by KaLyn Cooper
“Command, blue team. SOGs are prepared to stop them.” Lady Eagle seemed to have her bogies under control. “If we don’t need the tangoes for interrogation, permission to use rocket launcher.”
“Lady Hawk, command. Keep as many as you can alive. Blue team, permission granted for lethal use.”
“Hold on,” Lady Falcon warned those in her car with a smile. “I’m going to play snowplow.” She closed the distance to the Chevy Tahoe and butted his rear quarter panel. Shifting into four-wheel drive, she shoved the much larger SUV to the gravel on the side of the road, all while its occupants fired wildly at them. The SOG men strategically shot back, wounding the terrorists rather than killing them and providing cover fire.
When she stopped the car, SOG seven called out, “No need for you ladies to get hurt. Stay here while we get those fuckers.”
Lady Harrier glanced down at the man as he opened his door. “I don’t know who the fuck you’ve been working with, but we’re perfectly capable of taking down the fuckers in that car in front of us.” She jumped off the roof and landed two feet in front of him, weapon to her shoulder pointed at the Tahoe. “Feel free to stay here and protect the car.”
Lady Falcon grabbed her machine gun and flung the door open, using it as a shield, when a man in a black ski mask stepped out from the driver seat pointing an AK47 at her. “He’s mine. I get to interrogate that little fucker.” One bullet to his left shoulder was all it took to bring him to his knees.
Over loudspeakers hidden within the front of each car, Lady Hawk demanded, “Turn off the vehicle and come out with your hands up. If you try to run, you will be shot.”
Someone from the back seat of the Escalade darted out and ran toward the woods. Lady Harrier placed two shots in front of his feet, one with each step, before the man halted. “Anyone else want to try my shooting expertise today?” One of the SOG men dashed into the field and grabbed the tango, yanking his hands behind him and cuffing him before dragging him to the side of the road.
Lady Falcon stepped low and quiet, sticking to the shadows as she approached the Tahoe. SOG seven was next to her when someone from behind the driver opened the vehicle door, waving hands before he emerged. Like a clown car in a circus, people started emerging from both vehicles, surrendering.
Through her headset, she heard Lady Hawk order, “SOG teams, roundup everyone. Lady Falcon, we need to know who is in charge. Grab the driver of your vehicle and I’ll grab mine.”
This was going to be fun. While the SOG guys forced the terrorists into a straight line, Lady Falcon cuffed her man and hauled him in front of the others then shoved him to his knees.
The man wouldn’t make eye contact with her. “You look at me when I talk to you.” She grabbed his chin and pulled it up forcing him to look at her. The unmistakable tattoo across his face confirmed their intelligence. “Who is in charge of this failed highjack attempt and which SV-16 clique are you with?”
He swore at her in El Salvadorian-accented Spanish.
Lady Falcon laughed deep and loud before replying in his own language. “I have had a lot of sex in my life, but you are sadly mistaken when you call me a motherfucker. I have never fucked a mother. Now, I will admit to you that I’ve sampled players from my own team, but I’m strictly dickly these days.” She purposefully looked at his crotch. “And you’re not man enough to handle a woman like me.” Daggers of hatred flew from his glare.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing helping these Americans? You’re Salvadorian? Salvador libre!” He yelled the last two words. Cheers rose from his comrades in the line as they seemed to stand taller.
What the hell? Free El Salvador? They were already a democracy. Supposedly.
“Well, I’m glad to see my accent is nearly perfect. But for your information, I was born and raised in the United States of America, but it’s good to know I could pass for an El Salvadorian bitch.”
In Tori’s ear she heard Katlin. “Lady Falcon, move this along. We need to know which one of these assholes is in charge and I’m now positive it isn’t my guy. He just pissed his pants and he’s shaking so bad he can hardly speak. He keeps staring over your way though.”
So much for having fun interrogating this terrorist.
“Which one of you is in charge?” When he didn’t answer she punched him hard in the shoulder where she’d shot him. Those kickboxing lessons at the CIA finally came in handy.
