by LS Silverii
“I’m taking us to the front door,” Rose instructed. “Ready in three, two, one—Go.”
* * *
Voodoo’s heart raced as the thick doors were shoved open to meet a torrential downpour. Stress from the extra equipment weight caused her breath to labor heavy and deep. Hollywood looked into the facemask and connected with her.
“Watch each other’s six,” Hollywood said. She nodded. Pellets of water crashed against her thick plastic encasement.
Rose and her partner took cover positions along the running boards on the opposite side of the MRAP. Billy and his SEAL partner ran to the front quarter panel and also provided cover.
“Team 1 and 2. Move out.” Rose commanded.
Voodoo willed her pulse to settle as she jolted from behind the ballistic plated military-surplus vehicle. Her steps slapped through standing water as she carefully navigated broken cement that led to the gangway.
Nuzzled behind Hollywood, Voodoo raised her Colt 9mm submachine gun to cover as they sped up the steep incline on the starboard side. Gale force winds shimmied the thin material. Her quadriceps seared as she moved in a crouched position to steady her weapon’s barrel. Below, water churned violently between the ship and dock’s narrow space.
“Right behind you, Team 1,” said Chase Westin. The former Force Recon Marine’s voice was calm, unaffected by the situation. Voodoo smirked—his voice should be calm—he was a fucking United States Marine after all. She felt comfort being surrounded by such military bad asses.
Reaching the five percent elevation eventually numbed Voodoo’s muscular torment, but her upper torso continued to struggle with the gear and pace. She smeared rain off her facemask, vowing her fierce determination would be the difference in this operation.
No way will I let Hollywood down.
“Teams 5 and 6. Move.” Rose’s rain-garbled voice rung through Voodoo’s tactical headset. Voodoo knew back-up was on the way. It was reassuring to know the best this country had to offer were collected at this scene. Although a bit overwhelmed, she knew ops and she knew her strengths and relied on them to contribute to the team. Hell yeah, she was proud to be a part of this unit.
The warped aluminum base of the gangway begin to rattle as four full-sized, fully equipped warriors climbed up the grade.
Voodoo’s foot slipped on the saturated gangway as she followed Hollywood’s lead. He jerked a sharp right once his boots hit solid deck. Quick and silent, only the patter of rubber soles tapped a gentle hint of their approach. They stopped short at an open hatch. His Kevlar helmet nodded. Voodoo confirmed Team 2 was in line before she pressed against his left shoulder. They were ready.
Her heart pounded. She sucked large gulps of air, her claustrophobia intensifying. Hollywood disappeared around the corner of the opening. Voodoo was left looking through the drizzle into starbursts of lights that illuminated an empty deck that lined the starboard bridge. She held her weapon at a slanted ready-gun position.
“Move,” Chase ordered. “Watch his six.”
But intuition seized her.
A shadow flashed then became flesh around the bow’s end of the bridge. Voodoo didn’t give him time to lift the shotgun. She rocked the weapon up, stock rotating in the crook of her shoulder. Her index finger pulled back. She felt the click. The anonymous body crumpled lifeless. She looked over the barrel because there wasn’t the loud spatter of rounds fired. She smiled at the sound suppressor attached to the tip.
“Move to Hollywood. We’ll secure him.” Chase nudged Voodoo through the hatch. Hollywood waited for her, his weapon trained up the stairwell to protect from an overhead ambush.
“Ship is occupied. With weapons,” an anonymous voice warned.
“Suspect one is neutralized. Moving back to Team 1,” Chase updated.
Voodoo heard Rose and Billy announce they’d arrived and had taken up over-watch positions along the upper deck.
Billy’s voice amplified sharp but surprised, “Looks like meth heads have turned this ship into a lab.”
* * *
“We don’t have a beef with these people. Lets stand ground and call them out. Give a chance to vacate,” Rose suggested. Her partner, a young Navy SEAL with a shaggy beard and spooky bright eyes called in to assist with the ship’s assault, agreed. Once each team radioed they’d established secure positions to monitor door and access ways, he activated the bullhorn to warn everyone on the ship to leave immediately.
