Rolling my eyes as he stopped next to me, I thought, here we go again. “Don’t even think about hitting on me, unless you want to go the way of that asshole over there.” I hitched a thumb toward the guy currently holding his arm and hanging his head in embarrassment as his buddies pretended not to know him when they saw us looking.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His voice was low enough that I was the only one who heard him. He held his hand out for me to shake. “Allow me to introduce myself, Corporal Michaels. The name’s Carter, but you’ll know me as 009-859SRU.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit. I was stunned but refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d shocked me as I ignored his extended hand. “About fucking time. Why didn’t you say something when I first came in, huh? Was that show entertaining for you?”
He dropped his hand, and his grin lit up his handsome face as his blue eyes danced in amusement. “Oh, very much so, sweetheart. Come, bring your beer.”
That had been much more enjoyable than Carter had expected. Michaels hadn’t hesitated to put the two-hundred-fifty-pound man in his place. The redneck’s arm and pride were hurting, but the cash in his pocket more than made up for it. Striding back to the table with Michaels on his heels, Carter took his seat once more with his back to the wall. He knew she was about to blast him for the “sweetheart” comment so he cut her off at the pass. “Corporal Michaels, this is your contact, Master Sergeant Jackson. Take a seat.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” she said to Jackson as she pulled out a chair and sat.
Instead of returning her greeting, Jackson glared at her. “Rule number one of special operations, Michaels, is never sit with your back to a room. It can have deadly results.”
The corners of Carter’s mouth ticked upward as the meaning of the man’s words became clear to the female soldier. Her eyes widened as she scooted her chair closer to Jackson’s so she could see as much of the bar as possible. She was a fast learner. Good, she needed to be.
She stared at Jackson in a mix of confusion and disbelief. She lowered her voice as if afraid to be overheard, which was an unnecessary worry. There was no one within fifteen feet of the trio, and the music from the jukebox muted their voices to the others in the bar. “Forgive me, sir, but special ops?”
Pulling out her file he’d been sitting on, Jackson opened the manila folder and began rattling off her background, both before and after joining the military. Her jaw dropped, and Carter snorted before taking another sip of his beer. Welcome to the world of black ops, Michaels.
When Jackson was done with her background, he closed the folder and placed it on the table in front of him. “A new unit is being formed, Michaels, and Carter here thinks you have what it takes to be a part of it. However, I’m not convinced. Yes, your background is close to ideal, but aside from that one skirmish you were in, you have no real combat experience.”
As Carter expected, rage filled her eyes. “With all due respect, sir, I’d hardly call what my men and I went through a skirmish. Many good men lost their lives that day. My fucking NCO, Staff Sergeant Montez, had a two-month-old son he never got to meet thanks to that ‘skirmish,’ as you call it. I call it a fucking Hell on Earth. If you disagree with that, sir, then you can go fuck yourself.”
She stood quickly, sending her chair screeching back a foot or two. Jackson glared at her with hard eyes. “Sit down, Corporal, and can the fucking attitude. I’m a superior officer and you will treat me as such—even in this fucking dive.”
Carter grinned, earning a dirty look from her. Oh, yeah. She’s going to be part of Steel Corps, as long as she doesn’t piss Jackson off any more than she already has.
Slowly she took her seat once more, but her anger was still simmering under the surface. Jackson placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Here’s the deal, Michaels. Take it or fucking leave it. I don’t care either way.” Yeah, that was a lie. The man was definitely impressed with what he’d witnessed over the past five minutes—he wouldn’t be about to make his offer if he hadn’t been. “This new unit being formed is going to be so far off the grid, you will cease to exist. No contact with anyone from your life before the moment you become part of my team. They will all be told you died in combat. Everyone. Your life will be black ops and nothing else until you decide it’s time to leave. You’ll then get a new name, new life, and no further contact with me or any of your teammates. You will train . . . my way or the highway. You will give yourself 110 percent to your team and its missions. You fuck up, and it will be the worst day of your life . . . and maybe your last.” He pulled out another folder he’d been sitting on. “This doesn’t leave my sight. Sit there. Read it. Then give me your decision. Either you leave here tonight on my team, or you forget you ever saw either one of us and go back to your boring life in Intelligence.”