She caught the glances of SOG seven. The corner of his mouth twitched in approval.
“Now, I’m going to ask you once again. We can do this the easy way or the painful way.” Lady Falcon shrugged and acted nonchalant. “I’m good with either. You going to tell me this time who is in charge?”
“Hurt me all you want, American bitch, but I’ll never give up mi jefe.”
She watched as the terrorist scanned the group of men and women lined up along the pavement. His eyes lingered on one of the women.
“SOG seven, bring me the second woman.” Lady Falcon watched the fury in her captive’s eyes as the elite CIA man not-so-gently grabbed the girl and yanked her over to them.
“She has meaning to you.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. She watched the reactions of both her captive and the rather pretty woman. They were definitely connected, whether through blood or emotion. Her face wasn’t tattooed so Lady Falcon examined the other women in line. None of them bore the gang’s mark.
Lady Falcon glanced at SOG seven. “Push-up both her sleeves.” Sure enough, she had the SV-16 tattoo of a jumping viper that wound up one arm and down the other. Many of the higher-ranking men would have their dominant hand intricately covered in ink to look like the head of the snake. With a nod, he lowered her shirt sleeves.
“I won’t beat you, because I know you can take a sixteen second beating, nor will I let him rape you, because I’m sure you had that initiation as well.” The girl glanced down.
Interesting reaction. Lady Falcon tilted her head. “Is he good with his fingers? Or do you like his dick better? How talented is his tongue?” She gave a fake pondering look. “Well, if I cut out his tongue he can’t tell me who’s in charge, can he?”
“You can’t touch me like that you fucking bitch.” The man said in English. “That would be police brutality.”
She bent down to the man on his knees and then got close to his face. “Do I look like the fucking police to you? You have no fucking idea who I am. What I can do. You have no fucking idea who I work for. And, I’m sure if I check, you’re not a legal citizen of the United States so guess what, those laws don’t apply to you. Under the Homeland Security Act, I have declared you, and all your little friends, terrorists. I can do anything I want including cut out your tongue.” With that she punched him in his bleeding shoulder again.
He winced and moaned in pain. She waved her hand around encompassing the SOG team. “I don’t see a cop anywhere in sight. All I see are terrorists being held in protective custody.” She glanced toward the semi which had pulled over on the shoulder fifty feet ahead of the prisoners. The Black Swan team surrounded the truck. No cars passed in either direction. Thankfully they’d been diverted by state police around this section of Interstate. This operation didn’t need witnesses.
Refocusing on the man kneeling in front of her, Lady Falcon considered her options. She had to make him talk. Fast.
“I’ll bet you like her tongue, don’t you?” She hoped the smile she gave him was as evil as she had intended. “Do you like what she does to your dick with her tongue? Her mouth?”
“SOG seven,” Lady Falcon called. The man gave her chin a lift. “I want to see how big her tongue is.”
He paused only half a second before he reached his gloved hand into her mouth and pulled out her tongue.
“Don’t hurt her,” the man on his knees demanded.
Excellent, Lady Falcon thought. “Tell me what I want to know, or her tongue is gone.”
“Bitch, I aint gonna tell you nothin’.”
&nb
sp; “We’ll see.” Lady Falcon shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “Take her into the woods. I have no desire to watch.” Through her ear bud she heard Lady Hawk tell SOG seven to take the young girl into the pines and make her scream as though he had cut out her tongue. She went as far as to suggest he hold the tongue while making her scream, so it sounded as though he’d actually done it.
Damn, she loved her team. She waited in silence until after the screaming ended and the woman made a gargle sound. Turning her attention to the man on his knees she asked once again, “Who is in charge of this little group of yours?”
“I am, you fucking bitch. And you will pay for hurting her.” He laughed. “You will die, slowly, painfully.” Hatred mixed with determination in the man’s glare.
“Yeah, right. You aren’t going to hurt anyone where you’re going.” He’d be put in the most secure prison on the planet, if he lived through his interrogation.