The warrior stepped away from the steel upper deck and popped three siren wails, “Leave the ship now. We are not here to arrest you. There are dangerous chemicals on this ship. We only want to secure those chemicals. You are free to leave.”
A shot rang out from behind a hatch on the port side. It cleaved the bullhorn from his hand. Ricocheted shrapnel sliced through his protective suit. He dropped the speaker and shook his hand to ease the impact vibration.
Rose’s eyes narrowed on the location of the shot. Anger bubbled up but she settled it. Nothing pissed her off more than one of her team being attacked. She leveled her Heckler and Koch MP5, peered through the optics scope, exhaled, and strategically placed two quick rounds into the area.
“Fuck these people ma’am. Excuse my French, but fuck ’em.” the SEAL said.
“Team 3 took shrapnel but still operational,” Rose announced.
“Highly operational,” the SEAL clarified over his tactical headset.
“Oorah,” sounded over the tact earpieces.
“Gotta be Chase. Radio discipline, Jarhead Marine,” Billy kidded from his Team 4 position on the starboard side across from Team 3.
Rose took a breath, making sure she was dealing with a steady head and not from anger. “Okay, they made their decision. Teams move to secure. We have zero arrest authority,” Her words resonated—she’d just signed death warrants.
* * *
“Does she mean what I think she means?” Voodoo’s words hitched in her throat. KC nodded yes. Voodoo’s gut still reeled from the man she’d just taken out. She wasn’t sure if she could do it again. The other two waited for her to cover Hollywood.
“Hey, bayou belle,” KC got her attention. “Reload.” She tapped Voodoo in the shoulder and seemed to have snapped her from a trance. “Thanks for saving Chase. Had you not secured down, he would’ve been in that dude’s sights.” Voodoo released a huge lump of air that had wedged in her chest, and winked.
“Heads up, I’m moving.” Hollywood began to climb the stairs. The hollow metal staircase clanked with each footfall. His hard polymer thigh holster brushed against the handrail. It rattled to announce his arrival. Voodoo tiptoed behind him, careful not to sweep him with the barrel of her rifle. Her eyes fixed on an opening to the landing platform’s left flank.
“Hold Hollywood. Check left,” she said.
“Got it—I’ll secure. Voodoo, sweep right. Team 2, clear passageway ahead to captain’s wheelhouse.” A series of mic clicks and shoulder squeezes signaled they were ready. “Move.”
Booms of unearthly thunder concealed their flurry of rushed movements, an orchestrated tableau of violent actions aimed to detect and neutralize any threat. Voodoo hadn’t noticed, but her breathing and pulse had leveled off. She was responding as she’d been taught—kicking ass was her skill set, and it reassured her that she belonged. Hours of repetitious training and endless rounds of ammunition fired during drills had prepared her for today—for every day.
The ping didn’t register at first. When the second round bounced off the steel bulkhead, she felt the crush against her ballistic SWAT vest. Her protective suit crumpled as shards of metal pellets pulled it apart.
Wrath flashed. The will to survive, and fury at someone trying to fucking kill her set off a peppery personality. “Oh no, sucka.”
She spun and dropped to one knee. Eyes wide, she peered over the barrel and through the scope’s tritium reticle.
Where’s Dwight?
“Man down,” she radioed. Her trembling tone was obvious, but so
was her resolve. Hollywood was flat on his back and motionless—trapped in the fatal funnel. His weapon lay off to his right, still snugged by the sling. She noticed KC return to the main passageway where they’d all just departed.
“Chase is covering down on our area. What happened?”
“Shotgun. I’m hit, but fine. Hollywood’s down. Eyes on, see nothing.”
“You cover up. I’ll bang and snatch,” KC said.
“10-4. Clear to go.”
KC crouched to the edge of the open door. Voodoo watched her yank a flash bang from her vest and pull the pin. The heavy metal casing was about the size of a soft drink can. It bounced and clanked for a second. The thin metal spoon that held the firing mechanism in place, popped off. A brilliant explosion of light and sound ripped through the slight opening. Voodoo blinked to shield her eyes. When they opened, Hollywood was gone.
“Team 6 taking fire. Engine room.”
