Mayhem’s King
Operation Mayhem
Lindsay Cross
Cypress Bend Publishing, LLC
Contents
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Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Also by Lindsay Cross
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Hunter James didn’t want or need redemption.
Until one mission turns his world upside down.
He left Mercy to fight for his country and escape a broken heart. Years later, he is hard. Cold. A man without mercy. Part of an elite Task Force, he tracks a brutal terrorist to his home town. And runs into the woman who betrayed him…
Evangeline Videl was destroyed when Hunter left. Determined to move on, she finds another man, but discovers too late the monster hidden beneath his smooth smile. Struggling to find the conviction to live, Evie finds her life spinning out of control.
Then Hunter returns…
Forced to band together to find the terrorist before its too late, Hunter and Evie must learn to forgive or risk losing the promise of redemption and their lives…
Copyright © 2017 by Lindsay Cross
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Praise for the Men of Mercy Series
“Lindsay Cross delivers high-powered action, alpha heroes and an exciting conclusion!”
- ELLE JAMES
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
"This is one of those books that the phrase sit down, shut up and hang on would be used because it’s a wild ride from page one to the end."
- 5 Star Goodreads Review, Redemption River
"This book was wall to wall action. Once the danger hit, it never slowed down. I was late leaving my house because there was no way I could stop reading."
- 5 Star NetGalley Review, Redemption River
Chapter 1
“Ready to step in?”
Kingston Kenrich glanced at his teammate, Rip, from the corner of his eye. “The Russian isn’t ready yet. Let’s give Owen a little longer.”
Rip had been interrogating Vladimir, the second in command of the terrorist group ran by his brother, Solonik, on and off the entire night.
Rip chuckled, his voice deep and his tone light yet cautious. “If you don’t step in, Owen’s gonna kill the bastard before we get any real intel.”
They faced the two-way mirror in the concrete wall. Owen, aka “the Viking,” grabbed a metal chair and slung it across the room, his long blond ponytail flying from the force. The chair hit the wall, bounced back three feet and clanged to the floor.
“Maybe, maybe not. Give him a couple more hours to work out his frustration, then I’ll step in.” King crossed his arms over his chest and braced his boot-clad feet wide. “He’s still pissed off that Vladimir’s brother Solonik slipped through his fingers.”
“Solonik is a slippery bastard, I’ll give him that,” Rip said. “Shit, it’s a miracle we lucked out with Vladimir.”
Owen stalked to Vlad, bending his giant form in half to yell into the Russian’s face. King smiled. “Not luck, bro. Lust. Vlad couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, plain and simple. After Solonik got sent on that deal up in Siberia, I knew he’d be jonesing for some snatch.”
After six months of working his way up Solonik’s ranks, King had finally managed to get close to the second in command as perimeter security. The semi low-level position hadn’t gotten him into the deep circles, but it had given him access to Vlad’s habits.
Rip reached up and unknotted a folded black bandanna from around his neck and scratched his chin, his huge fingers scarred. The Texan had started out at fourteen in the oil fields after his mother tossed him for a half-baked Mexican with a straight line to fresh cocaine. “And how you managed to disguise your Cajun accent under your Russian for so long is beyond me.”
King shrugged. Every soldier in the Special Forces teams went through some kind of foreign language training. Surprisingly, he’d taken to Russian with ease, which in this operation helped tremendously. Solonik’s terrorist organization dabbled in just about every business on earth—human trafficking, weapons, drugs. Typical terrorist shit. “I’m just that good.”
Rip burst out laughing. “No LSU fan is that good at anything.”
King snuck in an elbow to his teammate’s ribs, grinning when Rip grunted and doubled over. “You’re still sore over LSU wiping the swamp with Texas’s face.”
Rip straightened, rubbing his injured side, but his eyes crinkled in amusement. “That’s ’cause we couldn’t see through all the damn rain down in your swamps. Just wait till y’all step onto solid Texas turf. We’ll make Tiger meat out of them.”
King rolled his eyes at the ongoing jest. “Didn’t Texas just lose its shiny new quarterback to the Hogs?”
Rip opened his mouth with a comeback, but was drowned out by the sudden onset of loud heavy metal music topped off with bright flashing strobe lights from the interrogation room.
Owen tapped on the metal door. Rip punched in the security code and stood out of the way as Owen snatched the forgotten bandanna from Rip’s hand, ignored his teammate’s protest and wiped the small specks of blood from his face. “He didn’t even flinch when I broke his nose.”
King looked up at Owen, who stood two inches taller at six foot five inches. “Give it a minute. No one’s ever stood up long against those sledge hammers you call fists.”
