Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Warren, Rie

  I thought briefly about Khalil who was now fish food in the Mediterranean.

  My mouth twisted.

  Collateral damage. Couldn’t be helped.

  The female head-of-detail swiftly turned her head toward me as I stepped in time with her right beside Majedah.

  I gave her little more than a curt nod before stealing a stealthy glance at my target.

  Fuck me running but the sheikah glowed.

  And where were the ceramic explosives?

  No way could she hide that shit in the low-cut, oxblood, leather blazer split to her navel where a black diamond dangled. More heirlooms crusted her ears and wrists, and tiers of centuries-old jewels dripped from her neck to her collarbone.

  The woman was not packing anything more than a pair of really great tits as far as I could see.

  I scowled.

  Whatever. I wouldn’t put it past the radical cunts to try to dupe me.

  “Spread out. Eyes on the sheikah at all times.” The boss of big shit ushered us into the casino behind the Lebanese woman.

  It may not have been Casino Royale, but it was a casino full of royalty. Royal flushes, royal pains in my ass, a full house of moneyed motherfuckers I was supposed to make sure lived through the night to stave off another Middle Eastern war.

  Black marble. Glittering gold insets. Lapis lazuli tiles. The Casino was opulent. Lush. Deluxe.

  Dignitaries, emissaries, celebrities from Hollywood to Bollywood, each with their own security team waltzed through the doors.

  Cutthroat politicians and well-backed rebels all in one location—every faction present and too many innocent bystanders to take stock of.

  This night was going to end badly.

  I could feel it in my bones.

  Between the loud music swelling over a hidden sound system and the female dancers dressed in barely there costumes, the roulette wheels spinning and the money chips exchanging hands, I cased the interior of the casino for any other possible tangos. Difficult to ascertain when at least two dozen men wore decorative neck-to-floor robes. Others were outfitted in the latest, most expensive fashions—both men and women. Western culture collided with Eastern, and suspicions fired off, tickling all along my spine and landing in my head with heavy dread.

  Something was not right.

  The lead guard-lady sent me and two others off to perform recon and sweep the various rooms, but I shirked my duty, sticking as close to Majedah as I could. My hackles raised, I kept my vigilant attention on that one guard who never left the sheikah’s side and on the principle target herself.

  They both appeared wound tight and on edge, which would make perfect sense if Majedah was planning to blow the place to smithereens in—oh—a mere fifteen minutes.

  I didn’t have much time to get her off premises and disarm her if she really was packing explosives somehow, like up her tight ass encased in the sexy red leather number.

  Goddammit.

  Something was way the fuck off, and I couldn’t put a finger on it. The dossier from Blaize clearly reported Majedah Chehab as the person of interest—I had no choice but to stay on her as the clock ticked down, my nerves popping off like fireworks.

  I needed to get her head of operations out of the picture immediately.

  Picking out the most likely candidate for a nice full-body search, I stealthily approached Majedah’s security commander.

  “Ma’am, I have reason to believe that man is carrying.” I pointed at the shaky-looking Westerner who had probably just been to the restrooms to shoot a month’s worth of blow up his schnoz. “Would you like me to escort him outside?”

  “I’ve got it. You stay with the sheikah. Under no circumstances are you to leave her side.”

  No fucking problem with that. I was ready to glue myself to the woman.

  Tick-fucking-tock.

  As soon as the guard-in-charge led the fake-perp from the overcrowded casino, I grabbed the Majedah’s arm.

  “It’s not safe here, ma’am.” My Arabic emphasized my respect for her status.

  She drew her head up and hit me with a haughty stare.

  “We stay,” she said.

  “Ma’am. I must insist.”

  Christ, just give me a dark corridor amid all the glittering glass and mirrors.

  I needed to get to the bottom of this potentially FUBAR mission ASAP.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  “I do not take your orders.”

  Fuck my life.

  Lowering my voice, I gritted my teeth. “If you don’t get your terrorist ass outside right now, I’ll point blank shoot you.”

