Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Rie Warren

  “Of course, I’ll do it, Walker.” Madge had tossed back her own drink, wincing and shuddering.

  I’d wanted to say yes, I really fucking did, but . . . “Jade would never forgive me.”

  The guys looked at me strangely. They’d had no idea how much Jade’s and my relationship had changed from outright character assassination to downright love assignation.

  “Since when do you care what Jade thinks?” Justice asked. “She works at the Ministry and she’s been undermining your ops since Day One.”

  Swiping cold sweat from my forehead, I’d clenched my jaw. “She and I have worked as partners in this. She’s as invested in Madge’s safety as I am if not more so.”

  I’d tried to brush it off. Madge looked at me sadly because I wouldn’t admit it: the truth about what I felt for Jade even while it was eating me alive inside.

  “And you, Madge, are not going to put your life at risk.” I’d pointed my finger at the woman.

  She drew herself up to her full regal height and gave me the imperious eyebrow—dressed in old jeans and a sweater picked up at a thrift store. “I am a descendant of the Emirite of Mount Lebanon. I was not asking your permission.”

  Justice had palmed my phone, poised to confirm the meeting, looking at me. Resigned in the face of Madge’s declaration, I nodded to him.

  I didn’t give a good fuck what Qasim Hassan had planned because I had no intentions of losing either woman.

  Two hours later, we’d been en route to Beirut.

  I’d given Madge one job to undertake while we did the meet and greet with her murdering, unfit-to-live, scum-sucking husband. If she failed to complete her task, I’d have no other choice but to make her disappear, permanently. Hopefully not by killing her. Maybe I could ship her back to Inyan Kara Reservation, make her a real First Nations housewife.

  Damn. That almost made me laugh.

  Almost.

  Now, in a tiny room in Beirut, Lebanon, we waited one last time.

  Me in full gear suitable for a night op, and Madge in full regalia she’d somehow managed to keep blindingly shiny during our cross-country then transatlantic trip. She was a stunner, no doubt about that—the bangles slid up and down her wrists, her hair was piled high atop her head, stabbed into place by what I hoped were lethal weapons, and that oxblood leather suit she’d worn the night of the Liban bomber.

  “Qasim always did like me in red.” She gave an affected coy smile followed by a derisive sneer. “I always thought he’d look better off dead.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more.

  I checked the watch on my wrist when it bleeped, starting a countdown. “Party time.”

  Twenty-Six

  From Beirut. Not With Love

  TEN MINUTES BEFORE MADGE and I left our building, Storm and Bane scrambled into place in the Leviathan Hotel, currently empty and under construction, by using a service access point. They were personal enemies number one on the premises, equipped with sniper rifles and compact RPGs.

  What a freakin’ boon . . . the ripped-out interior of the hotel provided perfect ambush points for them.

  Justice remained behind, stationed on the computer link and coms unit.

  Me? I walked through the revolving front doors with Madge on my arm like I owned that motherfucking place, so ready for my audience with Emir-wannabe Qasim Hassan. Madge may have been bejeweled and be-gemmed up and down her arms, neck, and ears, but I was armed to my teeth. Had to make the dickwads work for it somehow, right?

  The lobby was all torn-up marble and blown-out walls illuminated by the slanting rays of sundown. I’d be happy to add to the demo project if they wanted.

  We passed through hanging sheets of murky white plastic and stepped around piles of construction materials and tools. Inside the elevator, we rose to the third level. Madge and I kept our mouths shut, but I cautioned her when the doors dinged lightly and slid open.

  Peering into the hall, I had my gun raised. I’d traded my usual S&Ws for a fast-action Walther M2. I couldn’t wait to rip a few clips out, but I probably wouldn’t get the chance.

  At least not at first.

  The hallway was empty, but this floor appeared habitable compared to the rest of the hotel. Ushering Madge forward, I holstered the sidearm. At room 313, I pounded on the door, ignoring the pretty little silver etched doorbell.

  Very posh.

  Very nice.

  Wasn’t gonna be when I got done razing this place to the ground.

  Stowing the sneer, I slipped on my congenial mask seconds before the door opened and a Dolph Lundgren lookie-likie wordlessly motioned us inside the suite.

  Two steps inside, I was planted against the wall, and we were surrounded by hulking men armed almost as thoroughly as me.

  “Damn. You fuckers sure are handsy.” I looked over my shoulder, seeing Madge given the same, though less rough, treatment.

  Good.

  I hoped to keep as much attention off her as possible because she was not fucking going down on my watch.

  I started laughing when two pairs of hands reached around to my midsection. “Fuck, fellas, I’m ticklish there.”

  One of ’em found my M2.