The man grinned. “You have no idea who that woman is. No matter what happens to me, he’ll find you and kill you.”
Flashing lights drew her attention away. State police escorted a black prison bus to a stop in front of the terrorists. A panel truck pulled up behind them and the back rolled up. Several heavily armed men in black camouflage jumped out of both vehicles. They wore no patches except for an American flag on their shoulder.
“SOG team, command. Release the prisoners to the new arrivals.” The orders came through loud and clear as a tall, muscled man approached her.
“Lady Falcon?” He glanced down at the man on his knees in front of her and smiled. “Lucky shot. Glad he’s still alive.” He looked over at the SOG men who said nothing as they handed over one prisoner at a time while the men from the panel truck dragged dead bodies out of the vehicles.
“Luck had nothing to do with it. I’m that good.” She gave him an eat-that grin. “I was instructed to wound him.”
At almost six-feet tall, she barely had to lift her eyes to meet his.
“Fuck. Gorgeous and lethal. Your team is gaining quite the reputation.” The newcomer grinned.
She couldn’t hold back her smile. “No. We’re earning that reputation.”
He simply nodded in agreement. “So, who do we have here?” He grabbed the man’s long greasy hair and jerked his head up. “Well, hello Carlos Gomez.”
He glanced at her. “You caught us a big fish.” His gaze drifted to the semi. “So, tell me Carlos, why did you need activated nuclear rods that are supposed to go into torpedoes on a submarine?”
Lady Falcon’s jaw dropped a fraction as she stared at the unmarked trailer.
Chapter 2
No one was more surprised than Marcus Hernandez when his friend Katlin Callahan appeared in the window next to the driver of the semi and flashed a badge. When their gazes met she shook her head so slightly that if he hadn’t been watching carefully he would have missed it. “This is going to take a while. Why don’t you men get out and stretch your legs. Your load is secure. We have guards posted all the way around your rig.”
Thank God for small favors. He couldn’t wait to get out of the cab where he had been squeezed between two large men for over six hours without stopping. At just over six-feet, Marcus wasn’t small, but he had the body of a long-distance runner rather than that of the linebackers who had sandwiched him in the truck. Ever since his…incident…and the subsequent surgeries, he found that muscles surrounding his once-broken bones tightened when he sat in one position too long. He’d passed that point hours ago.
As soon as all three men were on the ground, Katlin herded them to the side of the truck away from the prisoners. “Keep your face hidden,” she ordered in a tone Marcus had never heard from her before. It was brusque, and assertive. “I don’t want anyone to be able to identify you.”
Marcus slid a glance toward the line of approximately fifteen cuffed men and women. The guards were in all black, carrying military machine guns with more weapons strapped to their bodies. They looked and moved like the special operators he had worked with before. One by one they were handed off and escorted onto the black bus.
In the flashes of red, white, and blue emergency lights, he squinted to make out the tattoos on the men’s faces and necks. Those were Salvadorian Vipers, SV-16, one of the fastest-growing gangs nationwide. Why had they been shooting at this truck? Had Katlin come from one of those cars that had protected them? He knew his friends worked for Homeland Security, and was aware they weren’t your average female military officers, but he couldn’t imagine why they were in the middle of Georgia on a nearly deserted interstate taking down gang members.
As he rounded the front of the cab, he could feel the heat pouring off the huge Peterbilt engine. One glance toward their precious cargo slapped him to reality. The SV-16 were trying to hijack their load of activated nuclear rods. In the wrong hands, the fissionable material in that trailer could give a terrorist gang more than enough firepower to flatten any major U.S. city.
Holy fuck.
“Stay here.” Katlin stepped away speaking authoritatively into a hidden microphone.
Marcus had been on similar operations and knew she was probably speaking with some kind of a command center as well as everyone else involved. He looked at the other two men he’d just spent far too many hours cooped up with in a cab. Neither seemed to be connected to the op. When the driver’s phone rang, he stepped aside.
