by LS Silverii
I couldn’t imagine wearing that damn hat for a twelve-hour shift.
Seated not far behind the POTUS and JW Colt, the Bobby became a distraction for Hollywood. He forced himself to scan other locations close to the target zone, but his eyes kept returning to the British officer.
POTUS wrapped up her speech, and would soon be whisked away while other police, fire, and military dignitaries droned on.
Hollywood paused. He’d been in this game long enough to realize you didn’t ignore the little voice or the times when the hair on the back of your neck stood up. No good cop did. He now focused on the Bobby instead of trying to avoid him. He leaned in. Then lurched across the fencing. His weight balanced across. It rattled the feeble metal and drew the Secret Service’s attention.
“Freeze!” someone called out.
Hollywood ignored them. Something stuck out in plain sight, but what was it? He glanced at the teams of Secret Service Agents making their way faster toward him. He again ignored them. When he turned back, he saw what it was that drew his eyes like a moth to the flame.
British Bobbies didn’t carry firearms. The one seated about three chairs to the left and one row back was wearing a leather duty belt with a semi-automatic pistol attached. Hollywood jumped the chain-link fence and hurried through the audience.
He made eye contact with Billy, who had begun to circle closer to the front. Hollywood mimed a large hat above his head, and Billy looked to have understood the reference. Both operatives moved quicker, but unfortunately drew more attention to themselves.
When POTUS moves, the general rule is everyone else sits their asses down.
Four Secret Service Agents were now over the fence and in pursuit of Hollywood. His heart raced at the danger, but there wasn’t time to stop to explain.
POTUS stepped away from the podium and headed back to her assigned chair. Hollywood moved faster though he had to fight his way through the mass of humanity. He saw the British Bobby rise. The blue felt helmet came off to reveal a shock of blonde hair, cut above an angular jaw line—Bonny.
“Stop!” yelled the Secret Service agent.
Hollywood clawed his way over laps and dress shoes.
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” screamed another agent dressed in the typical dark navy suit with the lapel pin of the day.
Frantic, Hollywood pushed harder. He was within about thirty yards of Bonny when he saw her withdraw a Glock semiautomatic from her holster.
“Freeze!” A Secret Service agent confronted Hollywood at the end of the aisle.
“British Bobby. A gun,” he gasped.
He saw Billy sprinting across an opening to the front of the audience.
“Bonny, no!” Hollywood yelled.
Bonny flicked her head to toss her hair from her eyes. She turned back and fired two rounds.
The president never had the time nor the training to move out of the line of fire. It all happened so fast. Who could’ve expected her to react? Officers, once spectators, grabbed Bonny’s arms and eventually pulled the weapon from her hands.
Hollywood froze at the barrel of a Secret Service pistol pointed at his forehead. He glanced over the federal employee’s shoulder to see Billy Price being handcuffed by another team of feds.
His peripheral captured a flash of agents evacuating the president through the fenced escape route. Crowds scattered as emergency medical personnel arrived to the front row.
Though it happened too quickly to see, witnesses with phone cameras and live television had captured the moment. Hollywood saw the footage later. The SEAL seated near the president redeemed himself in the end. He recognized the threat, and like every good SEAL is trained to do, he defended the helpless. JW Colt dove into the line of fire. The day’s single casualty was United States Navy SEAL, Captain JW Colt—American hero.
CHAPTER 20
Traffic slowed along Louisiana Highway 18 as the procession of police cars, limousines and Harley Davidsons squeezed across a sliver of shoulder that dotted the river road. A levee that held the mighty Mississippi River at bay was also speckled by guests’ vehicles.
Hollywood’s thumb and forefinger flapped his tuxedo jacket to coax a slight breeze across his torso. He greeted each of the Boudreaux brothers as they marched into the narrow lanes of asphalt. Hollywood slid the slick sole of his shiny black shoes across the damp surface of manicured lawn. Thoughtful as he read the rocker patches embossed across the backs of their cuts, he’d actually grown to understand their ethos—if not respect it. Hollywood chuckled at the sight of their leather vests cleaned up—or at least wiped down for the ceremony.
Hands shoved deep into each front pocket, he beamed at the majestic view. Eighteenth century Greek Revival architecture at its most splendid. An eight hundred foot canopied-path lined with twenty-eight grandiose oak trees led to the main plantation home, known as Oak Alley, the most iconic of all Mississippi River Valley antebellum mansions.
Yet, it all faded in comparison to the beauty who had just arrived in an ornate candle-white, Barouche buggy, drawn by a pristinely groomed white stallion. Fingers teased a wave as she rode past. Voodoo’s smile was as innocent and sincere as he’d ever seen.
Cinderella, who would’ve guessed.
“You ready, Hollywood?” Chase asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” he smiled. They shook hands again before the trek beneath the blanket of foliage. “Chase, I owe today to you,” Hollywood said.
Mint julep spilled across his bottom lip. “Owe me for what?”
“Never doubting my suspicions of Doctor Hailey. Dropping the tracker into her purse was pure genius. Without that today wouldn’t be happening.”
