lumbered to his feet. "I keel him, si?"
Carlos wrapped a thin-fingered hand around his henchman's arm before
he could draw a gun on me.
Tension

rolled

between

the

three

us,

until

Kiki

—goddammit—stepped out from behind me.
My hand fell to the grip of my Sig.
I watched Carlos's dark eyes move over Kiki, taking stock of her as she
stood with a bold smile and a cocked hip.
"Shouldn't we have drinks before we pull out the guns?" She winked,
batting her eyelashes.

Un-fucking-believably,  Carlos  laughed—the  sound  as  grating  as
machine gun fire.
The atmosphere cooled rapidly from the suffocating s ens e of Kiki's
and  my  imminent  doom  to  the  chill  zone.  All  the  potential  perps
breathing down our necks as Kiki and I stood with our backs to the rest
of the bar slowly dispersed.
Carlos even motioned for us sit across from him.
Maybe there was something to be said for bringing Baby Spy with me
instead of motormouth Walker.
"How many partners you got, gringo?" Carlos asked as we s lid into the
cracked-leather booth.
"The dude you shot up last night was an associate. Not a partner."
"What about her." He shoved his chin in Kiki's direction. I glanced at
her, one eyebrow raised. "Her? Definitely a partner."
"Bueno.  Good  choice."  At  the  lift  of  his  finger,  a  bottle  of  tequila
arrived with four fresh glasses.
Hulk the Henchman poured, and I was surprised he didn't shatter the
small glasses in his hamfist.
Carlos  raised  his  drink  toward  Kiki.  "Senorita  Catalina.  It's  been
awhile, no?"

Catalina?
"Sixteen  months,  give  or  take."  She  saluted  him  with  her  drink  then
gulped it in one.
I  sat,  frozen  for  a  second,  this  new  information  nothing  short  of  a
ball-shocker. As soon as I figured out how to s wallow again, I downed
my drink and motioned for another s hot.
Kiki isn t using the pussy angle then. Jesus.
She'd been inside with the cartel before. In what capacity I had no idea,
but it suddenly became crystal goddamn clear why she'd been put into
play on this mission.
She  and  Carlos  began  a  fast  conversation  in  fluent  Spanish  while  I
remembered to do more than sip my fucking tequila and look like more
than a turd in a punchbowl.
Christ.
I cut in whenever possible, adding my own info, but Kiki squeezed my
thigh beneath the cover of the table—trying to shut me down or turn me
on, I wasn't sure.
Probably shut me down.
But then her fingers traveled to the northside of strictly professional,
copping a feel of my cock that'd grown

dangerously hard as soon as she'd touched me. Scratch that.
As soon as she'd turned Carlos the Killer into Carlos the
Kitten.
While I sat, nursing my drink, choking on arousal, Kiki felt me up with
very fucking skilled fingers toying with the fat head of my cock all the
while she multitasked.
I felt my eyes grow wider and wider when I would've preferred to just
slump back, open my pants, and get her to blow me.
I couldn't decide if I was more stunned by her impressive knowledge of
Los Reyes cartel's competitors' movements, her impressive grasp of the
local Spanish lingo, or her impressive handling of my cock.
Well, that was a lie. I was all about the cock-handling.
"How'd you hook up with the guero?" Carlos asked, stabbing me with
his soulless eyes.
"Name's Griffin." Chachi cholo motherfucker.
"I'm the brains. He's the muscle." Kiki squeezed my dick in a firm grip.
That's one way to put it. And she's definitely using the pussy angle with
me.

Didn't mind, as long as she put out.
Laughs  followed.  At  my  expense.  Whatever.  Better  than  a  hail  of
bullets raining down on me. Or getting shot in my ass.
"He  showed  up  as  soon  as  we  lost  our  connection  with  the  Blood
Legion MC." Jefe continued to talk about me, like I wasn't sitting at the
same damn table.
"Blood who?" I knocked Kiki's masterful massaging hand off my dick.
"I don't run with biker gangs."
Of course, I'd been present for the bloody takedown of the MC in New
Orleans in October—the night the Legion had been cutting a deal with
the cartel and the terrorist cell they dealt with.
I'd hardly gotten an eyeball on any of the Los Reyes men that night, but
just  in  case  they'd  seen  me,  I'd  changed  my  appearance.  Scruffy
dark-brown stubble covered my jaw, a tight skull cap pulled over my
head hid most of the tats on the back of my neck. Leather wrist cuffs
instead of my usual huge watch. Mirrored shades over my mismatched
eyes.
Oh, and a grim look on my face.
Wasn't much of a makeover.
Meh.

Fuck 'em
"Who'd you say is supplying you again?" Skanky Carlos continued to
grill me.
"Didn't."  I  gave  a  sharkish  smile.  "But  if  you  gotta  know,  T-Zone
Outfitters. Get it?"
I pointed a finger dead center on my forehead and pretended to pull the
trigger. The best lie was the one closest to the truth. No one knew about
the  agency  we  worked  for—Operation  T-Zone.  It  was  a  shadow
organization  shrouded  in  secrecy  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  to  the
freakin' janitors who cleaned the HQ in DC.
Carlos's laugh heralded another round of drinks, and I slowly eased the
tension from  my shoulders when we started cooking up the deal that
would bring me one step closer to the haji, and one step closer to Kiki's
demise.
I watched her, my lips hidden behind the glass I held, as she charmed
the asswipe with every word spoken.
Edgy.
Ambitious.
Clearly connected in ways Walker, Justice, Storm, and I didn't have a
fucking clue about. Sexy and smart.

A traitor to T-Zone? I just couldn't believe it.
"50 calibers too," I interrupted their tête-à-tête. "We have a stash to
unload. Waiting for the highest bidder."
We couldn't outright supply the cunts with WMDs or IEDs or fully
armed bombs, but—hey—automatic weapons.
Why not?
I had to remember this fucking game had an endpoint. "When do we get
the merchandise?" Carlos addressed KM
"Tomorrow night. I'll text you. Same number?"
With his nod, I nudged Kiki from the booth, muttering with a smirk,
"Fuck you very much, hombre."
I took Kiki's hand and all but dragged her from the joint. "You and me?
We need to talk, Senorita."

Chapter Six
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  s  teel
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 Jus tice, 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 s tood, 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

Chapter Seven
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 s hit 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  s  tream  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  s  lunk  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 s houted.
"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

s trategy.
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 ofKiki.
Guns hots petered out.
We s ounded 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  s  topped
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 s lumping down.
Blaize removed my gun from his lifeless grip.
"Who the fuck offs themselves anymore?" Walker

Chapter Eight
Band-Aids for Bullet Holes
I  SAT  AMONG  THE  carnage,  my  teeth  gritted  as  splinters  of  pain
shivered from my thigh to my groin. "Dammit. Are we all destined to
get shot up before this op's over?"
My  knuckles  swelled  as  I  ripped  the  hole  in  my  pants  bigger,
impatiently inspecting the oozing wound.
Kiki kneeled at my side with a suture tray she'd swiped from my triage.
"It's  through  and  through."  I  lifted  up  to  show  my  ass,  and  the  exit
wound, when I whipped down my pants. "Just pack it. I'll be fine."
"Macho, annoying, egotistical . . . balls bigger than his brains . . ." Kiki
tossed insults at me while she started gathering alcohol and gauze. 'Too
stupid to live'"
"Mucho annoying more like," Storm commented as he checked every
last dead tango on the premises.
He came up with exactly nada.
"She sounds like Jade." Walker rubbed his jaw, gleefully

watching me as the patient.
"You're one to talk. Walking ass-wound." I hissed when Kiki swabbed
antiseptic around the open fucking hole in my
leg.
"At least I am walking." "Two days later Dickbreath."
"Missed  the  major  arteries."  Kiki  tossed  swabs  aside.  "Good  thing
since the one in your brain is already short-circuited. Obvs."
Jus laughed. "Ya know? If we didn't hate her, I'd probably really like
her"  He  gave  Kiki  a  hand  bandaging  my  leg  while  she  glared  death
threats at him.
"Pain killers?" Justice helped me to my feet.
"Yeah. Tequila. And my blades."
"Tough guy."
"Sure. I'm the one man mafia." I stumbled backward, unbalanced.
Storm caught me. "You need morphine."
I  snorted.  "Not  fucking  likely.  Not  gonna  get  caught  with  my  pants
down again."
Blaize appeared in front of us, and Storm rolled up to her.
I heard him say cher, and that was about it because my

head was reeling from the events of the night.
The  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  back  in  the  chair,  my  leg  raised  and
cushioned.
Surrounded by KIAs.
Nice.
Blaize paced back and forth, in full battle  mode. "We're clearing out
ASAP. Gather guns, gear, intel, and the computers."
"Where're we headed, boss?" Walker already had a pack on his back,
and here I was, two steps behind everyone else.
"The  prearranged  locations.  I've  vetted  them."  She  nodded  her  head
when Storm took the dismantled mini-MASH unit out to a waiting van.
"We're splitting up."
"If we've been made, who's to say we won't be at the other houses?"
Justice toed over dead bodies, shouldering a sack of weapons.
"Because you and I are the only ones who know about the safe houses."
Blaize directed Jus to the second black van with his cargo. "So if we get
ratted out there really is a nark in our midst."
Cold comfort.
We dismantled the crib in twenty minutes flat.

Okay,  I  didn't  do  much  of  the  heavy  lifting  given  I  was  still  spilling
blood, but the place was cased clean and quickly abandoned.
Our presence erased.
I shut myself inside the passenger seat of the SUV beside Kiki who slid
behind the wheel.
Storm teamed up with Blaize. Natch.
And Jus and Walker commandeered the third vehicle.
"I want everyone checking in before noon and after midnight. Bane and
Kiki, you make that drop tomorrow night with Carlos and remember
we want the location and names of the terrorists they're supplying. Next
objective. We need actionable intel." Blaize hopped into her ride.
The  three-car  convoy  hauled  ass  out  of  the  warehouse,  splitting
directions at the nearest crossroads.
Fuck the dead cunts we left behind all but toe-tagged.
Whoever hired them could do the cleanup from our kills.
And Kiki and I were alone.
****
We  arrived  at  the  safe  house  with  morning  barely  starting.  A  crystal
clear and cold dawn on the horizon. Almost December.

Kiki and I humped our shit into the house, locked all the doors, set the
alarms, drew all the blinds. She called in to Blaize on a burner to say
we'd landed safe and sound.
Meanwhile the packing around the wound on my thigh was becoming
blood-soaked.
Not to mention that shit was beginning to twinge a little
bit.
I locked myself in the bathroom and pulled a wells tocked medkit from
my go-bag.
Last time I'd been in this position it'd been goddamn Yemen. On the
run. Cut off from Justice and Tilly after we'd escaped from the embassy
siege.  That  time  it'd  been  Ambassador  James  Lawless,  Tilly's  dad,
whom I'd sewn up after he'd taken a bullet to the leg.
Over  twenty-four  hours  out  of  contact  with  Tilly  and  Justice.  We'd
found  them  by  scouring  the  hospitals  in  the  most  inhospitable  city.
Tilly  unconscious  with  septicemia,  Justice  half  out  of  his  mind  with
worry over the woman.
I was glad there was no one to worry about me now.
Kiki  knocked  on  the  bathroom  door  as  I  laid  out  the  antiseptic  and
suture kit. "You okay in there?"
"Peachy."    I winced, thunking    off my    boots and

unzipping my pants.
"You're not seriously considering stitching yourself up?" Exasperation
colored her voice.
"That's the plan."
She rattled the doorknob. "I know how to pick a lock, you know?"
"Just go away." Biting off a hiss, I started peeling off my torn pants.
"Not gonna happen."
"Goddammit,  Katherine!  Leave  me  the  fuck  alone."  I  punched  an
already torn-up fist down onto the sink.
I heard her fiddling with the door a few seconds before the lock popped
open and the knob turned.
Thought  about  booting  my  foot  against  the  door.  Reined  myself  in.
Would probably topple over if I tried, especially with my pants stuck at
the top of my thighs.
I edged against the sink, and Kiki slipped inside.
She'd disarmed, leaving just the clothes she'd thrown on earlier, and her
pink-striped fauxhawk trailing in soft-looking lengths down her back.
"You've  never  called  me  Katherine  before."  She  gently  pushed  me
aside and began washing and sterilizing her

hands.
"Blaize told me." Didn't I feel just a little bit off-kilter with my pants
half down, my cock half out, and blood seeping from a bullet hole. "So
did you. And if your fuckingpapi can call you Cataleeena . . . Unless
you wanna be forever known as Baby Spy?"
"I didn't mean to poke the wounded bear." A beat of laughter lifted her
voice.
Want to hate her. Can hardly keep my hands off her.
I grunted instead of replying.
After drying her hands, she turned to me. "Think you can get the pants
the rest of the way off? And don't be a tough guy about it."
"Wouldn't dream of it." I gritted my teeth and start pushing the sticky
pants down my legs.
I got them as low as my calves, all my muscles straining and sweat
popping on my brow, before she kneeled down and took over.
Nice.
Exactly the position I wanted Kiki in—on her knees with my cock level
with her face.
Wrong fucking context, though.

Chapter Nine
All In
"DOWN THERE?" I ASKED.
Kiki rolled her eyes, a smirk forming on her mouth. "Anywhere."
Well . . . how to answer that? Ask her to open wide so I could shove my
cock into her lush mouth? The idea had definite merit. But considering
I was having a hard time keeping my knees from buckling and if she
was gonna give me head I didn't really want it to end with me squashing
her when I collapsed on top of her, I merely shrugged.
She rose up, unnecessarily—but very welcomingly— brushing against
me.
Who needed painkillers when she was playing nurse? My favorite
fantasy.
"Let's get this off too." She tugged at my shirt.
Full monty? Sure. Why not?
Weaving on my feet, I got stuck in the tight shirt. Kiki's hands went to
work on me, her warm fingers clearing the

clinging material from my chest, shoulders, and my head.
"Think  you  better  sit  down  now?"  Her  eyes  roamed  boldly  over  my
body, taking in the tats, the scars, the slabs of cut muscles.
The cock, the PA piercing.
That motherfucking throbbing wound.
I planted my ass on the closed toilet lid.
How fucking romantic could a guy get?
My dick was still hard, though.
Kiki chose to ignore the thick staff rising up from my groin to my abs.
Bummer.
"Get  me  a  drink  before  you  start  on  me?"  I  asked  with  a  lift  of  an
eyebrow.
She nodded and left the room.
"You done this before, or you need directions?" I called after her.
She  returned  with  a  glass  of  tequila,  which  I  quickly  downed.  She'd
brought the whole bottle. Smart girl.
Her  smile  flitted  across  her  lips  as  she  bent  over  me.  "I  rarely  need
directions for anything, Bane."
Why wasn't I surprised?

"Want me to glove up?" She got down beside me. "You wanna glove
up?" "You diseased?" "Only in the head."
She chuckled. "Great. That makes two of us." She snapped on gloves
without a wasted motion.
Kiki prodded the ragged hole with gentle fingers then made me lift up,
my cock pretty much dangling in her face.
She didn't take the bait.
Bummmmer.
A nice cocksucking would take my mind off the fact I was about to get
stitched up minus opiates. Whatever. Not the first time.
She motioned me back down, and guess what? Her soft breath hit the
underside of my engorged dick.
"Through and through," she said, her eyes not on the real prize.
"I know," I grumbled.
"I want to make sure no major arteries nicked." "Fuck." I braced
myself, fixing my eyes on the blank white wall above her head. "Go on
then."

When Kiki probed the bleeding hole it felt like she was ripping me
open from the inside out, but I didn't flinch.
Swore a lot, though. Even invented a few new curse words.
"Good." She peered up at me, her face a white mask. Reaching out, I
grasped her chin. "Where'd you learn how to fix people up?"
"In the field. When I had to. Just like you, I'd imagine."
"You okay to go on? Because I can—"
"I don't need you to be strong or stoic about this,
Griffin."
I smiled when she used my first name. "But I sure hope I don't make
you cry." A sadistic light flashed across her pale blue irises. "Girl . . ." I
growled out.
She set about patching me up, and though her face remained blanched,
she wasn't squeamish. I'd give her that.
I s ucked in ragged breaths, refilling on booze every time she took a
break.
"Nice sutures." Sweat trickled down the center of my chest, and my lips
formed a grim line as she inspected her handiwork.

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  kill  that  guy  with  your  bare  hands
tonight." With a frown on her forehead, she motioned me to roll.
"Wouldn't be the first time." I turned so she could get to the exit wound
after she stitched the front.
"Yeah?"
"You know your little nursery rhyme?" She pushed the needle through
my skin, sewing up the hole. "Mmm."
"Mine ain't so pretty. Killed a man. Crushed his windpipe. In the ring."
"Boxing?" "Cagefighting."
"So you beat yourself up about it." She tied off the last of the sutures.
"No  one  else  to  blame."  I  tested  her  work  with  my  fingers,  grunting
with satisfaction.
Kiki urged me to my unsteady feet, and I grabbed the towel rail, almost
pulling it off the wall with my weight.
"You  didn't  mean  to  kill  him."  She  disinfected  the  area  again  then
started wrapping it with clean gauze.
"So that's okay then? What about the people we do

mean to kill." Her, for one.
"It's for a  reason.  So better people live." She rinsed her hands in the
basin after ungloving.
"It's not black and white."
Wringing out a washcloth, Kiki motioned me toward the door and into
the hallway. "No, it's not. But we choose, don't we?"
"I follow orders."
"Blaize's, because you trust her."
I let Kiki steer me to a bedroom. The fan motored above, reminiscent of
the rotors on many a helo Storm had hijacked.
She  prodded  me  to  the  bed,  pushed  a  towel  beneath  me,  and  started
giving me a sponge bath.
Of all the fucking things.
"I can clean myself."
"No  shit?"  Kiki  swiped  the  cloth  down  my  chest.  "Take  it  easy,  big
boy."
Kiki climbed up after me, smoothing the warmth along my legs. She
eased my thighs apart, cleaned my shoulders, and arms, and hands.
After rinsing the cloth, she swept it over my face. "I like your eyes."

"They're fucked up. Just like the rest of me."
She snorted. "Helluva antihero complex you got going on." Her lips
nudged mine, and I gasped at the touch of her tongue lightly tracing my
mouth. "Do you know how sexy you are? So fucking big."
I hardly fought against her as she held my shoulders down to the bed.
"And your eyes. One blue." She kissed my closed eyelid. "The other
hazel. Gorgeous."
Her hands roamed lower, to my abs that clenched.
Something wet worked hot heat along my pelvic muscles, never once
hitting my cock.
Pushing an arm over my face, sucking in deep a breath, rolling my hips,
I wordlessly begged for more.
"Must not hurt that bad." Her warm breath washed across my
muscle-padded ribs.
"It's you."
"Me what?" She dribbled an ice cube dipped in tequila against my lips.
"Fuck, babe."
She raised the glass to my mouth. "Drink." I did. Big gulps.

Bullet wound or not I was fired the fuck up. Needed something to dull
the ever-present pain. Sex always worked. Sex with Kiki Damage? I'd
probably  never  see  straight  again.  "What      happened      to      you,
Griffin?      Before the cagefighting."
"Ah, shit. I'm not up for this."
"If you don't talk, I don't fuck." She dragged my arm from my face. "I
told you my truth."
She sat beside  me. This vixen. The enigma. The gorgeous streetwise
woman who was possibly a traitor.
"Shit. What? I killed man in the cage. Big deal. You know that now."
"The medic stuff?"
"Are you digging for intel on me?"
"You  have  some  serious  trust  issues,  you  know  that?"  Kiki  huffed,
turning her back.
I grasped her shoulder. "I learned it from watching you."
A grin cranked across my lips when she wheeled around and hit me on
the chest. "Tell me the truth."
Her hair hung over us, bright swathes. And her beautiful

face was so close to mine . . . she was the only woman who could cool
the fever inside me.
"No formal training. Fuck. I constantly stitched myself up during my
years in the underground fighting ring. But when I killed that guy . . ."
"You were charged."
"Yeah.  Jail  time."  Pulling  myself  against  the  headboard,  I  stacked
pillows  behind  my  back.  "Miss  Carmichael  got  to  me  in  there.  She
found me. She took me on." I shrugged. "She knows I'm a stone cold
killer"
"Is that how you see yourself?"
I wrangled Kiki down to me, squashing a groan when her leg nudged
the wound on my thigh. "What are you? A s hrink?"
"No more than you're a doc." She kissed my chin.
"Hey. I did the civvie thing. Physician assistant and ER training. Just
because  I'm  not  an  MD  doesn't  mean  I  don't  have  fast  hands."  I  put
those hands to use, squeezing her ass.
"Why  do  you  think  she  put  us  in  play  together,  Bane?"  Kiki  braced
above me.
Looking away, I murmured, "She didn't."

Chapter Ten
Sexual Healing
"IT WASN'T BLAIZE'S CALL?" Kiki sat up in the bed. "Nope."
"Well, shit." She shifted away from me.
"What?"
"Nothing." She ran her fingers through her hair. "Nothing . . ."
"Doesn't look like nothing."
"You ever get the feeling something's not right?" Glancing at me, she
chewed on her bottom lip. "Especially with that unwarranted raid
tonight?"
"Yeah." I scowled. "Get that feeling all the time."
Unwarranted raid. Someone sure as fuck had thought they needed to
bring the pain down on us. Americans, no less, with master firepower.
Hoped they got the message we weren't to be fucked with—a message
sent with the big kiss off of dozens of
DOAs.

Standing slowly, Kiki paced toward the door. "I think I'll go clean up.
You should get some rest."
"Yeah. I'll do that." My eyelids felt heavy as cement. My leg fucking
throbbed.
But the bigger pain came from seeing Kiki caught in a trap she didn't
realize had been set for her
Rest? Bullshit.
I checked the dressing on my wound. I reloaded my gun. I drank more
tequila, but never enough to get tanked.
Listening to the shower run, I shut my eyes, only opening them when
Kiki walked back in, wrapped in a towel.
Her hair was shiny and wet, those light pink streaks damp-darkened.
Her face scrubbed. Her eyes the lightest shade of blue imaginable.
"You make a terrible patient, you know that?" She checked her Glocks
before setting them on the bedside table. "I gave you orders to sleep."
I s till didn't know how she managed to make me smile even when shit
was bad-side up in my life.
"Sleep's overrated."
"How's the leg?"
"Hurts like a bitch. You could help though." I winked at

her.
"I could, huh?" She stepped closer, her voice turning breathy.
The change in her tone echoed the slight shift in the color of her irises,
making them a little more turbulent. Darker. Dilated.
"How so?" she asked, and I watched her nipples perk up beneath the
clinging towel.
"Come to bed with me." My husky voice rumbled, rippling greed for
her hitting me like a sudden shock to the s ys tem.
"I should keep watch," she hedged.
"No. You shouldn't." Leaning forward, I grasped the bottom of the
towel.
She slowly smiled, a sexy tilt of her suckable lips. "How's me in bed
gonna help, big boy?"
"I'll show you."
"I suppose you want me to take this off first?" She fingered the knot at
the top of the towel.
I nodded, a ragged rush of air pelting from between my lips .
Fuck yeah.

When she dropped the towel, I almost chewed off my own tongue to
get to her.
Slick flesh.
Toned body.
Handful tits.
Dark pink nipples.
The tats. Fuuuck. Delicate designs from her elbows to her wrists to the
backs of her hands. Sexy as.
Legs long enough to wrap around my waist while I s lammed into her.
"Kiki." My hand moved to her leg, and my gaze followed the path I
took from her knee to her thigh to her hip . . . "Damn, girl. You have no
idea how hard you make me."
The sheet tented at my groin. My cock rising, blood-filled, fully erect.
She gently pulled the sheet, bending over me. "This
hard?"
Her breasts bobbed in my face, and I hungrily latched onto one crest,
cupping the other swaying orb.
The sheet rasped over my rigid dick, which lifted higher as the fabric
drifted lower beneath her guidance.
My balls were about ready to burst, and we hadn't even

gotten down to any action yet.
Kiki didn't touch me. The only thing she handled was the blanket.
I switched to her other nipple, massaging my saliva into the other
hanging crescent while I nipped and sucked and bit the pink peak in my
mouth.
Her breath left in short streams of air, in little purrs from her throat.
The sheet fell to my thighs, pooling beneath my nutsack.
Finally, she touched me. Her fingernails traced up the underside of my
dark, veiny, oversized cock.
I jerked my hips, a drop of hot precome sliding from the tip and hitting
the Prince Albert piercing.
With both hands mashing her tits together, I suckled at the globes,
licking up to her neck, nibbling her earlobe. Reaching lower to snake
my hands to her ass, I lifted her onto the bed until she kneeled beside
me, bent over me.
Her whisper-caress moved to the piercing, and every barely-there touch
spun me into demented desire.
I grunted. Groaned.
Cupped.
Groped.

Sucked and licked all the gorgeous flesh I could get at. Kiki fisted me in
her hand, her fingers struggling to meet. She didn't stroke, but the
teasing grip made my cock pulse harder.
"Give me your hand." Kiki pursed her lips above the tip of my dick, and
a dribble of spit fell from her lips to the s hiny, bulging head.
She pulled away when I grunted, my hips shifting to reach her mouth.
Next to me, she moved closer, kneeled high.
I put my hand in hers, and she slid my palm, my fingers, up her inner
thigh. Before I even hit her cunt, her skin was wet, shiny.
"This is how much I want you," she whispered.
My body racked with heat and need, I slipped my fingers higher,
finding her soaked pussy, so soft as I parted her, entered her tight hot
hole with ease.
"Holy fuck." I twisted my fingers, added a third, and watched as she
arched from her undulating hips to her neck.
With her riding my hand, I kissed her stomach down to her clit, eating
that hot cherry like ripe fruit.
Kiki cried out, almost crushing my hand between her

thighs.  Her  cunt  squeezed  down  on  my  fingers,  her  juice  like  rain
coating  my  hand.  She  grasped  her  tits,  milking  every  ounce  of  her
orgasm in the wettest wildest vise I'd ever felt.
She panted, pulling away from my fingers, my face, when all I wanted
was more of her taste.
I  slicked  my  lips  with  her  glossy  come,  licking  it  all  off  from  my
fingers.
My cock was dark with need, dribbling preejaculate by the gallons, my
nads beginning to pull up. Ready for auto-launch if she didn't get on it
soon.
With Kiki's taste in my mouth, I grasped the base of my shaft, pointing
the obscene length at her.
"Get over here, girl." My voice came out gravelly, guttural.
She licked her lips and moved onto her hands and knees between my
thighs.
I widened my legs, wincing when the stitches pulled.
"Are  you  sure  you're  up  for  this?"  Her  pursed  lips  paused,  a  breath
away from covering my cock.
"Does it look like I'm in pain?" I held the base, a roar of blood in my
ears, a rush of blood flushing the veins throbbing all down my length.

"Actually"—she  engulfed  the  head  of  my  cock  in  her  warm,  wet
mouth—"yeah," she garbled out.
"Different kind of pain." I groaned when her tongue rolled across my
cock slit, gathering all the leaking precome.
She tongued the piercing, pulling at it.
Almost pulling the come from my balls.
"You like pain?" Her teeth took little bites all around the dome of my
dick.
Bolts  of  desire  jolted  to  my  spine.  My  toes  curled.  My  cock  filled
harder.
"Yeah." Grasping her hair, I wrapped it around my thick wrists. I pulled
Kiki's  mouth onto  my shaft, stamping  my feet onto the  mattress so I
could buck into her mouth. Make her s wallow me. "You?"
She came off me with a glug. "Yeah." She slurped the side of my dick,
guiding the girth in and out of her fist. "You wanna use me?"
"Yeah." I sneered. "Get on your back."
"I wasn't done blowing you." Her eyebrow arched. "Make me."
I flipped her over, rolling between her spread legs.
Her cunt was one target I wouldn't miss, the bright red

slit hiding the one hole I wanted to fuck forever.
I grabbed her neck, bringing her mouth to mine. "Tell me you want it."
I devoured her lips, bringing her tongue into my mouth, twirling around
it. I ate her sighs and purrs and moans, lining my cock up with her gash,
riding that cherry-red juiciness, not hilting inside yet.
"Tell me I'm not using you for a fast fuck, girl." My thigh s tarted to
hurt, but it was the last thing on my mind. "I like it rough."
Her calves rose to my hips, and I held her open, ready to drill her into
the mattress.
She pulled on my cock, placing the broad head at her narrow slit.
Her teeth rasped my neck, her nails dug into my ribs. "Funny. I like it
rough too."
"Never would've guessed." I grunted, holding off by the skin of my
teeth from fucking her into the atmosphere. "Fuck. Condom."
I fumbled off the bed.
"You don't need a protection. We all get the same birth control." She
lay wide open, fingering her pussy, slipping

her wetness all around. Temptation.
Shit. Fuck.
Needed her.
Needed.
Wanted.
Hadn't fucking gone bareback since . . . Christ.
I couldn't resist what Kiki was offering. I prowled to her "Ride me."
Kiki s lipped over me after I lay on the bed. She captured my cock in
her hand then pointed the shaft at her cunt.
"Ahhh." I squeezed her hips, held her waist, brought her down on me.
We kissed through wild gasping breaths, her breasts against me, her
pussy a wet heaven she rolled up and down my pulsing dick.
She came quickly, her body thrown into an arch.
"Like that piercing, do you?" I thickened inside her, her convulsions
almost throwing me over the edge.
Turned on like never before, I fucked up into Kiki's climaxing cunt.