  Screw subtlety, never my strong point.

  I muffled her shout of alarm with a hand wrapped over her mouth and bodily pulled her into one of the shadowy recesses that surrounded the perimeter of the large room.

  Somehow sensing the commotion, Majedah’s Number One shot her head up. “It’s not her!” she yelled.

  Before I could compute the words, Majedah stomped on my foot and hooked her elbow into my side with surprising force. She spun free just as a fanatical man marched into the center of the room, ripping his white thobe open to reveal the sort of suicide vest that turned my blood ice cold.

  “In the name of Ali ibin abi Talib and Emir Qasim Hassan! WESTERNERS WILL NOT DEFEAT THE KINGDOM OF ALLAH! HIZBULLAH WILL REIGN!”

  Fucking pink rain imminent.

  Three

  Bloody Fucking Beirut

  MAJEDAH MOVED FORWARD WHEN the psycho-bomber prostrated himself in the middle of the floor.

  I shoved her out of the way. “Stay! Down!”

  Spinning on my heels, I went right for the deranged militant. Pile-driving him with my elbow at his neck, I held him down, cranking my knee at the base of his spine.

  All around screams shot through the air, drowned only by the shrill whistle of alarms.

  High-paid bodyguards herded their various deep-pocketed clients toward the exits as the bright lights went black and emergency red lit the room.

  High-roller heaven was about to become hell on earth.

  In the middle of the mass chaos, I rolled away from the bomber strapped into the most unstable explosives I’d ever come across. TATP, known as Mother of Satan in our business.

  Cheap and easy to make.

  Absolute killing fields when set off.

  And no time to defuse the body-bomb.

  I dove behind a pillar across the room from Majedah just as the blast detonated.

  The sheer monumental force of the explosion concussed my head.

  Sheet-white light bleached the casino.

  Bodies dropped beside me as the hot blaze of outward fire and packed shrapnel licked at my skin.

  The earth-shattering flare-up sent aftershocks through the floor, across the walls, over what remained of the windows and chandeliers. Metal pierced skin, and screams pierced my ears.

  Crawling from behind the column as sirens shrieked overhead, I watched what little remained of the terrorist’s body embalmed in hot white flames, flames that seared the skin from his flesh, turning him into an instantly torched cadaver.

  Others wailed—in pain. Their skin blistered, punctured. Their bodies bled out. Their eyes bulged. Their voices cracked like dried creek beds when they yelled for help.

  I sucked in the fiery air and breathed it out, narrowing my vision.

  “This way, Sheikah!”

  I recognized Majedah’s guard’s voice, not too far away.

  “I can’t see!” Majedah shouted back.

  I blindly followed their voices through the acrid smoke and strobing red lights, trailing along the walls and stepping over bodies. There was an opening that hadn’t been there earlier—a secret passageway.

  Lit in harsh emergency yellow, the slippery stone steps led down.

  Footsteps clattered below me. Voices rebounded off the circular walls.

  I rushed down the stairs, taking two at a time and swinging around the corners.

  I could
not let Majedah get away.

  Breaking free of the tunnel halfway down the hillside, I barely had time to register a fleet of Land Rovers ready, revved, and waiting.

  “Get in!” The security leader hoisted Majedah inside.

  The package safe inside a jeep speeding away, I turned to the last person left.

  The head guard fled down the hill, ducking around corners, trying to reach the harbor and probable escape.

  No way in hell.

  Latent explosions from above rocked the constricted path, but she kept running.

  I leaped off the pathway, aiming for her throat.

  Rolling to the left, she landed agilely on her feet while my knees grated across stones.

  The pursuit was on.

  * * *

  I fucking hated Hunter.

  Asshole.

  Left The Job.

  Ditched the dark ops life.

  Got a family. A wife.

  And here I was, a lone gun, fucking chasing down a new threat.

  At least my hair and face were covered. If any security cameras picked me up I wouldn’t be recognized by former, recent, or current enemies from—ohhhh—say, the Mossad, the PLA, the Mukhabarat, for instance.