Owen glanced at his bloody knuckles and as an afterthought used Rip’s bandanna to wipe them off as well. “True.”
He tossed the abused material at Rip who jumped back and let it fall at his feet. “That was brand new.”
Not like it wasn’t one of about a hundred the cowboy owned.
With a snort, Owen turned his back on Rip, completely unconcerned about any retaliation. And with good reason. No one went up against the Viking—not unless they wanted pain. “He’s unconscious. I’ll need to wake him up in a bit, if the music doesn’t do it for me.”
“Did you get anything new?” King asked.
Owen shook his shaggy blond head. “Not a damn thing. If the bastard has one redeeming quality, it’s loyalty to his brother, Solonik. I’ll give him that much. But we’ve only had him a few hours. He’ll crack in time. They all do.” This statement was given as a matter of fact, without emotion.
“If those knuckles can’t crack him, maybe that crap you call music blasting in there will drive him to it.” Rip’s affinity for country music was a well-known fact in the group. Any time the two ended up in the same ride, a fight over the radio was a guarantee.
King didn’t mind the
heavy metal, but definitely preferred the sweet slow blues of his homegrown Southern Louisiana.
“That’s okay, brother, only real men can handle the heavy shit.” Owen grunted.
Rip glanced down at his Garmin GPS watch. “How much time you want to give him before starting another round?”
“I’m up for some chow,” Owen said, “you two?”
“Hell yeah, the cafeteria here is freaking awesome. I had real bacon for breakfast today.” King’s mouth watered. He’d been deep undercover in Russia for so long, he’d forgotten how good American food tasted. Hell, just having his boots on American soil warmed his heart, slowly thawing the freeze he’d been living in.
Hopefully, by tomorrow, he’d get to go home, have Trinity in his arms, and his baby girl, Hope, at his side. Six months was just too damn long without seeing his family.
They headed to the chow hall. King speared a smothered steak, piled it high with mashed potatoes and black-eyed peas, grabbed two pieces of cornbread, and strode to the nearest table. They made quick work of their meals and made their way back to the interrogation room.
“Hey King, how does your wife feel about you being a traitor?” Rip asked while they walked.
King snorted, “Everyone in the SEC thinks LSU is bad except for LSU.” He paused. “And my wife.”
“I’ll never understand it, Hog fans hate the Tigers as much as we do,” Rip shook his head, “How did you convince an Arkansan to overlook that terrible flaw?”
King grinned, his smile genuine and broad when he answered, “I’m just that good.”
* * *
“How much longer do you think you can hold out?” King grabbed the now dented folding chair from the floor near the wall and plopped down in front of Vlad. The Russian sagged in his seat; the chains wrapped around his torso were the only force holding him up. “You know we’ll find your brother one way or another. Why don’t you save yourself some pain?”
Vladimir lifted his head from his chest, his bloody face twisted into a mocking smile. “But we’re having so much fun together,”
King didn’t flinch at the jab, “I’ve got a nice, clean cell waiting for you. You’ll have your very own mattress, food—everything a man in your position could hope for.”
Vlad’s smile stayed firmly in place. “I don’t think so. Solonik will get me out, you know this as well as I do.”
“He has no idea where you are. No idea who took you. You, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, have vanished as if you never existed. I am your only hope.”
Vladimir lifted a thin, ashy eyebrow, “I’m in America. And I bet on the East Coast in one of your nonexistent interrogation facilities. If I know that much, my brother does too.”
King leaned forward, carefully placing his elbows on his knees. “Vladimir, you are in never-never land. As in never going to see the light of day again. How you get to live out the rest of your life is up to what you choose to tell me. Give me the information, I’ll make sure you live comfortably. Hold out and I’ll throw your ass in an 8 x 8 block of concrete, never to see light again.” King paused for effect. “Everyone you ever knew will forget you existed. Your brother will die, either by our hands or one of his enemies, along with everything you’ve ever worked for, will cease to be.”
Vlad tilted his head back, a streak of blood running from a fairly large gash across his very broken nose. “I’ve got something to tell you. Something I think you’ll find much more important than the questions your friend has been asking.”
King bent forward. “I’m listening.”
Vladimir leaned in as much as his chains would allow. King was so close he could smell the coppery stench of blood. A tiny twinge of excitement pulsed through him, but King kept his face impassive. This could be the break they needed.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come in so I could personally give you a message from my brother.”
“I’m all ears,” King said in a calm voice.
Vladimir smiled, his pale eyes bright. “Closer.”
King put his face right next to his. “You don’t have time for games.”
“Tell your wife I said, ‘Go Hogs.’”
His chest turned to ice. “What did you say?”