She squeezed me, her liquid heat running to my balls. Her palms landed
on my chest, and she tossed her head back.
Every move she made I met. The tight gyrations. The slow rolls. The
endless orgasm as I nudged so deep inside her she'd never take a dick as
far as mine again.
Sitting up with a grunt, I yanked her onto my cock, watching the wet
slap-slap-slap of pussy on dick. Opening her. Fucking her.
Owning her.
I s tuffed my hands into her hair, driving my mouth against hers. My
cock sprayed, and it felt like her pussy licked up every single jet I
exploded.
Squeezing.
Coming.
Gasping.
Groaning.
Kiki fell to the side, and the wet smack of my still-hard cock hit my abs.
"I think you killed me." Her tits heaved with after-orgasm shocks.
I cupped one breast, my fingers thrumming across her

bright nipple. I could feel her hammering heartbeat. "Feels like you're
still alive."
"And I thought you were supposed to be wounded." She reached up,
combing her fingers through my short hair.
"Never felt better" Smiling, I drew her closer to me.
"I should check the dressing though."
"Forget about it, Kiki. It's fine. I heal fast and shit."
With my eyes shut, I felt her rising above me.
I squinted an eyelid open at her. "What?"
"Just looking at you."
I snorted. "Bullshit. Not much to look at. Not like you."
Snagging her to me, I cruised my lips up the length of her neck to land
at her soft earlobe.
"Don't sell yourself short," she purred, rubbing her body against the
front of mine. "You're sexy in a dangerous way. Big and hard."
"Yep. That's me." I rotated my hips up to her, nipping again at her
earlobe. "Hard inside and out."
When I squeezed her ass, she shifted her head out of my grasp.
"And hard to read." Kiki kissed me with a wet dart of her tongue, and I
wanted more, but she pulled back a little.

Chapter Eleven
Baby Daddy
I FROWNED, SHRUGGING, BUT the pain of not really knowing my
daughter was much more intense than the wound in my thigh.
"You're a dad?" Her voice rose in surprise.
"In name only, I guess." Rubbing a hand across my mouth, I leaned my
head back. "I support them. Make sure they're flush. Haven't seen her
much though . . . I knew I couldn't be good enough for her. Not that I
don't wanna be part of her life." I lit a smoke and brought it to my lips.
"But what do I have to offer Allegra when this is the shit I'm tied up in?
Too much blowback, not to mention a felony record. How can I be
there for her like this? Just want what's best for Allegra, and what's best
for her is protecting her from my crazy life, you know?"
I swallowed roughly, having told Kiki more than I'd ever meant to
divulge.
"Allegra? Are you Greek?"

"No. I'm a mutt."
"Join the club." Kiki reclined next me, rubbing her hand up and down
my arm.
"Her mom's family is Greek."
"Were you and her together long?"
I exhaled a stream of smoke, almost like expelling the tense emotions.
"Depends if you consider twenty-four hours to be a long time."
"Whoa." Kiki's eyebrows arched high. Then she frowned. "But don't
you want to get to know your daughter?"
"C'mon, Kiki. I separated myself for a reason. What the hell kind of
parent would I be? I've got no role models. Pretty much raised myself."
"Broken home?"
I stubbed out the smoke. "My dad was a big gambler. My mom skipped
out on us when she couldn't hack it anymore. He pretty much pissed
away anything we could've had. He thought being a good father meant
remembering to have PB & J in the house. All those nights he was out,
I stayed up late watching reruns on TV—before he lost that too. Classic
latchkey kid with the television babysitter. I got

older,  started  getting  into  weight  lifting.  The  cagefighting.  Left  the
shithole as soon as I could. The rest is history. So, yeah, I know jack
about good parenting."
"Street kids unite." Kiki huffed a sad laugh.
"Something  like  that."  I  kissed  her  on  the  forehead.  "Didn't  mean  to
bring you down."
"Hey,  I  asked  didn't  I?"  She  moved  closer  to  me,  her  arms  twining
around my neck. "Do you have a picture of Allegra?"
I got her to pass me my phone and pulled up the latest of my girl. Her
dark brown hair was all kinds of curly and her grin revealed a small gap
between  her  two  front  teeth.  Her  eyes,  though.  Same  as  mine.  One
hazel. One blue. Hoped I hadn't cursed her with my bad luck on top of
everything else.
But the tat of Allegra's name on the back of my neck, hidden by dozens
of other designs? That I'd never regret.
"Oh. Look at her!" Kiki took my phone with a big smile. "She looks a
little mischievous."
"Wonder where she gets that from, right?"
"She's what? Ten?" Kiki asked.
"Yeah. You know a lot about kids?"

"Well"—she looked mischievous, too—"I used to be one. Sort of."
Yet again she pulled one of those unwilling smiles from
me.
"She is a cutie, isn't she?" I took one last look at Allegra before shutting
down my cell and placing it aside. "Shit. No place for kids in this line of
work anyway."
"What about Walker? Justice? They're both talking about it."
I smoothed my fingers down the sinuous curve of her back. "They're
optimists."
"You'd call Walker an optimist?" Her eyes flipped up in s hock.
"Okay. He's a straight-up sadist or something. But Jus? Pretty Boy?
Fuck yeah. He and Tilly are super shiny people."
"So the two of us probably shouldn't get involved." Kiki's lips ghosted
from my shoulder to the sensitive cords of my neck.
"Definitely a bad idea." Grunting, I clasped her closer. "You were
right." She licked down to my chest, circling the disc of my nipple with
the tip of her tongue until I

shuddered. "Still waters really do run deep."
"Don't be fooled. I just wanted you to pity me so you'd let me fuck you
again."
"Is that a joke? Oh my God. Griffin Bane, a sense of humor?" She bit
the nipple in her mouth, and I groaned.
"Don't get used to it." Hauling her up, I captured her mouth with mine.
Kiki's moan sliced through the pain of the past, the pain of the bullet
hole, the scars all  over  my soul. Her tongue tripped across  mine and
played chase, sometimes sucking, sometimes seeking deeper into my
mouth until it was hard to breathe. Fierce, fuck-now arousal pounded
through me.
I sucked and pulled at her bottom lip. "I want your cunt. On my face."
Kiki  panted  when  I  slipped  a  finger  between  her  legs.  Her  wet  slit
opened, and I teased the crease—up and down but never inside.
"I'll make it easy for you." She arched up above me, her gorgeous body
tight, glowing, mouthwatering.
Turning around, she split her knees beside my head and gave me prime
pussy  eating.  Braced  on  her  arms,  her  face  hovered  above  my  cock
while she lowered her slick sweet

sex to my mouth.
I licked around her labia and felt her breath wash against the head of
my dick. "You gonna suck me, girl?"
With one hand roving up the center of her back, I gently pushed her
down. All the while I pressed her thighs wider, pulled her down harder.
I kissed her bright center, licking at the swelling, liquid pussy spread
before me.
And  when  she  took  me  in  her  mouth  with  long  deep  sucks  and
flickering tongue-action . . . pure 69 nirvana.
Kiki muffled a moan with my cockhead between her lips, the piercing
she toyed with sending me into complete s ens ory overload.
She whimpered when I groaned, my tongue circling her clit, one finger
sliding in and out. When I joined it with a s econd finger, pumping her,
she flipped her head up long enough to scream. A rush of sweet liquid
streamed into my mouth—hot come I slurped and sucked.
Breathing hard, she wound her hair around the rigid shaft of my cock,
babbling as she stroked me.
I  kept  eating  her.  Grasping  her  thighs  harder.  Biting  and  grunting,
melding  my  mouth  to  her  beautiful  slit,  giving  up  all  pretenses  of
anything but being a greedy bastard for her

cunt.
She  came  again,  and  I  yanked  her  off  my  dick,  watching  her  legs
tremble.  Hoarse  sounds  fell  from  my  chest—her  name,  curses.  My
cock was ready to punch holes through walls.
I pulled her up beside me, rolled next to her with one forearm holding
her against my chest.
"If you pop those stitches . . ." she gasped out.
"Don't worry about me. You just need to keep up." That time there was
no pretense of stopping for a condom.
I  lifted  her  top  leg,  spooned  close  behind  her,  and  thrust  to  the  hilt
inside the clasping wet ride of her cunt.
"Challenging me?" Kiki arched into me, moaning.
I bit her neck to hold her in place. Like an animal.
The room smelled like come and sex and fucking.
With a hand on her belly, I pressed down to where I was buried deep
inside. I twisted her nipples, brushed them with my palms, guided her
to my grinding cock.
When she was good and soaked, pulsing around me, I withdrew.
Kiki brought my hand to her mouth, and suckled a finger ins ide.

"You  hot  bitch."  I  pushed  back  into  her,  the  slow  motion  wreaking
havoc with my body.
My chest crushed against her back. My cock thrashed in and out of her
pussy. Kiki came back just as hard, winding me up until I s wore with
every deep lunge into her tight heat.
"Thought you were worried about my leg," I gnashed out against the
side of her neck.
"I want your come."
My  eyelids  slammed  shut,  the  onrushing  tide  pulling  at  my  balls,
tingling in my groin. "When I heal up I'm gonna bend you over a table
and fuck you so hard from behind you'll come whenever you hear my
name."
"Yessss!"
Holding her hips still, I pistoned into her—the fast hard wet slap of skin
and cock and cunt setting fire to my veins.
I bellowed her name as the flashpoint ripped through me from my toes
to my cock. Deep inside Kiki, I blasted hot s emen, pumping. Again.
Again. Again.
Her hips swiveled with each jet I poured into her, her cries fueling me.
With  my  head  bent  to  her  shoulder,  I  swallowed  in  shallow  breaths.
"Jesus Christ. You are a workout and a half,

Damage."
She  panted  beside  me.  "Me?  Holy  hell.  I'm  not  sure  I'll  be  able  to
handle you when you're in full working order."
Pulling out of her caused her to groan, me to grunt. "Should clean you
up. Can't move, babe."
"Aren't you chivalrous?" Her fingers moved down  her belly, and she
smeared wet come from between her legs with her fingers. "I'm pretty
good at taking care of myself."
She slurped a finger into her mouth.
I chased the taste from her tongue. "Don't do that again. Fucking tease.
We need to get some shuteye, and I can't do that with a hard cock."
"I promise to behave, sir." She smirked.
I hit the light then pulled a blanket over us.
Kiki rolled half onto my chest, plying light fingers over my muscles.
"Goodnight."
"'Night."
She lay beside me, and I just knew she wasn't even attempting to go to
sleep.  The  woman  always  had  something  to  say  and  needed  the  last
word.
Funny. That thought made me smile.
"I can hear you thinking over there." I kissed the top of

Chapter Twelve
Mariachi Motherfuckers
THE  DROP  THE  NEXT  night  was  in  the  middle  of  nowhere
Mariachi-ville, Mexico. The night was cold and bright and closing in
on the end of November. I half expected to get jumped by goddamn
guerilla  groups  as  we  drove  up  to  the  meet.  The  deep  forested  area
should've  been  peaceful  at  that  late  hour  but  with  the  fucking  El
Caminos pumping bass from Bose speakers and the old school Buicks
bouncing on hydraulics I felt like we'd pulled up to a barrio block party
not a gun exchange.
We stepped out of our SUV after Kiki killed the ignition —well, Kiki s
tepped, I hobbled.
The noise escalated as Carlos, the Los Reyes de Guerra leader, wound
his way through the crowd toward us.
Kiki and I stood, surrounded on all sides and highlighted by vehicles'
highbeams shining on us. We were both packing as I was sure every
other thug here for the exchange was, too.

Carlos,  scrawny  as  ever,  whistled  between  two  fingers  and  the  noise
died down. His bodyguard stationed his big bulk next to the bossman.
"Hola, Igor." I nodded at the huge goon.
Douchebag frowned with his big block forehead. "Me llamo Juan." He
pointed a finger at his chest.
"It's a joke, you know like . . . from Frankenstein."
"I don't joke."
No shit. Dude probably needed to lay off the 'roids because he had all
the personality of a lobotomy patient.
"Senorita  Catalina."  Carlos  waltzed  up  to  Kiki,  kissing  her  on  both
cheeks like this was a goddamn night at the opera instead of a gun deal.
"Hermoso como siempre."
I rolled my eyes as he laid it on thick with her. Spiffy cunt in his slick
suit. Too bad about the disfiguring scar and the fact he was about as
heavy as a bantamweight.
"What happened to cabron here?" he asked, gesturing to the leg I was
favoring just a little bit.
"I was playing with guns." I grinned. "Speaking of, how about we get
on with this."
"Impatient,  si?  That's  the  problem  with  the  world  these  days."  He
continued with his state of the world message,

addressing Kiki, while I lit a cigarette. And smoked it. Impatiently.
Finally, with a second whistle, Carlos signaled another Los Reyes
member forward. The dude carried a bulging black duffel he placed on
the hood of our truck. He unzipped the bag, revealing stacks of cocaine
inside.
Carlos nodded, and the man pulled out a brick and sliced it open with
the tip of his knife.
Waving me closer to the goods, Carlos smiled in that oily way of his.
"Try it."
"Think I'll save it for our customers."
His head tilted and his smile thinned. "But I insist. I need to be sure
you're legit."
Without any further hesitation I unsheathed my KA-BAR, dipped the
tip into the powder, and guided it to my nose. In one quick suck, I
snorted the fucking cocaine.
The fast hit of high-octane drug worked like a shot of adrenaline to my
system. I wiped off my blade, feeling like my body had just been fed a
burst of fuel.
"It's good." I sheathed my knife.
"Bueno." Carlos clapped his hands together.
Great. At least he was happy. I felt like my brain was

taking a trip down the rabbit hole as a million butterflies shivered over
my  skin.  My  nose  was  numb,  the  back  of  my  throat  tickled,  and  my
entire body was on high alert.
We  walked  the  drug  dealing  assholes  to  the  back  of  the  SUV  and
opened  it  up.  Inside  were  three  crates  of  weapons  and  ammo  Igor
unloaded  by  himself.  Crowbarred  that  shit  open,  too,  although  he
probably could've used his bare hands to break the nailed shut boxes
apart.
Three  crates  containing  three  different  lethal  weapons:  AK-47s,  FN
5-7s, and last but not least the bragged about 50 cals .
Kiki leaned against the open gate of the truck. "All there. High quality.
Told you we had the goods, Carlos."
"Ahh, my Katherine. I never doubted you for a moment, mi tesoro"
The dude made me want to puke. Or punch him until his brains turned
to mush.
After speaking to Igor, he gave the orders for him to take the expensive
weaponry away.
"To a happy arrangement." Carlos pulled a silver flask from the inside
pocket of his suit.
Uncapping the container, he passed it to Kiki.

She dutifully downed a swallow before handing it to me. I took a pull
then gave it back to Carlos.
"Listen,  mi  amigo.  Heard  you  had  a  Middle  Eastern  connection
somewhere  on  American  soil."  Kiki  played  good  cop  with  her  good
buddy, the killer.
"Where'd you hear this?" Staring at Kiki with those black-pit eyes, he
capped the flask and stashed it away.
"I may have had a vested interest in a certain MC's affairs in Louisiana.
The same outlaws you referred to the other night." She flashed a pretty
smile. "You know how I like my men."
Jefe  changed  instantly  from  suspicious  to  interested.  "Katherine,  mi
hermosa.  What's  in  it  for  me  if  I  happen  to  know  a  certain
fundamentalist group?"
Oh hell no. Kiki was not giving up tail for terrorist intel. I didn't give a
fuck how much Blaize wanted that info.
Before I could charge in, macho-colors flying, Kiki placed a s oothing
hand on Carlos's arm.
"But what about Nina? Your beautiful wife? I could never be the other
woman, Carlos."
"I'll divorce her."
And then suddenly they were laughing like old pals.

I chuckled once, the effects of the blow still trickling through me.
"How do I know you're not just trying to cut me out of the deal with the
foreigners?" Carlos jerked his chin toward the guns Igor was passing
around.
"We don't want to sell to them. We want to buy from them." Kiki
smirked, deftly reaching to pull out a cigarette from the pack in my
hand.
Cuntface immediately bent toward her to light the end with his flashy
zippo.
"We heard they have some wicked explosives." Kiki blew out a stream
of smoke.
"We?" Carlos asked.
"Yeah." Cabron. "I'm the silent partner." I bolstered up from the edge
of the truck, making my muscles very apparent.
Kiki shot me a look. Probably meant stand the fuck down.
But I was all ready to play bad cop if push came to s hove.
"Fine. I'll put you in touch with Nasim." Leaning toward Kiki, he did
the kissy-face thing again. "He'll be in the City

in a few days."
I shook the slimy  shit's hand, wanting nothing  more than to take  my
KA-BAR and knife him all the way through to the s pine.
Settling  into  the  passenger  side  of  the  truck  after  packing  away  our
cocaine surplus, I saluted Igor through the open window.
Dumb schmuck.
Kiki shotgunned it out of the area to the sound of random gunfire as the
dudes  played  with  their  new  toys,  yipping  wild  shouts  with  that
ear-bleeding Muzak turned up.
I s louched down, careful to  move  my  leg as little as possible as the
truck jarred over ruts in the dirt track.
"Fuck. I hate that shit." I rubbed my twitchy nose.
With one hand on the wheel, Kiki reached into the back and grabbed a
bottle of water. She tossed it to me.
"Never had a taste for blow?" she asked.
"Hell  no.  My  body  is  my  temple."  I  thankfully  guzzled  the  liquid
ounces. "Now, if we're talking about blowjobs . . ."
She huffed a laugh, sending me a flirty glance. "I already know how
you feel about those. And, by the way? That temple of a body of yours
has a few holes in it."

Her dry comment drew a smile from me. "Yeah well, I'm a danger to
myself and others." If only she knew.
Sobering  for  a  moment,  I  tapped  a  pack  of  cigarettes  on  the  dash.
"Carlos got a hard-on for you or something?" "You're jealous of a cartel
ringleader?" "Depends. You ever do him?"
"You think I'm into crime lords who mistake wearing Hugo Boss and
Polo  cologne  for  being  civilized?"  Kiki  rolled  her  eyes.  "I'm  into
honesty. Not assholes."
"So you're just playing him?"
"Come on. We all adopt different personas to get what we want when
the situation warrants it."
"Yeah." I rubbed my fucking nose again. "Yeah. Guess so."
We drove in silence for a few miles.
I turned on the  radio and fiddled until I found a station I liked.  Kiki
started humming along to the tune.
I watched her. Baby Spy. Shadow operative. Former Feeb. And who
knew what else.
The woman I was falling for.
Singing along to a classic rock tune while driving us

away from a drug deal.
And I was s upposed to bring Allegra into this life?
****
An hour later we met up with Blaize and Storm at another undis closed
location to hand off the coke. Walker and Justice were still on standby
in their hidey-hole.
When we rolled up beside their vehicle I was surprised the windows
weren't fogged due to a heavy-duty makeout sesh. Those two—since
NOLA—couldn't keep their hands off each other.
Storm. He'd caught that goddamn garter at Justice's wedding.
Yup.
He was next.
The wedding virus we'd called it. Not me though.
Through our open windows, I passed Storm the duffel. Then I rubbed
my damn nose again. "Oh, Jesus," he muttered. "You didn't, did you?"
"Did what?" Blaize's head—the russet red hair glowing —popped into
view.
"He snorted." Storm told.

I sighed. "Didn't have a choice. Jefe made it an imperative for the
exchange. Trust issues."
"Are you okay?" Storm asked.
"What are you? My rehab intake advisor?"
"Uh. Trying to be a friend maybe?"
I scowled. "I know. I think. Still trying to get used to the friend thing.
Weird."
"And we're back to monosyllables." He smirked.
I flipped him the middle finger.
"Great. Fuck you too, hoss."
"Boys . . ." Blaize interjected.
The two of us looked at her like cray-cray was catching. Never mind
that marriage thing.
"Men," she amended. "Enough already. Bane, are you going to be all
right?"
"Yes, I'll be okay. Fuck's sake. It's not like I was freebasing. Shrink my
head when we're back in DC. I don't do drugs. Coke makes my brain
hurt. I'm not about to stuff a brick of flakes up my nose or cook up some
meth for my veins."
"I think it's safe to say the blow strings you out, brah" I reach across my
open window to bump Storm's fist. "Ya

think?"
"What about the terrorists?" Blaize asked.
"Jesus. I'm high on coke and all you care about is the
job, Miss C.?"
Kiki punched me on the arm then peered around me. "He's joking."
"No shit? I didn't know Bane could do that." Storm
riffed.
"Thanks for being my spokesperson," I said to Kiki. "No problem. I got
used to being the your puppet master with Carlos."
With that I sat back and let the women do the talking. Kiki quickly
filled Blaize in: the gun exchange went off without a hitch. Meeting the
haj in a few days. Carlos the cunt did a solid. Gold stars for everyone.
"Excellent. Kiki, I want you and Bane on the meet, but we'll all be on
backup. So keep checking in with me." Blaize addressed me in turn.
"How's the leg?"
"Great. Can't feel a thing. Might snort some more coke."
"I'm not sure I can get over this cheery new persona, Bane," the boss
lady remarked with a wry smile.
"Great. I'm sure it won't last anyway."

We parted ways after that, and I hoped Kiki and I were headed to our
rancho for some hot food and a hot fuck.
Halfway to our new digs, and my other burner rang.
"Fuck." I fumbled for the phone, tempted to kill the call, but only one
contact had the number.
"Yeah," I answered the cell.
"Update on the target." The uninflected voice floated over the line.
"Who is it?" Kiki pulled up at a stop sign.
"Walker." I muffled the phone on my shoulder. "Wants to commiserate
about bullet wounds or some shit. He probably hit the pain killers pretty
hard."
Back on the burner, I gripped it in a tight fist. "Still kicking. How about
you?" I bluffed.
"We need the KIA confirmation for Kiki Damage this week, or we
bring in outside operatives to make the hit."
The line went dead.
I glanced at Kiki.
Her time was up.

Chapter Thirteen
Backlash
WE PICKED UP SOME street food on the way to our safe house, but
my appetite had disappeared. I barely touched any of the spicy burrito,
downing another bottle of water followed by several neat shots of
tequila while Kiki and I juggled plates on our knees.
"You got your head back on straight after the coke?" Kiki finished
eating her tamales, and relaxed back on the couch to nurse her drink.
I grunted in reply.
"You must be. Back to your old ways, I see." She drizzled more alcohol
into her throat.
I watched her swallow, wishing the liquid coating her tongue was my
come.
Things to like about Kiki Damage:
Her slamming body.
Her takes no shit 'tude.
Her smarts.

Those crystal clear eyes. Check to all those things. Things not to like?
I still didn't know for certain she hadn't sold out Walker's op.
And I had to kill her.
She  swirled  the  glass  between  her  tattooed  hands.  "You  were  funny
though. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't just the blow."
"You want funny?" I stood slowly and tried not to limp as I made my
way toward her.
Her slim eyebrows arching, she looked up at me. Her wet lips parted,
her tongue stroking the glossy surface. Her gaze skimmed down from
my hard face to my broad chest, to my black jeans. To my groin, where
the solid roll of flesh distorted the fabric.
"That  doesn't  look  funny."  Her  voice  dropped  to  a  sexy,  husky  tone.
"Looks like some serious business."
"Why don't you take care of it?"
"How's the leg?"
"I  think  if  you  wanted  to  give  me  head  I'd  feel  a  whole  lot  better."
Reaching for her face, I traced the slant of her

cheekbone with one finger.
"Is  that  what  you  were  thinking  about  the  whole  time  you  were
watching  me  eat?"  She  grasped  my  wrist,  drawing  my  finger  to  her
mouth. "My lips on your cock?"
"Yeah." Small lie.
She  sucked  and  bit  the  pad  of  my  finger  before  enveloping  it  to  the
knuckles in the warm wetness of her mouth. The sensation fisted a tight
knot right up under my balls, bringing me to full hardness.
She slid the digit from her mouth with a wet, luxurious slurp. Placing a
palm flat on my belly, she pushed me back. Kiki rose to her feet.
"Come with me, baby." She took my hand in hers, leading me up the
stairs.
I stumbled for a second, cursing the fucking leg wound.
Kiki pushed her shoulder under mine. "You can lean on me, you know?
I won't crumble."
"Thought  I  got  enough  of  the  naughty  nurse  treatment  last  night."  I
gruffly accepted her help.
"And I wasn't even wearing the slutty uniform," she quipped.
Damn woman. She pulled another smile from me. "Now,

that I'd like to see."
She pouted, trailing a finger down the center of my chest. "Didn't bring
one to Mexico."
We made it to the bedroom we'd staked out the night before, and Kiki
turned on the light beside the bed. With her bent over, her ass looked
nice and ripe in her tight jeans, but I needed her naked.
"Strip," I ordered, my voice coming from deep in my chest.
She  flipped  her  hair  over  her  shoulder,  glancing  at  me.  "Sexy
striptease?"
"Don't care. Just show me you." Arousal dug deep into my groin, an
almost stabbing pain heightened by the desire to have her beneath me,
parted by my cock in her cunt.
Kiki  started  slow,  swaying  her  shoulders,  swinging  her  hips,  and  I
watched,  my  eyes  drawn  to  the  sight.  The  shirt  rolled  up  above  her
breasts,  and  she  slung  it  aside.  It  only  took  a  quick  twist  behind  her
back  and  her  bra  slipped  from  her  shoulders,  hanging  for  just  a
tantalizing second from her puffed-up nipples.
When the scrap of blue lace fell to the floor, I rubbed a hand across my
watering mouth. A beautiful handful, her

breasts stood proud and firm on her chest, the areolas a nice sucking
size—pink and peaked.
Crooking a finger at her, I beckoned her toward me.
She slinked forward—swinging her hips, adding a little dip and roll to
her step.
The woman was nonstop sex in combat boots.
Jesus.
"These tits." I grasped both mounds in a firm grip.
I practically mauled her, running a strong arm around her back to make
sure her knees didn't give out when she immediately started moaning.
Using my mouth, my hands, I bent her farther back. Tweaking.
Twisting. Twirling the tight pink buds, shaping her breasts, licking and
pulling them into my mouth.
I kis s ed from one tit to the other, abrading them with my s tubbled
chin. Keeping them hot and taut while her body arched further over my
arm.
"I thought you wanted me to undress?" She asked, breathy, nearly
voiceless.
"Got distracted." I ran my hand from her neck to the center of her chest
down her belly.
Then I shoved my fingers into the front of her pants.

Slipping beneath panties, I found her smooth slit and slid two fingers
into her wet sheath.
Her fingers bit into my forearm. "Oh, fuck . . ."
Kiki's hair fell over the arm I latched around her back. She swiveled in
my grasp, rising to meet the mouth hungrily pulsing on her tits, dipping
to  drive  my  fingers  even  deeper  inside  where  she  quivered  and
clutched.
She came in a silent scream of an orgasm, her eyes slammed shut, her
mouth ovaled open. She weaved on my hand, the sucking wet warmth
taking my digits ever deeper
Inhaling  with  a  trembling  breath,  she  drew  up  and  clasped  my
shoulders.  She  buried  her  face  against  my  neck  —licking,  sucking,
kissing.
"My  legs  are  about  to  give  out."  She  laughed,  a  sultry  quiver  to  the
sound.
"Good. That's exactly where I want you. Down on your knees."
The crystalline blue of her eyes flipped to mine seconds before a smoky
smile crossed her lips. She shucked the rest of her clothes—no more
teasing. Wrangling my shirt off my arms and over my head, she threw it
aside.
"Sit." She pointed to the bed. "It's all well and good if I

fall over, but no way in hell could I lift you up again."
She winked, and I grinned, taking her orders.
"Spread 'em." She tugged at my knees from her place on the floor in
front of me.
No problem with that.
Her hands roamed from my inked shoulders, down my torso, to my
belt.
I bucked and groaned, an involuntary reaction to her proximity to my
aching dick.
An unwholesome smile slid across her lips as she lashed my belt free
and sent it sailing in an arc across the room. "Patience,papi. We'll get to
that."
I growled at her, my hands coiling in her hair pulling her up to my lips.
After driving my tongue into her mouth, catching her purring whimpers
with each sleek entry and retreat, I broke back.
With her face buried against the dark brown trail of hair coiling from
my belly button down, Kiki freed the buttons on my jeans.
I grunted with each twist and tug, and she wasn't even touching my
cock yet.

