by Sabrina York
Text copyright ©2016 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Desiree Holt. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original The Omega Team remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Desiree Holt, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
Hot Rod by Sabrina York
A Scorching Omega Team Novella by Sabrina York
A standard witness protection mission goes wrong, thrusting Matt Devereaux and his target, a wise-cracking hooker named Vixen LaFleur, into a fight for their lives. But flying bullets and lurking villains are not nearly as dangerous as risking the heart. Against his will, Matt is attracted to the dauntless, exasperating woman he’s supposed to be protecting, but she is harboring a secret. One that could heal his wounded soul, or crush it.
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to Desiree Holt
Edited by: Carrie Jackson
Cover Art by: Dar Albert
Chapter One
Matt Devereaux grimaced as he walked into the briefing room and got a glimpse of the team for this new mission. Not that Cooper and Ace weren’t two of the best, but they’d both been on his last mission, one that went completely FUBAR. It made his head ache just to look at them, and remember.
He’d barely survived. When the rebels had attacked just as his team was preparing for an incursion to Don Reymundo’s compound, Matt had taken a round in the plates—and broken two ribs—but it had been the concussion from the blast that put him down for the count. If it hadn’t been for Coop dragging his lifeless body from the flames, he would have died like Esteban, or worse, been taken prisoner by one of the world’s most vicious drug kingpins.
Having the same team—with the noted exception of Esteban, rest his soul—did not mean this mission would go tits up as well, but Matt couldn’t shake the ominous premonition hovering like a cloud.
He nodded to his compatriots, took his seat at the table and sipped on bitter coffee as they waited for Grey. After a couple minutes, he checked his watch and his disquiet swelled. Grey was never late for a meeting. Especially one he’d called.
The others must have felt a similar discomfort, because even Ace, who was a Chatty Fucking Cathy, was silent.
When Coop spoke, his voice seemed to reverberate through the Spartan room, bouncing off the bare walls.
“So how are you doing, Devereaux?” he asked.
Matt blew out a breath. “Better.”
He wasn’t dead. Or in a coma. That was better, wasn’t it? But shit, every muscle still ached.
“We were worried about you,” Ace said, scratching at his bald head. Or one of the recent scars speckling that shiny pate.
“I’m tough.” He was. He had to be. In his world, that was the only way to survive. He’d learned to stand alone, to block out emotions and pain and all that pansy-ass shit. Yeah, it was a cold fucking existence, but it kept him alive.
The silence hummed for a moment and then Ace grunted. If Matt had been asked to lay odds on who would shatter the peace, he would have picked Ace. “Wonder what this one will be.”
It was a pointless contemplation. Grey would be here soon and he’d explain everything, but—just to be polite—Matt shrugged again.
“As long as it’s not another rescue from Don Reymundo, I’m cool,” Ace said, picking at the cardboard of his coffee cup.
Yeah. Of all the missions Matt had ever been on, and there had been a lot, that one had been the worse. Like a walk through Hell’s gardens. Something about the way things had gone down just stuck in his craw. Though the team had gone in covertly, Don Reymundo’s men had been waiting for them. Almost as though they’d expected the raid. But the only way they could have known the Omega Team was coming was if someone had tipped them off, and the only people on the planet who knew were Omega Team members.
The Omega Team was made up of elite warriors culled from some of the most honored military forces. Each man had impeccable ethics. They lived by an unwavering code. Rule number one was protect your brothers, so it was inconceivable that any of them could have tipped the cartel off.
The disaster had probably been nothing more than bad luck, but it still left a nasty taste in Matt’s mouth and made him a little edgy.
If it could happen once, it could happen again.
“I heard it’s a witness protection,” Coop said.
Matt grunted. Awesome.
“A hooker.”
Fabulous.
Ace leaned back in his chair and smirked. “A hooker? Wonder who she’s got the goods on.” It hardly mattered. They would protect her no matter what. It was their job.
Their conjectures dissolved when the door opened and Grey Holden walked in. He was typically a serious man, but today his expression was downright dour. He nodded to them with a murmured, “Gentlemen,” and then held the door for Athena Madero, his partner, and a second woman who followed close behind.
It took him an instant to assess the newcomer. Much longer to process his reaction to her. It was like a punch to the gut. She was beautiful, for one thing, with long glossy blonde hair that hung down her back in a raft of curls, and delicate, chiseled features. Her eyes were a bright blue and her lips were lush. And though her makeup was a bit overdone, she was stunning.
And then there was her body. Her curves, outlined in her tight, short skirt and breast-hugging shirt, were mouthwatering. Her legs were so freaking long it made his mind spin and her feet…
Shit.
Ten perfectly painted toes thrust temptingly from sexy heeled sandals. The curve of her arch was prominently displayed. The skin of her heels was smooth. There was no doubt these were pampered feet.
But it wasn’t just her drool-worthy body or exquisitely pedicured feet that snagged his attention. There was something else about her—an attitude, an aura—that made prickles crawl all over his skin. He wasn’t a coward, but something about her made him want to run.