  Another one lifted the KA-BAR from me with a disgusted snort.

  “Sorry. No Kalashnikovs here.” I smirked.

  I spread my legs wider when they got to my groin area. “And that is definitely not a rifle, although some chicks seem to think I got a big gun. Oh, watch it. Sometimes I swing both ways.”

  My smartassing earned me a punishing push to my head until my ear abraded against the swirly satiny wallpaper.

  The rest of the guns, the blades, the garrote wire, the knuckle-dusters, the cartridges of ammo piled up in the foyer.

  Madge was released.

  I still had a few more items to go. Including my fancy new C-4 bundle.

  Another minute later, I was pulled away from my new bestie—The Wall—and swung around.

  “I don’t know how much Hassan pays you, but you missed one.” I patted my back. “Got a Saturday Night Special back here too.” Jittery nerves ate me up inside, but I chuckled. “Saturday Night Special, that was what I called the last girl who sucked my cock. But you probably haven’t had that experience, being social rejects and all, right?”

  I cocked my head at the bull-neck beside me when I got no more response than a barrel-chested grunt. “What’d they do? Give you a lobotomy when they recruited you?”

  My last pistol relieved of my person, I underwent the joy-joy of being tied up, arms behind my back. That was okay. I always had a trick or two up my sleeve. A sweet little detonator embedded in my watch to be precise, care of Justice.

  Madge was similarly bound. Nice reunion with the hubs. Or maybe he was a Dom like that?

  One of the huge dudes propelled me forward first, a meaty hand splatted between my shoulder blades.

  “Not for nothin’, but ’roids kill. And I’m not talking about hemorrhoids,” I conversed. “Let me guess, you’re Russian, right? I liked you in that Rocky IV movie though.”

  “I am Swedish.” The bastard tripped me, and I found myself face first on the floor.

  Flailing.

  “I always get those Eastern Bloc countries mixed up.”

  “Not Eastern Bloc.” His boot smashed down on my neck.

  “My bad. Hey, could someone help me up? I mean, I like eating rug now and then—nothin’ wrong with a bushy pussy, and I bet they grow them like furs up there in the tundra—”

  Dolph-dude backhanded me with his ham fist.

  That sort of hurt a little.

  I spat out blood, staring at the stain. “Dammit. Knew I had to get that tooth fixed sooner or later.” I slanted up a cocky grin. “Thanks. Saved me the dentist bill.”

  As usual, I bluffed my way through the pain. This time it was internal. My heart beat faster. My blood was boiling. If I didn’t lay eyes on Jade soon I was really gonna lose my shit, and I was already halfway there.

  Yank
ed to my feet, I was herded forward.

  From that point on, my feet moved automatically. But my heart almost grew wings and flew away.

  It pounded one single rhythm, the one that had pulsed the blood through my veins for the past three days.

  Jade.

  Jade.

  Jade.

  Double doors opened in front of me and I entered with Madge close behind, the paid-for detail huddling tight around us.

  Jade was stationed in front of a floor to ceiling window, tied to a chair. The sinking sun beamed in behind her, but there was nothing angelic about the scene.

  A hospital pole stood beside her and from it ran viscous fluids straight into her arm. Cuts and bruises littered all the skin I could see—and what I saw was enough to bring me to my knees.

  Lank hair hung forward over the sallow skin of her face, sallow, where she wasn’t swollen. Even the magenta strands looked muddied and stringy. They’d always been vibrant and bouncy. I noted the cut on her cheek. The one made by the butt of a gun used with brute force. Blood crusted over an unhealed gash right on the crest where I loved to kiss her.

  My nostrils flared. My lips thinned. My fists curled.

  Seventy-two hours. It fucking looked like she’d been held captive and tortured for weeks on end.

  She lifted her head.

  Only her eyes were alive, and they latched onto me as her tears nearly burned right through my soul.

  Oh, fuck. Jade!

  Twenty-Seven

  Kill. Them. All

  RAGE HOWLED THROUGH ME, red as a blood moon.

  I wanted just one of those fucking weapons I’d walked in with. Just one and I’d take them all out.

  Hell, given half the chance and freed fists, I could probably blow through at least half of them unarmed.

  My arms strained in their bonds, desperation to get to Jade making me mental.

  I’d let the woman I loved fall to harm.

  Again.

  I was supposed to be indifferent, unaffected.

  All I wanted was to hurl myself at Jade. I wasn’t sure I was a good enough actor to pull this shit off, but I smoothed my features over, blanking the pain, smothering the all-consuming emotion, swallowing down my tension tight throat.

  Marshaling the last of my restraint, I gained control, barely.

  Everyone who’d hurt Jade would die.

  But not yet.