The cock in question came into view. Swollen hard and thick as a wrist.
Kiki gasped. "Fuck. Look at that."
Her  heated  breath—little  gasps—wound  me  up  while  she  eased  the
pants down, making sure she didn't knock the wound.
Wouldn't  matter  anyway.  My  cock  was  so  rigid  it  throbbed,  drilling
straight up into the air.
Kiki's crazy hair fell to my lap, and she didn't start soft. Hell no. She
pursed her lips around the engorged head— tickled the piercing with
her tongue—then slurped as far down my length as she could go.
She held me by the root in one hand, fisting me. Wetness s pread up and
down my cock, her little moans and vibrating hums almost making me
nut. Raspy breaths chugged out of my chest, and my muscles quaked
with each heated ingress.
Braced back on my hands, I lifted my hips, slightly thrusting into her
mouth.  I  hit  the  back  of  her  throat,  and  saliva  foamed  around  the
stretched circle of her lips s pinning up and down my cock.
"So hot, seeing you with my cock in your mouth, girl." I held her by the
back her neck, my thumb rubbing, my balls

churning.
She  lifted  off  me,  a  dangling  thread  connecting  her  lips  to  my
cockhead. Pumping her hand up and down, she ducked farther between
my open thighs.
I expelled a harsh shout as she fed my heavy balls into her wet searing
mouth.
She was a master at working my nads with her tongue. One testicle then
the other, she basically teabagged  my sac. Just for the visual alone  I
would've stood over her face if my bum leg could've held me.
Every part of my body shook, tethered to her mouth, her hand.
"Kiki . . ." I lay back and beat my head against the bed.
That didn't last long, because the next thing I knew she'd sandwiched
my shaft between her tits.
"Fuck!" I shot up to sitting, hunching over her.
Gripping her breasts, I slid my thumbs across her bright nipples. Kiki
gave me the tit fuck of my life, slurping the broad head inside every
time my tip touched her mouth. Fucking with more than my arousal.
I  pulled  her  from  my  dick,  drawing  her  up  to  my  lap.  She  quickly
resituated herself, straddling my stomach where her

drenched pussy melted against me.
"Thought you wanted to come in my mouth." Her hair curtained around
our faces.
Flipping her over, I draped her thighs over my arms. "I changed my
mind," I growled at her ear before lowering between her legs.
Fuck.
With those legs thrown high, her cunt was nothing short of a pink-hot
and flowered-open feast.
Her bare pussy all but pulled me down and I licked. Outside. Inside.
Through the soaked center. I thumbed her open, all those furls and frills
and feminine flesh—alive. Wanting. Wanton.
I dipped my mouth to her, rotating around her hole, tripping inside.
Kiki pushed up, angling her hips, writhing beneath me.
Lapping and sucking, I plunged inside, teased out. I tongued up and
down, testing the bright dot of her unhooded clit, pulling it between my
teeth with tiny little nips.
Fingers, lips, my whole fucking face, I brought her to orgasm over and
over. Never letting up. She got wetter and I

s ucked faster. She beat her heels on my back, and I bracketed her legs
down  to  the  mattress.  I  ate  at  Kiki's  cunt,  listening  to  her  scream,
feeling her cream, smiling into the never-ending orgasm that cranked
her so high she torqued beneath my hands.
Half an hour later, she slapped me away.
I  took  one  last  swipe  at  her  clit—a  climax  twisting  through  her  taut
body.
"Son of a bitch!" She smacked her hands to the bed.
"You kiss your mother with that mouth." I cruised up above her.
"Don't have one. Remember?"
"Then kiss me with that mouth." I held her face in my hands, panting
against her lips.
Running an arm around my neck—raising her legs over my hips—Kiki
guided me down.
We  made  out,  thick  wet  kisses  and  hot  moans  and  groans.  Rutting
against her, I was almost at explosion point.
"Fuck me." She threw her arms back, bracing them against the head of
the bed.
I pushed her thighs high again.
Strong breaths jerked from me. I craned my neck back but

never lost sight of my cock, bareback with the Prince Albert, spearing
her to a tidemark she made with a gusher of cunt juice.
Halfway inside.
I met her eyes, the hooded look, the up-thrust tits, the arched neck.
Rearing back, I took her ass in both hands. Then I gunned inside, balls
deep.
"You're gonna hurt your leg." Kiki cried out, "Oh, yes!"
"Not gonna hurt anything." I lashed into her, flexing, grinding,
pounding my meat into her. Except you.
Kiki rode up against me, linking her arms around my neck. She bit at
me. Kissed, licked, sucked, and fucked. Hard.
On my knees, I pulled her to me. Roaring with every balls-deep thrust,
I held her against me.
My cock erupted.
Kiki hung in my arms, shaking and writhing.
"Goddammit, Kiki!" Maybe my brain burst. Or my stitches popped. Or
the world stopped.
But everything spun completely out control in a much better way than
the cocaine high.
Sweat trickled between us, but nothing was as wet as the

Chapter Fourteen
Highly Suspect
"WHO DO YOU THINK it was?"
Kiki dragged herself to the edge of the bed, sitting with her legs
hanging over the sides, her hands gripping the mattress.
"I don't know. But your mood drastically changed after that phone call.
And I think it had something to do with me."
"We better put some clothes on for this." I sat up higher, willing myself
to stare straight at her with unflinching eyes.
Her gaze met mine, the icy blue becoming even sharper. "I don't like
the sound of this."
I stood, rifling through my bag to pull on some loose workout pants and
a shirt. Kiki followed suit, dressing quickly and efficiently. It didn't get
lost on me she also laid out one of her Glocks on the bedside table.
I looked at my Sig Sauers, still holstered and lying on the floor, and left
them where they were.
Pacing in front of her, I waited until she looked up at me.

Her delicate chin thrust forward, and her vibrant eyes narrowed.
"What?" she muttered through grim lips.
"You mind telling me why the stuffed suits at T-Zone ordered  me to
kill you?"
"What?"  Shock  filtered  through  her  from  her  popped-open  mouth  to
her shoulders jerking high. "What did you just say?" Her hand flittered
to her chest where her heartbeat had to start up with rapid wingbeats.
"Yeah.  That."  I  expelled  a  rough  curse.  "They  want  you  dead,  Kiki.
Want me to do it. Gave me the order before we left DC."
"What?" she screeched, flying at me faster then I expected.
Her  knee  punched  up  to  my  groin  the  same  time  her  fist  slammed
against my sternum. I blocked the lower blow but coughed on a gasp
when she hit me with her best shot in my solar plexus.
While I watched, stunned into stillness, she went for her
Glock.
"You asshole!" She gripped the sidearm, swinging it on me with uns
werving aim.

I strafed forward, catching her within two steps. Pushing her until her
back thumped against the wall, I cranked her wris t in my hand.
Her grasp on the gun only tightened with the amount of force I exerted.
"Knock it the fuck off before I break your wrists, girl." I sneered down
at her, rapping her hand hard against the wall, capturing her other arm
behind her back.
"Girl. Girl?" she spat at me.
Using  more  pressure,  I  torqued  her  arm  up,  up  until  the  joint  was  in
danger of popping out of her shoulder socket. Her other hand spasmed
and finally opened. The gun clattered to the floor.
I kicked it away.
Jumping up, Kiki butted her forehead against mine with a wicked crack
of skull on skull.
"Goddammit!"  Momentarily  dizzy  from  her  head-butt  move,  I  dove
after her when she wiggled from my grasp.
We  landed  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  She  punched  me  again,
connecting with my jaw, and my fucking thigh was beginning to bleed
from her surprise attack.
"Get off me!" She wriggled beneath me, but I was not

letting her go this time.
Sitting on her waist, I spread-eagled her. Like I wanted to do in bed.
That shit probably wasn't gonna happen again. "I'll get off you when
you stop hitting me." She bucked up, seeking enough leverage to throw
me over.
I beat her hands down onto the floor. "I. Said. Stop." "Fuck you," she
snarled out.
Tortured breaths raged from both our chests, and our eyes clashed.
Leaning down, I got right in her face. "Only way I'm getting off you is
if you stand the fuck down, Kiki."
Her nostrils flared. Her eyes flashed with undiluted hate. Her lips
thinned.
With a jerk of her chin, she nodded. "Fine. For now"
I backed off her cautiously. The woman was goddamn wily.
Drawing in a deep breath, Kiki slid to an opposite corner of the room
and sank into a crouch.
I followed her to the floor but made sure her frigging Glocks remained
well out of reach.

She angrily pushed her mussed-up hair away from her face. And her
glare could've cut straight through Gorilla Glass.
"You've been fucking me . . . to what? Keep me in the dark about this?
Get closer to me before you murdered me?"
Her words slammed just as hard as her fists.
"No. I fucked you because I wanted you."
"Bullshit." She shook her head slowly. "Jesus. I can't believe I let you
get to me. Fucking Griffin Bane. Guess I know exactly why they chose
you." She pointed a finger at me. "They think you shot Storm, right?
Why not one more to add to your trophy case."
My anger was about to go apocalyptic. "I did not fucking shoot Storm."
Rising to my feet, I drew my hands behind my neck, rubbing. I paced a
few steps back and forth.
She snorted. "Whatever. Like I care."
Gaining her feet, too, Kiki stayed as far away from me as possible.
"You don't even have the guts to do it to my face? What were you going
to do? Fuck me into a stupor then kill me in my s leep?"

My jaw clenched until the muscles at the back bulged. I unhinged my
tense neck, rolling it on my shoulders. Loosening my hands, I dropped
them to my sides.
I looked up at her through half-lowered lids.
I could only imagine how deadly my discolored eyes appeared in that
moment because Kiki drew herself up higher as her face ghosted white.
"You're going to do it, aren't you?" Her voice didn't even quiver.
"Probably wouldn't tell you if I was."
We both looked at her weapons, spun halfway across the floor.
"Don't fucking do it, Kiki."
Her fists balled. "Why not."
"You never answered my first question. Why does Operation
T-Zone—why do our nameless, faceless bosses —want you dead?"
Her head quirked. "You think . . . they're covering s omething up?"
Keeping my vigilant stance between her and the pistols, I punched my
hands to my hips. "Gotta be some reason they issued a kill order if
you're as innocent as you say."

"Fuck.  I  need  a  drink."  She  started  for  the  half  empty  bottle  on  the
dresser.
I moved quickly to intervene.
"You serious? You just told me you're supposed to dust me, and I can't
even have a final drink?" "Don't try anything stupid."
Her eyebrows arched high. "Like try to glass you?" She gave me a little
smirk, marching around me to get to the extra bottle of tequila.
After  spinning  off  the  cap,  she  guzzled  several  large  s  wallows  then
backhanded her mouth.
"They  already  know  I  was  a  Fed.  So  that  doesn't  matter."  She  took
another drink, and I crossed my arms over my chest.
Her brow wrinkled. "You all hate me though."
"Don't hate you." Was falling in love with her. Couldn't fucking help it.
"But why? Okay, assuming you don't but you're just going to kill me
because you've been told to—pfft—why do Storm, Walker, and Justice
have it in for me?"
"Walker's Beirut mission." I rubbed a finger back and forth across my
lips.

Now this was getting interesting.
"Because they think I ratted him out. To the Feebs and whoever else.
Sold his locations when he was on the run, right?" Chewing on her lip,
she screwed up her eyes. "I was monitoring his coms, but who else has
total access to all mission communications?"
I quickly found a smoke and lit it. I crossed the room, opened a window
after checking outside first. "What are you saying?"
"Gimme one of those." She reached for the pack of Reds, coming close
enough to snag one when I held out the pack.
I lit her cig then grabbed the bottle from her for my own large swig.
"Who's really guilty of getting Walker's mission all fucked up? Who
gave him the wrong intel in the first place about Majedah Chehab? That
she was the mark, nor her Hezbollah husband?"
"T-Z." I stared at the glowing end of the cigarette in my hand. "Hol-ee
fuck.
Light bulbs didn't just go off in my head. They blazed like fucking
halogens across my mind.
Something had been FUBAR about Walker's op from his

first night in Beirut at the Casino du Liban with the suicide bomber sent
to kill Majedah Chehab.
"Yeah. T-Zone." Kiki took a tug from her smoke, blowing out a gray
stream. "And since I'm innocent, someone else sure as hell is guilty. If
they kill me, that's it, right? Done. Put to rest. And no one will dig any
deeper."
"So you're saying it's T-Zone. At the bottom of everything."
The truth hit like a lightning bolt, terrifying in the extreme if the
analysis was valid.
"What if they want us all to die?" I s cowled at the woman.
"Think about it. Storm and Blaize got made in New Orleans. How?"
Kiki flicked her cig out the window. "Qasim Hassan made some pretty
serious allegations about the United States. Why?"
"Jesus, girl." I lifted the half empty bottle of tequila to my lips. "If this
is real, then we're all screwed."
"Or I'm just dead, because of you."
"It's not like that. Why do you think you're still alive?"
She stepped back, her eyes suddenly in shadows. "So you could fuck
me before you fucked me."

Chapter Fifteen
Enemy Killed in Action
I PUT THE CALL into Mis s Carmichael, my finger not totally steady
as I pressed her contact button.
Pushing the window higher, I sat on the ledge with a smoking gun in
one  hand,  a  lit  smoke  in  the  other,  and  the  cell  snugged  against  my
shoulder.
Blaize picked up after the first ring. "Yeah?"
"I need you to report an EKIA to HQ."
"Enemy killed in action?" Blaize's voice was deadly cool. "What the
fuck are you talking about, Bane?"
"Kiki Damage." I cleared my throat, looking across the room. "Repeat:
EKIA."
"What  the  fuck  happened?  Katherine  wasn't  the  enemy!"  Disbelief
warped Blaize's tone.
"Just report her death to T-Zone." I sounded like an automaton even to
my own ears.
"Bane?  Bane?  Where  the  hell  are  you?"  Blaize  shouted.  "Have  you
gone rogue? What's going on over there?"

Dropping the burner to the floor, I crushed it underfoot. I flipped my
cig out the window. The first part done.
The second part of my plan came easier. I packed up
everything—loading bags into the back of the SUV as fast as I could
with a fucked leg and so much on my mind.
Staying vigilant on all counts, I made my way to the corner shop across
from our safe house to buy a pay-as-you-go cell and a few additional
supplies.
I climbed with a wince into the cab of the SUV, already dialing Justice.
"It's me," I said when he answered.
"What the fuck, man?" Justice bellowed so loud I held the phone away
from my ear.
"I finally did what all of you wanted but were too pussy to pull off."
Sliding the key into the ignition, I checked all mirrors to make sure the
immediate vicinity remained clear of threats.
"Blaize is . . . shit. Never heard her like this." "Did you tag my
vehicle?" I asked. "No. Following protocol. No GPS tracker on any of
us just in case we get made."

Great. Justice won t be able to trail me.
"I need a place to lay cool for a couple days. Off grid. Blaize can't
know."
"Yeah. Okay. Give me a sec." Pretty boy muttered under his breath, but
I heard him tapping on a keyboard.
"Walker should be happy," I said.
"Surprise. He's not."
"He'll get over it," I muttered
"What are you going to do, Bane?"
"The rest of my job, hoss"
"Bane—"
"Send me the coordinates to the new place and lose this number
ASAP."
I put the truck into drive just as the morning sun began to peek over the
horizon. With my foot on the brake, I sat back. I drew my first deep
breath in thirty minutes, rolling my head to the side.
"So, we're going to ground?" Kiki shivered beside me.
I'd played my part to the hilt in order to keep her alive and undetected.
"I love it when you talk spy to me," I managed to get out.
I thought I saw her lips twitch—almost a smile—when

she reached over to squeeze my hand.
I hadn't offed her. Only made it sound like I had. The rounds I'd shot
blasted straight into the ceiling, not into my woman.
And now it was time to disappear.
"C'mere, girl." I placed an arm around Kiki, drawing her to me. I kissed
the top of her head.
****
The new address Jus sent me was even more of a squat than the last
one. Inside the two-roomer, we were truly offrez. Kiki was shaken to
the core as I led her to the bathroom.
A hot bath. Just what the doctor ordered.
Was n't the fucking Ritz, but the place was clean enough. And towels .
. . a luxury.
I filled the tub. I stripped her down. I undressed.
Easing her into the warm water, I climbed in after her, ignoring the pain
in my thigh.
Fuck.
My pain was nothing on hers.
My legs wrapped around hers, and her back lay against my chest.
Scooping water in my hands, I wet her hair, caressed her cheeks, her
neck, her shoulders.

"You're okay, Kiki."
Her eyelashes fluttered over those diamond-eyes. "Am
I?"
"They're not gonna get away with it." Fury ripped through me, directed
solely at the heads of Operation T-Zone.
I shoved the anger back down.
After pouring shampoo into my hands, I set to work on Kiki's hair. The
sexy shaved sides tickled my palms, and I soaped through the blonde
and pink-streaked tresses.
She slowly relaxed, slumping lower, sending her breasts higher.
"Feels good," she murmured.
"Always wanna make you feel good." Guarding her eyes, I rins ed her
hair.
I lathered my hands, trying not to take advantage of the gorgeous
woman as I washed her. I touched only where needed, ignoring—to my
own pain—her puffy nipples, her pretty tits, her wet pussy.
It was damn hard to stay on point when my cock rose pole-hard against
her back, and her breath started rushing in and out.

Spreading  her  thighs,  I  linked  my  legs  over  her  knees.  Kiki  arched,
sending waves of water lapping against my chest.
Moving her head to the side, she kissed my neck.
"Please, Griff."
Down  her  belly,  my  hand  moved.  Her  hips  kicked  up.  Her  breath
stuttered.
"This?" I asked, sliding a single finger inside her.
"Mmm."  She  rose  to  meet  the  thrusting  finger,  her  hands  cranked
behind my neck. "More. Please. Need to feel."
Winding an arm around her waist, I held her down. Three thick long
fingers caressed her, took her, took her pain away.
I fucked her like that, with just my hand cupping her, until she thrashed
in my arms.
She gasped, bowing up.
Water spilling over the rim of the tub to the floor.
Floating back down, Kiki cried out in a little mewl when I kept rubbing
the whole of my wet hand against her hot sex
She shuddered in my arms, and her ass nestled against me, driving even
more urgency into my cock.
Easing from behind her, I stepped out of the bath. I tied a

towel around my waist and helped her out. Water droplets shined on
her skin, and her entire body was flushed. She smiled slightly when I
began to dry her off.
"You're very good at taking care of me." Her fingers drifted through my
hair as I kneeled to drag the towel lower. "Which is why I still think you
should get in touch with your daughter."
Leaning forward, I kissed her belly. "I'll think about it," I murmured
against her warm skin.
Her hand cupped my jaw. "You are a good man, Bane. Griffin."
Rising to my feet, I skimmed my palms up to her breasts. "How good?"
Her breath hitched. "Mmm. Very good. What now?"
"We go to bed since we've been up all night." I scooped her into my
arms .
"That's not what I meant, Bane."
I laid her down on the mattress, unwrapping the towel from my hips.
Crawling on top of her, I trailed kisses up her neck.
"You're a ghost," I husked out.
Her hands slid from my ass all the way up my back. Her

fingers  coasting  along  my  skin,  following  the  lines  of  ink,  made  me
crave her warmth, her body.
Kiki pulled me to her until I settled with my cock cradled at the point of
entry. "I thought you were going to kill me, Bane."
Angling my hips, I thrust inside her, the motion slow and edging and
excruciatingly hot.
"I don't think you heard me right." With both hands drawing hers above
her head, I kept the tempo slow. "I'm in love with you, Katherine. And
I'm gonna protect you no matter what it takes."
"Oh,  Bane!"  She  arched  against  me,  rubbing  every  part  of  her  body
against  mine—her  fingers  clenching  mine,  her  nipples  against  my
chest, her sleek legs wound around my slowly pumping hips.
Her slick sex tightened around me, and a rippling flash of heat pulled
me even deeper inside her.
"Need to be connected," she whispered.
We kissed until it was impossible, and only our tongues touched for a
moment. She drew her hands from mine, pulling at my ass, grasping at
my back.
I raised up, plummeted down, stared into her hooded

eyes.
Kiki's lips parted with a moan tumbling out, and she cried my name. "I
love you. Love you, Bane."
A  hoarse  shout  rumbled  from  my  chest—emotion  and  need  cresting
together like our bodies.
Grabbing  her  hair  in  one  fist,  I  tightened  the  angle  I  thrust  into  her.
Short  sharp  relentless  longing  finally  s  tretched  too  tight  before
shredding apart. Shredded me apart.
A harsh bark of a laugh.
A long moan.
A contented smile.
I held myself on top of Kiki until she caressed my chest with one hand,
my  back  with  the  other.  Until  her  eyelashes  fluttered,  and  the
crystalline blue winked out at me.
"You kept me alive."
"And now you're dead." I kissed her gently. Some tough guy I was. She
had me completely under her spell. "That means you're safe."

Chapter Sixteen
Going Dark
MIDAFTERNOON TWO DAYS LATER, I waited inside an upmarket
restaurant in the Colonia Centro area of Mexico City. Kiki and I had
lain low, and I left the other other safe house in deep disguise just long
enough to stock up on supplies. Thanksgiving came and went, just one
of those holidays I usually paid no attention to.
This year? I picked us up some chicken tostados and a bottle of plonk.
Kiki went along with my small attempt at festivities, and we exchanged
details on all the shitty holidays we'd survived. Neither one of us was
into the self-pity gig, so we basically tried to one-up each other with
bad memory lane. Growing closer, getting tighter together.
Now I staked out the bar, waiting for the arrival of my package. I'd left
Kiki at the safe house with strict orders maintain invisibility so her
cover didn't get compromised.
I didn't know who to trust anymore, but at least Justice had done me a
solid in keeping shit on the lowdown for me.

If the high-and-mighties at T-Zone wanted Kiki dead, who was to say
Blaize wasn't in on the plan?
Leaning  an  elbow  on  the  bar,  I  took  another  drink  of  my  tequila.
Between  lunch  and  dinner,  the  business  was  mostly  empty,  and  I'd
already  cased  the  dining  room  and  the  head.  Forty  minutes  after  I'd
arrived—and two drinks later—a man strolled inside, a La Crónica de
Hoy newspaper folded under his arm.
The  Syrian  national  entered  alone.  His  suit  was  sharp,  the  creases
probably  steam-pressed.  Clean-shaven  and  s  melling  of  cologne  that
wafted  all  the  way  over  to  me,  he  nodded  to  the  maître  d'  and  was
quickly shown a table.
These  fucking  warlords  and  terrorists  dressing  like  goddamn  white
collar businessmen.
Made me want to punch something instead of playing nicey-nice with
the criminals.
I  kept  my  station  at  the  bar  long  enough  to  scope  out  the  black  car
outside,  complete  with  tinted  windows  and  a  driver  included,  and  to
perform a final recce on the restaurant before moving in.
"Mr.  Nasim."  Hooking  my  shades  into  the  collar  of  my  shirt,  I
approached the table. "We have a mutual friend."

"Nasim is not my surname. Hassan is." Hassan, now that particular last
name I was definitely familiar with.
"Sorry. Mr. Hassan."
He made a small tsking noise, waving to a convenient waiter who
promptly delivered a bottle of wine. "Are you in the business?"
"Does a hooker have a pussy?"
Nasim cracked a smile. "That's what I love about you Americans.
Earthy sense of humor."
"You call it earthy. I call it the truth."
"Sit. Sit." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Carlos may have
mentioned you've been filling a void in certain terrestrial dealings."
Terrestrial dealings? More like terror arming.
"Interesting choice of phrasing." I sat down.
"My English is perhaps not so good."
"Whatever pays the bills."
"And gets the kills?" Approving of the wine, he nodded to the waiter to
fill two glasses.
"And you said your English sucks." I raised my glass to him. "That was
almost fucking poetic."

Food arrived along with an extra plate. A big family style dinner I was
set  to  share  with  a  man  who  might  prove  to  be  the  active  leader  of
Hezbollah if the Hassan name held up.
Nice. Just how I like my dinner dates. Not.
"Please,  join  me."  Nasim  allowed  the  waiter  to  plate  up,  but  I  didn't
have an appetite.
Again.
Surprise.
But I wasn't about the do the girl with a low-cal salad on a first date
bullshit.
I dug into fancified Mexican fare, chewing automatically, s wallowing
mechanically.
Huh. Maybe should've made him poison-test the food firs t.
Whatever. If my stomach was in knots, it wasn't because of the meal.
"Don't  wanna  step  on  toes  or  anything,  but  you're  a  long  way  from
home, yeah?" I wiped my mouth on a napkin then lit a smoke.
A waiter hurried over with an ashtray  in the otherwise empty dining
room.
Nasim-dude must've hired it out.

"International trade has many faces and many facets." "Again with the
poetry."
"Since you were personally vetted by Carlos, I'll tell you something."
Nasim lit a cigar. "^4h. To be a Muslim in Mexico." He blew on the
glowing tip, watching the ember catch. "Who do you think funds our
operations, Mister—"
"Bane."
"Mr. Bane."  Tapping the fat end of his  stogie against the ashtray, he
smiled. "The US government." Fuck. Me.
I  kept  my  expression  completely  flat  even  though  shock  rattled  my
cage. "I got no love lost there. They put me in jail." Truth.
"Creating war makes America money."
Again with Nasim's smile.
"How much do you follow politics, Mr Bane?" he asked. "As much as
the next ex-con trying to find some new wiggle room."
"So you heard about the international manhunt for a Majedah Chehab
last  year?"  Leaning  in  closer  after  looking  around  to  make  sure  he
wasn't overheard, he hushed out, "My sister-in-law."

I  almost  choked  on  my  cigarette  as  the  pieces  started  fitting  fully
together. "I remember that story. Qasim Hassan,
right?"
"My older brother."
That old family connection. This whole op smelled rank and was one
step away from FUBAR. "Financed by the US?" I asked.
"How do you think we're infiltrating American soil?" He tapped blunt
ash from the tip of his cigar.
"Dude.  Gotta  tell  ya,  most  of  that  shit  is  beyond  my  pay  grade."  I
played the dumb-blond card even thought that was more Justice's thing.
Nasim  laughed,  nodding  his  head  in  my  direction.  "Another  thing  to
like about Americans . . . your capitalistic s pirit. In it for the money.
None of this philosophical or religious dogma to stand in the way of
greed."
"Qasim Hassan though." I stabbed my cig into the ashtray. "Come to
think of it, I remember the news. Behind bars now, right?"
"Hezbollah  isn't  just  one  man  .  .  .  it's  a  movement."  Nasim's  smile
flattened.  "My  bitch  of  a  sister-in-law  nearly  cost  us  our  connection
with the American organization

backing us."
I schooled my reaction to his slanderous reference of Majedah Chehab.
That woman was classy as hell and a firstrate leader.
"So this group—the ones funding your activities—who are they? CIA?
I read a bunch of spy books when I was in the slammer." I kept going
with the gangbanger/gunrunner angle, hoping to crack Nasim.
"The Agency?" He inhaled from his fat cigar, exhaled the heavy blue
smoke. "Too literal, my friend. No. You wouldn't have heard of them.
They go by the name T-Zone."
I nearly fell off my chair. Quickly reaching for the drink by my hand, I
took a deep swig, swallowing the contents before my throat closed in. I
recovered quickly before Qasim's younger bro could read my flat-out
shock and utter disgust.
"T-Zone? Like a headshot?" I pointed at my forehead. "Lame."
"Yes. Of course, as they would say, that information is classified. The
organization doesn't exist on paper. Which makes for a very easy
working relationship."
I s at back in my chair even though all my nerves jittered

like I'd been coked up for one week straight. "Conspiracy s hit, huh?"
"Got  to  hand  it  to  the  Americans.  Capitalism  and  corruption."  He
clinked his glass to mine. "Now, Mr. Bane. You never said what you
wanted."
I'd just gotten everything I needed . . . and never wanted to know.
"IEDs. The chemical kind. Heard you had a contact for the new shit."
My gut churned while I tried to stay frosty.
Nasim  gave  a  low  whistle  between  his  teeth.  "And  who  will  you  be
supplying to?"
"An Islamist friend in Joburg."
"Ayaaz Iqbal?" He reeled off the name of a threat we'd investigated and
red-tagged before as being a head honcho
in ISIS.
"The  very  one."  I  bared  my  teeth  in  a  smile.  "Payment  to  the
Caymans?"
"Yes."
Typical.
I met Nasim's palm. Standing, I shook his hand, and Jesus Christ, it felt
like I'd never be clean again. Fuck. Me.

Chapter Seventeen
Tits Up
MAYBE JUSTICE HADN'T PLACED a trace on me, but that didn't
mean I'd followed the same  protocol.  During Kiki's and  my  meet up
with  Storm  and  Blaize  after  the  drug/gun  exchange,  I'd  tagged  their
SUV I knew I'd have to cover every contingency every chance I got. I
could double-agent when I had to.
Following the GPS coordinates after leaving Nasim Hassan—terrorist
suspect numero uno—I rolled up to Storm and Blaize's secondary safe
house.
Us  ing  one  of  four  eight-digit  codes  agreed  upon  for  this  mission,  I
secretly infiltrated the building. Keeping my back to the wall, I knew I
had less than seconds before I was made.
I  slid  into  the  central  room  and  came  upon  Walker,  Jus,  Storm,  and
Blaize in the middle of a powwow.
The  mood  seemed  somber.  Until  they  caught  sight  of  me.  Then
everything ground to a halt.

Including me.
Before I could get my voice to work, all hell broke loose. The four of
them shot to their feet—shouts raised—drawing various weapons.
"You offed Baby Spy?" Walker was the first to cock his sidearm at me.
Justice and Storm bristled, too.
"Bane. What did you do?" Blaize held her Walther in a steady grip.
"Where's her body?" She looked like she'd been crying.
But what did I know?
If T-Z was poisoned to the core, who was to say Blaize wasn't in on it?
"What in the fuck?" I pulled a Sig Sauer, singling out each and every
one of them. "You wanted her dead from the first time she came on the
team."
Justice flicked his safety off, cursing under his breath.
"That was chatter, Bane. FUCK." Walker spun and punched a fist to the
wall.
Left a nice little dent, too.
Tension—visible in strained muscles, white knuckles, flattened
lips—practically smothered the room.