He did not. He dropped his hands into his lap and curled his fingers tightly and focused his attention on Grey as he took his seat at the head of the table. The woman sat beside Athena and stared down at her nails.
Coop had heard she was a hooker. Could be true, or not. Rumors ran rampant sometimes.
She didn’t seem the type to be shy in the presence of men—certainly not the way she dressed—but she didn’t seemed inclined to make eye contact. This contradiction was, in itself, intriguing enough to capture his attention. People usually dressed to their nature, he’d found.
This woman was a bundle of contradictions.
Grey slapped a file on the table loudly enough to cause three manly heads to snap in his direction. He shot them each reproving frowns.
Apparently they’d been caught ogling.
But hell, they were red-blooded men after all, and there was no harm in looking.
Or fantasizing.
Or drooling.
And yeah, all of a sudden, this mission did interest him. If it had something to do with her.
“Thanks for coming in on short notice,” Grey said. “We have a pretty serious situation here and you are the best men to manage it.”
“Thank you, sir.” A chorus.
He gestured to the woman. “This is Vixen LaFleur, our client. Miss LaFleur, this is your team—Ace Stevenson, Joe Cooper and Matt De
vereaux.”
She did look up then, perusing each of them, one at a time. Matt had the impression she was assessing them with razor-sharp instincts. Her focus stalled on him and her eyes narrowed. He felt a bolt of energy skewer him as their gazes tangled. But then she looked away, folded her hands and assumed a demure pose.
She did not seem demure in the least—and he wasn’t just making this assessment on her overdone makeup or provocative outfit. It was there, in her eyes, her expression, the slightly sardonic quirk of her lips.
He had the sense that, no matter what else she was, she was an excellent actress.
“Miss LaFleur has hired us for protection,” Grey continued, “as she is scheduled to appear in federal court as a witness to murder.” He shot a look around the table, a look that was far more severe than it needed to be. They’d been on hundreds of witness protection missions. So many, they could probably do it in their sleep.
Clearly something about this case was different.
Matt speared Grey with a questioning glance.
He sighed. “Yes. It is a little more complicated than that.” He paused to clear his throat. Athena developed an engrossing interest in her pen. Matt’s uneasiness swelled. When Grey spoke again, his tone was hollow. “She is testifying against Don Reymundo’s son.”
A gasp rounded the room. Suddenly Matt understood why Grey had formed this particular team. This was a chance for them to redeem themselves. A chance for vengeance.
“They caught Don Reymundo’s son?” Ace squawked. Grey’s attention snapped to him and he winced. “I mean, I hadn’t heard that.” He turned to Cooper. “Did you hear that?”
“It happened yesterday. Miss LaFleur is the key witness to the incident. The cartel has already made several attempts on her life. I’d like the three of you to take her to the Salvation safe house and protect her until the trial.”
“How long?” Matt asked. He didn’t intend for the words to be so rough, so pained, but the longer they had to protect her, the more dangerous the mission. Goddam Reymundo. Why didn’t he just die already?
Grey frowned. Not a good sign. “A month. Maybe more if the lawyers succeed in delaying the trial.”
“Why don’t they just extradite the fucker?” Ace grumbled. Every eye snapped to him.
Seriously? Extradition meant nothing to Don Reymundo, or his son, or any of his minions. They would just slip back over the border and keep on keeping on. Drug trafficking, gunrunning, human slavery, murder… God knew what else.
Don Reymundo and his ilk were a blight on humanity.
A pity that justice was so revered in this country that even the most evil men received it.
It took some effort, but Matt thrust away that thought. Everyone deserved justice, he reminded himself, even the devil.
But it was a bitter pill to swallow.
“So you all know the drill.” Grey turned to Vixen—and what an irritating name that was, because somehow it didn’t seem to fit her—and smiled, though it was a grim offering. “You and your team will head for a cabin in a remote area west of Dallas. You’ll drive there in separate cars.” He glanced at Matt. “The two of you, with Ace and Coop following. The men will be with you 24/7, taking shifts as per SOP. The only communication in or out will be via SAT phone since there’s no cell service up there. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Ace said. Coop and Matt just nodded.
“Any questions?”
Vixen raised her hand. She hadn’t spoken up until now and suddenly, ravenously, Matt felt the desire to hear her voice. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but the need was so deep, so raw, it took him by surprise.
“Yes, ma’am?” Grey asked.
“So,” she began. And a sizzle drizzled down Matt’s spine, right to his solar plexus. God, she had a sexy voice. Low and sultry and…promising. For no reason whatsoever, his cock stirred. Damn it all anyway. “We’ll be in this remote cabin for a month?”
“Or more.”
“The four of us?”
Why did the question feel like a bedroom promise?
And why the hell was he so affected? He’d spent his life keeping clear of feminine wiles—except for the occasional professional girl who knew the score. He’d never felt so drawn to a woman. Well, not since Samantha. And when he’d learned of her death, that part of him—that tender, vulnerable, needy part of him—had died too.