Vladimir’s beaten, bloodied grin grew wider. “Like I said, my friend, my brother knows everything.”
King shot to his feet and ran to the door, barely registering the sound of his abandoned chair crashing to the floor behind him. He banged on the metal. “Open up!”
Vlad’s rough laughter bounced off the walls around him. “Woo, pig, sooie.”
The door swung open. King shot out past a startled Rip and Owen, yelling over his shoulder as he ran. “He knows who I am!”
Vladimir’s demonic howl of laughter as he mocked Trinity’s home state, sliced through King’s head. How had Vlad found out his identity?
King pounded across the parking lot, launched himself into his truck, and squealed the tires out of the off-site interrogation area less than an hour from his own home.
One shaky hand on the wheel, the other on his phone, he swept open the screen and clicked Trinity’s name. She answered on the first ring. “Kingston?”
“Where are you?” He managed to squeeze out hoarsely.
“What’s wrong?”
“Where are you?” He repeated, his brain focused on only one thing—keeping his family safe. He could ease Trinity’s fears later.
“I’m at home, with Hope. We’re making some cheese dip, getting ready for the game. The Hogs are playing the Bulldogs.”
Half shaking with relief that she was okay, and half dreading that she might not be by the time he got there, King accelerated. “Lock the doors, get Hope, and go to the safe place.”
As soon as he bought the house, he’d gone through escape plans and what to do in case of an emergency with Trinity. She had indulged him, never really worried about their safety.
“Stay inside. Lock the doors. And get away from the windows. I’m on my way.”
“What’s going on?” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“Can’t explain now. Just do it. For me baby. I love you.”
He could practically see Trinity’s spine straightening. She wasn’t any kind of wilting willow. And that thread of steel came through in her voice when she replied, “I’ve got it. I love you.”
As much as he wanted to stay on the phone and hear every single breath they took, King knew he had to disconnect and get there. He hung up, held onto the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, and drove. Had he given himself away?
Not likely. The Solonik family ties reached far and deep, including into the US, that much he’d found out personally during his undercover op. King had managed to track one lead all the way back to DC, but hadn’t had enough time to fish out the traitor. Maybe their captain had managed to narrow the possibilities…King would interrogate each one of them personally.
He made it home in record time, grabbed his firearm, and bolted to their bright red front door.
Hands shaking like a damn baby, he managed to get the key in the deadbolt and silently unlocked the front door, pistol raised and ready. Fuck. He’d be useless like this. King took a deep breath in, closed his eyes for a split second and blew out the fear threatening to take control of his entire being.
With lethal calm, he crept silently into his house, clearing each room one by one. A bowl of warm cheese dip, steam still coming off of it, with a bag of chips sat on the counter in the kitchen. A folded pile of clothes lay on top of the washer and dryer in the connected laundry room. Silently he made his way back to the kitchen, to the living room, past the huge house-divided picture hanging on the wall, the right side with the purple LSU logo, the left side with the red Arkansas logo. The game was just starting on the TV.
Knees bent, every sense on the ready, he crept down the hallway. Hope’s bedroom was first on the left, her pink and white ruffled bedspread laying half on the floor. Closet clear.
&
nbsp; The spare bedrooms were next, just across the way, the one room King had not been allowed to touch, and Trinity had gleefully decorated in bold red and white for her favorite team.
Last, down on the left, the master bedroom door was shut. He tested the knob, found it unlocked, and slowly entered. His skin tingled and burned, but his blood ran cold in his veins. He hadn’t heard a single sound in the house.
Quickly he swept the room and the master closet, finally making his way to the bathroom. Keeping one eye on the bedroom door, he reached for the bathroom knob, found it locked. “Trinity?” He said just loud enough for her to hear through the door. He’d picked that as their safe place, there was a large enough window for her to exit out the back if needed. And they kept an emergency-go bag in the cabinet under the sink.
“Kingston?” Her shaky voice nearly took him to his knees.
“Unlock the door, baby.”
The lock clicked, the door opened, and she peeked around, her chocolate brown eyes wide with worry.
“Are you okay?” he asked quickly, gun still ready.
“Yes, we’re fine,” came her quick reply. With a groan of release, King holstered his weapon and dragged his wife into his arms, burying his face in her long, dark brown hair, inhaling her sweet scent.
“Daddy!” Hope leapt from the shower and bolted for them, her cheerleader skirt swooshing in bright red waves around her. When she was within reaching distance, she sprang up and King caught her in one arm, resting her light six-year-old frame onto his hip. His heart beating hard and slow, King palmed the back of her dark pigtailed head and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Mayhem’s King: Operation Mayhem Page 1