Storm stood next to Blaize, fury in his eyes. "Did you do
it? Pull the trigger?"
"What if I did? It'd be no less than what Blaize—excuse me—Miss
Carmichael did to us." Training my Sig on the boss lady, I watched her
eyes flip wide. "You know. Sending Walker on a fucked op. Leaking
the location of our crib here in Mexico maybe?"
"Bane. You wanna lower that weapon right now, brah" Storm started
edging in front of Blaize.
"I don't think I do." Stalking two steps closer, wary of all the guns
pointed at me, I stared unflinchingly at Blaize. "Tell me. How did the
superiors at T-Z react to the news about
Kiki?" "What?"
"Answer me. I've about run out of patience here."
"They didn't react at all." Blaize's grip on her gun faltered for a second.
"They only asked for visual confirmation."
"Confirmation of the kill order." I laughed harshly.
"Kill order?" Walker was the first to catch on.
Asshole. Always was the brightest of the bunch.
"Here's your confirmation." I cocked my head toward the

doorway.
With her hands slung at her hips, Kiki appeared out in the open.
I kept one eye on her, one on Blaize.
Boss lady's eyes peeled wide. Her hand clamped over her mouth. "Oh
my God!"
The men all looked like they'd seen a ghost. Which they
had.
"I just rose from the dead, and this is the kind of reception I get?" Kiki
took stock of all the sidearms set to go off, mostly at me. "Stand down.
Jesus. I didn't even think you cared."
That woman, always with the gallows humor.
The others just continued to stare at her, like she really had pulled a
Lazarus number.
"I hope you get over the shock fast." I holstered my pistol and pulled up
a chair for Kiki, one for myself. "Because we got a lot of shit to get
through."
"Katherine!" Blaize rushed forward, gathering her in a
hug.
Drawing back, she scanned the female operative from head to toe. "Are
you okay?"

"I'm  fine.  Bane,  it  turns  out,  has  something  of  a  hero  complex."  She
smiled at me, reaching out to pull my hand in hers .
"Just  to  be  clear.  I  haven't  been  dosing  on  peyote,  and  this  isn't  an
hallucination, right?" Walker put his Smith & Wesson away.
"Sorry to disappoint. Standing right here. Safe and sound."
"I may have misjudged you." Walker popped his fist out toward Kiki's.
"I  won't  hold  it  against  you.  This  time."  She  met  his  knuckle  bump.
"Turns out you had good reason."
Storm looked baffled. Justice cunt-fucking-fused. And me? I retrieved
a bottle of booze from my bag and a pack of smokes. This was gonna be
a long afternoon.
I poured six glasses of the good stuff and sat back. "Long story short:
T-Zone is shady. And, Blaize, no offense, but I had to make sure you
weren't part of the cover up."
For the first time ever, boss lady was speechless. Almost. "What?"
I  quickly  downed  my  drink  so  I  could  get  it  in  before  the  s  houting
match started.

"What the fuck?"
"No way in hell!" "That's bogus, man."
"You need your head checked by psych ops, Bane?"
Kiki was the only one who didn't chime in, and when the dust settled,
Blaize looked at me with cool blue eyes. "Who fed you this intel?"
"Started  when  I  was  ordered  to  put  a  bullet  into  Kiki  by  our  bosses,
ma'am."
Blaize paced in front of me like this was the war room back in DC. She
tugged her fingers through her dark red hair.
"When?"
"Before we left the Beltway to head here."
"That's  why  they  paired  the  two  of  you  together.  And  you  were
supposed to come alone?"
"Makes sense." I shrugged. "Anyone else need a drink? Or should I just
drill them all back?"
The men came forward, as if walking in a daze, their eyes still bouncing
from  Kiki  to  me.  Blaize  was  trying  to  work  out  something  in  her
head—I  could  tell  by  the  way  she  cupped  her  brow  in  her  hand,
shutting her eyes.
"How the fuck does any of that make sense?" Justice's

sharp-pitched voice signaled his unraveling. He slung back his shot of
tequila, wiped his mouth. "Jesus Christ. I signed up for this shit because
I wanted to do something good."
"Easy,  brah."  Storm  clasped  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Let's  just  hear
Bane out."
"Fuck that. He could be a double agent."
I  chuckled.  "Right.  Because  I  had  so  many  options  after  the
manslaughter  charge.  Agencies  were  just  looking  to  snatch  me  up.
Only reason I went underground was to keep Kiki alive."
"He's telling the truth." Kiki sat next to me, squeezing my hand.
"Why?" Walker asked. "The kill order on Kiki, why?"
"To cover up their oops on your op." I stared at the Native American
man. "How many times, how fucking often, did we blame your mission
fail  on  Kiki?  It  wasn't  her,  Walker.  It  was  T-Zone.  They  knew  we'd
figure it out sooner or later. But hell, if I just took her out they thought
we'd stop looking for a black sheep."
"They  pinned  it  on  me.  I've  worked  for  the  Feds  before."  Kiki  came
clean. "They knew they had the perfect out, especially after the Feeb
raid on Justice's warehouse."

Storm rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't get it. Why? Why set Kiki
up? Why try to ruin Walker's mission?"
"They  didn't  wanna  wreck  it  at  first.  They  sent  him  to  dust  Majedah
Chehab, right? Well, he didn't. Why? That's the real question." I didn't
tell them the answer yet.
"Because  Jade  was  sure  the  intel  was  wrong."  Walker's  stark  voice
rolled across the room.
"And it was. Deliberately. From our bosses' lips to our ears. They fed
the wrong info on purpose." I poured myself another drink. "I met with
the terrorist's lead man today."
"By yourself?" Blaize's eyebrows rose high.
"No backup?" Justice looked impressed.
"Always knew you for a freakshow," Storm said, and his tone might've
shown respect.
"Crazy fuck," Walker muttered.
"His  name?  Nasim  Hassan."  I  drilled  back  my  tequila,  wondering  if
anyone  else  was  gonna  partake  more  or  if  the  rest  of  the  bottle  was
mine. "Sound familiar?"
Justice pulled out his tablet and started tapping away.
I  answered  for  him,  "Brother  to  Qasim  Hassan.  New  leader  of
Hezbollah. Funded by none other than Operation T-Zone. After Walker
went rogue, they tried to kill him and

his op then put the blame on Kiki. Or made sure we did."
Blaize hissed in a deep breath. "Jesus Christ."
I gave them a moment. Watched them drink, ingest the information, try
to swallow it down just like I had.
"Everything's tits up," I said.
"Tango Uniform," Blaize concurred.
"Fucking hell." Walker eased into a chair.
He upended the bottle over his glass.
"We've been played." Justice slid down the wall until he sat on his
haunches.
"T-Z is dirty." Blaize turned her back on us, bracing her hands on a
long table. "They're trying to cut losses. Clean house."
"Blaize?" Storm slid his palm up her back. "What is it?" "New Orleans.
We got made." She faced the rest of us. "I don't think it was because of
us. T-Z wanted us dead in
NOLA."
I watched in awe as Blaize immediately put her game face on. Bosszilla
was back.
"Destroy anything that connects you to Operation T-Zone. We're going
so far off grid they can never locate us."
Chills ran up my spine.

"Unless we want them to." Marching forward, she said, "We're going to
get to them first. New plan."
"New plan, ma'am?" Justice just about saluted the woman in charge.
"Sir, yes sir." Walker had a quick recovery time, as well as the old joke.
"Mexico City is a wash, people." Punching her hands to her hips,
Blaize gave a grim grin. "We're cutting the head off the snake. Starting
at the top this time. T-Zone is the target."
"I never did like bottom-feeders much." I stood, bringing Kiki with me.
Headed stateside to kick some unholy ass.
Just my kind of mission.
We started gathering our shit. Walker and Jus would clear out of their
safe house, Kiki and I ours, and we'd mobilize ASAP.
"Three hours." Blaize looked at Storm. "Wheels up. Can you prep that
fast?"
"You really need to ask, cher?"
"Hang on." I kicked my boot against the wall. "This is wrong. All due
respect."
Blaize took her Bosszilla-vs-Underlings battle to a whole

new level. "My orders are wrong?"
"We know Los Reyes is dirty. We know Hezbollah is becoming active
on American soil." Crossing my arms over my chest, I faced everyone.
"We're just gonna tuck tail?"
A grin flew across Justice's mouth. "No mission unfinished."
"Like good little soldier boys and girls."
"That way we don't have to hide from T-Zone. We come in high, fly in
low.  We  complete  our  job here  like  we're  supposed  to then  T-Z  will
never  suspect  our  true  mission  when  we  return  to  DC.  Perfect  in."
Storm peered at Blaize, who maintained her detached stance.
"Okay." She nodded. "We hit both groups at the same time. The cartel
and Nasim Hassan. Tomorrow night. Storm, Justice, we need logistics,
on-the-spot imaging, coms, cover, and ammo . . .
"The  rest  of  you  gear  up  and  be  at  the  ready  for  any  and  every
eventuality."
"Damn. You're hot when you're in charge." Storm slid an arm around
Blaize's waist.
"When am I ever not in charge?"
He cleared his throat, lowered his voice, and whispered

s omething in her ear.
The rest of us ignored the two lovebirds, prepping to leave the building.
Walker kicked off the trash talk:
"How's your leg?"
"How's your ass?" I sent back, handing the bottle of tequila to Kiki.
"How's that book I heard about?" she asked Justice. He scowled,
spinning out to Storm. "Syphilis cleared up
yet?"
"That was a rumor." Both he and Blaize replied. "When did you and
Kiki start knocking boots?" Walker asked me.
"I am standing right here." She rolled her eyes.
"Because I had bets on that night you stitched up Walker's ass . . ."
Smirking, Justice flipped an extra mag of bullets he'd lifted from Storm
in my direction.
"Still here, dickheads." Kiki made a grab for the cartridge.
"Hey! That's my ammo." Storm stomped forward.
And the fuckheads are back together again. One totally dysfunctional
unit.

Chapter Eighteen
Clean Sweep
"WALKER, YOU'RE WITH BANE and Kiki. Nasim and his group are
your  marks."  Blaize  was  in  full-blown  boss-lady  mode.  "Storm,
Justice, and me? We'll get Los Reyes de Guerra."
Those were Miss Carmichael's orders less than twenty-four hours ago.
We  weren't  cutting  off  the  head  of  the  snake  until  we  destroyed  its
body.  That  was  our  T-Zone  mission  imperative  after  all.  They  just
didn't expect all of us to make it out alive, as we now knew.
Good times.
Just getting better.
Under the cover of darkness and the blanket of driving rain, the three of
us infiltrated the swanky fucking isolated hacienda occupied by Nasim
Hassan and his fanatical buddies.
We weren't there to negotiate or interrogate or cut deals. We had one
objective only: kill.

On hearing the orders, Justice had kicked off. "Shouldn't we feel them
out some more? Capture them alive?"
Blaize  had  rounded  on  him.  "We  already  have  all  the  intel  we  need.
They're planning an event of mass destruction on US soil, and they're
being funded by  our company." She looked even more ripshit-pissed
about T-Zone's traitorous schemes. "There's no one else we can deliver
them  to  as  live  fodder  for  info.  Not  now,  when  they  can  pin  their
activities on T-Z. We take care of the threats here first, then we clean
our own house."
End of story.
"Fucking monsoon much?" Walker grunted as sheets of cold slashing
rain lashed almost sideways across us as we approached the perimeter
of the hacienda's grounds.
Visibility was nearly nil, but we didn't want to deal with the bulk of
NVG goggles. The colossal stone compound in front of us looked like a
watery mirage in the distance, the lights shining from the windows on
this darkest of nights a compass point.
Soaked to the skin the second we'd exited our ride one klick back, we'd
trudged to the terrorist outpost. We'd bellied forward to within spitting
distance, the storm hiding

our movements, shielding any noise we might've made. We made none.
Thunder boomed above, and Walker flashed his teeth in a s harp grin.
"Bang," he mouthed.
Lightning jagged down from the sky, bright white flashes that helpfully
lit key points of possible entry.
Gotta love Mother Nature.
Our  one-hour  surveillance  had  provided  all  the  gen  we  needed.  The
place  was  a  heavily  guarded  fortress,  and  we  were  in  for  a  massive
motherfucking fight. One that had to be soundless to keep surprise on
our side.
At go-time, we stealthily treaded toward the hacienda. Walker and Kiki
crouched beside me when I raised my fist in the air.
"Once we're in, you let me do the talking," I said, raising my voice just
enough to be heard above the howling wind.
"Not  for  nothing"—Walker  butted  his  shoulder  against  mine—"but
your social skills leave a lot to be desired, dude."
"Ditto." Kiki sent him a slight smile. "Damn. I'd written you off, Baby
Spy. Now I'm beginning to like you."

I growled at the both of them.
Meanwhile, Justice, Storm, and Blaize headed up their own op . . . in
the barrio. Carlos and his crew would be eating dirt by the time tonight
was done.
On  foot  but  maintaining  a  low  profile,  we  brushed  through  the
rain-lashed yucca plants, the tall palmas whose papery fronds twisted
in  the  gale.  The  mani  groundcover—  wet  and  glistening  glossy
green—softened our footfalls.
Approaching the house, we replaced guns with lethally sharp blades.
We'd tracked the guards' walkabout intervals and got into place for our
three-person invasion.
The fierce storm never let up, dropping a clammy, black cover around
us.
With ear coms in place, Kiki, Walker, and I surrounded the hacienda,
and every subsequent move was timed to the second. I knifed the first
guard to round my corner, slicing his neck from one side to the other. I
caught his gurgling deadweight, lowering him to the ground to breathe
his final breaths.
Stepping  lightly,  I  fell  in  behind  my  second  sentinel.  I  stretched  a
garrote  across  his  throat.  Pulling  the  piano  wire  until  my  forearms
flexed, I jerked him against my body. His

feet came off the ground as he fought my hold, but nothing s ave cold
fury enlivened me now.
His face suffused with blood, the veins in his eyes popping, he went
down for the count.
The rain continued to bash down at me, and more thunderous crashes
rent the air.
"Clear." "Clear."
Kiki and Walker called in.
We'd made it through the first defenses.
More Hezbollah reactionaries roamed the corridors and rooms on the
first floor. We strafed through, using only hands, knives, wires, and
sheer force to put our enemies in the negative column.
Not a one of those fucks got off a single shout of alarm or a fired shot
before one of us took him down. I came across Walker, shanking his
KA-BAR up through the jaw of his opponent. Blood dripping down his
hands. Rain slicked off his clothes. He released his quarry, rolling the
carcass out of the way.
We nodded to each other and carried on with our grisly quest, heading
in opposite directions.

Bodies dropped wherever we walked. The bloody fight to locate Nasim
only revved my engine more.
I'd  just  reached  the  inner  sanctum  when  Kiki  rounded  the  opposite
corner. She gave me a quick nod, and we moved toward the final set of
interior doors snuggled deep within the structure's mazelike corridors.
When she glanced behind me her eyes flipped wide.
I  rolled  forward  instinctively,  spinning  into  a  crouch  just  as  another
assailant—one who could've shot me in the back —whirled like a gory
top, his carotid ripped wide open by the knife Kiki had sailed end over
end at him.
We waited a three-count before busting, boots first, into the room.
Nasim—caught  unawares—looked  up  from  getting  his  fucking  nails
buffed (I kid you not) by some nameless honey wearing little more than
a silky robe.
The shitless wonder.
"Is he—" Kiki hauled up beside me.
"Yeah.  Getting  a  goddamn  man-icure."  Drawing  my  Sig,  I  motioned
for Little Miss Nail File to hightail it before I erased her life, too.
"Jesus." Kiki breathed out, pulling up her Glock, training

it on Nasim. "I hate that metro-man shit," said the woman dressed head
to toe in black with a leather holster strapped across her chest.
Nasim  watched us with awareness on his  narrow features.  He barely
made a noise, but his personal bodyguard manifested as soon as the nail
tech/sex pistol exited the room in a flurry of brightly colored silk.
"Mr. Bane." Nasim half rose from his seat.
One more man stood between him and me.
Walker joined the party. "You want I should track down that chick and
muzzle her?"
The  bodyguard  held  a  silenced  gun,  aimed  straight  at  me.  Like  Kiki
wasn't a threat, too.
"Or I could just muzzle this dude here," Walker amended.
Moving like I was back in the cagefighting ring again, I jumped the last
few feet and landed with my fist coming down hard on the guard's gun
arm.  His  sidearm  unloaded—  bullets  spraying  uncontrollably  at  the
wall and ceiling.
I  yanked  the  weapon  from  his  hand,  tossing  it  away.  My  elbow
smashed  down  on  his  face,  the  satisfying  sound  of  crunching  bone
music to my ears.
He howled in pain, pain I cut short when I pressed my

Sig against his  head and fired with  a sound deafened by the bashing
thunder outside. Couldn't have planned it better mys elf.
Walker and Kiki, who made sure Nasim remained docile and seated,
made sounds of approval.
"Or you could just do that," Kiki said, respect coloring her tone.
"Can't fault Bane on his methods, right, Nasim Hassan?" Walker just
couldn't resist that extra dig.
Our prisoner had turned slightly pale beneath his swarthy skin. "Who
are you people?"
"Your worst nightmare—"
"Pain you've never fathomed—"
"Reckoning  day."  I  stepped  over  the  corpse,  and  jerked  the  terrorist
jerk-off from his goddamn divan or whatever the hell it was.
I paced him backward until he was pressed against the wall. Lightning
struck  close  by,  sending  shivery  splinters  of  flashing  white  light  in
through the hacienda's high windows.
"You wanted explosives." Nasim's robe opened at the chest, and very
little air moved in and out of his lungs. "We can still deal."

"You  wanted  to  kill  US  citizens."  I  leaned  in  close,  my  face  a  hard
scowl. "That ain't gonna happen."
"I can give you money."
"Do I look like I give a shit about scrip?"
"Anything.  You  name  it!"  The  formerly  cool  commander  of  a
Hezbollah cell thought he could bargain his way out of
hell.
Too bad he was looking at the biggest baddest demon of
all.
"Remember  what  you  said  about  that  American  organization,
T-Zone?" I dug in deeper against him. "We're with them. So you've just
sold them out. And you're not the only ones who are going to die for the
lives you've already taken and the heinous crimes you've committed."
A quick bullet to the head was too good a death for the man.
I swung Nasim around, pouncing on him. Every punch I landed stained
my knuckles, beat his flesh, made him babble more unsavory promises.
By the time I reined in my anger, I'd barely broken a sweat. But Nasim
lay  huddled  on  the  floor,  Kiki  and  Walker  standing  side-by-side,
unmoved, watching the damage I

meted out. No knife. No gun. No brass knuckles. Just pure undiluted
hate.
"That's how you do the talking?" Walker raised an eyebrow.
"About right." I blew across my fists, tagging Walker in. "Your turn."
With his trademark black braid tucked into his jacket, he s talked
toward Nasim. "Get up," he said.
I didn't see how that feat was possible after the beatdown I'd put on the
man, but somehow he made his legs work, his knees connect, his body
move. He stood on his feet, weaving—bloody and bruised.
Walker drew his gun. "I never kill a man on his knees."
His cold inflection sent shivers across my skin.
"But you're not a man. You're an animal . . . and animals deserve to be
put down better than you."
Kiki stood next to me, her eyes narrowed as she watched Walker in
action for the first time.
"This is for Majedah Chehab. Your sister-in-law." He smiled, but it was
the twisted thing he'd once become famous for—and recovered from
after he'd hooked up with

Jade.
"A fine woman who loves her country. A friend." Keeping one hand on
Nasim's  shoulder  to  hold  him  steady  for  the  shot,  Walker  raised  his
revolver. "This is for Majedah, do you hear me? I only wish I'd been
able to do this to your goddamn brother first."
The crack of the bullet filled the room.
Another  shattering  lance  of  lightning  blew  everything  into  blazing
white.
Nasim dropped. Dead.
No last words.
No one to mourn him.
No one to come after us.
We exited the hacienda as a group after Walker laid a few strategically
placed charges. No way in hell were we leaving any trace behind.
When we hit the cover of the trees, Walker flipped the s witch with his
trademark  war  cry.  The  hacienda  and  everything  in  it  exploded  into
white light even brighter than the atmospheric lightning, the deafening
boom as forceful as the blaze.
"Don't know about you, but I'm feeling warmer already."

Walker rubbed his hands together.
"Anyone got any marshmallows?" Kiki asked, so not the Girl Scout.
"S'mores. When we get back to DC." I tugged on her hand, leading her
from the detonation zone.
"I'd  say  little  brother  Nasim  definitely  took  after  Qasim,  that  snaky
shitbucket," Walker sounded off over the coms.
Rain nearly choked the sky from sight as we nav'd back to our vehicle.
"RIP Not." Kiki squawked back.
We made it to the SUV, stripping down and pulling on dry clothes once
inside the cover of the warm vehicle.
I'd probably punch Walker in the head if he peeked into the front while
Kiki undressed.
The sound of magazines being reloaded filled the truck then I shifted
into first, setting us en route over the washed-out road.
"Damn. That was  quite the speech you gave back  there, Kemosabe."
Walker popped up from the backseat like a fucking dark-haired gopher.
"I think Kiki's good for you."
"Now  he  says  this."  My  girl  sighed  from  the  passenger  seat  with  an
extra snarky eye roll only I saw

I threaded my fingers through hers and brought her hand to my lap.
She squeezed my hand, the message sent in one simple gesture no one
else could read. I love you.
"So, how far to the extraction?" Walker seriously needed to get laid.
Next time we had to bring Jade on the mission because his ADHD was
getting ridic.
"Ask my copilot," I said.
"Thirty minutes to the airfield." Kiki confirmed.
"Right. Time for a drink." Walker uncapped a flask, took a drink, and
passed the silver container to Kiki.
Right on point, half an hour later we reached the exfil location. The rain
and wind still thrashed down as I brought the SUV to a halt on the
landing strip.
The only plane on the runway was a Huron jet Storm had s omehow
sourced.
We humped our packs across the slickened tarmac toward the jet
already fired up and ready to go airborne.
Up the gangplank, with Kiki between the two of us, we burst inside the
plane.
I shoved our bags into the overhead bins, kicking the

back Justice's seat where he reclined like he was a billionaire playboy.
He sent me both middle fingers for my troubles. "Wheels up in two,"
Storm intoned over the inflight coms. "Welcome to your ticket home,
folks."
"How'd  your  op  go  down?"  Kiki  asked  Justice.  "Successful  and
deadly."
"Sounds like ours." I strapped into a seat, and Kiki took the one next to
me.
Walker flipped up a little oval shade, glaring at the inclement weather
outside.
"We've got pea soup outside with a heavy helping of headwind." Storm
sounded pretty damn happy about his weather report.
Maybe it was because he was back at the wheel.
Or because Blaize was his copilot in the cockpit.
Or maybe he just liked flying a metal deathtrap in the middle of a crazy
storm.
Walker  steadied  himself  in  the  aisle  before  hurrying  into  a  seat.
"Aaaand  we're  back  on  DeathStar  Airlines,  folks.  Please  make  sure
your luggage is securely stowed—as well as your guns, blades, ammo."

Chapter Nineteen
Dangerous Woman
HOLDING  PATTERN.  WASHINGTON,  DC.  Early  December.  For
two  weeks  we'd  been  reporting  to  T-Z  HQ  like  it  was  biz  as  usual;
everyone except for Kiki, who had to remain a ghost.  The rest of us
pretending we weren't fully aware our days had been numbered.
Too  bad  Operation  T-Zone  was  gonna  come  a'crumblin'  down.  C/o
Blaize, Storm, Walker, Justice, Kiki, and me. Just as soon as we figured
out  how  to  destroy  the  mighty  beast  that  had  made  us  what  we'd
become.
Kiki  zoomed  ahead  of  me  on  her  flashy  red  Monster  821  Ducati
through  the  streets  of  northwestern  DC.  Justice  had  done  a  solid,
supplying us with live locations of CCTV cameras, meaning we could
go out and about and Kiki could s till be in the wind.
The roads were slick. Not conducive to most bikers, but like we gave a
shit.  I  throttled  down  on  my  matte  black  Victory  Gunner  after
Kiki—this high-speed chase bringing

back  the  time  I'd  nearly  destroyed  that  sweet-ass  ride  in  London,
England, on the way to Walker's wedding to Jade. I chuckled low in my
throat, remembering the way he'd almost sicked-up in the back seat of
the super boss Jag. Just like he'd almost tossed cookies in the jet during
our stormy escape from Mexico City.
Right now Kiki was the only sweet-ass ride I wanted. She proved to be
excellent prey, swerving in and out of unwieldy traffic, zipping up onto
a sidewalk, gunning back onto the road.
I pursued, hot on her tail—a position I'd normally be thrilled to occupy,
in  the  sack.  But  here?  On  the  streets  of  Adams  Morgan?  She  was
proving just a little too wily for my liking.
As s oon as I caught up with her I was gonna tie her down and fuck her
until her legs went weak. Then we'd see how well she rode her Ducati.
Only thing she needed to be riding was me.
She  wore  a  brain  bucket,  goggles,  leather  jacket.  A  red  scarf  wound
around her neck and soft leather gloves covered her hands. Her wild
hair flew out behind her—light pink and pale blonde. I knew without
seeing her cheeks were

flushed, and the icy eyes that reflected the weather would be bright.
She loved getting one up on me. Wasn't gonna last.
She  led  the  chase  until  I  revved  in  front  of  her,  overtaking  her  as  a
streetlight turned from green to yellow. She slowed. I didn't. Fuck that.
I heard her engine thundering behind me. A curse flew from her lips,
finding me on a gale of cold wind as I hammered my bike into a steady
zigzag pattern that kept her at my rear.
Hitting  a  corner  at  high  speeds,  taking  a  highly  torqued  angle—my
knee almost brushing the road—I heard her laughing behind me. The
woman was unstoppable.
So we'd made it back to DC, just a little worse for wear. Two bullets.
My thigh. Walker's ass. We'd probably never get tired of using that for
laughs.  Been  sold  out  by  our  own  company,  but  what  the  fuck?
Payback  was  a  motherfucking  bitch,  and  our  crew  had  no  problems
delivering the upcoming nasty to the PTB cunts.
Everyone  was  stationed  in  DC  for  the  immediate  future.  Caused  no
problems for me—I already owned a row house

in Adams Morgan. Ditto Storm and the boss lady, who were currently
shacked  up  in  their  house  in  Georgetown.  Both  Walker  and
Justice—marooned without their missuses— took crabby and cranky to
whole new levels in rented digs they were sharing for the duration.
But neither one of them wanted to endanger their women by bringing
them to the capitol before we got shit sorted.
No  matter  Jade—Mrs.  Walker—was  an  expert  operative  in  her  own
right, working for the British Special War Minis try.
"Deconstructed,"  Kiki  had  said  the  first  time  I'd  brought  her  home.
"Suits you."
The house was nothing like the shitty little utilitarian NYC apartment
I'd squatted in before I was arrested, before T-Z took me on.
I'd  done  a  lot  of  the  reno  on  the  early  twentieth-century  house.  The
place  boasted  high  ceilings,  revealed  brick  walls,  open  beams,
refinished original flooring.
"Are you trying to say I'm unfinished?" I'd backed Kiki against the long
kitchen table, my bulk bullying her softer s maller frame.
Her hands lighted on my shoulders, a touch igniting a

blast of flames inside. "I'm saying you're raw and rough." She'd nipped
my chin then pushed up to take my lips in a hot hungry kiss. "The way
I like you."
Then she'd spotted my collection of antique-looking implements in the
main room. The devices were neatly lined up on several shelves built
into the exposed brick walls. An odd collection of what probably
looked like medieval torture devices to the unpracticed eye.
Not gonna lie, I cringed inwardly when she picked up a bookend that
looked like a can opener. Rough and raw was one thing. But Kiki was
about to find out I was kinda into weird shit.
"What's this?" She inspected the medical instrument.
"Uhhh" Hesitating, I rubbed the back of my neck. "That's an ancient
Roman vaginal speculum."
She'd dropped the thing like it had grown two legs and a vagina. "Shit!
No wonder it looks all rusty and crusty."
"You're not really squeamish, are you?" I frowned.
She took a closer look at the collection. From a step or two away. "No."
She snorted. "But really?"
I'd shrugged, going for boyishly charming, something I wasn't sure I'd
ever been able to pull off. "I find old medical

instruments interesting."
"And what? Collecting something like vinyl albums or classic cars is
just too mundane for you?"
"Somethin' like that." I'd chuckled.
Kiki had explored the entire ground floor, casing each room like she
was  on  recon.  "Apart  from  the  bizarro  factor  of  that  shit  over
there"—she  waved  toward  the  shelf  of  oddities—"your  digs  are
surprisingly  normal.  You're  a  lot  more  suburban  than  you  make
yourself out to be."
"Yeah?" I'd circled my arms around her from behind as she stood at the
deck doors. "You approve?"
"Mm hmm."
Bonus. Because the woman was sadly  mistaken if she  thought I was
ever gonna let her bunk anywhere else ever again.
Listening  to  her  laughter  filling  the  once  empty  rooms,  I'd  lifted  her
over my shoulder, ignoring her protests. Giving her the rest of the tour
amounted  to  depositing  her  on  my  bed  and  fucking  her  hard  for  the
remainder of the night.
Luckily I didn't have to keep her as my hostage. She'd readily moved in
as soon as I asked/ordered. Her excuse had been safety in numbers, but
I knew it was much more than

that.  What  we  had  going  on  was  unexpected,  unlooked  for,  and
something neither one of us was willing to lose.
The two of us roared up to our place, fountaining winter slush beneath
our tires.
Hopping off her ride, Kiki released her helmet and tossed back her hair.
"You cheated!"
"Bullshit." I hauled her to me and took the opportunity to squeeze her
ass inside the tight jeans. "Creative license."
"Someone oughtta confiscate your license, more like."
"Too bad you don't have the credentials, Baby Spy'"
I chuckled when her cheeks heated up. Getting a rise out of Kiki most
definitely meant off-the-hook sex Whether she knew it yet or not.
"Anyway"—I  mentioned—"I  won  the  bet  about  who'd  win  the  race
back."
She scowled. "I don't remember putting money down this time."
"That's because you knew you'd lose." I winked at her while she huffed
and puffed in indignation.
Taking  her  hand,  ignoring  the  way  she  balked—her  form  of
flirtation—I  brought  her  with  me  up  the  steps  of  the  house  and
presented her with her own key.