As Michaels gaped at the master sergeant, Carter’s cell phone silently buzzed on his hip. A message had been left on his voice mail. Very few people knew the number, and those who did were either his bosses or high up on the US government food chain. Hitting the button to connect to the voice mail, he put the phone to his ear. After listening for a moment, he hung up and stood. “I have to go, so I’ll leave you two to hash this out. Jackson, great to see you again. Michaels . . . good luck, sweetheart.” He winked at her and headed for the door.
9
Gripping the burner phone tightly in my hand, I stared at the slip of paper with Jackson’s number on it, unblinking. I’d been glaring at it so long, the numbers were blurring together, even though I had long since memorized them. I’d told him I needed some time, in private, to decide, and he’d given me two hours—a gift really. I had to call him either way, he needed to know my decision. Was I going to do this? Really go through with this?
Aunt Beatrice’s face flashed in my brain. My supposed death would break her heart. I don’t know if I could do this to her. She was all I had left in the world and vice versa. But this was a unique opportunity—I would be given the chance to swiftly deal out justice for those most in need of it. Maybe I had a hero complex, I wasn’t sure.
Besides the opportunity for justice, I would be able to disappear. The note from my father was burned into my mind. I still had no idea how’d he managed to contact me, in fucking Iraq of all places. I’d only been there for two weeks when the message arrived. A clerk was handing out mail and I was surprised when my name was called—I very rarely got mail. Sitting in my bunk with veins full of ice, I opened the envelope.
Bea,
It took me more effort than I would like to find you. You really ran away good this time. But I’m your father, your blood, and blood will always ring true. I’m so angry with you. How could you have left like that? And after that goon of yours beat me up, I spent two days in the hospital with broken ribs. You need to leave the Army and come home where you belong. You know you’re going to fail. You’re nothing and no one. I’m the only one who cares about you. How could you leave me I’m your father and you will do as you’re told. If not, well, you know what will happen. Get your ass home, girl. Where you belong. You can never escape me. I’m all you’ve got and without me you’ll be all alone in a world where everyone can see what a lying, little murdering bitch you are. Is that why you joined the Army? So you can keep killing people? Did you get a taste of it after you murdered your mother? Everyone is going to see who you are. They will hate you. They already do. Come home. Now.
Your Father.
This was my chance, my golden opportunity to get away. For good. I’d be dead and forever out of my father’s reach. I wouldn’t get another opportunity like this and I knew being back in the states it would be only a matter of time until he showed up at my door. My heart broke for what I was about to put Aunt Beatrice through, but I knew if I had the chance to explain she would understand. I couldn’t go through all of that again. Not now, not after what I’d been through in Iraq. I didn’t have it in me anymore. I was so far past done with him and my past.
<
br /> Maybe I was a killer, after all, and he was right. I had killed my mother by being born. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t my fault. How could it be? But years of being told I was to blame was hard to forget. Maybe Steel could be my fresh start, a chance at a new life free from the burdens of the past. It was this or I’d go home and slit that bastard’s throat—after I made him beg for death. I’d show him just exactly what it was I had been doing in Iraq. But, no, death was too good for that fucker. He didn’t deserve it. His punishment would be living and remembering what my mother had been to him and what he’d done to me. When his death finally arrived, his judgment would as well. He could spend eternity burning in the pit of hell and it would be too good for him.
My silence and then alleged death would bring him plenty of pain. That part of my life was over—a new chapter was about to begin. I flipped the phone open and dialed the number before I gave myself a chance to think anymore.
The call was answered. “Jackson,” he barked impatiently.
“I’m in.” No other words were necessary. My stomach was in knots, and my sweaty palms slipped on the phone, nearly dropping it.