“Cobra, we’re right around the corner. Take cover. We got a better angle,” Team 5’s leader said. Voodoo jumped at the intensity of their radio broadcasts. She was in her own gun battle, but hated that her teammates were in one too.
“Shit, Team 6—one man down. Non-life threatening,” Cobra’s voice sounded pissed. Voodoo knew the feeling.
“Two down and departed. Thanks 5,” Cobra said. “Coming up with one medevac.”
Voodoo pressed the communications headset against her ear to follow the action. Her heart grew heavy. She’d had enough of this bullshit. Penny ante meth heads playing shoot ’em up while the fate of thousands drifted up river. Not to mention her damn roommate Bonny being central to the whole mess.
She heard the soft touch of a sole upon diamond-plated steel. Raised her weapon, and rattled off three rounds. An emaciated bag of skin dropped a sawed-off shotgun as he crumpled. Brass casings from her Colt 9mm jingled, as they bounced along the metal platform. Burnt powder saturated the filter to her mask.
“Look who’s awake,” KC teased as Hollywood shook his head and tried to lift himself to a seated position. Voodoo heard her transmission but kept her sights down the passageway. She was sure another voice had gasped as the shooter was dropped.
“I’m okay. Just had the wind knocked out of me. Back in the game,” Hollywood assured.
Voodoo’s heart leapt—there was no denying how she felt for him.
“Good,” Chase radioed. “KC, come back my way to clear this last room.”
“Moving,” KC responded.
Hollywood gave Voodoo a thumb up as he leaned against the bulkhead taking in deep gulps of tanked air. She’d never been so happy as right then. What better way to build a relationship than fighting with, and for, the one you cared about most.
“Team 4, assist Team 6 with casualty,” Rose said. “Chopper coming into hot LZ, so make transfer quickly. Weather getting worse. We’ll meet up at hospital later.”
“Team 4 moving,” Billy acknowledged.
“Team 5 move to captain’s bridge to help Teams 1 and 2 finish clearing.”
“Yes ma’am,” The SEAL’s acknowledgement showed no signs of apprehension over taking orders from a woman. Of course, Rose Prospero was no typical woman. Voodoo knew she could learn plenty from her as a role model.
CHAPTER 5
“This ain’t the Peabody Hotel?” Chase asked the obvious. Their flat panel van strolled across a bumpy gravel-paved path off Macon Cove Road—about 15 klicks east of downtown Memphis.
“Brief and bunk here tonight. Intel Section promised more diary decoding by this evening. No need hustling back to HQ—the path to Bonny is up river. We just don’t know how far at this point.” Billy sat on the floor of the van, his forearms hugging bent knees. His body swayed with the motion of the transport as it had in the chopper.
“I ain’t ever seen this type of haul and switch operation up a river before. Hell, up any body of water in all my years with Team 6. The guy Rose winged from the balcony said Bonny and friends traded them the ship for a hand in offloading barrels. He said the next boat was about the size of a river ferry.” Hollywood was exasperated, but made sure his touch was gentle against Voodoo’s back. She’d leaned against his shins, which set his groin on alert.
“Good point. How does a ship that size cruise up river and no one notice?” Billy said. “At least we’re not tied down to a HAZMAT decon. The zombies must’ve been the meth cooks,”
“So zombies do die?” Voodoo giggled nervously. Her pupils were so large they almost consumed the green of the iris. Hollywood knew all too personally that everyone reacted differently to taking a life—and she’d taken two. He rubbed fingers up and down her spine making her head roll side-to-side.
“Almost there,” Billy said. “Hit the head, chow on your own and prepare to brief once Rose returns from Methodist Hospital. Your Navy squid’s almost back to good.”
“You mean back to freaking awesome,” Hollywood corrected. Their eyes met, “Yes, what you said,” Billy humored him—he knew everyone’s adrenaline affected them differently.
“Any word on Lawless?” Billy asked Voodoo.
Hollywood watched Voodoo’s reaction, and assumed Billy asked her as a strike against him. She shook her head no.
* * *
“How’s Rose pull it off?” Voodoo asked.
“Pull what off?” Hollywood asked.