  You know, folks from counterintelligence agencies I’d attempted to kill before. The kills far outweighing the attempts, of course.

  Rocketing forward down the steep stone trail, I tackled my prey to the ground. Wet spray from the Mediterranean spit up on my face, salty and tangy, almost blinding.

  The wily woman used the slippery stone, scuttling backward, kicking out, hitting me in the groin.

  I held her ankle, dragging her to me.

  Reaching up, I ripped off the facemask. Then I tore mine away, too.

  Fuck me running. Twice.

  “Jade?” I shouted.

  “I should’ve known. Walker.” Somehow Jade managed to say my name like it was the vilest word known to humankind.

  She coiled up and locked her hands around my windpipe.

  My vision blurred, but no way in hell was I letting her take me down.

  Goddamn woman.

  I cranked down with my elbow until she let up with a yelp of pain that made me grin. But in the short space of one tight breath, she leaped up and sprinted away from me.

  The hate I had on Hunter was nothing compared to what I felt for Jade. She was queen of the fucking dark. A true adversary I’d tangled with time and again. Part of the elite British Special War Ministry, she was mixed heritage—Japanese and English.

  Christ.

  I’d have recognized her by her hair alone had I seen it earlier. Bright streaks of wine-red filtered through the long rich black swathe swinging to her ass. And her green eyes—the eyes she was named after—could cut out a man’s soul.

  I preferred to think of them as snake’s eyes.

  I burst onto the shoreline behind her.

  Damn her.

  She was a threat I had history with.

  Hurtling forward, I body-slammed her against the damp cliff wall. “You’re a long way away from tea parties and Hyde Park.”

  “When have you ever known me to be into tea parties instead of T-zones?” Her head lashed up. “You’re fairly far off the reservation yourself, Walker.”

  I deflected the heel of her palm before she had a chance to punch me in the solar plexus.

  With her arm wrenched behind her back, I dropped my mouth to her ear. “Last I heard you were with the AESTs division on the Horn of Africa.”

  She stilled for a moment, and I became distinctly aware of the way my body pressed against hers.

  “So now you’re moonlighting for the Mukhabarat?” I asked.

  “No.” She tried to break free of my restraining arms. “Back to the Ministry. Merc life burned me out. No souls, those soldiers.”

  My head fell back with a rough laugh. “You should know, Jade.”

  “Let go of me, Walker.”

  “Not on your life.” Oh, I was enjoying this. “Tell me. What does the SWM have to do with Majedah Chehab?”

  “You could start cutting out my tongue and I’d still never say a word. You know that.”

  “You are one obstinate woman,” I said with less rancor than I would’ve fifteen minutes earlier.

  “And you must be a stalker. Keeping tabs on me and my missions.”

  “You’re my enemy, so yeah.”

  “Come, come, Walker.” Jade’s mouth dipped to my neck, and my fingers convulsed on her flesh. “Is that the only reason?”

  Before I could reply, Jade wrapped a foot around my ankle.

  She punched me back, sending me splatting to the sand.

  She stood over me with her boot just this side of crushing my chest. “The sheikah is not the package. And she’s not the tango. Her husband is.”

  “She’s my fucking package.” Grabbing Jade’s ankle, I twisted her to the ground.

  Slippery as shit, she skittered away from me. She kicked off her boots, dislodging me in the process. As I rose to my feet, she edged to the water.

  “Sayonara, Walker.”

  She cleanly knifed through the water, disappearing as small bubbles rose to the surface.

  Had to be cold.

  I could hope for hypothermia to take her out.

  Bet she has a wetsuit on underneath.

  I considered following her until a sleek black speedboat shot toward the peninsula. The machine guns mounted on top lit up, bullets spraying toward me and sending up clouds of sand around my feet.

  Message sent.

  Message delivered.

  Jade was not fucking around.

  Neither was I.

  That woman hadn’t seen the last of me yet.