“I’m texting you directions. Meet me there at 0900 tomorrow. Bring all the gear you have with you. Check out of the motel. Get rid of your phone before you arrive.”
A click and dead air was followed by a beep announcing the text message. I quickly memorized the directions and turned off the phone before pulling out the battery and SIM card. I’d dispose of them in different locations along the way.
I needed some dinner, I hadn’t eaten since my last stop for gas on the drive up. Pocketing my room key, I headed out. The only place I knew of to get something to eat at this hour was Finnegan’s. I pulled my Jeep into the parking lot. Even though I’d been gone for a few hours, the lot was still full of vehicles—more than it had been earlier.
There was a band playing covers, and the dance floor was packed. I shoved my way through the crowd, making a beeline for the last empty stool at the bar. The music was excellent, the lead singer killing it on “Dragula.” I tapped my fingertips on my thigh to the beat, tapping my nails against the knife in my pocket.
The scarred bartender noticed me and ambled down the length of the bar, dropping off drinks on the way.
“Couldn’t wait to see me again, huh, luv? What can I get ya?” His whiskey smooth voice had my inner-girl sitting up and noticing. Between his tone and the accent, he probably had women throwing themselves at him every night.
“A menu and a Pepsi.”
“Kitchen’s closed, sorry.” He shrugged and pointed at the clock over his shoulder. It was now almost eleven. Dammit.
I gritted my teeth in frustration. Hunger pains twisted my stomach. “Listen, I haven’t eaten in over ten hours. I’ll pay double, just get me a burger and fries. Please.”
“Aye.” He winked at me. “Can’t let a pretty lass starve in my pub, but you’ll eat in the back. If I serve you, then everyone is going to want food.”
Leaving the other bartender to take care of things, he walked over to where the little door was in the bar and waved me back. I followed him into a gleaming kitchen. There was a large worktable in the middle with a few stools pushed under the edge. He pulled one out, indicating for me to sit, then fired up the grill.
“I appreciate this,” I said, taking the seat.
“Don’t mention it, luv. I won’t let a beautiful lass like you go hungry.” He was pulling open the doors to several fridges, spreading out ingredients on the counter. He slapped a burger on the flat-top, pressing it down. “Onions?” He looked over his shoulder at me, quirking an eyebrow up in question.
“Grilled, yes. Not raw. And cheese, too.. And knock off the ‘beautiful lass’ crap. I am many things, but beautiful is not one of them. Please.” I remembered to be polite at the last minute. Spending months at a time with a bunch of rowdy soldiers tends to wear away your manners.
“It’s my bloody bar and I can say and think what I want. Yer a knockout. Take the compliment or don’t, but I speak the truth.”
“Okay then. Thanks for the sweet compliment.” I added as much sarcasm as I could, throwing in an eye roll for extra measure.
“You’re a sassy one then, aren’t you?” Chuckling, he turned his back to me and began to prepare my meal in earnest.
Watching him cook was like watching a symphony of motion. His body flowed around the kitchen, step-by-step, assembling the food. The room was soon filled with mouth-watering smells . . . and sights for that matter. I lost all track of time watching him prepare my meal—it felt incredibly surreal. He was fit and strong, I kept catching glimpses of his back and stomach as he twisted and reached over the counter. He wasn’t rock solid, but instead, he was real. My mouth was suddenly dying for a taste of something more than a burger.
“Here you go.” He laid a plate piled high with a burger and fries on the table in front of me.
My attention snapped back to the present, my daydreams evaporating under his amber gaze. “Thank you, this looks fucking amazing.”
Chuckling, he swiped a fry. “If there’s anything else you need . . . or want—anything at all. You let me know.” With a wink and crooked smile, he left me alone.
My face heated, knowing I’d been caught ogling him. I let his obvious offer linger in the back of my mind. Maybe it was something I’d explore later. Taking my first bite, the flavors exploded in my mouth. I knew I was hungry enough to choke down an MRE, but this was the best burger I’d ever had. If he did this so well, I wondered what else he was good at.