He’d never really recovered.
Not from the grief. Not from the guilt.
Yeah, he’d been a boy, but he’d made her a promise to always be there for her, to protect her, and he hadn’t kept it.
And she’d died.
Died.
He didn’t know why, but he glared at Vixen. It was some kind of fury, perhaps a familiar one, he felt for women who dared to tempt him, to lure him from his icy mountaintop into her bed.
Her response wasn’t what he expected from a woman on the run from a vicious international cartel. She should be frightened. Cowed. Reticent.
She was not.
She tipped her head to the side and met his glower head-on…and smiled. Not a friendly thing, but a biting, bitter blast of arctic wind painted in red lipstick. Something about it made his gut churn. Something else, perhaps the craven creature at his core, made him look away.
In that moment, he swore he would not look at her again. Not unless he absolutely had to.
It was irritating, because no one ever got to him. Not the biggest badass villain, not the weakest weeping victim. Certainly not a pretty woman.
But she was more than pretty, wasn’t she?
Yeah. Better to not look at her—
“Devereaux?” His attention snapped to Athena, who was gazing at him with concern written all over her features.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Are you all right?”
“Of course.” He was just fine. Just fine and dandy.
“Are you sure? You look…”
When Athena trailed off—she was a lady of exquisite sensibilities, after all—Ace jumped in. “You look like you drank some bad tequila.”
“Is there such a thing as bad tequila?” Coop mused. Yeah. You could always trust Coop to dispel the tension. And you could always count on Ace to start it.
“He’s still recuperating.” Athena sent a searching glance at Grey.
It was nearly imperceptible, but Grey shook his head. “He’s been cleared for service. He should be fine.” He narrowed his eyes on Matt. “But I want to hear about the first sign of trouble.”
“Really?” A caustic, sultry purr caught Matt’s attention; his gaze swiveled to Vixen, who was studying her be-glittered nails as though they held the secrets of the Kama Sutra. She raked him with an utterly dismissive glance. “You’re sending me off with a damaged protector?” There was a hint of accusation in her tone. Or maybe not a hint.
“He’s one of our best,” Athena snapped, for the first time showing something other than utter deference for a client.
There was a tinge of outrage on Grey’s face too, which was gratifying, given the circumstances. “Matt is the best, Miss LaFleur. You need not worry about the quality of your team.” There was an undertone to his words that Matt didn’t quite understand. In fact, as Vixen and Grey partook of a silent staring match—some secret conversation—Matt felt tension rumble through the room.
He knew, beyond all doubt, something else was going on here.
He studied Grey, a man he’d known for years, searching his expression for some hint of what it might be. But all he found was confirmation of his suspicions. It was there in the flicker of his lashes, the tightening of the muscles around his mouth, the way he held his head.
It all sent off alarm bells. If he didn’t trust Grey so absolutely, he would have stood and walked from the room, walked away from this mission…and her. But whatever it was, Matt knew there was a reason Grey needed to keep it from him.
Whatever it was, it had to do with her.
And, by God, he was going to
figure out what it was.
Chapter Two
How he had pulled the duty of driving her to the safe house was a mystery. Or maybe not. Maybe God had a sense of humor and liked tormenting him.
And it was a torment.
Hell, her perfume alone made him hard.
Not just because it was a scent that contradicted everything about her—soft, gentle, sweet. But because it barraged his senses. Every time she shifted in her seat, or flipped her long hair or breathed, it surrounded him in an intoxicating cloud. It wasn’t a perfume he knew, which made him suspect it wasn’t a manufactured fragrance at all. Just her.
Fortunately, he had to keep his attention on the road as they headed through the moonless night from the compound toward the safe house, so he wasn’t tempted to look at her. Not too tempted anyway. Besides, he could see her out of the corner of his eye, was preternaturally aware of her every move.
He had no idea why he felt the burning urge to start a conversation—usually silence suited him just fine—but he had to admit, it was probably to distract him from the lurid images flashing through his mind. Her legs—those long, lithe legs—wrapped around his middle. That body, writhing beneath him. Her soft, sultry voice huffing in his ear as she came…
Shit.
“So.” A harsh gust.
At this overture, she glanced at him. He felt her awareness of him dance over every nerve. “So…what?” Was it his imagination, or was there even more vitriol in her tone now that they were alone together?
He had to search for a topic through the miasma of his thoughts. When he found one, he clung to it like a life preserver on the Titanic. “How did you get mixed up with Don Reymundo’s son?”
When she didn’t answer, he had to glance at her.
Oh hell, he shouldn’t have glanced at her. Illuminated by the lights of the dash, her beauty seemed laced with a vulnerability that stung him.
“Well?”
She turned away to stare out the window, though there was little to see. They were out of the city now and well into the featureless countryside. And it was dark. Dark enough that her reflection bounced off the cold window, her hollow expression a ghostly echo. “He hired me.”