  Four

  Beirut Can Suck My Cock Already

  I WAS DIRTY, DISGUSTED with myself, covered in the blood of other people. Wet from sweat and sea spray, fucking hungry, and what I wouldn’t kill for a stiff drink.

  Jade swanned away on her boat while I trudged into Beirut, staying off-road and to the shadows as much as possible. Running when the urge hit me.

  I’d retrieved my pack—the one missing the boom boom blocks.

  It took three hours and I could’ve made it faster, but I was deliberately missing my extraction, knowing Storm would beat my ass—or try to anyway—when he caught up with me.

  I made it to the outskirts of the city just as dawn broke across the sky.

  No peasantville, that was for certain. Skyscrapers rose like needles toward the rose-colored, early morning clouds. Construction cranes lumbered right alongside, looking like hulking dinosaurs from this distance.

  Urban culture, high-end stores, and underground youth bucking the system made this city a mecca of the Middle East despite the ever-present danger.

  Daytime in Beirut. Not a joyride for someone in my line of work, but doable. And it was warm for February, compared to DC or NYC or Wyoming.

  My first goal? Make sure I could hide in plain sight. I’d performed a quick clean up in a stream on the way toward town, the cold water bracing and clear. Concealed in the shadowed corner of a back alley, I ripped off the guard gear, tossed it into an overflowing bin, and changed into daytime threads consisting of jeans, boots, shirt, and jacket. Gone were the days of the traditional blousy sirwal pants.

  In my Western clothing, I wrapped a couple woven scarves around my head, neck, and lower face. Wouldn’t do to get recognized and picked up by the Mukhabarat motherfuckers.

  They didn’t think very highly of me.

  My file was probably a yardstick thick.

  Guns and knives placed where I could get at them with a flip of my hands, I wandered without looking like an aimless tourist until I hit an Internet café.

  Bingo.

  The place was called Battleground Beirut.

  Fitting. It was like it almost called my name.

  And heaven came in the form of a hot cup of kahweh. Hated to break it to the Americans, but no one did coffee like the Lebanese. The rich
brew lightly spiced with cardamom almost felt like an orgasm on my tongue.

  Didn’t take much after the night I’d had. And the night I reckoned was in store for me ahead.

  Yessir. Juan Valdez had nothing on this shit. Although Colombian beans came a close second.

  I gulped the burning brew down, then slowly nursed a second coffee as the caffeine kickstarted my system. I cracked my knuckles, cracked my neck, and studied my little computer terminal, considering WWJD?

  What Would Jade Do?

  Goddamn Jade Huntington. The woman was a highly trained professional, one not to be messed with. Her assassination skills put most operatives to shame. She could get in, make the kill, and disappear like vapor. It didn’t hurt she was walking, talking sex in the flesh with her long claret-black hair, her figure tight and coiled with power, her lush lips, and immense green eyes.

  She and I had come to heads on more than one occasion, working opposite angles. We were two for two when it came down to covert missions. Not that I was keeping score.

  Not. At. All.

  The last time had been right after Hunter’s and my master fuck up, followed by a Hail Mary save of the operation with the Tampa Bay Outlaws the previous spring. T-Zone cut Hunter loose, reluctantly, but they hadn’t cut me any fucking slack at all.

  Flying off to Somalia where the action never abated, I’d had the bad fortune to come up against Jade while we battled to derail each other’s mission. Mine to kill the drug- and gunrunning warlord, hers to get him to a sanctioned safe haven.

  She’d always been a hardliner.

  But I was harder.

  Except when it came to her, more and more.

  “Admit it. You’d miss me if you killed me, mahasani.” I’d grinned, standing braced in front of her.

  The bomb-blasted stone walls of the apartment block showed new damage from us throwing one another around during the twenty-minute close-hand combat that had us sweating in the sweltering Somali heat.

  “I could rectify that right now if you wish.” Jade’s hair had fanned around her in a perfect dark halo when she hit me in the chest with a roundhouse kick.

  I’d laughed, a breathless chug of sound, the impact of her foot sending me backward. “But you won’t.”