Shadow Ops: Danger's Desire (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 1)

by LS Silverii

  Hollywood shook water from his fingers and peered through the mask at burnt orange colored circles that surrounded his eyes. The whites were crisscrossed with red, swollen blood vessels. His shoulders sagged and chest caved as lungs full of stale air rushed from him—he was flat fucking tired.

  Maybe I should tell Rex about the assassination plot and let him decide whether to continue with his reign over carnival.

  “Well, the show must go on. Be cool bro.” King Rex kidded as he squeezed back through the cramped restroom. Hollywood’s twirling mind stopped dead cold. Flashes of heat radiated up his frame. The identity of Rex became clear. Red hot fucking clear—he recognized that voice but, that saying, “be cool bro.” Hollywood hated the man and his stupid saying.

  * * *

  Hollywood pushed through the impatient lines outside the bathrooms. He brushed shoulders and knocked knees with apologies and back pats. A far corner of the Grand Ballroom allowed him a platform to begin a visual grid search for Voodoo. She’d be lost in the sea of revelers excited about the big revelation of King Rex’s true identity. Hollywood scouted for the peacock feather instead—he had to make a move, with or without her.

  Hollywood slipped into the hallway once everyone mashed masquerading bodies into the main event. He pressed numbers into his cell phone until it lit up with the green signal showing he’d connected to STR’s secure line. Chin tucked into his shoulder, he scanned the empty stretch like a tanks’ turret.

  “Rose, we got an issue.” His voice was rushed—unlike the easy going smooth operator.

  “Billy’s on his way so you can brief us both.”

  “No time. I need you to listen without questions. King Rex’s assassination is just a diversion. The real mission is a boat coming in through the mouth of the Mississippi River. Don’t know its name or destination but it’ll be here tomorrow while Rex parades through the French Quarter. Trust me on this, y’all need to respond—it’s big.” He stopped to gulp huge air. Eyes darted rapidly up and down the corridor for Carvaka’s disciples.

  “How do you know the assassination is secondary?”

  “The target is JW Colt.” Tainted with the vile hatred he carried for the disgraced Navy SEAL, Hollywood gnawed at the inside of his mouth.

  “Why would anyone care if that traitor got sniped?” Billy asked. Hollywood heard the squish behind Billy’s words and knew he’d plopped into one of the leather chairs that lined the modernly equipped conference room back at HQ.

  “That’s the point, no one would, but it sure would cause a media buzz to see the fake war hero murdered on the big stage.” Hollywood hated the mention of Colt’s name, and wondered if trying to save him from execution was the right thing to do. Hollywood’s shiny shoes scuffed the wall as he kicked in agitation.

  “Then why all the fuss?” Billy spoke over Rose’s words. “Sorry, Rose.”

  “Billy, I told Rose there’s a ship coming into the river tomorrow under the cover of the Rex parade. Only thing I know is that it’s from Razgravia.”

  “What? You never mentioned Razgravia. What’s it doing in New Orleans?” Rose Prospero rarely lost her cool but the mention of the former Soviet bloc country set her very being ablaze. She’d suffered nineteen inhumane days of torture at the hands of its merciless dictator, Gregor. What was done to her body, and her soul could never be undone or forgiven.

  “I say we forget about his highness JW Colt and focus on the ship. Maybe the assassin will miss him?” Billy’s suggestion was drenched in sarcasm.

  “That’s the problem—the bullet would probably hit someone innocent. I’ve got a line on one half of a kill team. I’ll neutralize him by the end of the night. His female counterpart is also connected to my friend, NOPD Detective Alphonse Hebert. Seems Fats is involved somehow. The female’s possibly meeting the vessel, so I’ll allow her to walk until then.”

  He’d managed this entire incident so far without hesitation or questioning his own ability. He smirked—eyes narrowed on the phony Navy SEAL stumbling down the hall. Hollywood had regained his edge.

  “Stay on top of this. You’ve done an amazing job for a guy who’s been a desk jockey for years.” Rose chuckled. “I’ll round up the band and head to Dixieland. It might mean our freedom, or possibly our lives. But it’s Mardi Gras after all.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Hollywood kept a distance. Ralph’s intoxication prevented the counterfeit SEAL from realizing he’d picked up a tail. His head remained down while he fumbled to light a cigarette and walked into a wall. Hollywood’s eyes rolled, dumb ass.