"Do the honors?" I asked.
She looked up at me with wide ice-blue eyes.
"What? You've moved in, right?" I grinned, something I still hadn't
gotten used to.
Something that came so easy with her.
"Next you'll be asking me to marry you," she muttered, fitting the key
in the lock.
"I know. What the hell's wrong with me?"
Smirking back at me, she opened the door
Once inside, I helped her out of her jacket before shedding my own.
She unwrapped her bright red scarf.
"Probably buy a puppy too." She arched a fine eyebrow.
"Horror of horrors." My brow furrowed.
She walked up to me, placing a palm on the center of my chest. "You're
not such a tough guy."
"Care to wager on that?" Leaning into her, I held the nape of her neck in
one hand.
Her eyelashes floated down, and I caressed the warm skin of her neck
first before barely coasting my lips over her upturned mouth. My lips
cruised to her cheeks, kissing in s mall whis pery touches before I
traced my tongue to her ear.
She whimpered, low and husky from her throat.

Her hands convulsed on my shirt.
A mesh of need pulled at me, pushed me toward her.
"Remember what I said when we made love after you stitched me up?"
I crushed the hard ridge of my cock against her.
My voice throbbed, not nearly as insistent as my dick, ready and thick
inside my jeans.
She laughed, her light blue eyes opening and immediately darkening a
shade. "Made love? Did we?"
Intense sexual heat beat between the two of us.
Dominantly, I tilted her chin beneath my fingers. I lowered my mouth
to the heat of her lips, possessing her. Her warmth. Her fiery nature.
Her push and pull.
"Do you remember?" I repeated, my words tight, my body suddenly
rigid with an untamable need to fuck this woman until she knew I
owned her soul as much as she did mine.
"Of course. I've got a trained mind, right?" She danced backward, but
her breathy voice belied her breezy words.
"Good. I hope you're ready to get bent over and fucked from behind so
hard you come whenever you hear my name." The rough harsh voice
deepened from my chest.

Chapter Twenty
Kinky Kiki
KIKI  TIPPED  A  COY  smile  at  me.  Fucking  coy.  She  was  such  a
player. My player.
Taking off on her long legs, she raced away from me. The chase was on
again.
Chairs  overturned.  Tables  shoved  out  of  the  way.  She  even  threw  a
bowl at my head.
Damn.
I ducked from the missile.
Good  thing  I  had  great  instincts.  The  fucking  best  where  Kiki  was
concerned.
She  crouched  in  the  center  of  the  living  room,  goading  me.  "C'mon,
Griff. Come and get your woman."
Hell. Someone had probably already called the police.
Wouldn't stop us, though.
I jumped over upended furniture, whipping my belt free

so it whistled through the air. She dashed for the stairs. I caught her
around the waist, hauling her against my body, my mouth buried near
her ear. "You're mine." I growled.
Immediately  arching  into  me,  she  moaned  my  name.  Victory?  Fuck
yeah.
I carried her back to the living room. Setting her on her feet, I retrieved
my  belt.  Her  irises  sparkled—the  dilated  pupils  surrounded  by  the
otherworldly arctic blue. Without a word, I stretched her on the carpet.
I lashed her wrists together around one heavy leg of the couch.
Her tits heaved with ragged breaths.
"Bane?"
"Shh." I quieted her with a slow and deep and drugging kis s.
Taking  my knife,  I sheared through her clothing until she lay naked.
Naked and bound below me. Her nipples popped like pink spirals on
top  of  her  sweet  tits.  And  her  legs  scissored,  her  pussy  a  tempting,
already-glistening shell of
flesh.
"You scared of me?" I asked. "Never."

Standing  over  her,  I  threw  off  my  clothes  until  my  cock  was  finally
free. Stiff and upright, rigid and hard all over, the tip dripped precome.
Kiki gasped, her tongue peeking between her lips.
"I'm gonna feed you my cock now."
Her mouth parted obediently. Probably the only time she'd take orders
from me was when she wanted my dick.
The woman wouldn't be controlled.
Another thing to love about her.
I kneeled beside her, hefted the long shaft in one hand, and pointed it
toward her darting tongue.
Kiki moaned when I slid the flared pierced crown between her lips. I
controlled her head, my cock, and every s low unforced ingress into her
mouth. To the back of her throat. Out again. The huge muscles in my
thighs  quaking.  My  voice  hoarse  as  I  encouraged  her.  Sweat  on  my
brow. The slabs of sinews tightening from my ass to my abs to my pecs.
She  twirled  her  tongue  around  the  Prince  Albert,  licking  the  jizz
gathering  on  the metal,  swirling  the  cliffhead of  my  meat  in  hot  wet
circles.
My haunches tightening, I swung my pelvis and dipped

farther.
Her  mouth  stretched  around  the  widest  part  of  my  shaft,  her  hooded
eyes following the slick rod of muscle sliding between her lips.
I pulled back. A huge breath gusted from my chest. A hoarse curse flew
from my lips.
My neck craning back, I felt the soft tip of her tongue swipe and lick at
my balls.
I  groaned  when  she  pulled  a  bobbing  testicle  between  her  lips.
Crushing  both  hands  in  her  hair,  I  twisted  my  fingers,  massaged  her
head, shouted as her tongue wet every single part of my cock and balls.
She gorged on me until I drew away. My body rippled, mus cles carved
deep and calling out with need.
"Fuuuck. Should've called you Kinky Damage."
"Complaining?" Her lips swollen from me, she tested the bonds on her
wrists.
"Too  busy  trying  to  figure  out  how  not  to  come."  I  wrapped  a  hand
around the base of my cock and strangled that beast, forcing the seed
back down.
I  kis  s  ed  her.  Hard  and  deep,  dragging  her  tongue  into  my  mouth,
licking the corners of her lips, searching the soft

nooks inside.
When I roamed down to her highly sensitive tits, every kiss and suck
made her arch and twist in the most sexual way.
"Want to touch you." She thrashed in her makeshift shackles.
"Later. Too much to do to you."
I followed the shivery trail of her skin—goose bumps rising before I
even caressed her with my fingertips and lips. Her legs spread wide the
lower I coasted until my mouth met the crux of her sex, a pink swollen
slit smoothly waxed with the pearl of her clit neatly hooded at the top.
Helpless to do anything but fuck her with my tongue, enter her with my
fingers, flick at her, explore and eat her, I melded my mouth against her
sexy cunt. I heard every gasping moan, every high-pitched cry, every
hot shout of my name.
She pushed her hips up to me, pulsing and wet and warm and wanton.
Kiki's laughing, gasping shriek ended with a sigh as her legs went
weak, unwinding from around my head. I kissed the bright jewel of her
sleek pussy. I murmured against the

insides of her thighs.
I kis sed her trembling belly, her tremulous mouth. She greedily
searched for my tongue and kept licking at my lips when I rose higher
to drag open the belt that kept her wrists captive.
My cock—the hard rod of thick flesh—butted against her cunt, and she
grinded up to my groin.
A low chuckle rumbled from my chest.
I flicked the belt open, but only enough to free her from the couch leg.
Lifting Kiki, I positioned her forward over the leather arm of the sofa.
Seconds later I had her wrists tethered again. Behind her, at the base of
her spine just above her ass. My cock thrummed, arrowing at her heat
and wetness as I bent her over.
The belt was a leash, a handhold I used as I drove into her clasping cunt
with one huge hard shafting, hilting my cock in a thrust that rasped a
raging groan from my throat.
Kiki pushed up, an arch of womanly flesh, all dips and hollows—her
heart and heat mine for the taking.
I fucked her like I'd promised. From behind with all my brute force.
The belt at her wrists the reins used to pull her

onto my pounding cock.
Dark and dangerous desire she met with equal intensity.
My pelvis flexed against her ass. My cock drove deep into her cunt. I
cupped her tits, strummed her nipples. Kis s ed her neck and rubbed my
face into the hollow between her shoulder blades that rose like angel's
wings.
Primed, ready, Kiki howled with her release.
I wasn't far behind, the flash-heat of burning pleasure-pain
encapsulating me from the balls of my feet to my ass to my nads.
Twisting desire wrenched a hoarse shout from my throat after the first
wild spurt of come.
Twisted wonderful fucking sex that made me more beast than man.
Rippling waves almost wrecked me. Destroyed me. Whipped me.
Then slowly . . . .so fucking slowly . . . floated me back down to earth.
An earth where Kiki was still bent over the arm of the couch with my
come running down the insides of her thighs, her ass plush against my
pelvis, her wrists still bound.
Earth.
I found enough breath to let loose a low chuckle.

More like heaven.
I quickly undid the belt, massaging Kiki's wrists.
"I love you," I whispered against her bowed neck as soon as I was sure
she was breathing, because I still wasn't sure I was on the same planet.
She rolled beneath me—a sex rash flushing all over her body.
Hell yeah I did that.
Her eyes were drowsy, less sharp than usual, but her tongue still bit.
"You would say that now." "Is that wrong?"
"Mmm. Not when you love me like that."
For once completely docile, Kiki folded herself against me. I picked
her up, cradling her back and legs, carrying her upstairs. I pulled down
the covers and placed her on the bed. Slipping in beside her, I nestled
her against me.
She never failed to snuggle, a fighter brought to heel, at least in sleep.
I could almost cover her entire head with one palm, ins tead I framed
her face with both hands—her delicate features a perfect balance to the
fierce array of tattoos on her arms, the crazy hair I loved.

I kissed her lips, feeling her smile begin. "Love you too, Griffin."
A surge of something overwhelming made my heart knock in my chest.
The feeling so light I couldn't grasp it, wondered if I could hold onto it,
onto her.
I swept my hand down her side, along her hip. "Look at you." Lowering
my  face  to  the  crook  of  her  neck,  I  breathed  in  the  warmth  of  her.
"You're a mess."
She huffed half-heartedly. "Your fault."
"Yeah." I felt nothing but smug about that.
We fell asleep shortly after, a contented heap of arms and legs and last
goodnight kisses.
It was the sound of alarms that woke me up.
I  fought  my  way  toward  consciousness,  too  used  to  a  soft  life  even
though we'd only been fourteen days off mis s ion.
Kiki mumbled beside me, searching for the source of the noise.
"Your phone." She thrust it at me.  "Your phone." I handed hers over
after I located it. Suddenly completely alert, we both sat up, ramrod s
traight.

Chapter Twenty-One
Enemy Territory
IT WASN'T THE DEAD of night when we turned up in the hub of DC,
outside  the  tinted  glass  doors  that  led  into  the  nondescript  facility
housing  Operation  T-Zone.  No.  It  was  midmorning.  A  sea  of
pedestrians hustled on the sidewalk, armed with their phones glued to
their ears.
The five of us were armed, too—Walker, Storm, Justice, Blaize, and
I—with nothing so innocuous as cell phones.
"What's the latest chatter, Justice?" Blaize asked as we huddled outside
the entrance.
Justice  listened  intently  to  the  earpiece  hidden  from  sight.  "We  may
have  company  once  we  get  upstairs.  The  bad  kind."  But  the  grin  he
gave made it seem like the good kind.
Jus had somehow hooked into the upper level, interior offices at T-Z.
He'd been monitoring the asshats who'd 1. Put our lives at risk, and 2.
Potentially tried to have us all killed. Turning the tables on them, he'd
followed every

conversation,  and  the  intel  he'd  gathered  proved  the  uppity-up  fucks
were  scrambling  to  cover  their  tracks  after  we'd  blown  shit  up  with
their illegal contacts in Mexico City.
Of course, given we'd completed our assigned mission— including, for
me, the death of one Kiki Damage—our bosses had no choice but  to
outwardly laud a job well done once we'd debriefed.
Inwardly?
They were shitting bricks in their pants.
I didn't understand half of what pretty boy did in his real job with our
team—he  was  always  patching  through  and  drilling  down  and
initiating  hack  protocols.  I  did  know  he  was  also  damn  good  at
patching  up  people.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  his  fast  thinking  in  Sana'a,
Yemen, his Tilly would've ended up dead of septic shock.
Into computers and pharmacology.  Weird fucking combination.  He'd
tried to explain the similarities once, but his geek-tech-nerd jargon only
made my head hurt.
What could I say?
I was a simple man. Give me a wound to stitch up, a target to shoot, a
woman to love, and a life I could be proud of, and that was about all I
needed.

"Where's Katherine?" Blaize asked me before we headed inside the lair
of traitors.
"Kiki's on standby." I held the door open, everyone strolling inside.
We emptied our holsters and our knife sheathes at the security station.
With a scowl on my face, I added my brass knuckles to the growing
stockpile.
Thumb  scans  complete,  we  made  it  through  the  outer  defenses  and
started winding our way to the heart of the building—an area most of us
had  never  explored  before.  Us  lowly  schmucks  had  always  been
relegated several layers underground.
Fucking power-hungry dickholes.
Storm, Justice, Walker, and I might not have had access to the upper
floors, but Miss Carmichael sure as hell did.
While  she  led  the  way,  Justice  did  some  fancy  techy  footwork,
patching through the security cameras and s etting them on a loop to
mask  our  infiltration  into  the  first  floor  hallway  then  to  the  bank  of
elevators.
"Is  it  usually  this  quiet?"  I  asked,  when  nothing  but  empty  corridor
greeted us wherever we went.
Blaize stepped into an elevator liked she owned the

place. "Yes. Floors one to five are vacant, for show only. The top floor
is self-sufficient—per security measures no one leaves until it's time to
clock-out."
"A lot of fucks gonna clock out today." Walker's long black braid hung
down his back, and he winked with a wide grin. "Finally, some
goddamn justice for what they did to me and Jade."
"Justice. Har har" Storm chuckled, in an equally high mood.
I couldn't say I was displeased with this op either. The cunts deserved
nothing less than total death. The list of their wrongdoings was a mile
long, but I'd have been content to kill them for putting the murder-order
on Kiki alone.
True to Blaize's word, we encountered no resistance on the way up. No
electrics cut. No elevator shut down. No troopers busting through the
building to find us.
Goddamn Muzak filtered through the speakers in the elevator car.
Justice pistol-pointed his index finger at the speaker with a quiet,
"Bang."
Not a single one of us broke out in a cold sweat, fidgeted

with our hands, or showed any other outward sign of nervousness.
This  mission  had  been  almost  twelve  months  in  the  making.  The
bastards  we  were  gunning  for  had  been  pure  poison  for  at  least  that
long.
Possibly longer
The  elevator  opened  on  sixth  floor.  Outside,  in  the  hallway,  the
difference was immediately noticeable. The air hummed as if the very
walls were alive. Voices vibrated from the enclosed offices stretching
along the corridor.
A receptionist stood from behind a tall desk as we approached—five
figures dressed all in black.
"Miss  Carmichael?  I  should  alert—"  the  gray-haired  woman  looked
frantically down the hallway.
"I  suggest  you  take  your  bag,  get  on  that  elevator,  and  pretend  you
never  knew  about  T-Z,  Meredith."  Cool  as  the  wintry  air  outside,
Blaize gave the hushed order.
Without stopping to see if the woman took her advice, Blaize urged us
forward.
We quickly and quietly emptied rooms of all the noncomplicit  office
workers. Unlike the assholes who issued our danger pay, we weren't in
the habit of taking out

innocent civvies.
"We're clear." Blaize sounded off as the last elevator dinged.
Finally only one other office stood between us and the three men who'd
tried—and failed—to make our lives a living hell.
The T-Zone executives.
Busting  through  the  doors,  we  came  to  an  immediate  halt.  Four
men—definitely  not  business-suited  execs—  stood  posed  in  attack
stance with guns pointed at our heads.
"And here's the extra company I was talking about," Jus tice mumbled.
Luckily Mr. Mission Impossible AKA Storm had fixed us up but good
after Justice had disabled the ultra high-security scanners downstairs.
He'd  somehow  cloaked  the  extra  set  of  weapons  concealed  on  our
bodies.  No  idea  how  he  managed  it.  I  didn't  ask  questions.  It'd  only
taken the twenty-second elevator ride up to load our ammo and prepare
for possible tangos.
Drawing as one, we advanced on the other T-Zone team protecting the
corrupt leaders of our organization.

Shots  ricocheted  through  the  air  immediately  from  both  sides—no
last-minute warnings given. We'd all had the s ame elite training. We
all knew how to dodge, fight, aim. But four against five meant we had
the  upper  hand.  We  also  had  good  on  our  side,  and  I  was  sick  and
fucking tired of having bullets plugged into me.
I  knocked  the  sidearm  from  the  man  blocking  my  way.  He  dug  in,
heaving his shoulder against my midsection. I bullied forward, plowing
him onto the hard surface of a desk. Drawers skipped out, banging onto
the floor. A laptop crashed against the wall. My elbow smashed into his
windpipe, and I slammed the back of his head against the angled corner
of the desk until a skull-crushing crunch echoed in a ghastly sound. He
flopped for one spasming ins tant before all life force left him.
Leaping down, I swung around, my Sig Sauer raised.
Walker  had  taken  out  his  KA-BAR,  bludgeoning  it  through  another
man's chest. One thrust and he was done.
The bastard KO'd.
Storm broke the arm of an operative who'd taken hold of Blaize's hair
by the roots. She spun free, a growl low in her throat. She yanked the
man from Storm's hold and thrust him

against the wall. One second she was in front of him. The next she drew
up beside him, her weapon at his temple.
"Goodbye," she uttered, pulling the trigger
He slumped like a body sack on the floor.
Justice stepped up from the bulky form of a beaten man, blowing across
his bruised knuckles.
Less than two minutes. Complete bloody mayhem. Barely a s cratch on
our bodies. There was a reason we were the alpha team and Blaize was
the alpha bitch. Not that I'd ever s ay that to her face.
We crouched near the last set of doors.
Blaize nodded. "In three, two—"
We kicked open the doors and strode inside.
The carnage outside was immediately apparent to the three
middle-aged, upper-management dickwads inside.
"Three little rats all in a hole." With some serious hate on his s ide,
Walker gave an eerie smile.

Chapter Twenty-Two
Bulletproof Heroes
"BLAIZE." RAT NUMBER ONE held his hands out, palms up. "We
just follow orders."
"Bullshit."  She  sneered.  "You  follow  no  rules,  you  make  your  own
plays. And you can call me Miss Carmichael just like my team does,
Z."
"Z? As in X, Y Z?" I cased the place in quick movements, making sure
there were no hidden weapons.
Storm searched their bodies, patting them down. "Pathetic fucks."
"Totally unimaginative." Justice looked at the opened laptops, playing
a silent game of Eenie, Meanie, Miney . . . mine down for intel.
"What  I  wanna  know  is  which  one  of  you  cunts  is  Mr.  X."  Walker
pushed a bald-headed man back into a chair with the sole of his boot.
"The fuckwad who used to give me orders over the secure phone line.
My  former  team  leader"  He  got  menacingly  close  to  the  man's  lean,
wolfish face.

"That you?"
"Xavier, yes." Although the other two looked shaken, this one held his
gaze steady on Walker's nearly black one.
Walker pulled his KA-BAR out, and swiped it up and down his pants
like  he  was  sharpening  the  blade.  "Well,  Xavier,  you  better  start
praying to your savior"
"I think we need  more information before you start killing, Walker,"
Blaize dryly said.
"Always  gotta  spoil  my  fun."  He  peeled  himself  back,  all  of  half  an
inch.
Inserting  a  flash  drive  into  the  laptop  he'd  chosen,  Justice  said,
"Starting the download now. I need five minutes ."
As us ual I had no idea what Jus was up to, but I imagined it had to do
with erasing the digital trail between T-Zone and us, as well as hunting
and gathering—computer-style—for any extra info he could siphon.
Mr. Y—I had to assume since the old fart with the trembling bottom lip
hadn't  been  tagged  yet—spoke  up,  "You  were  all  supposed  to  be
killed."
"Some  fucking  front  man  you  are."  Walker  turned  his  wrath  on  the
lily-livered twat.

"X gave the order!"
"Nice. Just what I like to see in my bosses. An every man for himself
mentality," I bit out.
"Shut the fuck up, Yves." X commanded his colleague.
"Yves?  You  French  or  something?"  Storm  looked  down  at  the  little
man.
"Or something," he mumbled, glaring with hate-filled eyes at X.
"Killed? In Mexico City?" Blaize questioned the threesome.
"7ou were supposed to be dead in New Orleans, you and Storm both."
X had no problem sharing.
Not so much with the caring, though.
Taking two steps forward, Blaize pistol-whipped the dirty fuck across
the face.
"Three  minutes  until  download  complete,"  Justice  reported  in  an
undertone.
X wiped his bloody mouth and spat out a red stain onto the carpet.
He  scowled.  "Who  do  you  think  ordered  the  raid  on  your  outpost  in
Mexico City?"
Storm stalked forward and punched the bald cunt with

his shovel-sized fist. "You FUCK."
Y and Z looked ready to piss their prissy pants. I had no sympathy.
"Why  did  you  fund  the  terrorists?"  Blaize  struck  X  again,  on  the
opposite cheek, taking up where Storm had left
off.
X reeled for a moment before stamping to his feet. "Who do you think
pays  your  checks,  Miss  Carmichael?  You  protected  little  bitch,  I
should—"
He didn't get another word out because Storm grabbed him around the
neck, silencing his voice box and pretty much shutting off every breath
he tried to wheeze into his lungs.
"If I let you go, you answer the lady's question. Understood?"
I held a gun on Y, Walker likewise on Z.
Storm  released  his  grip.  "Answer  Mizz  Cahmichael.  Or  I  blow  your
brains out."
"War makes the world go around. The US government always finds a
way, and we do our job. It's not personal. It's economics."
Like capitalism made it all okay. I was reminded of

Nasim's words.
Another dead douchebag I wasn't sorry to see go.
"That's it? The sum total of your reasoning? And we got too close to the
truth.  So  you  were  supporting  Qasim  Hassan,  the  Hezbollah?  What
about the Blood Legion MC?" Blaize paced in front of X.
He crossed his arms over his chest. "They were fodder for the greater
good. That detail was supposed to be your death warrant, Blaize. You
were a troublemaker from day one, insisting on being in on the ground
floor. The way you claimed rape during your SOF training—"
Storm's snarl was an unholy sound. He popped his gun up, and nothing
but  deep  deadly  intent  poured  from  his  strained  stance.  "Now  you're
dead meat, you absolute fuck."
Blaize pushed between the two men. "I won't let you goad me, Xavier.
Not now. Not ever." Her voice lowered. "But you will die. And it might
even be today."
"Those dead bags of skin outside in  the other office, were they in on
it?" I asked, my voice a rasp from my chest.
"They followed orders at least."
"Orders? I'll give you goddamn orders, you shitless

wonder." I'd sent out the signal several minutes ago, and I propped the
door open now.
Kiki strutted inside, absolutely fine and fighting fit, pulling her second
Lazarus move since I'd offed her.
And  what  a  great  fucking  feeling  it  was  to  watch  complete  disbelief
slacken the faces of Y, Z, and especially Xavier.
"Howdy, boys."
Raising a shaking finger, his eyes popped wide, X's voice came out as a
husk of sound. "You're dead."
Kiki  looked  down  at  herself  with  a  smirk  hiding  the  fact  she  was
ripshit-pissed. "I make a pretty damn good ghost then, huh?"
Justice snickered.
I wanted to say atta girl, but I held my tongue.
This  might  be  the  most  important  mission  of  our  lives,  and  it  wasn't
over yet.
"Blaize. What's the meaning of this? You reported Damage EKIA."
"Bane told me he killed her." Her pretty blue eyes like hard nuggets of
steel, she snarled, "My bad."
"You used me to cover up your plot against Majedah

Chehab." Banging forward on her badass boots, Kiki pushed her face
right up against X's.
"You were too brash to ever fit in." He had the nerve to reach out and
flick  the  wild  hair  I  loved.  "Look  at  you.  You're  not  an  asset  to  this
organization. You're a liability."
Kiki's hand whipped out, and she gripped his wrist. With a quick move,
she cranked his arm high behind his back until the shoulder joint almost
popped out. Her other hand lifted to his neck.
With her lips close to his ear, her fingers squeezing his airway into an
ever tightening funnel through which air whistled, she murmured, "7ou
're the liability. And I think it's time to even the score."
Atta girl.
X  didn't  make  a  sound—couldn't—but  Yor  Z  sure  as  hell  s  tarted
whimpering.  The  two  men  were  interchangeable  s  o  I  couldn't  tell
which one was blubbing while the other candy ass started bargaining.
"Download complete." Justice removed his flash drive from the laptop.
"Files wiped."
Storm grinned in his particularly evil way. "And now you go to your
graves."

"X. Y Z. PDQ." Walker cocked his pistol. "RIP." I aimed at Y"s head.
Without the peace part.
"Think we should go for their t zones?" Storm asked. The blabbering
escalated.
Y and Z were felled in an instant—it wasn't overkill, but several bullets
from more than one sidearm flattened each man.
X saw it all, Kiki slowly choking the life out of him. He fought against
her hold with his one free hand, but her strength outmatched his, and
her fury was a cold controlled entity.
She never relented, adding more and more pressure at both points on
his body until his shoulder dislocated to the final agonizing tight
wheeze of oxygen from his throat.
"Fuck you too." Kiki released the seditious bastard to crumple in a dead
bundle on the floor, dispassionately flexing her fingers.
"Time to exfiltrate." Blaize's soft command shook us all from a sort of
stunned inertia.
The end of an era.
The end of our jobs.

No more Operation T-Zone, shady as they'd become.
We  s  tarted  exiting  the  office.  Seven  dead,  all  told.  Hardly  a  single
mark on any of us.
Just  to  make  extra  special  sure  our  footprints—digital  or
otherwise—could never be placed at the scene of this crime, Walker'd
brought along his buddies: C and 4.
We hit the sidewalk seconds before we exploded the place.
Correction. I guessed that was all Walker's doing, with the press of a
button. The controlled bombs destroyed the computer network and all
the corpses, leaving no trail connecting us to them. And technically we
didn't exist anyway.
I held Kiki's hand as only a puff of smoke escaped one of the windows
on the sixth floor. Then the alarms sounded off.
"Our  vehicles  were  relocated  while  we  were  inside."  Blaize  slowly
saluted the building we'd never return to.
"So how do we get out of here now?" I asked, shading my eyes against
the bright wintry sun.
"Here's our ride." Blaize slipped a pair of sunglasses onto her face.

Turning toward the street, I watched a big black Hummer limo barge
through the traffic on the busy DC street.
"Hustle, people," Blaize held the door open as soon as the elongated
SUV stopped outside HQ.
I hopped inside after Kiki. Walker and Justice hurried to the other door
and Storm boosted Blaize in and followed after her.
As soon as we were all seated, the driver sped off, and only then did I
notice the man sitting opposite us.
Tall, even when folded onto the seat, with a sterling gray military-style
buzzcut and rugged features . . . I started s haking my head.
"Ambassador Lawless?" This day just got stranger and s tranger.
The older man sent all six of us a slowly widening smile. Justice's eyes
nearly flipped out of his head. "James?" He cleared his throat, leaning
forward to put a hand on Jus's shoulder. "Hello, son." Jesus Christ.
Ambassador Lawless. The man we'd saved from certain death during
the embassy siege in Sana'a, Yemen. Justice's father-in-law. And, from
what I'd heard, much much more

than  Blaize  Carmichael's  mentor  when  she  was  part  of  Delta
Force—but not in that way.
He shook each of our hands, even recognized Kiki from Justice's and
Tilly's  Georgia  beach  wedding.  He  was  clearly  enjoying  our  total
confusion while Blaize smiled in that kitten with the cream way.
"Who are you really?" Walker point-blank asked.
"The former US ambassador to Yemen."
"And?"  Justice  clearly  didn't  even  have  a  clue  who  his  father-in-law
really was.
And  he'd  probably  drilled  down  on  him,  too—after  he'd  popped  the
question to Tilly née Lawless.
"A little more than that." He folded his hands in his lap, barely paying
attention  when  a  SWAT  van,  three  fire  trucks,  a  whole  convoy  of
police  cars,  and  a  fleet  of  ambulances  raced  in  the  direction  of  the
building we'd just vacated AKA destroyed.
Blaize took point. "I looped James in. He's been in touch with several
key power players—-for the good—on Capitol
Hill."
I s wiped a hand over my face.
Kiki practically vibrated with energy beside me.