Once I was finished, I put my dirty plate in the sink and left forty dollars on the counter. Over the course of my meal, I decided I’d be back. That was for damn sure.
Grabbing my duffel, I stowed it in my Jeep and went to the office to check out. A bell sounded as I pushed open the door and Harriet stood in greeting.
“Heading out then, dear?” Her arthritis-twisted hands rested on the counter, supporting her weight. I didn’t see her cane.
“Yes, ma’am. All set.” I laid the key on the counter and turned to leave. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“You are most welcome. Kindness costs nothing, and I’m happy to give it. You stay safe, young lady. Whatever you’re up to is dangerous, I can feel it.”
“Thank you, ma’am, and have a great day.” She was correct, what I was about to do was indeed dangerous and not just physically. I’ll be leaving my current life behind and starting a new one. The only thing I would keep was my name, if only in the presence of my team. My memories were my own, offering up their own set of challenges. My hope was I would be so busy I wouldn’t have a chance to dwell on the past—Iraq or my father . . . or Aunt Beatrice.
My Jeep started with a throaty rumble and I headed down the road, following Jackson’s instructions. I turned onto a narrow dirt road, and when I broke through the tree line, I found myself on a construction site.
Earth, churned into mud, was everywhere, with the skeletons of buildings rising around the perimeter. Two small cabins were completed, with the concrete pads and framed walls of three more going up. I felt the Jeep’s tires slip a bit when I climbed the last, small rise.
Yellow construction equipment filled the area, and there was a black Silverado parked in front of the only other completed building. If I had to guess from the outside alone, I’d say it was the mess hall.
I was grateful for my boots when I stepped down into the mud. Shouldering my bag, I strode inside. The half-finished interior smelled strongly of paint, lumber, and drywall dust. I could see what the building would be—kitchen towards the back, tables in the middle, and maybe a rec area to the side.
A wooden door in the back corner was ajar and drew my attention. As I approached, a deep, booming voice coming from inside let me know I was it the right place.
“I don’t care what your boss says, this is your fucking deadline and if you can’t meet it, I’ll fucking find someone who can!” Jackson shouted at someone
in a white hard hat—the foreman, no doubt. Slamming his hand on the table, the large black man, who was now my superior, seemed to grow even bigger as his temper rose.
The foreman tried to placate him. “Sir, my men are doing the best they can. But the mud is making everything take longer. This is the way construction is, delays happen. I can’t control the weather. We’re expecting more rain tonight.”
“Great, just fucking great. I need this place operational in three months. Are you going to be able to make that deadline, or do I need to hire a different company?” Jackson leaned across the makeshift table and glared at the other man.
“My team is the best. We’ll get it done. If we have to work nights, it will be finished.” The foreman was red-faced and sweating. It was hard to tell if he was intimidated or choking back his own temper.
“Fine. See that you do.” Jackson waved his hand, dismissing him like he was brushing off a fly.
I moved to the side so the foreman could leave, waiting for Jackson to acknowledge me.
“Come in, Staff Sergeant.” He plopped down in a wooden chair. It was covered in paint splatters, and no doubt belonged to the workers. He was dressed all in black, his tactical pants tucked into heavy boots, and in turn, his fitted, black T-shirt tucked into his pants.
“Excuse me, sir, but I’m a corporal.”
“Not anymore. You said yes; you’re now a staff sergeant and will lead this team. Happy fucking promotion day.”
Holy fuck! I dropped my bag, taking a moment to rearrange my scrambled thoughts. I tried not to gape at him. “Thank you, sir. What team? When do they arrive?”
“I haven’t picked the team yet. You’re it, for now. First, we’ll complete your training, then I’ll recruit the rest of the team. I have some candidates in mind. I’ll take your opinion into consideration, but the final decision is mine.”
No Way In Hell: A Steel Corps/Trident Security Crossover Novel Page 7