  The exit door creaked open and Ralph fumbled his way into the fire escape staircase—perfect opportunity. Hollywood twisted his torso in an awkward tilt while he snugged his mask. It would disguise his true height on the surveillance cameras once the cops got involved over the discovery of Ralph’s corpse.

  “Hey, squid, where you heading?” Hollywood barked. Startled, the guy pitched and fell three steps onto a platform.

  “Nowhere. Thought I told you to fuck off.”

  Hollywood paused above him, pulse accelerated, but his mind tempered his body’s preparation to engage. “Let’s make this quick. What are your orders for tomorrow?”

  “Screw yourself.”

  “Tell me about the ship?”

  “The ship? You drunker than me. I’m here to win fifty K.”

  “Win?”

  “First team to take out Rex gets the fifty grand. You gonna get stiffed seaman because I’m grabbing him first. You other suckers are along the route. So go fuck off.” Fat-faced, Ralph blistered red with exertion. A life of hard drinking had done more than made him obnoxious. He staggered to his feet—trousers stretched tight around meaty thighs that never once covered a SEAL training course.

  Hollywood’s blood began to boil. While he’d stood cool and calm in the face of confronting Osama bin Laden, he failed to rein it in when it came to jackasses impersonating military personnel.

  “Ralph, you should really apologize for pretending to be a serviceman. It’s such a dishonor to those who’ve lost their lives for people like you.”

  “Fuck off.” Ralph’s fat finger jabbed at Hollywood’s jacket but he swiveled his hips to avoid the contact. Unsatisfied and overconfident, Ralph reared back and let loose a crushing swing that lethargically covered the distance between the two.

  Hollywood quickly slid his left foot to the rear and around to guide Ralph’s bulk toward the guard rail. Ralph’s momentum carried him over the barrier and onto the steps until he unceremoniously splattered at the bottom landing.

  “That was easy.” Hollywood sighed, and return to the Grand Ballroom.

  * * *

  “Damn, Hollywood, where’ve you been?” Voodoo enveloped him within her tatted arms. He struggled to conceal the emotional flood fueled by his heightened adrenaline. She recognized the look. “Something happen to Ralph, the fraud?”

  “Ralph the fraud removed himself from the assassination scenario—Bonny’s on her own.” Hollywood looked in her direction, where all five-foot-ten of Bonny’s lean, sexy physique clung onto JW Colt. His toes curled inside the fancy shoes while he cracked the knuckles on both hands. “Those two deserve each other,” he sneered.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry you’ve got to face Colt. I had no idea he was Rex. No one in the city knew until the big reveal just now. I bet he couldn’t wait to take that mask off—too bad his masks are permanent. Talk about a fraud.”

  “No problem. Can you get in touch with Lawless and Kymani? We need outside help until STR arrives. Second thought, scratch Kymani. He and Fats are friends.”

  “Down here, everybody’s connected. What counts is when it’s time to do the right thing, you can count on Kymani.” Voodoo’s eyes were wild with advocacy, her fingers on the dial. He nodded. She stepped into the hall to get the Task Force activated to tail Bonny.

  “Hey, bathroom buddy. Finally got my zipper open. Well, actually that bimbo with the ankle tattoo did. Killer body, huh?�
�� JW Colt slapped him on the shoulder. Intoxication was his best hobby.

  “You have no idea.” Hollywood grunted.

  “Want my autograph?” JW Colt flashed an 8x10 glossy headshot.

  “I’d be less liberal about headshots. It can get as dicey as Operation Neptune Spear during the Mardi Gras.” His adversary’s mouth dropped and for once the smiling jackal reverted to somber.

  It was Hollywood’s choice whether to alert Colt or not. Prior to discovering the information about the ship’s arrival, briefing him had been the best choice. Now, he’d better serve national security interests by sitting on his fabricated throne throwing manufactured trinkets.

  * * *

  “We’re supposed to set up an observation and shoot sight atop the Hotel de L’Eau Vive on Tchoupitoulas just down from Gravier. Still no word on where the other sniper team is setting up.” Hollywood’s eyes were puffy and painful. More than three days without sleep had left him with fatigue that caused him to jerk at sounds or respond slow to actions. Regardless, he was trained to become his toughest when times were tough too.