Walker looked interested.
And Jus tice and Storm were definitely taking the bait. "I propose we
relocate—" "Obvi." Walker snorted.
"But we stay together." Blaize continued. "Doing similar work. I'll
receive the intel. We'll disseminate it together and decide as a team
whether it's actionable."
I stared at her, my mouth possibly unhinged.
Everyone else was quiet.
Storm looked at her with stars in his eyes like her precise words were
insta-foreplay.
"What?" A small smile curled Blaize's lips. "You didn't think I'd leave
you hanging in the wind, did you? I put way too much time and effort
into making you fit for duty, people. Are you in or out?"
Lawless watched Blaize's quick turnabout with an appreciative grin.
"Fuck yeah, cher." Storm whooped and grabbed her into his massive
arms.
"Only if I can still call everyone else Kemosabe and maybe talk Jade
into joining the crew." Predictable, that was
Walker.

Chapter Twenty-Three
A Company Christmas Party
THE  NEW  FORCE-RECKON  DIGS  ranked  even  though  the  rooms
were all decked out for the Christmas holidays. Which was just plain
fucking  weird.  The  building  resembled  our  first  mobilized  unit  in
Mexico City, but the square footage had been trebled. One and a half
weeks after the T-Z takedown, we were fully operational . . . and here
we were, celebrating Saint Nick and all that shit.
Kiki and I had almost ditched the whole thing.
Neither one of us had ever been much into the holidays.
Pretty hard to get into the spirit of the festivities when you were a street
kid or the only child of a deadbeat dad.
In  the  end  we'd  both  agreed  to  turn  a  new  leaf,  open  a  new  chapter,
yadda yadda yadda.
Kiki was good for me.
No doubt about that.
I had no idea how she'd turned out so kickass . . . and optimistic. Even if
a little dark around the edges.

Probably why I liked her so much.
Correction.
Loved her.
When she'd entered the living room earlier, dressed to head to this
shindig, I'd definitely wanted to beg off from the party.
"You like?" She'd pushed a hand to her hip, her pale blue irises never
more shimmering.
I couldn't even speak. Might've grunted my approval.
Kiki wore a dress. It was red. Not stripper red but film noir red. French
fuckhot red. Fuck me hard red. Some kind of lush strappy contraption
that reminded me of her yoke holster, the top skimming the hills of her
tits, and the skirt barely covering her ass.
High heels. High high heels—black with carnal red soles.
"I don't think I've ever seen you in anything but black before." My
words were husky, definitely toned with lust.
"So you're not color blind."
I laughed, pulling her to me. "No. Despite these weird eyes."
She kissed my jaw, her hands rubbing my chest. "Not weird. Sexy."

Cupping  her  ass,  I  grinded  against  her.  "Sure  you  don't  wanna  stay
home and play Santa's little helper?"
"Little?" Her hand slipped below the belt.
"I was referring to you, not my cock."
Kiki flipped her hair back; I noticed she'd made narrow braids capped
by tiny silver bells.
"Bells?"
"In case you lose me."
"No chance of that." I kissed her neck, helping her into her jacket.
With  a  heavy  snow  falling  all  over  the  eastern  seaboard  three  days
before  Christmas,  we  had  to  take  my  jacked-up,  big-ass,  black  Ford
Raptor. Also, I didn't want random passersby to get a money shot of
Kiki straddling her Ducati in the short festive fuckhot red dress.
Even  weirder  than  attending  a  holiday  party  hosted  by  Blaize  at  our
new  facilities  was  the  fact  Kiki  had  finally  convinced  me  to  visit
Allegra.
That caused an entirely different tightening in my throat as I'd handled
the wheel of the truck through the growing weather conditions.
We would arrive early Christmas Eve in upstate New

York, but Kiki said she'd remain off scene for the time being. She didn't
want to spook my ten-year-old daughter Fuck.
Neither did I.
Allegra's mom hadn't shut me down the second she'd heard my request
for a visit. Would wonders never cease?
I couldn't believe I was going to meet my baby girl, almost for the first
time. My chest hollowed out every time my thoughts turned to Allegra.
We'd spent the past few days shopping for presents. Like I had a clue.
Luckily, Kiki was pretty keyed into the fads.
"She won't need any of this, you know?" Kiki had looked up after
passing me the tape while we wrapped the gifts. "She'll just be happy to
know her dad."
Family meant so much to Kiki. And she had none.
"Come here, babe." I'd pulled on her hand.
She crawled over crackly paper covered in sleighs and ornaments and
snowmen, lighting in my lap.
"I ever tell you how good you are to me?" I asked.
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?" I laid her down, carefully undressing her.

"Always."
I'd kissed her everywhere, from the peaks of her tits to the indent of her
waist,  listening  as  she'd  giggled.  The  giggles  stopped  in  a  hot  moan
when I sealed my lips against the juicy pink of her smooth pussy.
After her first rippling orgasm, she'd hauled me over her and I'd thrust
inside. She twined one arm around my neck, finding my swinging balls
with the other. She'd cupped my wet pumping cock, flattening her palm
on my thick shaft every time I withdrew.
My face at her neck, my hands on her ass, I'd tilted her up until she was
almost bent in half.
Kiki was a screamer.
Never had to worry about her coming. She was on a hairpin trigger.
Panting and writhing, she's seen my smile.
Slapping  her  hips  up  to  my  groin,  she'd  squeezed  me  inside  the  hot
depths, massaging my cock, milking it.
A jolt hit me just like that—the smile replaced by a sneer of lust. My
grunt  turned  into  a  growl  as  I  bowed  over  her  and  let  loose.  Every
aching thrust sped my hips, and Kiki pulsed around me.

"Oh, hell, girl." After blasting rope after rope of come inside her, I'd
collapsed onto the floor.
I'd still been disjointed, breathing hard, when she leaped to her feet.
I grabbed her ankle. "Where you going?"
She'd  jerked  free.  "Upstairs.  By  the  way,  your  spunk  got  on  the
wrapping paper."
I thwacked her on the ass with an empty cardboard tube. "That's  not
even funny."
"Yes it is." She laughed, naked, as I'd chased her upstairs.
That  was  two  days  ago.  Now  we  were  in  the  middle  of  a  company
Christmas party nightmare. Except it wasn't so bad. Not that I'd ever
admit that.
At least there was top shelf liquor, not fruity freakin' punch cocktails.
Jade  showed  up  with  Walker,  keeping  mum  about  any  Special  War
Ministry ops she might have in the works. The half-Asian, half-British
woman  brought  a  sprig  of  mistletoe  and  some  paper  creations  she
called  crackers.  Funny,  that  was  what  I'd  always  called  Storm  when
he'd dubbed me

freakshow.
Tilly—the  s  outhern  belle  with  the  smart  mouth,  the  photography
professor who had flawless aim with a rifle— arrived on Justice's arm.
They were so perfect together I had to shade  my eyes  from the light
they shined out.
Technically Jade and Tilly weren't supposed to know our HQ location,
but technically we now made our own rules.
And fuck that shit anyway.
Then  there  was  Blaize  and  Storm  who  couldn't  keep  their  eyes—or
hands—off each other Leave it to the Cajun man to snag the boss lady.
Fuck. All the happy couples, and I was one of them.
Never thought that would happen either.
Seemed my luck had turned.
Walker hung the mistletoe then stepped down off the s tool. He placed
two fingers in his mouth, sending out a s hrill whis tle.
"Got an announcement to make," he shouted.
Justice killed the music.
"Jade  here  won't  be  joining  us  just  yet,  because"—he  puffed  up  his
chest, curling an arm around her shoulder —"we're having a baby." He
choked up a little at the end,

turning his face to take a swipe beneath his eyes.
The  immediate  claps  and  whistles  and  cheers  were  deafening.
Everyone knew the hardships Walker had survived. His first wife and
his daughter dead from a freak unexpected accident.
Jade's  eyed  glistened  as  she  accepted  our  congrats,  and  Walker
struggled to compose himself.
I s lapped him on the back, my voice thick in my throat because I was
two days away from walking back into my own daughter's life.
Justice  smiled  like  he  had  a  little  secret  of  his  own,  and  he  gave  the
happy couple the biggest, longest hug of all.
Bing frickin' Cosby started crooning in the background, and Blaize—of
all the people—announced it was time for Secret Santa.
After she passed out another round of drinks. Nonalcoholic for Jade, of
course.
Secret Santa. What a laugh. Not so secret. For  men and women who
made a living out of hiding off the grid, we couldn't wait to dish the dirt
and place bets on who bought the filthiest or funniest present.
So we gathered around like good little boys and girls.

Not quite.
I just hoped Blaize hadn't hired a real Saint Nick to bust in with a red
sack of gifts because we didn't take well to strangers in our midst.
Boss lady handed Storm his present first. Obviously. Because he was
her favorite. And her lover.
With an unlit cig clamped into the corner of his mouth, he ripped into
the lopsidedly wrapped package.
"Oh. What the fuck?" He flung the cardboard box in the air, beaning it
toward my head. "Asshole. Had to be you."
I ducked from the missile, and Walker caught it in one hand,
immediately crowing with laughter.
"What is it?" Justice leaned forward.
"An STD testing kit." Walker wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
I smirked. "You know, because of the syphilis."
"He does not have syphilis!" Blaize railed, but her shoulders shook, and
Storm turned his glare on her
She cleared her throat. "So Bane, looks like you're next."
She passed me something heavy and perfectly wrapped. Bet it was
from one of the chicks.
Probably a sexist thought, but, hey, us guys were not all

that handy with the wrapping paper and tape. Ammo, explosives, and
grenades? Now that was a whole different matter. Although, come to
think of it, our women were all as well versed in the art of combat, even
Tilly, considering she knew her way around a Martin hunting rifle.
Kiki watched avidly as I tore open the paper. Inside a carved wooden
box  was  a  small  heavy  copper  octagon  with  swing  levers  and  what
looked like a short pipe sticking up from one corner.
"And what the hell's that?" Justice, sounding like a broken record.
"Some kind of old, old, old school bong or something?" Walker peered
at the instrument cradled in my palm.
"Urn"  I  scratched  my  jaw.  "I  believe  it's  a  scarificator  circa  1800s
England."
"A what?"
Kiki  stepped  in.  "An  antique.  Specifically  medical,  for  the  use  of
bloodletting. For Bane's collection."
"Collection of what? Torture devices?" Justice curled his nose.
Walker leaned way, way, way back. Tilly hooted with laughter.

Grasping the nape of Kiki's neck, I brought her to me for a slow, deep
kiss. "Thanks, babe."
"Freakshows. Plural." Storm renewed his scowl, but his eyes crinkled
at the corners.
Kiki received the next present. Needless to say the bulky biography of
Benedict Arnold wasn't from me.
She sent the big middle finger in Walker's direction. "You are such an
asshat."
"But a loveable one."
"You played that same exact argument with me once." Jade's eyebrows
arched at her hubby, and she was simply glowing.
Pregnant.
"And it worked. Little wifey." "Don't be a wanker" Ah. The happy
couple. Breeding. More laughs.
Walker got a really cool explosives kit I wouldn't be able to figure out
without a diagram and instructions written in two languages.
"Hell yeah. This shit's quality," he boomed out after tearing into the
package.

"How come he got the only decent present?" Storm was s till frowning.
I passed out another round of drinks. "Because I rate," Walker replied.
"Couillon"
"I  gotta  guess  who  gave  me  the  dyna-blow,  right?"  Ignoring  Storm,
Walker peered around the group. "I'm going with pretty boy here."
"/ could've gotten the bomb kit." Jade protested with a pretty pout.
"Not. You weren't very happy last time I blew up the remains of our
Bentley at the ranch." Jesus. Happy families indeed.
"Yeah.  You  got  me,"  Justice  admitted.  "My  turn."  He  hooked  two
fingers at Blaize, Missus Secret Service Santa. "Gimme."
He did the whole shaking the gift thing, trying to puzzle it out. Because
he was still eight-years-old apparently.
Giving up, he peeled back the paper. Then cursed up and down.  And
tossed the bright yellow and black book at
Walker.
Romance Writing for Dummies.

I choked on a laugh. Everyone else cracked up, too.
Justice fumed at Walker. "Okay. I actually put some fucking thought
into your present. Dickhole. I want the kit back."
"Oh. Are you an Indian giver, Jus?"
"Don't play the oppressed race card with me, Tonto."
"I call prejudi—"
Jade clapped her hand over Walker's mouth, giggling. The only two left
were Jade and Blaize, so Jade went firs t, after she unmuzzled Walker.
Her package was bigger than all the others had been. Not that kind of
package.
There were bows and ribbons and inside what looked like yards of
tissue paper before she finally unearthed a . . .
hat.
Not combat gear. Not weapons. Not a helmet, but a wide-brimmed,
half-netted, dead-red hat. A hat.
Jade cradled it like a baby against her breast.
Us guys—and Kiki—looked at her like she was cray-cray maybe.
"It's perfect! The best present ever" She beamed at the

boss lady. "Cheers so much, Blaize."
"Hey. I gave you a samurai sword that one time." Justice took offense.
And Walker right after him. "I gave her a baby."
"Oh for fuck's sake . . ." Jade rolled her deep green eyes. "It's just a hat."
"Exactly." Walker smiled.
And Jade wrapped herself around him, clinging close and kissing him.
Finally unlocking her lips from Walker's mouth, Jade handed a gift to
Blaize. "I hope you like it."
"Wait. Did I get the Secret Santa rules wrong? I thought they weren t
supposed to like it," I butted in.
"You're not very good with rules, Bane." Kiki snuggled up to me, and
her next words were warm and soft against my ear. "That's why I like
you."
Blaize grinned as she unwrapped the biggest box of all. She lifted the
lid, peeking inside.
"You didn't." She stood to slowly unravel a long leather bullwhip from
the box.
Turning, she quickly snaked it with a whistling hiss across the air.

"So you can keep the men in line." Jade's laughter rang out, joined by
Blaize's, Tilly's, and Kiki's. Fuck. We were screwed.
"I hope that's not from our personal collection." Walker watched Blaize
coil the leather lash into a loop around her arm.
All eyes turned to him.
"What?  We  raise  horses  on  the  ranch?"  He  held  out  his  hands
innocently. "Dirty minded fuckers."
The Secret Santa circle broke up for . . . dancing.
Pretty  boy  was  suave  and  smooth  and  had  all  the  moves  for  Tilly.
Natch.
Storm cut a rug with Blaize.
Even  Walker  spun  Jade  around,  the  two  of  them  moving  closer  and
closer.
"Wanna dance?" Kiki asked me. "I'd rather fuck." No lie.
Her dress was sinful, sexy, and needed to be ripped off her smoking hot
body pronto. Enough with the merrymaking already.
She took my hand, leading me toward her. "Dance first." The way Kiki
danced was sinful, sexy. Didn't matter

Christmas tunes spun from the speakers, not slow rock ballads . . . her
hips rolled against me. She nestled in my arms, against my body, her
hands roaming up and down my back and all the way to my ass. She
kissed my neck, gyrated s ome more, licked my jaw, and moaned.
I didn't so much dance as fuck her vertically in a crowded room with all
our clothes on. I touched all the bare flesh I could get at. Quite a lot in
that strappy red dress it turned out.
When she felt my cock, ludicrously hard and large and pressed against
her belly, she muffled her moan with a bite at the juncture of my neck
and shoulder.
The  music  cut  off  with  a  screech,  and  Justice  shouted,  "Snowball
fight!", effectively breaking the mood.
Probably  a  good  thing  since  I'd  had  serious  thoughts  about  hiking
Kiki's dress up to her waist and slamming right into her.
Chris tmas party be damned.
Always  on  point,  the  eight  of  us  immediately  outfitted  ourselves  in
Kevlar  vests  and  NVGs,  gloves  and  hats  and  boots—the  women  in
dresses, us in our decent duds. A Force-Reckon snowball fight wasn't
something to take

lightly.
Before  tromping  outside,  Blaize  gave  the  one  and  only  rule.  "No
weapons allowed."
"Dammit," echoed from each of us.
We all disarmed and then headed into the fluffy snowy landscape.
"I'm packing this  shit with ice." Justice cupped his hands around the
ball he formed.
"I'm packing mine with C4," Walker taunted, a sinister grin on his face.
It was all out warfare once we got started.
Dodging the cold launchers thrown from strong arms. Ducking behind
cars. Every man and woman out for fun for a nice change of pace.
"Gotcha!" Kiki ambushed me, beaning a snowball at my back as she
hung from one arm from a street lamp.
Tugging her ankle, I pulled her down to me. "I thought we were on the
same team."
"I  have  a  green  light!"  She  raced  off,  her  boots  leaving  tracks  in  the
fresh snow.
I bolted after her.
Justice crammed a snowball in Walker's face, quickly

sidestepping when Walker retaliated.
He disappeared into the dark night.
Tilly's laugh echoed in the distance.
Storm sounded off behind me, "Taking the tango down."
He tackled me into a drift, but I quickly spun, kicking him off while
Kiki shoveled snow into the back of his pants.
"Merde. That's a cold move, Damage."
Blaize muffled a laugh behind her gloved hand until Jade jumped her
with a handful of pristine snow tossed in her face.
Laughter  and  low  chuckles  filtered  across  the  hushed,  winter-white
surrounds.  People  darted  out  from  the  dark  corners  of  the  building.
More snowballs pelted with lasers harp aim.
Eventually Blaize stood in the middle of the parking lot,
shouting, "CEASE FIRE!"
Laughing, holding each other up, we trudged back into
HQ.
Inside, Kiki shook out all her gear, and her dress clung to her body. "I'm
all wet."
"Not  as  wet  as  you're  gonna  be."  Our  lips  collided,  cold  but  quickly
becoming hot.

Chapter Twenty-Four
Force to be Reckoned With
THE  MERRY  ENDING  OF  the  party  finished  with  all  of  us  parting
company for a two week break before the real work began. Walker left
with Jade. Justice and Tilly departed next. Storm took off with Blaize.
I helped Kiki into my truck—more tank than pickup.
At  home,  I  plugged  in  the  fully  fucking  decorated  Douglas  fir
Christmas tree while Kiki got the tequila.
She lit candles, and I started a fire.
"Can't      believe      Jade's      pregnant,"      she  mentioned,  something
more wistful than usual about her voice. "Walker's been through hell,
you know that, right?" "His first wife."
"Kimimela." I pulled Kiki down with me to the floor in front of the fire
that crackled and blazed. "And his daughter, Winona."
Kiki kissed me, a hot press of her mouth against mine. She poured us
two drinks and clinked her glass to mine.

"Are you still nervous about Allegra?" she asked. "Yes." I drank. "No.
Yes."
She pulled my forearms over her belly, stroking the strong muscles.
"Did you want her, Griffin?"
"Yeah."
"You're still her dad, you know?" "I'd be nothing without you, Kiki."
Turning in my arms, she drew her hands up my chest. And my heart
already began to pound.
"I want you to do one thing for me," she whispered. "Anything." My
breath ratcheted. She always had that affect on me. "Promise you'll try
with her."
"Said I would." My hands balled beside me. "Fuck. It's hard to let the
feelings in, you know?"
Kiki pressed her cheek against mine, and her fingers massaged up over
my shoulders. "I know"
I s tilled, only rolling my neck. "Want to be good enough for her."
"You already are." Her voice hushed against my ear. "Promise me one
other thing?" "You know it."

"You'll make love to me tonight." "Always do."
The last restraint shoved off, I grasped her hips. Our fingers laced
together as our mouths collided. She was so soft and sweet like this.
Intimate. Gorgeous. The only woman I wanted to be with.
She bit my bottom lip, and her hands drove into the back of my pants.
Did I say soft and sweet?
Goddamn sex kitten.
The firelight played across her when I lay her down—the red dress with
all the straps. Lights from the Christmas tree twinkled on her skin, her
face turned to me, her body arched and purely sensual.
"How do I get you out of this?" My hands skimmed from her breasts to
her legs.
"The usual way."
Gripping the edges of her dress, I ripped it right down the middle.
"Fuck. Me," I croaked out.
Kiki lay beneath me. No panties, no lingerie . . . just pure woman . . .

Her tits called to me, those soft hills filling my palms. I licked a proud
crest, making it an even deeper pink.
Biting the twin breast, I roamed over her belly, touched the soft essence
of her sex
"I can't wait, Bane."
Clothes flew as I undressed, and my cock jutted like a mast from my
groin, the piercing feeling as hot and heavy as my nads.
"Slow down, babe," I whispered the words in a trail along her body as I
settled between her legs. That shaved cunt. The tight recess. The way
her thighs opened. And her breath halted.
I licked her, taking the plump bead of her clit between my lips for a
pursing kiss.
Kiki thrashed. "Oh, God!"
Pushing her thighs apart so her pussy presented, I mouthed her. Licked
her. I sucked on her labia and gorged myself on the juicy pink slit.
Winding my hands beneath her taut ass, I jerked her closer. Breathing
in her scent, circling my tongue around her,

twisting  two  fingers  inside,  I  almost  came  against  her  leg  where  my
cock pressed, throbbed, nearly exploded.
Kiki orgasmed. From the proud thrust of her body and the jerking clasp
around my fingers to the ripple from her belly to her breasts.
Swinging up over her, I slapped my cock against her face.
"Oh, yes." Her wet lips parted. "You sexy bastard."
After wiping a trail of precome from cheek to cheek and over her jaw, I
moved back to straddle her tits.
Kiki  sandwiched  me  with  her  hands,  watching  the  thick  rod  bounce
between her breasts.
I reached behind. With a flat palm, I lightly spanked her cunt.
The smell of sex surrounded us. The wet sounds of filthy fucking raised
chills on my skin.
With  one  last  stroke  between  her  tits,  I  covered  her  completely.  She
pulled me in, meeting me with her hips and legs and arms and lips.
"Fuck me, Bane."
I shafted her to my balls. The wet assault of her cunt almost making me
blow my load.

Rising to my fists above Kiki, I fucked her fast. I pumped her slow. I
curled  my  hips,  left  her  wanting  and  twisting  beneath  me  before  I
slammed every thick inch into her.
She grabbed my shoulders. My hair.
She screamed and moaned.
Pulling her onto my cock, I held her with one hand, pumping her up and
down. I latched my lips to her tits, feasting . . . fucking . . . dying to have
her.
She shuddered, clasping me around the back. "Ahhh, yesssV
Branding me with a pulsating rotation of her hips, Kiki came.
She was unbreakable.
Unstoppable.
Icouldn t stop.
The  wet  heat  inside  her  tripled,  and  she  howled  through  every  hard
thrust  I  pistoned  into  her.  My  breath  rasped.  I  saw  nothing  but  Kiki.
Holding her in  my two hands, I bent over her. She  was so small. So
powerful.

I sucked in a great gust of breath, filling my lungs before I reared up,
thrusting my cock balls deep, and bellowed.
Pulling her to me, I buried my face in her neck, growling, grunting . . .
Coming.
Every pump of my hips was another jet of seed unleashed inside her.
Kiki mewled, her mouth at my ear, her lips nibbling, her body
accepting.
I leaned back to watch her take me, those last few aching thrusts.
"Good God, Bane." She stretched luxuriously against me, her hips still
seeking more.
She bit her lower lip and her hands landed on my ass. "Mmm. No half
measures for you."
Finally slowing, I rolled next to her. "You sweet, sexy woman."
The fire had burned down to blue coals, much darker than her
mesmerizing irises. I pulled a blanket over us.
"Is it Christmas yet?" She idly kissed my chest, tickling her fingers up
and down my stomach.

"Not yet," I murmured, pulling her closer. "Damn, but I love you, girl."
Her  smooth  legs  caressed  mine,  and  her  breasts  rounded  against  my
chest.
A whole new meaning to tits up.
"Does that mean I can't give you a present?" She kissed my lips, teasing
me with a little tongue-work. "You already gave me the scarificator."
"That was a gag gift, Griffin."
"So,  where's  the  real  thing?"  I  caressed  her  hair  down  her  back  and
handled  her  sumptuous  ass  for  good  measure.  "Besides  me?"  she
purred. "I'm not complaining."
Scampering from  beneath the blanket,  Kiki foraged—  naked I  might
add—beneath the tree. She handed me a thick envelope.
My hands shook when I opened it. Wasn't the first time my hands got
shaky around Kiki.
"Jesus."  I  leafed  through  the  airline  vouchers.  "That's  kind  of  a  lot,
girl."
"So you can keep visiting Allegra." She pressed her palms to my chest,
resting her chin on the back of her hands.

Carefully laying the travel tickets aside, I drew her lips to mine. The
kiss was hot, deep, intense, just like everything else about Kiki.
"What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"Well"—she looked slyly at me, her hand wandering down my abs—"I
really like the piercing."
"None of that now," I gruffly said.
It  took  an  effort  to  pull  her  roving  fingers  away  from  my  rapidly
thickening cock.
"My turn." Easing from her, I stalked to the tree. Naked, I might add.
Kiki  watched,  her  smile  less  flirty  and  more  a  cock-hardening  leer.
"That right there is gift enough."
"It's  a  fucking  surprise  we  ever  make  it  out  of  bed."  I  picked  up  the
present I'd wrapped—terribly I might add.
Popping up to her elbow, she said, "It's a wonder we ever make it to a
bed."
I  waved  my  hand  toward  the  makeshift  rack  on  the  floor.  "Case  in
point?"
"Mmm hmm." She smiled.
I slipped back in beside her, and placed the gift on her tummy. "Merry
Christmas, Kiki."

All pretense of being uninterested in the gift exchange disappeared
when she sat up, and the blanket shivered down to her hips.
She tore open paper like her life depended on it, but when she
unearthed the leather box, she slowed.
"It's too big to be a ring."
"Well, yeah." I swept her hair behind her ear "That a bad
thing?"
"God, no!"
"Okay?" Or not? I wasn't really sure.
She opened the box, her eyes alight. "Oh, Griffin! It's gorgeous."
An exclamation point. That was good, right?
She tucked the hinged, hand-painted, hammered copper wrist cuff on
her arm where it fit perfectly.
"I didn't really figure you for a diamonds kind of girl."
Wrapping her arms around my neck, she fell against me.
"It's perfect," she murmured against my lips.
"How perfect?" I cupped her sexy ass.
"Want me to show you?"
"Yeah."
Understatement.

The next hour included Kiki showing me. And me doing some of the
same, hungrily keeping her at bay from orgasm until she begged in a
throaty moan of a voice.
Might've been snowing like crazy outside, but inside? It was hot. We'd
worked  up  a  sweat,  rolled  across  the  floor,  nearly  knocked  over  the
Christmas  tree,  and  definitely  flattened  the  plane  tickets  beneath  our
bucking, rocking, fucking bodies.
Little  Miss  Self-Sufficient  Silent  Operative  finally  fell  asleep  in  my
arms.
More liked passed out from the Major League fucking I'd given her.
I didn't want to sleep.
Didn't want to lose a second of time with her.
The only thing she wore was the thick bracelet I'd given her, the blanket
tucked under her arms, and my body snuggled half on top of her.
I kissed her brow, lightly, her lips, gently.
The goddamn journey we'd been on since day one of Walker's Beirut
op. Twelve months of intense missions, mis information, life and death
situations.
Twelve months.

And not to be pussy or anything, but a goddamn heart full of love.
One big fucked-up family—Walker and Jade. Tilly and Justice. Storm
and Blaize. Kiki and me. Forces to be reckoned with. When no one else
could get in or get out. When no one else cared.
We weren't knights on white horses.
We were men and women who had loved and lost.
Fought and failed.
Hurt and hated and healed.
We came out alive, together.
Because love prevailed.
I believed that shit now. All because of one woman. Kiki Damage.
She'd done the exact opposite of damaging me. She'd saved me.
Her eyes blinked open—asleep one moment, alert the next. "What are
you thinking so hard about, Still Waters?"
Smoothing her hair with one big hand, I scooped her closer in my arms.
"Was thinking you already gave me the greatest gift."
"Did I?"

Epilogue
JADE August 2016
The only reason the pain remained bearable was because I was birthing
life, not delivering death. For a change.
Walker had been on leave the last month of my pregnancy. He wanted
to  make  sure  I  didn't  go  joyriding  in  the  latest  Bentley  Madge  sent
overseas,  complete  with  the  same  dignitary  whistling  as  he  strolled
away after delivering the keyless fob.
I  wondered  what  she'd  give  the  baby  for  a  welcome  to  the  world
present.
A palace perhaps?
Walker.  The  man  who'd  lost  everything—his  first  wife,  his
daughter—and in return given everything to me.
When we fought nowadays it was for fun. No more knives pulled, guns
pointed, punches thrown.