“Yeah, it’s nuts that Senator Dunn dispatched the good doctor to kill Rose—can’t trust anyone. Too small a world.” Chase whistled after he emphasized his point.
“No shit.” Rose had shown him the cleaner’s pictures of the scene. Mercy, had made a fucking mess of things. The story he told was that Doctor Hailey tried to jab a syringe into Voodoo, so he shot her in the face. Hollywood had his doubts.
“Mercy showed that bitch no mercy,” Chase simulated pulling a pistol from a holster.
“Not so sure I trust Mercy’s story about bringing Voodoo back to the apartment because he knew the NYPD would be there soon. Either way, had Mercy not stolen the doc’s purse, we’d have never found my bride.” Hollywood said.
“It ain’t that simple,” Chase said.
He waved to the rest of the wedding party who waited under the last tree, next to the white lattice gazebo. They began to assemble.
Hollywood cut off Chase’s words, “It is that simple. You saved her, Chase, and I’ll always owe you.” They hugged with heavy backslapping—the way warriors do.
“Let you in on a secret?” Chase said. He pulled Hollywood back in close to whisper. “Mercy was going to steal the doctor’s Mercedes to drive Voodoo away, but as he approached it with your bride slumped over his shoulder, the Benz zoomed away. Driven by none other, than Senator William Dunn.”
Hollywood smiled. There’d be one more dragon to slay before closing the chapter to this fairy tale.
“Lets do this, all right?” Hollywood smiled as they approached the rest of the wedding party.
Seated in the front row next to his daughter and Lawless, Justice stood to tower over Hollywood. They stared, and then grinned.
“She’s one of our own bayou girls, you better treat her right, California boy.” Justice’s huge hand dwarfed the groom’s. “It’s been good learning to trust you.”
“Same here, outlaw.”
“Seems one more wolf left to slay,” Justice mouthed while he straightened Hollywood’s boutonniere.
“Right after the honeymoon, my brother.”
“He tried running down a brother—the Savage nation will take care of the Senator. You enjoy Turtle Bayou and keep an eye on my little brother.” Justice stood back after one last inspection. He had to go.
Everyone stood as The Wedding
March cued over the speakers.
Hollywood’s heart pounded with excitement. He couldn’t take it any longer—he had to see her. He bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to see over the crowd. Chase squeezed his left shoulder one last time. It was the silent signal between shadow operatives that it was “Go time.”
Hollywood embraced the butterflies that raged in his nervous belly. Warm air invaded his lungs as beads of sweat speckled his forehead. He exhaled forcefully before leaning to peek down the aisle. The lush lawn, dotted with white wicker chairs, flowers, and pastel frocks, looked deep green and cool.
Rose, Billy, KC, Chase and even Lucky Cavanaugh, sat sweltering in the Creole humidity. Hollywood laughed at their looks of discomfort, but was ever thankful they’d come to celebrate his special moment. They looked at him and everyone smiled. His nod had just signaled his farewell to the Special Threats Response team.
The music began. He looked to the heavens and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Hollywood stepped forward so he had a view of the long, rose-strewn path. There she was, his beautiful Krystal Marie Laveau. She looked so tiny, but never so happy. Radiant, smooth caramel skin accented her ivory, satin and lace gown. Spaghetti straps lay across tattooed shoulders, while a ruffled train swept behind her.
White teeth nibbled at her bottom lip, while wide, green eyes looked wet beneath fluttering eyelids. She and her escort waltzed along the grass as gracefully as if they’d practiced it.
“Hi,” she said softly when she reached her groom’s side.
“Hi, baby.”
Hollywood gripped Justice’s hand and thanked him for walking her down the aisle. She kissed her childhood friend. Her dad would’ve been proud of her this day.
“By the way, I wore this just for you,” she said.
Hollywood lifted the veil—it was her black leather collar.
The End
For more of outlaw biker, Justice Boudreaux, please watch for 2015 releases in the Savage Souls Series. There’s also a sneak peek into this outlaw biker world below.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LS Silverii is a highly decorated law enforcement officer from Cajun country with over 25 years of heart-racing experience.
Danger’s Passion is the third and final in a trilogy written for CJ Lyons’ Shadow Ops Kindle Worlds. The romantic suspense series takes you behind the badge and across country to experience the raw rush and romance of true alpha heroes.
Connect with me online:
www.silverhartwriters.com
facebook.com/CopsWritingCrime
twitter.com/silverhartllc
If you enjoyed reading Danger’s Passion, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy this book, too.
Recommend it. Please help other readers find this book by recommending it to friends, readers’ groups and discussion boards.
