Bane: Elite Operatives (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 4) (2 page)

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 stopped 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 specialty. 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 wasn’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 skittering through me.

I didn’t want to be worried about Kiki. Shouldn’t let myself 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 and more under my skin.

“Hey. Forget about Baby Spy.” Justice looked between Storm and me. “Where the hell’s Walker?”

“Yeah. About that . . .”—I rubbed my jaw, squinting at Blaize and Jus before shooting a skeptical glance at Storm—“things didn’t go exactly as planned.”

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?” Justice 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 sneer 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 stark 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 mistaken 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 slim 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. KA-BARs 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 supersized.”

She shuffled under the covers on her cot across from me. Reaching a hand out from the blanket, she dropped the black bra onto the floor between us.

“Damn,” I whispered in a hoarse tone. Then a laugh thickened from my throat. “It’s not ego, girl. It’s confidence.”

She flipped to her side, facing me as her fingers fumbled for the light switch. “Goodnight, Mr. Confidence. Hope you sleep well with that boner I just gave you.”