He was sexy, earthy, rugged, funny—absolutely nothing like the man
I'd hated when we used to go head to head in combat.
He  felt  so  much  he  sometimes  made  me  cry.  Good  cry.  Because  he
never let anyone else see how much life meant to him.
Even though we often dealt in death.
I wasn't crying now I was biting my tongue. Trying desperately not to
scream If Walker'd been in the birthing room, I'd quite possibly have
ripped  his  cock  off  his  body  for  getting  me  in  this  undignified
condition.
Arsehole was probably drinking whisky and smoking cigars downstairs
in the great room of our Wyoming ranch with his father, White Buffalo
AKA Brian, the Lakota chief of their South Dakota tribe.
Lucky for Walker he hadn't argued when I'd said I didn't want to know
the gender of our gestating baby—the bean— in advance. He hadn't put
up a fight when I'd said I wanted to give birth in our bed at home, either.
I  was  English—half,  anyway.  Land  of  the  homebirths  and  midwives
and doulas.
My mum and Sheila, otherwise known as Red Thunder,

were more than capable of bringing this child—so very wanted—into
the world.
Me? I wasn't so sure anymore.
I gritted my teeth, spouting curses that made my mum's eyebrows raise
and Sheila's mouth lift in a grin.
I  still  wore  the  amulet  bracelet—the  emblem  of  her  rite  of
passage—Sheila had given me a year and a half ago when I'd turned
myself over to a Hezbollah despot.
The bracelet's  beads clattered together.  The bed's headboard groaned
when  I  grasped  it.  I  bore  down  like  they  told  me  to,  my  two  mums,
together, the most unlikely pair.
My belly heaved and something loosed and . . .
Tears streamed down my face when I heard the high-pitched squall.
"A boy!" Sheila held my baby aloft.
My son.
Our son.
My mum quickly cleaned me up while Shelia made sure Walker's and
my son was cosseted from the first breath he took.
With him  laid on  my  chest,  I bent  my forehead to his little wrinkled
one. "You have no idea how much you are loved,

little bean."
His naked pink skin shined, and he mewled constantly like a tiny kitten.
His mouth rooted, and I set him to my breast.
With the tiniest of tugs, he latched on. Nature taking over.
I heard Walker pounding up the stairs, taking two at a time as usual.
He burst into the room, all in a lather, like one of the horses after a long
hot ride.
Not the cool man I'd tried to kill on so many missions. Not the sexy stud
I'd fought and fucked so many times. This was the husband. The father.
The protector. The lover.
My heart still thumped hard every time I saw him. Every bloody time
he caught me in a kiss, or pulled me to his lap, or s tood beside me when
we target practiced.
Mahogany skin. The long blue-black braid. Strong shoulders and broad
chest and . . . the Thunderbird tattoo.
"Mahasani," he whispered, his gaze lighting on the baby in my arms
only after he made sure I was okay.

I  held  my  hand  out  to  him.  "It's  a  boy,  Wakiza."  His  jaw  tight,  he
nodded.  I  thought  his  knees  might  buckle,  but  he  walked  forward,
intent only on us.
"A boy?"
"Our  son.  Howahkan."  Tears  slipped  from  my  eyes  as  our  wee  one
suckled at my breast.
"Howahkan. Sacred voice." His hand shaking, tears shining in his dark
brown eyes—making them onyx-bright— he kissed our baby's  head.
"Strong voice." Walker's laugh struggled from his chest. "Sounds about
right from that almighty wail I heard."
I nodded, nudging my lips against Walker's and tasting the saltiness of
our tears.
After everything we'd survived. To be given this precious life.
My mum and Sheila quietly left the room.
"A true warrior." Walker's voice unsteady, he cupped the downy back
of Howahkan's head in his large, dark palm
"Not too soon though," I said.
"No.  Not  too  soon."  Walker  kissed  me,  slipping  his  arm  around  my
shoulders.
He took care of me after that. Watching with a look of

awe as Howahkan nursed from my breast.
He took care of us. Burping our son when he opened his tiny mouth to
emit a squall that seemed too loud a noise for s uch a small bundle.
Walker got out the changing pad, wipes, and diapers. I heard him give a
smug chuckle when he changed Howahkan's nappy.
"Please tell me you are not gloating about his little winky." I grinned.
"His winky?" He laughed. "As long as you don't start calling mine
that."
"I don't think that's possible."
"And what's it you call a pacifier again?"
"A binky."
He sung a Lakota lullaby—the words rising and falling in his strong
voice—while he dressed our baby boy in a soft cotton gown and a little
cap decorated with toy horses.
"Want me to swaddle little Howie?" Walker asked, brimming with love
and pride, kissing the tiny fingers. "Make a baby burrito?"
"Yes. Make a baby burrito." I rolled my eyes but couldn't help but fall
even more in love with Walker as I watched him

with our son.
When he was done with baby burrito duty, he slid back into the bed,
handling  Howahkan  like  he  was  the  most  fragile  thing  borne  to  this
world.
Walker  cupped  his  head  and  nuzzled  the  sweetest  skin  at  his  neck.
"You think he knows who I am, Jade?"
"You've  been  chatting  to  him  for  nine  months  already."  I  yawned,
stroking my fingers across the bean's sweet features while his mouth
popped open and closed.
"He's perfect." Peering over, Walker gazed at me with such intensity
my heart expanded.
I moved my fingers to Walker's lips. "He is."
"Winona was like this."
I watched him struggle to swallow.
"I know." The sudden rush of tears was so fast, so blinding, I lost my
breath.
They came from both of us. For what he'd lost. For what we'd found
together.
Walker  and  I  held  onto  one  another,  our  baby  embraced  s  ecurely
between us.
"I'm sorry," he said, wiping at his eyes. "I shouldn't have—"

"Oh,  Walker.  Of  course  you  should've.  How  could  you  ever  forget
Winona or Kimimela?"
He shrugged, trying to smile. "Didn't want to ruin this for you."
"You haven't. Don't you know I fell in love with you because of how
deeply you feel." Cupping his face, I kissed him—tenderly pressing my
lips to his.
With  a  long  hungry  groan,  his  tongue  sought  mine,  and  he  drew  me
closer.
His eyes darkened with desire, he dragged away with another groan.
"Probably shouldn't start kissing like that right now. How long do we
have to wait?"
"There's my man." I rested my head against his shoulder.
"And, by the way, I thought you fell in love with me because I have the
best coc—"
"Walker!" I slapped a hand over his mouth. "Don't make me laugh. It
hurts."
"How is the size of my cock funny?" he mumbled around my hand.
"It's  not,  trust  me.  However,  can  we  refrain  from  talking  about  it  in
front of Howie?"
"S'pose." He winked. "Come here, beautiful Momma."

He slipped closer, his lips on mine, just a breath, just for tonight,just to
touch.
To hold and honor and treasure.
Forever.
I was on leave. Maybe permanently because life had changed, in all the
best ways.
Killing wasn't in my veins anymore. Love was.
Because of Walker and our baby. "Let's have another dozen." Walker
caressed my back. "As soon as they figure out how to make men
gestate," I murmured, sliding into a soft dozy sleep.
"You have any idea how much I love you, mahasani?"
TILLY December 2016
"Oh my God!" I shrieked.
"Shhh." Justice smirked from between my thighs where he was doing
wicked things with his tongue.
I grabbed his head, his neck, his shoulders, arching halfway off the bed.
The big bold tats—an inked memorial to

his comrades-in-arms—on his broad, muscular back twisted and turned
with every corded sinew as he slid his tongue up my wet slit again.
Should've grabbed a pillow to stuff over my face to silence myself.
Tonight Justice was insatiable.
He'd just  returned from an op with the one-year-old Force-Reckon. I
never knew all the details, but I tried not to worry. Being the wife of a
silent operative took a hell of a lot of character, but Jus always said I'd
been through my proving grounds in Sana'a.
He started suckling on my clit. The man was voracious.
Sexy.
Unstoppable. Strong and fierce.
He  pinned  my  hips  to  the  bed,  driving  me  to  a  third  mind-altering
orgasm.  I  looked  down,  barely  able  to  keep  my  eyes  open
anymore—they were so heavy with desire. His aqua blues peeked up at
me, just as lust-filled. His gorgeous face and incredible body had been
the first reasons I was attracted to him.
But it was his loneliness—his self-enforced solitude—

that closed the deal. A man who could save nations but didn't think he
was worth saving himself. Not until me.
He licked his lips while my body shivered and shuddered. Slipping his
fingers from inside me, he crawled over me, so big and hard he blotted
everything else from my vis ion.
Reaching down, I ran the flat of my hand along his thick cock.
The shaft pulsed in my fist, and Justice grunted in a hoarse voice.
"Tilly girl. Fuck." His torso strained and his neck corded. "Need to be
inside you."
"Again?" I flipped my eyes to his.
Using his fingers to spread me, he brought his mouth to mine. "Don't
flirt  at  me  with  those  big  green  eyes.  You're  gonna  get  good  and
fucked, wife."
I  was  already  gasping  when  he  started  to  enter  me.  The  wonderful
stretching  inside  sending  a  hum  through  my  whole  body.  My  back
bowed, my toes curled, and Justice grabbed hold of my hips, slowing
his entrance until I was nearly shredded by the powerful heft and heat
of him.

A sharp noise crackled in the room.
Justice halted, half inside me.
The sound came again, longer and louder
With a bark of a laugh, Justice laid his forehead against mine before he
looked over at the high tech baby monitor he'd ins talled.
"Baby girl has a set of lungs just like her mama." He hissed, rolling out
of me. "LBB is on point tonight."
I lay, gasping for breath, on the verge, watching his fine backside as he
stood to grab some sweats from the chair.
"We'll pick this up later"
"Hell yeah we will." Jus ambled out with a fake grumble about timing
and baby spidey senses and need a nanny.
Oh how Walker had gloated at the Christmas party last year when he'd
announced he and Jade were having a baby.
Justice had contained himself. Just barely. I'd been pregnant, too, and
gave birth a couple weeks before Jade had Howahkan, affectionately
known as Howie. Or The Howler, Walker sometimes called the son he
couldn't stop bragging about.
"Something in the water," Bane had groused on hearing our news.

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea." Storm seemed to be considering how
fast he could get Blaize knocked up. His words, not mine.
Blaize had let that particular idea slide.
And Kiki? She'd looked at Bane and squeezed his hand.
"Hey, Green Eyes, we're having a girl." Justice had held me in the loop
of his arms several months later, gloating. "What should we call her?"
I'd  just  started  showing,  and  he  couldn't  get  enough  of  touching  my
belly,  waiting  for  the  first  movement.  He  couldn't  get  enough  of  my
breasts, either, but that wasn't exactly new.
I s ighed peacefully when he moved down my body, his lips finding the
small  mound  where  our  baby  grew.  "Well,  we're  not  naming  her
anything like Matilda." I drifted my fingers through his short blond hair
the way he liked.
"Why not? You know I think your old lady name is hot." He kissed the
apex of my belly, grinning up at me.
"Justice."
He roamed up my body. "We can't call her that. It's my name."
The man was certifiable. Certifiably in love with me, he

always said.
In the end we'd decided to name her Beatrice. It was Justice's idea,
sticking with the old lady theme he said. Usually we called her Bee, but
Justice had given our beautiful daughter a new nickname he liked to
use: LBB, otherwise known as Little Ball Buster.
The first time he'd felt her kick, his eyes grew round as saucers before
his eyelids dropped closed and a smile trembled on his lips.
"Will she do it again?" he asked in an awed whisper.
"She'll probably do it all night if you keep me awake."
"That can be arranged."
He'd tried to be a gentle lover while I was pregnant. He'd always ended
up with the same animalistic passion—that wild roughness no man had
ever shown me before. Justice s till liked to fuck every chance we got. I
was not complaining.
He rounded the doorway to our bedroom, sweet-talking to Bee.
She cooed at him, butting her face against his as he whis pered a little
mantra in her ear, "Your mama's right here,
LBB."

She was so tiny in his big brawny arms, my gorgeous baby daddy. He
doted on her, spending his days with her while I was at work and he
was off mission. I'd met him at the park once, watching him for a few
minutes before I'd made my approach. Mr. Mom. Mr. Hot Dad. I bet all
the women's wombs combusted whenever they saw him . . . s ans child.
When he was cuddling and crooning Bee? I bet they nearly fainted en
masse.
I didn't blame them one bit.
My man was all that.
"Here's  Mama.  Got  your  midnight  snack."  Justice  placed  Bee  in  my
arms, watching warmly as she quickly rooted for my nipple.
"Supposed to be my midnight snack," he grumbled, winking at me as he
joined us on the bed.
I  ran  my  fingers  through  his  hair  while  patting  Bee's  bottom  lightly.
She  had  my  red  hair—apricot-colored—and  his  stunning  sapphire
eyes.
We were going to be in so much trouble when she got older.
When I'd mentioned that to Justice several weeks ago, he'd said, "Don't
worry. She's gonna have a few younger

brothers to look after her. Stomp the shit out of any asshole who tries it
on."
"Oh, she is, is she?"
"Yeah. Let's start working on that right now."
I'd laughed when he picked me up in his arms, racing upstairs to take
advantage of Bee's afternoon naptime.
He squished closer, rubbing a huge hand up and down her back. "Gotta
good appetite, just like her mama too."
"Watch it, buddy."
Justice grasped my free hand and brought it his mouth. He kis s ed each
fingertip before drawing his tongue lightly along the heart of my palm.
Lacing our fingers together, he held them against our daughter's softly
blanketed body.
Linked forever.
"Never thought I'd have my own family, Tilly girl."
I squeezed his fingers. "I never thought I'd love anyone so much,
Justice. You and Beatrice."
His kiss whispered against my cheek. "We done good."
I shifted Bee to my other breast, prodding a nipple into her mouth she
sleepily accepted. My other breast shined from where she'd latched on,
the peak damp and red.
Justice swallowed roughly. Releasing my hand from his,

he rolled onto his back.
"She asleep yet?" His voice was husky. "Justice."
"Hey, I was kidding."
"No you weren't." Bee sleep-sucked a few more times before her little
rosebud mouth slipped off.
"You got me." He chuckled, his shoulders tight, his forearms ratcheted
over his face.
"Jus?"
"Mmm?"
"I'm all yours after you take our little sweetheart back to her crib."
"Hot damn!" He stealthily scooped Bee from my arms.
I leaned a little to the side to watch his backside when he exited the
room. He didn't return as fast as I thought he would. Turning to watch
the video monitor, I saw him in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair,
singing some kind of lullaby to Bee as he patted her back.
"Your mama's waiting for me, LBB, so just one more song." He
nuzzled his nose into her bright curls. "Okay. Maybe two."

BLAIZE April 2017
My parents were just plain shocked. My father probably thought I'd be
a career lifer, which I was. It just so happened my husband was, too.
Almost husband.
Mamere—on hearing Storm's and my announcement— had hooted so
loud  on  that  cell  phone  thing  I  thought  s  he'd  deafened  me.  The
woman's  joie  de  vivre  was  contagious,  though,  and  the  shouts  and
congratulations went on for a long time.
Bane stood up next to Storm at the altar despite grumbling one of his
more creative curses when he learned we were engaged.
The wedding virus.
As I glanced back down the aisle I'd traveled—the long trail of my ecru
satin gown swishing side to side—I had to blink away tears. It wasn't
like me to get overly emotional. Storm seemed to be the only man to
touch  that  soft  guarded  part  of  my  heart.  The  only  man  capable  of
unlocking my hurt s oul and healing the old wounds.

Our  mis  s  ion  in  New  Orleans  over  a  year  ago  turned  out  to  be  a
life-changer in so many ways. I'd appointed myself Storm's partner on
that Blood Legion MC op. I'd wanted to see what kind of man he really
was—the  darkly  handsome,  gorgeous  panty-melter  who  always  got
tongue-tied around me, or the macho alpha male badass I knew him to
be when he was working.
It turned out he was a little of both.
He'd had no idea the attraction between us had never been one-sided.
I'd had him on my radar in a thoroughly nonprofessional capacity since
the first time I met him.
Maybe I'd tell him . . . later, tonight. Although I s ometimes liked to
keep the balance of power in my favor, that never seemed to last long
with Storm. Especially not in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. In his truck
. . .
At least in the war room he knew who was in charge. Mostly.
Among the sea of faces filling the tightly packed little parish church in
the  Louisiana  countryside,  Angel  smiled  broadly,  dipping  his  blond
head in my direction. My parents s at up front with him and Mamere.
Mamere was already crying—she'd probably need to

touch up her Mary Kay before the reception.
James  Lawless,  my  mentor,  was  also  present  along  with  Tilly  and
Justice and Beatrice.
Babies.
I couldn't believe it.
Storm  had  already  decided  we'd  have  at  least  two—  knocking  the
original number down from five when we'd negotiated the matter.
I'd informed him  he was lucky to get a ring on  my finger and not to
push his luck. There was one more secret I might let him in on tonight.
A very special wedding present.
Kiki  sat  out  there,  sharing  a  pew  with  her  former  enemy
—Walker—and  Jade  who  passed  Howie  to  the  proud  papa  to  be
entertained so she could concentrate on the nuptials.
I knew I'd been right about Kiki Damage all along. Too bad we'd had to
dismantle Operation T-Zone in its entirety in order to prove it.
No  one  held  my  attention  for  long,  though,  not  with  Storm  standing
beside me. Heat radiated from him, warming me inside and out in that
powerful  way  of  his.  I  could  hardly  focus  on  the  priest,  Storm's
presence made anything other than possibly drooling at the sight of him
impossible.

I probably wouldn't tell him that, though.
I smiled, lifting my eyes to his, once again melting inside.
Sinful.  That  was  what  the  man  was.  Filling  out  his  suit,  the  black
stubble shading his crisp jaw, the long sweep of raven black hair. The
smoldering  blue  eyes  continually  s  weeping  over  my  long,  clinging
gown.
As soon as I'd arrived at the altar, he'd growled out in a voice audible
only to me, "Goddamn, cher. I can't wait to get my hands all over you."
He'd dipped even closer, his lips at my ear, his next hot words making
my pulse erratic.
Now he stood strong and tall, his voice deep and clear sending shivers
down my spine. "I, Nash LaFontaine, promise to protect you, cherish
you. I give you my body and my heart, cher."
He brushed his fingertips over my face while my breath trembled and a
tear streaked down my cheek.
"These are the vows I make to you, my life and love I give to you, from
this day forward."
For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  my  words  came  with  difficulty  only
because  my  throat  was  so  tight  with  emotion,  my  heart  so  filled  to
bursting.

"Your  turn,"  Storm  whispered  with  a  wink,  but  his  eyes  were  damp,
too.
My  vows  were  more  quietly  spoken,  a  simple  affirmation  of  my
devotion to the man I loved more than I could ever express. As I spoke,
Storm  gasped  in  a  breath.  His  throat  bobbed  as  tears  spiked  his
eyelashes without falling.
Our  eyes  locked,  our  hands  laced  together—the  intensity  of  feeling
growing between us. I watched his chest inflate and his lips part and his
eyes dilate. The priest said a few last words before the most important
of all:
"I  pronounce  you  husband  and  wife!"  With  a  final  benediction,  he
smiled at us. "You may now kiss the bride."
As if to hurry would ruin the importance of the moment, Storm angled
my  face  in  his  big  hands,  caressing  my  cheeks.  I  stepped  closer,  my
breasts brushing against his chest. Our lips hovered just a whisper apart
before  meeting.  The  soft  mesh  and  slow  movements  even  more
thrilling than a wild clash of tongue and lips. A languorous and hot and
binding kiss. Lust and love pouring through my veins, pooling between
my thighs.
Pulling back to kiss his way my ear, Storm said on a ragged groan, "A
lot more of that later."

Another shiver spread along my limbs.
Turning me, Storm presented me to our guests.
My husband lifted his head to the rafters and shouted, "Laisser les bon
temps roulez!"
"You gotta SITREP for me?" Storm asked me after we waltzed outside,
carried along by the cheering crowd.
He looked down at me, his smile so big and bright. Picking me up in
one swift move, he spun me in a circle without giving me a chance to
answer or do anything other than laugh with him.
Tents  were  set  up  on  the  church  grounds  underneath  giant  old  trees.
The  band—made  up  of  folks  with  squeezeboxes,  fiddles,
banjos—occupied  a  small  stage.  Alcohol  in  abundance  was  already
being passed around, and more food than I'd ever seen in one place at
one time appeared on long tables.
"Perhaps I could have a moment alone with you?" I asked when Storm
finally set me on my feet.
"Aw shit. You're not gonna start talkin' shop with me, are you?"
I bit my bottom lip, flicking my eyes to his. "Not unless you've been to
some very . . . dirty . . . shops."

"Hell yeah." He linked my arm through his elbow like a gentleman, but
hustled  me along  so fast I nearly skipped to keep up with his longer
stride. "Come with me."
Pulling me around the back of the chapel, he tested the door, using a
little extra force when it didn't budge. AKA breaking and entering.
Quickly locating a room off the dim hallway, he coerced that door, too,
before locking us inside.
We were all over each other in an instant. I gasped, jerking at his jacket,
fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.
"Christ, Blaize. You're hot for it, huh?" His tongue slowly roved up the
side of my neck as his hands swept down the open back of my dress.
Grabbing  my  ass,  he  hauled  me  up  against  me.  Another  moan
whimpered from my throat when I felt the long hard ridge of his cock
driving against me.
"Where are we?" I breathlessly asked.
"Dunno." Searching for my legs beneath the skirts, he slid his tongue
deep into my mouth. "Someone's office."
"Isn't  this  sacrilegious?"  I  grinded  against  him,  finally  working  my
hands into his opened shirt.
The springy chest hair teased my fingertips, and I leaned

into him, my mouth and teeth finding the flat disc of his nipples.
"Cajuns are pretty earthy about sex" "Even in a church?"
"Hey,  you  won't  let  me  screw  you  in  your  office  so  .  .  ."  He  bit  my
earlobe with a sharp twinge.
My fingers dipped to the front of his pants, tracing the straining bulge I
so  desperately  wanted  inside  me.  "I  let  you  fuck  me  in  my  office  at
home."
"Hush it. I got something better for you to do with your mouth." His
deep searing kiss pushed any further reservations from my mind.
"Going to let me suck your cock?" I asked when his eyes flas hed at me.
All his movements stopped for one powerful second before he groaned
and began to pull my gown up my legs, his rough palms slipping over
stockings to find bare skin at the top.
"If you rip this dress—"
"Not  gonna  rip  your  dress,  cher,  just  your  panties."  Storm's  mouth
traveled  down  the  deep  V  of  my  cleavage.  "Who  says  I'm  wearing
any?"

He s topped again, rugged breaths chugging in and out of his muscled
chest. "Oh, you naughty, naughty minx."
"Wedding present for you?" I moued innocently.
"This dress . . . mmm, cher. Do you know how difficult it was saying
my  weddin'  vows  with  a  hard-on?"  He  lifted  me  atop  the  desk.
"Wouldn't have been able to say a damn word if I'd known about that
little surprise."
He raised the skirts up to my waist, carefully arranging the lengths of
satin material behind me. His eyes widened before narrowing, and he
wedged my legs open. The tops of my stockings stopped at my thighs,
held up by a rich cream lace garter belt framing my slit. The high heels
on my feet were sexy, incredibly expensive.
Storm's fingers swept over my bare pussy. "Fuck. Me."
He licked his lips, staring down at me, his fingertips tracing the small
triangle of copper hair on my mound.
"Damn. I love your little cunt, cher'"
The  deep  tone  of  his  voice—hoarse  and  husky—made  me  arch  my
back, spread myself even more for him
He ripped open his pants,  the belt hanging free. Shoving them to his
thighs, his cock rose up, thick and erect . . . wet at the flared tip, and
ready.

I leaned back on my hands, lifting my heels to the edge of the desk.
"Mon Dieu."
His deep plunge inside snaked the most intense arousal up and down
my  body.  I'd  gotten  used  to  his  size,  but  when  he  came  at  me  like
this—rough,  raw,  relentless—a  screaming  orgasm  overtook  me
immediately.
He lifted one of my legs higher, drawing my tongue into his mouth as
he pulled out and slammed back in.
My body clutched at him, and I heard him curse.
The  pounding  thrust  of  his  hips  kept  dancing  me  backward,  but  he
opened  me  wider,  held  me  tighter,  and  pulled  my  aching  wet  pussy
onto his heavy lunging cock.
"Christ. You're wetter than ever," he snarled, his face a deep mask of
desire.
Looking down between us, I watched his thickness emerge, shiny and
slick, before he rammed back inside me.
The  flashing  heat  of  the  next  orgasm  rushed  through  me  like  a  fire.
Storm  pumped  again,  again,  again  .  .  .  pushing  me  higher,  grinding
deeper.  His  voice  broke  when  he  called  out  my  name,  the  last  fast
thrusts  ending  when  the  liquid  heat  of  his  come  sprayed  inside  my
sharply convulsing pussy.

Storm groaned against my neck, still hard inside me. Lifting his head,
he planted little kisses all over my face, and I followed his lips with my
mouth until I could bring him into a lus h kis s .
He pulled back, glaring at his undiminished cock. I laughed lightly,
almost dizzy from the fierce fucking. "Not funny," he grumbled.
"I know, baby. Just a few hours then we have all night together. And
two uninterrupted weeks."
"And you won't touch a phone while we're on our honeymoon." He
found a box of tissues and cleaned himself
off.
"Cross my heart." I lowered my feet to the floor. He glanced at me, his
scarred eyebrow aiming high. "Where do you think you're going?" "To
the reception?"
"Not so fast." He tucked his cock into his pants with another muffled
swear then kneeled between my quivering legs. "Gotta clean you up."
Before I could say anything, his mouth was on me.
He'd barely finished giving me another almighty orgasm and fixing the
rest of our clothes when someone tried the

doorknob.
Wearing a sheepish grin, he unlocked the door, grabbed my hand, and
swept us into the hall.
The priest stood there with a knowing smile.
The reception was in full swing by the time we rounded the side of the
church. I'm sure everyone missed us, but no one said a word, except for
my team, of course.
Lots of cough-cough-suggestive-remarks fell from Walker, Justice,
and Bane's mouths, until I turned my Medusa glare on them. And
reminded them I signed their paychecks.
Storm led the way around the buffet, collecting food and drinks, hugs
and kisses.
The loud music couldn't drown out the rich, guttural Cajun accents, and
the lingo I'd grown used to with Storm: boug, and cous, and pahdnah.
We took part in the money dance, a tradition where folks paid for their
dances by pinning bills to us.
"Quite a haul." Storm laughed, collecting the money. "Should pay for
part of the bar tab."
"Storm!"
"I'm kiddin'. Donating it to charity."

"Not Pornhub, I hope, like you said last time." He chuckled. "That, too,
was  a  joke,  m  'cher'"  The  festive  atmosphere  of  the  party  was
infectious. The celebration reminded me of Storm's and my first date
and our favorite destination whenever we visited New Orleans— Jack's
Place.
I danced with my father, and James, Mamere, and Angel. Walker even
took me for a spin.
But most of the time I stayed in Storm's arms, as captivated by him as
ever. He kept toying with my hair— coiled and curled and arranged on
top  of  my  head—or  touching  the  wedding  ring  nestled  next  to  the
engagement band. He kept offering me  more drinks or food or cake.
And a knowing, wondering, expression grew on his face when I kept
turning down the free-flowing champagne.
He looked at me with the same excitement bubbling ins ide me.
Storm set me free just once after that in order to make Angel dance with
a mop.
Angel  shook  his  blond  head  of  curls—in  looks  he  was  the  very
antithesis  of  his  older  brother,  but  both  men  possessed  the  same  big
heart.

"Bullshit.  I  only  have  to  do  that  if  I'm  older  and  a  bachelor,"  Angel
protested.
Storm pushed him into the center of the dancing platform. "Do I look
like I care? C'mon, it's tradition. You're my family."
"Sure, sure. Play the family card."
In  the  end,  Storm  got  his  way.  I'd  found  out  he  almost  always  did.
Especially with me. Playing hard-to-get had been futile with him. Like
I'd always said, he was a force of nature all on his own . . . Storm.
He held me in his arms again, moving with his smooth, natural rhythm,
after laughing his ass off at Angel's expense.
"I love you," I lifted up on my tiptoes to whisper in his
ear.
I couldn t wait to tell him the good news. Later. Tonight. When we were
alone.
"Mmm." He hummed, a proud smile on his lips. His eyes s wept over
my face, and the dark blue turned soft, warm, the look that was for me
and  me  alone.  "And  you  have  my  entire  heart,  Mrs.
Carmichael-LaFontaine."
"That's a mouthful." I curved my face beneath his chin, breathing in the
scent of him—man and cologne and always

a little leather and smoke.
"Know what  else is a  mouthful?" His hips circled  more suggestively
against me.
"I  reckon  I  can  guess."  I  shook  my  head,  smiling,  rubbing  my  body
closer to his.
More boisterous  music started up, the  musicians leaving the stage to
step onto the dance floor.
"Time for the Second Line!" Storm shouted.
He  s  wirled  me  into  the  melee—a  loose  line  forming  with  people
dancing and singing. Like a conga but even more rowdy, folks waving
napkins, handkerchiefs, anything that came to hand as we wound our
way  off  the  floor  and  trailed  around  the  tents  and  among  the
churchyard,  singing  and  whistling  and  clapping  to  the  music  that
announced our nuptials.
Laughing,  Storm  twirled  me  away  to  privacy  under  the  trees  just  as
stars  started  sparkling  in  the  sky  above.  And  our  dance  ended  in  the
kind of kiss I knew we'd share for a lifetime.
"Got somethin' to tell me, cher?"
I whispered the most important words of all into his ear.