Review it. Please tell other readers why you liked this book by reviewing it at Amazon. If you do write a review, please send me an email at [email protected] so I can thank you with a personal email. Or visit me at www.silverhartwriters.com
“LINKS TO MY OTHER BOOKS”
Danger’s Desire - (Book 1)
Danger’s Heat - (Book 2)
Danger’s Passion - (Book 3)
The Cajun Murder Mystery Series
Bayou Roux: The Complete First Season
Bayou Backslide: A Cajun Murder Mystery Series Special Edition
A Darker Shade of Blue: From Public Servant to Professional Deviant; Policing’s Special Operations Culture: A Darker Shade of Blue
Cop Culture: Why Good Cops Go Bad
LINKS TO CJ LYONS’ SHADOW OPS SERIES
Chasing Shadows
Lost in Shadows
Edge of Shadows
Sneak Peek:
Savage Souls Series
His chamber was dark. The murmur of death metal music rumbled low in the background. Justice liked his room cold—cold enough to hang meat. He heard her struggling. The sound of flesh tapping against the icy, bare wall told him she’d been secured. A light was dialed to cast a glow over her stretched frame. Justice watched her struggle to tiptoe over the sawhorse that sat split between her thighs. She fought to keep the strain off of her wrists hung from suspended cuffs. They twisted against the stainless steel chain links.
“What are you going to do with me?”
Justice ignored her question. He remained in the shadows and watched—pulse quickened. His thumb and middle finger sandpapered each other. It was a tick or a habit or an involuntary technique he’d developed to keep his mind in the present. He had the habit of drifting back into combat or other traumatic events that provoked a violent reaction inside his body and mind. A simple act like rubbing his fingers together stopped the psychological drift.
“Answer me, damn it. I came here for you. This is how you treat your treats?” She curled her ass forward as her exposed pussy touched the sawhorse.
Anger streaked through him—who the fuck was she to order him. Justice was highly trained, but also highly volatile. One step closer to the breach of shadows and his breath turned to smoke as it mixed with the cold air and yellowish track of light.
“You motherfucker, say something,” she taunted.
Her naked body dangled from the shackles, but she’d seemed to grow accustomed to the bite of the metal rings into her wrists. Small breast looked even more so with both arms forced above her head. Solid erect nipples prominently rose from her chest. Matching stainless steel bars with balls on each end set in each pierced nipple. The cold temperature made them super firm, Justice thought he saw humidity collected across the bars.
Flawless skin without a single tattoo began to shimmer with a slight coat of moisture. Justice grinned at the chill bumps that covered her body and knew it’d be extra sensitive to the touch of his hand or his belt. Which, depended on her responses.
Always on high alert, the last few days had his suspicions on hyper-drive. Fucking with the Las Vegas chapter and the rip off of a quarter million bucks had him on a razor’s edge. And now, during the Savage Nation’s sacred night of church, this bitch tries sneaking in. The faraway look in his eyes distorted his heart-shaped face—usually composed, stress affected him.
“Say something or let me go. I’m tired of your fucking game of hide and seek.”
Justice inhaled until his massive lungs filled with cold, moist air. Scared knuckles across his wide right fist blanched white. His fingers gripped the heavy metal and copper belt buckle and jerked until the thick leather belt zipped out from around his waist.
She seemed to have heard the sound—her eyes squinted across the soft glow to scan the darkness.
The belt hummed as it ripped through the air with a mighty draw to the rear. It snapped with the crack of a bullwhip as he twisted his hips to change its direction. The thrumming sound of leather slicing through air grew louder as the thick slab of cowhide raced from the shadows and picked up speed in the light.
She cried out as it ripped open skin between the left hip and rib cage. Water flung from beneath the belt’s tip. Her torso cringed and she lifted her left leg up close to her chest. The response to pain was temporary as her strength to hold the leg up faded fast. Blood seeped through the tear, but pooled quickly before reaching her thigh.
Justice exhaled while he leaned forward with the swing’s follow through. Righting himself, he listened—there was no cry. He returned to the shadow and watched.
“That all you got, big bad boy?”
“Why are you here?”
“Oh, he speaks.”
Justice slashed the leather belt back once again and raked a wide red streak across her ass. This time she winched. His erection sprung at that sound.
Mouth dry from the anticipation of striking her again, he swallowed hard. “I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?” The belt lynched by his side.
“I’m selling girl scout cookies. Wanna buy some?”
“Usually this would be fun. Nothing beats
a visit from a good house mouse, but I’m in no mood for bullshit. Last time I’ll ask.” A rapid heartbeat signaled his sexual desires raged against his intuition that she was sent as a set up.
Like a lightening crack across a turbulent dusk sky, his belt strapped her back across the spine. The strike against a less meaty portion of her body caused a much more immediate response from this devilish newcomer. Her back arched, and her nipples hardened. He whipped her again with equal force—her chin fell to her chest. Cut short, jet-black trusses tousled forward.
“Baby, tell daddy why you hear,” Justice changed his tone to soothe her.
Her head lifted—she smiled.
“I got nothing. No body left in my life, but I want to be part of a family who gives a fuck about each other. Everybody knows the Savages are family,” her voice lost the adversarial edge. She sounded almost sweet.
Justice’s legs loosened as he looped the belt around his waist. The tip was still hot from impact, but it was no longer needed. He knew the tactic for breaking a person—she responded quicker than some, but she did respond.
Savoring the sweet moment of creating that separation between what a human wants to do, and actually does do is intoxicating. The skill required the understanding of two things—knowing how to keep your target alive long enough to gain their compliance and knowing that it wasn’t the fear of pain that broke someone—it was the hope of the pain stopping.
“You want me to be your daddy, little girl?”
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3