  “I got Kymani and Chu on Bonny. Lawless is heading to my condo to rummage through Bonny’s shit. Maybe find something about the ship. Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ve got about three hours until Carvaka is going to reach out with our next assignment.” Krystal’s body slumped onto the king-sized bed. He held her close.

  The events of the last seventy-two hours threatened to cause a fissure in his constitution, but still, he desired her touch more than his peace.

  “Krystal, thank you.” Eyes closed, he kissed her. His hands loosened their snug clutch around her waist. His mouth turned soft and the kiss very light. Hollywood was finally asleep.

  Their series of alarms clanged and rang. They both jerked out of bed reaching for their weapons before realizing it was their cellphones. Hollywood split his eyelid to challenge the early morning sun. He rubbed his shaggy, sun-kissed mane and pressed palms against his aching eyes. He felt around until his touch met hers. “Just the wakeup call,” he said. “Good morning.”

  “Morning, hero. Happy Fat Tuesday.” Voodoo whispered through a dry mouth and genuine smile—not the romantic image he’d hoped for. Of course, this hadn’t been a series of 007 episodes either.

  “Rose messaged. They’re working with the Coast Guard to check the river for anything suspicious. Bonny said she was going to meet them, so it’s either a smaller vessel or the Razgravian vessel that will dock. Not like she’s going to jump from the pier. Though, with that bod…” Hollywood clamped his lips shut as Voodoo’s ice-green peepers fired darts toward him.

  “Lawless also messaged.” She tilted her chin to allow her sexy tresses to swing back across her cheek, and lifted the corner of her lip. “Bonny’s in room eight twenty-three—alone. Lawless went through her junk at the condo and found nothing but a diary written in some eastern European language. Task Force is having it scanned and submitted to his STR contact for translation. Other than that, empty,” Voodoo said.

  “Rose also said they’ve evaluated the entire parade route, estimated the max effective range of five hundred and fifty yards, considered the elevation for the spotter to call the target and the shooter to establish a line of fire. Thanks to a relatively flat Big Easy, there aren’t many buildings that make for optimum shooting platforms. She’s sending the list now.”

  “Why five hundred and fifty yards?”

  “Because two hundred yards is dead,” he smirked, imitating the man’s fall from the fire escape.

  Voodoo disappeared from the bedroom and he heard the shower turn on. He slipped out of his boxers and walked toward the steam to join her.

  “How’re we going to check those locations?” Voodoo called over the water. Hollywood slid the glass door open and eased in behind her, “No need to shout, baby.”

  “We’re gonna be late to our own assassination.” She slid her slippery hands over him. Steam concealed his flesh, but she felt the heat of his erection. Hollywood pressed his palms against her ass. Her hands filled with more suds and his cock. She stroked him slowly. Her tight grip caused his knees to give, and he pressed against the shower wall. Hollywood wrapped his quivering hand around her wrist and beat his cock faster.

  His chin rose to face the shower spray, as groans of ecstasy escaped between the waterfall raining over his lips. His back arched until its breadth rested upon Voodoo’s shoulder. She grinned at her control over this warrior with just a five-finger hold. She whipped his dick back and forth—his moans grew louder. His hands grabbed at her shoulders while his hips began to rock with the same pace of her fist.

  Her soaped hand pushed against the swollen head of his dick before quickly sliding back until it slapped at his balls. Her left hand cupped his scrotum and caused him to exhale each time her right hand patted it.

  Her back and forth motion intensified until he let out a loud gasp. Hollywood bit at her neck and shoulders as he growled in orgasm. He leaned against the tumbled travertine stone. His chest rose and fell as he struggled against collapsing into the tub.

  “Knew I should’ve stroked you quicker. My phone’s been going crazy with texts.” Voodoo smiled. Hollywood hadn’t known many people able to keep their calm under the pressure of working shadow operations. She was ultra-cool.

  “It’s my phone,” Hollywood said. “Bingo. U.S. Customs Air Wing spotted a potential nest atop a three-story building at Lee Circle. Is that a high potential?”