KIKI June 2017
Bane's  and  my  month-long  op  in  Azerbaijan  ended  with  a  victory,
although a tight one achieved only after several hair-raising close calls.
Low margins. High risk.
We  may  have  been  able  to  make  most  of  our  own  rules  under  new
management  AKA  Blaize  Carmichael  in  the  co-op  of  Force-Reckon,
but the life and death missions never got easier.
Neither Bane nor I had been wounded, so that was a bonus. That didn't
mean to say we weren't dead on our feet, though.
We'd barely had time to touchdown at JBAB in DC, shove some scran
down our throats, enjoy a nice slow fuck, and rack out for a few hours
before we had to head to Dulles to meet Allegra off the plane.
Bane spotted the tween with the dark brown braid first. "Holy fuck. Did
she grow another six inches in the past two months?"
"Girls hit puberty first." I waved at his twelve-year-old

daughter,  and  she  sprinted  toward  us  on  those  long  legs  she  must've
inherited from him.
"Great." He scrubbed a hand down his face. "I do not want to know."
I  smiled.  Big  gruff  Griffin  Bane  didn't  fool  me  one  bit.  Never  had.
Never would. He loved his daughter with the ferocity of a lion, with the
force of a wide-open heart, with all the protectiveness of a man who
could and would cause damage to any man who treated his baby girl
wrong.
He broke into a grin when she hurled herself into his arms.
It  never  failed  to  twist  my  heart,  seeing  the  two  of  them  together.  I
knew  he  was  swallowing  roughly,  holding  in  all  the  feels,  and  he
always let her go before he was ready because he didn't want to crowd
her.
"You join track yet?" He pinched her braid, and she beamed up at him,
showcasing the braces she'd gotten four months ago.
"Totally. I rank at hurdles."
"Knew you would." Patting her on the shoulder, he kissed her on the
cheek—still so unsure whether she welcomed his hard-won affection
or not. "Go running in the

morning with me?"
"Race you to the finish, Dad."
Bane's eyes—one hazel, and one blue—dampened just enough I could
tell. Dad.
And my heart clenched again.
Even more so when Allegra bowled straight into my arms, and he was
right—she'd be as tall as me soon.
"Hey, sweetie. We missed you."
"Holy crap! I love the new hair color, Kiki."
"Uh. Language." Bane attempted to play bad cop.
Like he didn't drop the f-bomb every other word when s he was n't
around.
She touched my hair—newly tinted with light blue streaks. The color
made my eyes stand out even more, Bane s aid.
"You look totes millennial!" she exclaimed.
I exchanged a look with Bane over her head while we still could . . .
millennial?
"We 're getting old." I mouthed at him.
"Kiki Damage, such a boss name." Allegra hugged on me again before
popping back. "Can we go shopping while I'm

here?"
"Shoes?"
"Yass!"
We  walked  out  of  the  terminal  with  Allegra  between  us.  A
family—something that was totally normal for most people —but was
so unexpected and amazing to Bane and me.
"What about tats? Can I get one yet?" She asked, her large eyes that
were  the  same  two-tones  as  Bane's  directed  at  him.  "Kiki's  are  so
badas—"
"Language! And ink for you? Never." Bad cop.
I bit my lip to prevent a laugh from gurgling out.
I couldn't wait to see his reaction if she ever asked about getting pierced
considering the steel on his body.
Bane scowled at me before winking—the man probably knew exactly
what I was thinking.
Allegra barely  missed a step or  ever  stopped for a breath. She broke
ahead into the next topic without missing a beat. "Okay, Candy Crush.
What level?"
"Fifty-three," I boasted.
"The  bomb!"  She  skipped  in  front  of  us  then  turned  around.  "What
about you, Dad?"
Towing all her luggage on his back like the bags weighed

no more than fluffy pillows, Bane shrugged. "I tried that Candy Crush
Saga thing."
I'd coached him in the art of teenage girl.
Not so old yet.
"And?" Allegra prompted.
"Stuck on level twelve."
"Ermahgadmetoo." Sometimes she said an entire s entence like it was
one word.
Sometimes we needed a UN translator to understand her.
By the time we made it back to our house in Adams Morgan, I felt like
I'd shot back five double espressos in a row—on a buzz from Allegra's
effervescent energy. Bane probably felt like he'd been highballing coke
like that night back in Mexico City with dead and gone Carlos.
He showed no signs of breaking, though.
That was my man.
He humped Allegra's bags up to the bedroom we'd decorated for
her—way, way, way on the other end of the hallway from our room.
The stud didn't even show any signs of jetlag from our international
flight not twenty-four hours earlier.
I could not love him more.

Now, Allegra? Bless her, but I sometimes wondered if she needed
downers. Needless to say, we kept absolutely no Coca Cola or any
other caffeinated drinks stashed in the house when she came visiting.
And the sugar stuff? Also completely off limits.
Bane might have a soft touch for his daughter, but he was a born and
bred hardass.
Pulling a stool up to the bartop in the kitchen while I s tarted making
dinner, Allegra twirled the end of her braid between her fingers. "So,
no flights this weekend?"
Yeeaaah, that.
We might have adjusted the truth just a little bit for her. Saying I was a
flight attendant. Shudder.
Hence all the traveling I did.
And Bane? Big daddy Griffin Bane the badass? We'd given him a new
cover Insurance salesman.
I'd laughed until I had tears in my eyes when I'd suggested it.
He'd vetoed it at first.
He had a point. What person in their right mind would

buy a policy from the huge, muscled, tattooed dude? But I won. As us
ual.
Stomping  downstairs,  Bane  walked  into  our  big  open-plan  kitchen.
Drawing  me  into  his  arms,  he  kissed  me  soundly—and  not  at  all
PG-13—on the mouth.
Allegra was heard giggling.
He peered over at her. "What are you up to, Ally?"
"Cutting veg?"
"You gave her a blade?"
"It's not a KA-BAR." I pressed against his chest. "Chill." He s norted.
"What's a k-bar?" Ally asked.
"A  really  serious  chef's  knife?"  He  answered  her  question  with  a
question. That shit was catching. A lot like babies and marriage.
We ate a family meal at the large table just waiting to be filled by more.
The threat of emotion again caught tight in my throat, nearly spilling
over to my eyes. Bane noticed. He squeezed my hand and kissed my
cheek.
We s et Ally free afterward while we cleaned up.

"You sure she's not gonna wreck the place?" He stacked the dishes I
rinsed before we filled the dishwasher.
"Doing what?" I turned into his arms, holding him against me with
soapy hands. "We were way more dangerous at her age."
"Don't distract me," he murmured when I worked one slick hand down
the back of his jeans and grabbed a smooth muscular crescent.
Fuck. His ass. Squats are a very good thing for glutes.
"Who's distracting? It's your fault when you look this good and feel so
right." Tipping my head up, I hungered for his mouth.
He didn't disappoint, his arms clasped around me, his lips searing mine.
His tongue stroked and teased and easily found entrance.
"Can't wait to fuck you," he gritted out.
"Language, mister."
"I'll give you language. Just wait until later" Gripping my hair in one
fist, he slid his lips to my neck, the shivery sensation making me weak
in the knees.
After one last lashing kiss, we went back to the dishes— completely
fucking domestic and loving it—about two

s econds before Ally popped into the room. "Got any Coke?" she asked.
"No." Both of us. Just like parents.
Popcorn on the other hand? Yass!
We watched a movie on the big screen TV and played Pictionary at the
same time.
Allegra finally dropped off three hours later. Bane had once asked me if
it'd be kosher to dose her on Benadryl to make her conk out faster. My
answer to that had been a firm no.
Instead  of  risking  waking  her  to  go  to  bed—because  Bane  was  sure
she'd never fall asleep again—he kissed her as softly as possible on the
cheek and covered her with a light blanket.
I  made  my way upstairs while he performed  the final security check
and  turned  off  most  of  the  lights.  In  our  bedroom,  I  made  sure  our
weapons  were  all  locked  tight  in  the  concealed  compartment  in  the
closet.
Facing the mirror, I started brushing my hair. I caught Bane's reflection
as  he  entered,  his  powerful  presence  immediately  filling  the  room,
swelling my heart.

He'd had such a hard life. But he was such a soft touch ins ide.
Walking to me, he took the brush from my hand. Locking eyes on mine
in the mirror—the two distinct colors all the more gorgeous because of
the difference—he gently tugged the bristles through my hair.
Kissing my shoulder, he lay the brush down.
His shirt came off first.
He was so much taller than me his huge shoulders and his broad chest
curled above and around me. The tats on his shoulder were visible, but
those  on  the  back  of  his  neck  up  to  his  skull  remained  hidden  from
view.  Marks  of  a  life  fought  for  just  like  all  the  scars  he  carried
on—and inside— his body.
"I thought she'd never go to bed," he murmured, his lips set against the
sensitive skin of my ear. "No shit."
"Language, Baby Spy." Smirk.
He  stood  behind  me,  taking  off  my  earrings.  He  unclas  ped  the
necklace, and unhinged the copper cuff on my wris t.
Tugging my hand, he turned me around. He frowned,

looking down at our linked fingers.
"What is it?" I asked.
"You ready to pull the trigger yet, Kiki?" Chewing the corner of his lip,
he rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. "With me?"
I s tared at him, not quite following. "Pull the trigger?"
Taking a pace back, Bane drilled his gaze to mine. "Fuck. Sorry. Trying
not to choke. Can't seem to get the words out."
"Choke or choke up?" I dropped my arms to my sides, immediately
reading his seriousness.
"Choke up." His voice deepened, and he inhaled a choppy breath.
"Bane?"
"Shit. This isn't going as planned."
"Just tell me." My heart started banging in my chest.
My pulse quickened.
With a flush staining his cheeks, Bane—Gorgeous Griffin
Bane—dropped to one knee in front of me.
I pushed my hand to my mouth. "No way."
Tears swam in my vision, almost blinding me as my lips trembled.

"You're not supposed to cry yet, girl. Jesus." He looked up at me, his
face stark with the most intense emotion. "Unless that's a good cry?"
"I don't know yet," I whispered.
"I hope so." His voice came out shaky.
His hands shook, too, when he presented the small jewelry box to me.
Then he opened it, and I almost fell on my ass, no goddamn lie.
The  ring  shone,  a  platinum  band  encircling  a  flat-faceted  black
diamond.
"Is that legit?" My voice barely worked, and my heart fluttered wildly
in my chest.
"Well, I didn't steal it." Bane's lips quirked at the corners.
"I  thought  you  said  I  wasn't  a  diamonds  kind  of  girl."  More  tears
slipped down my cheeks.
"Will  you  marry  me,  Katherine?"  He'd  never  looked  more  s  cared,
more hopeful . . . more in love.
I kneeled in front of him, my arms winding around his neck, my lips
melded to his.
He peeled back. "You didn't give me an answer."
"Such a stickler for rules."

"Not so much, but I still really wanna fuck the living daylights out of
you. So, yes or no? But it better be a yes."
I held out my ring finger, trying to keep it steady when he s lipped the
stunning ring onto it.
"We're getting married?"
"Yeah, Kiki. We're getting married."
The biggest smile flew across Bane's lips, and we tumbled together. His
hands moved all over me, quickly ripping my clothes off while our lips
clung. His strong body —naked and heavily muscled—hovered over
me.
He blinked hard. "We're getting married," he hushed out reverently
before sliding into me.
"Bane!" I keened when he entered me. "I love you. Love you so much!"
The ripple shivering through his body echoed in his dark voice, the low
words, the long slow thrusts. "You have me. You've always had all of
me, Kiki."

Books By Rie Warren
Bad Boys of X-Ops Four novels, spring/summer 2016
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Sugar Daddy,

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In His Command,

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On Her Watch,

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Under His Guard,

Book Three

In His Sights,

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Chapter One
"YO,  HUNTER."  COLE  SLID  me  a  fresh  cold  beer  across  the
steel-topped bar in the Retribution clubhouse.
I savored the first swig, watching the man who was the biker on MC
probationary  status.  In  fact,  most  of  the  guys  here  called  him  Probie
instead of his given name. I knew he wasn't wet behind the ears or too
stupid to have a clue. Unfortunately for him, everyone had to start out
on the ground floor when pledging an MC, and he'd gotten the shit end
of the stick. But he'd proved himself during our search for Detective
Ashe Kingston. Brodie Steele, the VP of this club, was going to make
things right with Cole the Probie tonight.
Just then, the old lady of the hour and her wildman entered Retribution.
Whistles erupted only eclipsed by loud s houts and fists pounding on
the tables.
Ashe  accepted  her  welcome  with  the  usual  smile  and  s  as  s  ,  Brodie
beaming by her side. The pair was well matched. Both blond: he the tall
rangy biker dude, she the

curvy  babe  on  his  arm.  Ashe  wasn't  new  to  the  MC  'hood—  s  he'd
ridden  a  cop  chopper  in  her  time  on  duty  as  a  Mt.  Pleasant,  South
Carolina, Police Department officer before ranking as Vice detective.
But word had it there'd been so much bad blood between Brodie and
her in years past he'd just as likely have flipped her off as flipped out
over her The times, they were a'changin'.
As  he  had  been  through  the  wringer.  Solving  her  first  case  after  her
promotion to Vice, she'd been kidnapped while making the arrest. That
night in September I'd come clean with Brodie about my undercover
status. I worked off the record, in the dark, and usually solo. Lucky for
him I'd been brought in on the sly, and we'd doled out a little vigilante
jus tice.
In my eyes, the detective was Comeback Ashe. Now it was November.
She'd  recovered  from  the  trauma  and  sat  through  endless  hours  of
counseling. She'd just completed her firs t full week back on the force.
She was back in the saddle, and for a change, Brodie didn't look like he
wanted to go full bodily harm on anyone who crossed his path.
I couldn't imagine the hell he'd gone through, which was why I tended
to keep my relationship status firmly in the

one-night-only  column  and  women  at  arm's  length  unless  they  were
deemed  content  to  let  me  fuck  them  then  leave  them.  My  work  was
dangerous  enough.  I  didn't  need  to  drag  a  honey  into  it—or  into  my
heart.
Glancing  across  the  room  as  the  celebratory  furor  died  down,  I
performed my usual calm cool appraisal of the action. Who might be a
threat, who was working an angle, who was to be trusted. Along with
Cole and Brodie, Boomer Steele—Brodie's older bro—was in the solid
corner.  He  was  the  founder  and  president  of  this  club.  The  Steele
family was tight and included Catarina, the youngest sibling of the trio
who owned and operated the auto parts dynasty next door  —Chrome
and Steele.
Where  Brodie  was  blond  and  leanly  muscled,  usually  with  a  wicked
gleam in his icy pale blue eyes, Boomer was a brick shithouse on legs,
broad enough to take up an entire doorway, and his eyes either danced
in laughter or held a dark sadness. I'd looked into the background of
each  Retribution  member.  Unfortunately,  due  to  the  Steele  family
tragedy, theirs was the most captivating.
The most sad.
I took another drink and turned to face the back of the

barroom.  The  pool  tables  drew  a  crowd.  So  did  the  dartboards.  The
wood  was  polished.  The  tables  shined.  The  floors  didn't  stick  to  the
soles  of  my  boots.  In  fact,  despite  the  usual  loud  rock  tunes,  many
drinks imbibed, and the ladies in waiting to get laid, this was one of the
cleanest clubs I'd ever investigated. All thanks to Cole aka Probie.
Brodie  waded  through  the  crowded  room  toward  me  as  his  woman
made a show of banking balls at insane angles before pocketing them at
one of the pool tables. He looked like he was ready to sink a couple
balls of his own into Ashe.
Cole fetched a beer for Brodie, setting it at the ready before he even
took the stool beside me.
I clinked his bottle. "Chief's happy with Ashe's progress."
"Yeah. I know. Sipowicz and I are like this."  He knitted two fingers
together.
I chuckled. Sipowicz was Brodie's very appropriate nickname for Chief
Tilden,  head  of  the  Mt.  Pleasant  Police  Department.  His  face  was
haggard and lined and he was most notable for wearing wrinkled suits
over a larger-than-life belly, but there was more intelligence going on
behind

that workaday exterior than anyone could ever fathom. Tight ship? He
ran it out of the side of his mouth without ever letting a smile show.
Good man.
"You still on MPPD's payroll?" Brodie asked.
I  considered  the  question.  No  one  besides  Ashe  and  her  partner
Davies—both of whom I'd worked with on the Retribution case—Cole,
Boomer, and Brodie knew the real solid deal about me. And even then .
.  .  they  don  t  have  a  fucking  clue  who  I  really  am.  Brodie  had  once
mentioned I was a ghost. He wasn't wrong.
"Now, now. I wouldn't be undercover if I told you, would
I?"
"Whatever" He sniggered. "I'll get it out of Probie later"
"His name's Cole. You know it. I know it. He's a good one to have on
the lookout. Might try to recruit him."
"As long as you give him enough time to swab the decks around here,"
Brodie replied.
I was staying put in Mt. Pleasant for reasons no one needed to know.
Another  case?  Maybe.  Let  them  guess.  My  personal  life  was  well
hidden, off the record, and very fucking lost at the bottom of the sea
along with my real identity.

A parade of women from the sister charter sashayed inside. The First
Ladies  of  Redemption  went  hand-in-hand  with  the  Presidents  of
Retribution. I'd had my eyeful of the honeys before, but tonight there
was a new babe in the mix
A minx, in fact. I stared at the woman, stunned stupid. Beautiful didn't
cover what she had going on. Her soft-looking brown curls bounced as
she strutted inside on ankle-high suede boots. I couldn't see the color of
her eyes, but damned if I didn't drink in the  pink fullness of her lips
canted in a smile and her tight body revealed in a pair of hipster jeans to
go with the slashed top. That top dripped off her shoulders and down
her back, revealing creamy skin marked with a line of butterfly tats all
the way down her spine by the looks of it.
That had to have hurt like a bitch.
Jesus,  she  looked  untouched,  totally  fresh,  and  more  than  a  little
naughty all at the same time.
I cleared my throat, nailing the woman with my eyes.
"Who's that?"
Brodie swiveled around and lazily scratched at his  goatee. "Oh, her?
With the First Ladies. She's pretty new." I leveled my gaze on the girl
again. She faced full frontal,

and damn me if her face wasn't as sexy as the rearview. Worse?  She
had a smattering of freckles  across her slim nose and along her high
cheekbones. My own personal weakness.
"Fuck that. She's pretty. Straight up."
"New cherry," Brodie said. "Fresh off the tree. She goes by JB, but we
gave her our own nickname."
"JB?" I asked.
"Jailbait, dude."
I dropped my forehead onto the bar with a groan. Of fucking course.
"Fitting.  Don't  you  think?  Detective  Sexton—if  that's  even  your  real
name?"
"It's Lieutenant Sexton, asswipe." I gave him the bird, my forehead still
planted against the bar.
His laughter echoed as he walked away.
"Got company comin' your way, Hunter," Cole murmured.
I glanced around.
Oh hell. JB was headed straight for the bar on mile-long legs. I dropped
my chin to my chest, peering at her through the shafts of my black hair.
She passed by, leaving the scent of her addictive floral perfume in her
wake.

I didn't do the obvious thing—like adjusting my suddenly hard cock in
my jeans, or making a pass at her. Obvious was not part of my MO. I
was the Ghost, literally. That was my callsign and my roadname. I kept
my head down, worked the grind, did my job and got the hell out of
Dodge before the dust settled.
I used the same set of rules with women. Chicks did not get to me, not
anymore. I was thirty-one goddamn years old —and a hell of a lot older
if you counted my kills—yet I'd never reacted to a woman like this
before. Immediately. Intensely. And probably destructively.
There was a reason I stayed off the relationship grid. Tangle with me,
end up dead or worse. I might officially be the "good guy" on paper, but
bad shit had a way of following in my footsteps.
Despite my better judgment, I listened to JB place her order and
watched her beneath the shadow of my eyelashes. She had a body to die
for and a velvety voice that drove a s pike of need through me. I hung
on her every word, wishing I were playing bartender for the night. Then
she met my penetrating stare and lifted her drink in my direction.
I'd been made.

Well, fuck it. I'd never been one to turn tail and run. Beer in hand, I
prowled to her. "Hunter Sexton." "JB, as I'm sure you've heard."
Her  palm  swallowed  in  mine,  I  leaned  closer  for  another  hit  of  her
perfume. "JB?"
"My  initials,  among  other  things."  She  slipped  her  fingers  from  my
grasp. "I'll be playing darts if you want to go a round or two later."
There was no mistaking her invitation. As she slinked off, I reminded
myself I had absolutely no intensions of taking her up on it.
Right.
Throughout the night, I kept her in my sights. She denied all dickheads
out to get into her pants, usually with an easy letdown so the beat-down
didn't sting too hard.
After her latest brush-off of I am purely sorry, but you don t have the
equipment I'm lookin 'for with a batting of her eyelashes as she drew
her  arm  through  her  busty  femme  fatale  sidekick's,  I  hid  my  grin
against the top of my beer
bottle.
She was so not a lipstick lesbian the idea was laughable, but it got Tail
to move along. He was Retribution lady-killer

numero uno. I  was glad to see him  amble away with  a good-natured
shrug of his shoulders.
JB was as aware of me as I was of her. I remained all the way across the
room—arguably a safe distance away—but I felt her gaze on me during
the course of the night. She wasn't obvious about it; I was just good at
my job. Reading people inside and out, backward and forward, came
part  and  parcel  with  my  line  of  work.  I  lived  by  my  wits,  without  a
safety  net.  And  JB  had  me  free-falling  for  her  in  the  space  of  two
goddamn hours. She sent her subtle fuck-me vibe in my direction and
mine alone. Her attention thrilled me more than I cared to admit.
Finally Brodie sidetracked me by calling for order. Thank fuck for that.
As the din died down, he motioned Cole from behind the bar. Leaving
the latest MC prospect hanging just long enough so he looked like he
might  crap  his  pants,  Brodie  finally  welcomed  Cole  into  the
Retribution fold as a full member. When he held up the new leather cut
identical to the rest of the brethren's with the scales of justice and skull
and crossbones, I almost shed a goddamn tear.
Cole grinned so hard I thought he'd crack his face as he accepted the
MC colors.

He deserved the Retribution patch more than I did. He'd taken shit and
come up shining time and time again.
I'd learned something from this brotherhood.
Sometimes you followed protocol. Sometimes you went with your gut.
I'd gone with my gut with Brodie and Ashe. Detective Kingston had
survived because of it, but I'd been smacked around with rules and regs
and psych follow-ups because of my decision to bring Brodie onto the
case.
My decision to save Kingston's life.
I'd lay my career on the line again for any one of them. No questions
asked.
So what if I got slapped with my own probationary term because of it?
It wasn't my gut leading me now though. More like my cock. Straight
up, hard as a rock, and wanting release in one babe only. JB. Getting
involved with the girl could mean one of two things:
A trip to prison if she was as underage as she looked and as her
nickname implied. Jailbait indeed.
Or a trip to heaven because she was nothing if not sex in the flesh.
She was way too young for me to be messing with, not

to mention I was absolutely unsuitable for any woman, anywhere, all
the time. Didn't matter. I hadn't been able to take my eyes off her since
the moment she'd entered the MC, and I wanted my hands on her, too.
Unfortunately she was dancing. So were a bunch of handsy dudes all
around her. I wished I'd carried my Glock on me. I could pick 'em off
one by one. But then Cole would be on cleanup detail, and we were
buddies. He hadn't had to mop up one of my bloody messes yet,
probably best to keep it that way.
Instead of shooting all the assholes trying to feel up JB as she danced
with her hips swiveling, her arms reaching high, her head thrown back,
I decided to cut in.
Paving a path through her groupies and gropers, I'd just about reached
her when Cole called out across the noise of music and laughter, "Say,
why you called Hunter anyway?"
JB glanced back at me with a smile then glided away.
I watched her sinuous moves, answering Cole, "Maybe Hunter is my
real name." Approaching the bar, I splatted Cole's hand onto it. I took
my sharpened Ka-Bar knife from my belt and stabbed it between his
fingers. "Or maybe I'm jus t damn good with my knife. Wanna double
down?"

That got big guffaws all around and drew JB's large inky eyes to me.
"What about Sexton?" Cole pulled his hand back, making sure all the
skin was intact.
"You'd have to ask the ladies about any sexin' . . . "
MC dudes converged on me with back slaps, but JB s pun on her heels
with a huff. In an apparent outrage, she marched to the far reaches of
the clubhouse.
I had to follow up on that. Usually I liked my liaisons jealousy-free, but
considering I'd already imagined putting bullet holes in just about
every man in the room for so much as looking at her, I'd give her a free
pass to get all green-eyed about me anytime she wanted.
When I made my way to the darts, JB ignored me; her head high and
those amazing brown curls tossed back.
I stood in front of the bull's-eye.
She stomped around me to retrieve her darts.
I blocked the way again, lightly touching her arm. "There a problem?"
"I'm not easy, if that's what you're after."
"That's not a problem."
With a s tamp of her foot, she went back to the throw

line. I'd barely stepped out of the way before she let rip with a dart that
whistled past my ear. "I don't fuck around, either."
"Even better" I grinned at the spitfire.
"What she means to say is BTDT. The T-shirt was not that awesome."
Rayce—the wrench shrew from Stone's garage—intervened. She was
JB's  fake  dyke  girlfriend  from  earlier  and  apparently  a  bulldog  on  a
mission to put me in my place.
"No  need  to  go  rabid  on  me.  I'll  step  off."  Almost  relieved  by  her
interruption, I backed up with  my hands raised. I needed a reason to
stop pursuing JB anyway. "For the record, I'd never harm your friend,
but I'm glad you're looking out for her."
An hour later, I slid onto my motorcycle. Helmet in hand, I ramped the
Deus Grievous Angel to life.
JB materialized next to me, huddling inside her padded leather jacket.
"Sorry about before. Rayce has issues."
"And where's your bodyguard now?"
"I don't need one." She unfolded her arms, and her jacket gaped open at
her  chest.  She  took  my  helmet  from  my  hands  and  slung  it  onto  the
handlebar.

"Beg to differ." She definitely needed protection from me.
JB made the first move, I'd testify to that shit in court. She leaned over
me  and  licked  her  lips.  Then  my  hands  were  in  her  hair,  burrowing
deeper, and I dragged her to my mouth. She straddled me when I lifted
her onto my lap. The moist touch of her tongue parted my lips.
I groaned, opening up to her talented lunges, following the sleek kisses
into her mouth where our tongues collided. I wanted to thrust down her
throat  with  my  cock.  Rip  her  pants  apart  and  fuck  her  until  she
screamed. Take her on my motorcycle and spray my come all over her
body. The intensity of  my reaction steered all coherent thought from
my head.
The soul-searing kiss lit me up inside. I wanted more.
Bad move. One of my worst. I'd regret it later. Right now I'd savor the
way JB moaned, riding my thigh, getting off on me.
I wanted to have this for one more minute. I wanted her.
I couldn't have her. I shouldn't stain her. My soul wasn't even intact.
With a growl, I pushed her off me. I steadied her with a

hand on her hip as she found her footing.
"What's your problem?" JB frowned, her lips swollen from my kisses.
"I can't. Not with you. Not like this." I wouldn't meet her eyes.
"Damn right you can't. I'm too good for you." She zipped her jacket all
the way to the chin.
Nothing hotter than a woman with an attitude who knew what she
wanted, but I couldn't take advantage.
"Exactly." I throttled my raging black bike, shouting over the roar of
pipes, "We agree. Never gonna happen."
Peeling out of the parking lot, I glanced back one last time. Big
mistake. JB stood under the halo of a streetlight with one stiff middle
finger raised in my direction. And I wanted her even more.
Not gonna happen.
Only one good thing had come out of my life, and I had nothing left to
give .

Acknowledgments
X-Ops is done, y'all! Like I promised you—fast books, badass plots,
kick-it-into-high-gear alpha men. Walker, Jus tice, Storm, Bane. Jade.
Tilly, Blaize, Kiki. A dark-ops team of awesome.
So now I regroup, after I give my many, many thanks.
I  mean,  obviously—Gilly  Wright!  Whaaaat?  My  editor-at-large  and
keeper  of  all  Rie  secrets.  Joelle  Mendes  is  the  other  guardian  of  my
sanity as well as my very much loved PA. Two women I could not do
without.
And to add another few: Christine Cox, April Gasaway, Lis a Pinney.
Bodacious beta readers who talk me up, talk me down, and throw the
book love around.
Thanks  to  all  readers,  reviewers,  bloggers  who  have  followed  this
journey.  To  my  street  team  and  friends  I  have  nothing  but  hardcore
love.  Speaking  of:  Laura  Crawford  chose  Bane's  hot,  hot,  hot
motorcycle,  Lisa  Pinney  sent  me  the  pic  for  Blaize's  wedding  dress
(and I will be posting on

About Rie
Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don't Tell
series—a  breakthrough  trilogy  that  crossed  traditional  publishing
boundaries  beginning  with  In  His  Command.  Her  latest  endeavors
include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and southern-sexy series.
A  Yankee  transplant  who  has  traveled  the  world,  Rie  started  out  a
writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry
without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen
for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From
art  school  to  marriage  to  children  and  many  a  wild  and  wonderful
journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has
been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.
You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her
website

http ://www.riewarren.com