“The armored truck, the van, the hotel, knowing my size in SWAT gear and boots. And now, I’ve got a wardrobe laid out for this evening. Amazing.” Voodoo gushed over the clean clothes and toiletry supplies left organized in the hotel room.
“She takes care of the team that takes care of America.” Hollywood boasted.
“She’s fantastic.”
“No, you’re fantastic. You saved Chase’s and my hides today.” Hollywood kissed her.
He held her gently, a contrast to the furious badass that had led the charge on locking down an entire ship. Voodoo’s adrenaline, however had spiked, and hours after the shooting, she still felt the aggression of survival. She bit against his bottom lip. Held it between her teeth and growled.
“Oh, baby’s frisky?”
“Yes, sir, I’m feeling very frisky.” Her hands roamed across his shoulders and up his neck. “You got soft skin, why no tattoos?”
“Scared of needle pricks.” She felt the tension escaping his shoulders in waves, responding to the sensation of her touch. The rain had calmed but continued to patter against the balcony doors.
“You’ve got a needle—a big needle. Gonna prick me with it?” Voodoo couldn’t contain her touch to only a sensual caress. Her fingers dove into his waistline and struggled to yank the belt’s buckle loose. Hollywood, drained from the tactical encounter, and sore from from the shotgun’s concussion, feigned excitement.
“Old man, you better get your act in gear or this gator girl’s gonna get’cha.” Playfully, she pushed against his shoulders. He winced at the sharp pain. “I’m sorry, baby.” She closed the gap and drew him into her arms.
He scowled. “I didn’t realize how bad it hurt until after we showered and ate. My body’s cooling down, so the aches are heating up.” Still a young man, he dreaded the older side of active field ops. The inevitable bothered him—though he’d never admit it.
“It’s okay, we can just hit the hay after Rose’s intel briefing.”
Hollywood couldn’t shake the anxiety of feeling on edge. Experienced with post-critical incident trauma, the Navy SEAL prided himself on self-assessment and treatment. Getting your ass back in the fight, and keeping your head on straight were his specialties. Of course, he’d never had someone like Voodoo on his team before either.
“No way, we never did get to finish what we started in Biloxi.” He pulled her close with his left arm, letting the right one dangle against his side.
She growled again, but less aggressive. “Let’s get back to you tattooing me with that giant needle of yours.”
No two ways about it—Voodoo was fucking horny. He knew it was time to re-engag
e the battle. They stood in the middle of the micro-hotel, unfazed by the roar of airplanes overhead hitting their take off and landing patterns.
“You’re so beautiful. I’m glad we’re here together.” He smoothed the long waves of black hair against her temple. He rested his forehead against hers and inhaled.
“Big boy, look, I love you, but I’m about to doggone explode. I know it ain’t lady like or not much on the romantic side, but if I don’t get you inside of me right now, there’s going to be bloodshed. Navy SEAL or not—this Cajun momma’s hot,” she howled. Lightning crashed in the distance, followed by the roll of thunder.
Hollywood’s back arched and shoulders rolled like a boxer entering the ring. Her sassy attitude excited him, and that little tirade had awoken a sleeping giant. His empty expression now reflected an inner idea about what would happen to her. Hollywood groaned as the flood of endorphins blocked his pain.
“Come here, Cajun momma.” He grabbed her by the swatch of hair that taunted him every time he looked at her. Fuck, she was a turn on. She stumble-stepped into his chest. His pectoral muscles flexed. “Take your clothes off, now.” He breathed through his nose—head tilted up.
Voodoo obeyed. The jeans and orange-colored long-sleeve blouse Rose had purchased for her were tossed into a neat pile atop the loafers. She stood before him—arms against her hips, feet shoulder width apart. It wasn’t the most seductive stance, but neither was she in the mood for niceties. He finished undressing himself and stepped back to examine her.
Hollywood’s pain was obvious, but so was his erection. He tried to lift both arms for her, but his face exploded into a twisted wreckage of agony. He gritted a grin and tried to laugh it off.
“Son of a bitch,” his body folded in agony.
“Baby, please, we can wait.”
“Don’t patronize me.” He reached out again to grab her by the shaved hairs around the nape of her neck and she flinched. “You scared, baby?” he asked in a much more calm tone.
“No, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”