Dash Lawson chuckled. “Looks like you and I are the only ones left out of this loop.” The man from the Department of Energy was right.
Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus saw Katlin approach. “Agent Lawson, I’ll brief you in a minute. Agent Hernandez, follow me.”
Katlin led the way to the very end of the trailer. He recognized Grace Hall as she stood guard, rifle to her shoulder scoping the area between the gravel road side and the tree line fifty feet away. He didn’t say anything to her. He knew better.
“Hey, Marcus. Thanks for holding our cover. If you need to call to me, my handle is Lady Hawk.” Katlin constantly scanned her surroundings, keeping a close eye on the prisoners and their guards. She held the machine gun so casually, as though she did it every day. “For now, don’t speak to anyone other than me. If I’m not able to explain everything by the end of this op, I promise you I’ll tell you what I can when we get home.”
Home. Although they didn’t live in the same building, he spent lots of time on the top floor of the DuPont Circle condo where Katlin and her team lived. He hung out with his former ATF team member, Harper Tambini, and her fiancé Rafe Silva, who worked for Katlin’s fiancé, Alex Wolf. Sometimes Washington D.C. was really a small place.
“Will do, Lady Hawk.” He gave her his crooked smile. It was the best he could manage, but she understood. Many of the muscles in his face still didn’t work correctly, even after four surgeries. At least they had been able to repair the muscles around his mouth when they restructured his broken jaw, and after nearly a year of speech therapy, he could form almost every word properly. They were still working on matching both sides of his face and reducing the jagged scar that started at the corner of his eye and crossed his cheek. He was able to hide part of the thick red line under his beard that also covered several of the surgical scars. Maybe someday he wouldn’t look like Frankenstein’s monster.
Since his incident nearly two years ago, he hadn’t found many women who could see beyond his disfigured face long enough to get naked with him. Of the few he had managed to get into bed, they fell into two categories. There were the women who were curious and wanted to examine every scar as closely as his dermatologist. These women wanted to hear all the gory details of how he had been captured in the United States by a Colombian cartel and beaten within a breath of his life. The other women he had convinced to have sex with him, didn’t want to touch him. They were appalled, not in pity for him and what he had endured for nearly two days, but for themselves for having to see such damaged skin. One woman had even demanded he keep his T-shirt on as the
y had sex. If he hadn’t been so aroused, he would have walked away. Needless to say, he never dated any of those women again.
Katlin’s attention was diverted by something she obviously heard in her ear. She mouthed the word sorry then headed toward the bus where one of the women was refusing to enter. Marcus watched her determined strides. She was one of the six women who didn’t seem to notice his physical impairments. All of them were physically gorgeous women, but good down to the bone. They were truly his friends.
After one of his operations, he hadn’t wanted to return to the lonely postsurgical rehabilitation center, so Harper offered to take care of him at her place since Rafe was in training in Miami. When she had been called out on an explosives job in Oregon, Katlin and her friends moved him to their apartment next door and took care of him. They were like the sisters he never had. With one exception.
His mind immediately went to Tori. What he felt for the beautiful, former model, was far from sisterly. Even before the cartel had beat the shit out of him, he’d known she was way out of his league. Hell, he had no idea how to even play that game. He wasn’t good enough back then for the most stunning woman he’d ever met, and now, he was thrilled when the lovely woman merely glanced his way. Relegated to the friend zone, the only way she’d go out with him was because she’d pitied him and he couldn’t handle that, especially from her.
Out of the darkness, a tall feminine figure strode toward him. He’d know that walk anywhere. He had memorized the distinct curves of her lithe body. The gentle sway of her hips as she placed one foot almost exactly in front of the other, eating up the distance between them with a stride nearly as long as his own. Damn, the woman had the most attractive long legs, currently hid underneath baggie black cargo pants tucked into military boots.
“Hi, Marcus,” Tori said with a smile when she was five feet away. “I didn’t expect to see you out here in bumfuck Georgia in the middle of the night.” She glanced up at the semi. “I take it you’re here in an official capacity?”