  “Damn, that’s a perfect spot—high perch, long observation alley and unobstructed view.” Voodoo quivered with excitement. “What about the other spots Rose identified?”

  “Air Wing is checking but made the pass without authorization. They’re hitting the others, then gotta head out to the river’s mouth to scout traffic,” Hollywood said.

  “I say we go for the Circle,” Voodoo suggested.

  “Tell Kymani and Chu to take out Bonny first and then we’ll all head to secure the locations. How long can it take to check them out after all?”

  “It’s Mardi Gras day. Are you serious?” Voodoo’s brow wrinkled.

  “I’ll go with your lead then.” His shoulders shrugged.

  “Smart man. Lawless messaged me—said Chu and Kymani are back at the warehouse waiting instructions.” Her face pinched tight. She knew his next question.

  [Why did they leave Bonny?] She texted Lawless back.

  [Ordered to.] Lawless replied.

  [By who?]

  [Fats. Said relieve them. Needed back at warehouse.]

  [Have them clear building next to Hotel Mod in Lee Circle. Possible sniper nest.]

  “I’m so sorry. Fats is deeper in this than directing traffic.” Voodoo broke the news as she rubbed his bicep and looked to console him.

  “My fault. He’s my friend. Was my friend. Time to put an end to this adventure.” Hollywood rubbed her shoulders. “Ready to make a difference?” he asked.

  “Let’s roll,” she replied.

  CHAPTER 18

  Voodoo unhinged the security clasp, yanked the hotel room door open and Cranston Stone’s below-the-jaw punch lifted her off of her feet. She crumpled. The rickety homegrown terrorist had his weapon drawn before Hollywood could even consider touching his.

  Cranston sandpapered his grimy chin with calloused palms. He smelled of brackish swamp water and creosote.

  “I’ll make this simple, hero. Get your ass to the location, and if JW Colt finishes this parade as Rex—she dies. You took off Team Alpha, and figured out where Team Bravo will be. They’ll be easy enough to kill—married couple that doesn’t really like each other anyway. Probably watch them arguing over the spot and shot. The others never mattered—it was you we wanted.”

  Hollywood knelt over Voodoo. He lifted her back into the room and set her on the bed.

  “How’d you know I’d answer the ad? Hell for that matter, how’d you know I was in New Orleans?”

  “Rougarou knows all. He knew the undercover girl wou
ld answer the ad, so we made it co-ed teams. You’re a fucking hero, you had to volunteer. Ain’t no self-deprecating hero gonna let a woman go in alone. You’re typical—Dudley do right, no matter the consequences.” Hollywood realized his identity had been listed in the Preacher’s database after all.

  “Then you know I’ll also do the right thing and kill you.” He glared at Cranston who leapt back. He’d not fall for another smash beneath the chin.

  “Whatever. Just handcuff this whore and move out. Call anybody you want, but she dies a horrible fucking death if JW Colt arrives alive. Gregor’s torture of your sexy-ass boss, Rose Prospero will seem like a prom date compared to what I’m prepared to do to Krystal Laveau.”

  “What makes you think I’ll shoot Colt?”

  “Dishonor.”

  “Sometimes that’s not enough to kill for.”

  “He’s driven your family into WitSec, you owe him for ruining their lives, don’t you?”

  Primal rage shot through Hollywood. His shoulders quivered. His family’s image flashed before his eyes. Once so proud of him, they now snuck across the country as exiles.

  He knew what had to be done. Hollywood kissed Voodoo’s head and walked out.

  * * *

  “Rose.” Hollywood’s voice broke with exhaustion as he sprinted through bunches of unaware bodies to reach his stashed go-bag before mounting atop the hotel.

  “Hollywood, we’re touching down now. STR’s going tactical and meeting with local Task Force to intercept sniper team. Looks like the good guys win.” Her voice pressed over the copter’s rotor wash.

  “Rougarou’s crew got Voodoo. They’ll torture her to death unless I assassinate Colt. I’ve got no choice—her over the traitor.”

  “You can’t kill him, Dwight. Think of the panic it’ll create. Can’t we notify Colt and cancel the parade?”

  “Rose, they’ve got me by the balls. Save the man I hate and lose the woman I love—I can’t make that choice.” He stopped running. He repeated what he’d just said. The words resounded as natural as the first time he’d said it.