  With my emotions held in check, I barely registered Madge’s reaction. A muffled sob. A frantic shake of her head. She vibrated with the same rage contorting inside me.

  We were halted five feet away from Jade in the pretty powder blue sitting room that framed the ugliness of a captured and tortured human being. Surrounded by the full complement of Hassan’s security team. There was no finesse about them. Their power came from cruel brute force.

  Hassan swept into the room from a pair of hidden doors beside us. Another few of his detail cloaked around him. They must’ve been his prized soldiers because they were clearly Hezbollah terrorists, not hired thugs like Dolph who panted against the back of my neck like a leashed bull.

  “You’re an animal!” Madge fired at Hassan the moment she spied him.

  “Damn, man. I’m not sure why you want her home so badly.” I gave a rueful chuckle, playing my part to the hilt. “I for one can’t wait to see the back of her. She’s a hellcat. This whole op was all her”—I jerked my head in Jade’s direction—“idea.”

  Qasim Hassan narrowed his eyes on me before dismissing my presence by cleanly turning from me to greet the wifey.

  “Majedah. You’ve returned to me, my dear.” Grasping her shoulders, he kissed both her cheeks.

  The dickhole was clearly delusional about the fact she was bound like a prisoner and seething from the inside out.

  A fact Madge didn’t let him forget for long.

  “You’re lucky my hands are tied because if they weren’t I’d gouge your eyes out of your head!” She worked up a big gob and spat in his face. “You are trying to ruin MY country!”

  Whisking a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his swank suit, Qasim meticulously wiped his face, commenting, “Is that anyway to talk to your habibi, Roohi?”

  The hubs was a slick piece of work. His looks shouted moneyed elegance from the dark brown hair waving off his high forehead to the thin hook of his nose. The black Savile Row suit, spotless white shirt, the trim beard. But there was something I just couldn’t put my finger on.

  Oh yeah.

  I remembered.

  He was a slimy motherfucker blaming his ongoing shady terrorist activities on Madge, and he just happened to have abducted my woman.

  Had to hand it to Madge, she sure did not know how to pick ’em. I was surprised she’d hitched up with The Godfather of the Middle East. Because this dude was Grade A douche material. And I’d only been in the same room with him for a couple minutes.

  Worse?

  He appeared to be living in his own demented world, which made him the most dangerous piece of work I may have ever encountered.

  I glanced at Jade, hoping she’d understand my subterfuge. But by the way she looked right then I wasn’t even sure she knew where the hell she was.

  The dark dagger of fury rose up in me. Madge was the new bait. I was the snare. And the trap? We just needed to trick Hassan into going full confession. But I hadn’t counted on Jade being so done-over she could hardly fucking focus.

  “You tried to have me killed!” Madge leaned forward, precariously balanced on the balls of her feet.

  Her vital anger worked across her features, stamping them like blazing bronzed hatred.

  Hassan folded his hands behind his back, carefully so as not to cause a wrinkle in his suit coat.

  Fucking dickweed.

  He spun on his heels when he reached Jade’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  I wanted to pounce forward and tear his throat out with my teeth. Rip his hands from his body. But not until I broke each and every one of his fingers. Joint by joint.

  “What, my dear? That casino bomber?” He squeezed Jade’s shoulder, and she hissed with a snap of her teeth.

  “Don’t you touch her!” Madge was now the protector, the only one who could get us out of here alive.

  “Your personal guard. Yes. She had a lot of fight in her.” Slanting his head, Qasim surveyed Jade. “I think we beat it out of her. It did take a couple days, to be certain.”

  “Tell. Me. About. The. Bomber,” Madge gnashed out.

  “Oh, him. Nobody really. A Hezbollah acolyte. A willing martyr. For my cause.” His eyes narrowed as he grasped Jade’s chin, cinching his fingers tight.

  My woman stared up at him with sudden feral intensity.

  He released her and wiped his fingers delicately on his trousers.

  Beside and behind Madge and me, the security cyborgs formed a wall of weapons. I felt their breath on my neck, the threat in their stances.

  They did not know who they’d come against.

  I said nothing, sealing it all inside until I could let every raging impulse explode.

  “You know too much, Majedah. I suppose that’s my fault.” Qasim spoke in precise cultured tones as if that would make him less of a terrorist. More acceptable.

  Approaching, he chucked a knuckle beneath Madge’s chin.

  She whipped away from his touch.

  “You refused to be the mute puppet. I married you to perform, to shield me. To make the Sunni accept me.

  “You have too many causes. Your duty should’ve been to your husband.” Distancing himself, he fiddled with something on Jade’s dripping IV.

  I knew without doubt that wasn’t pure saline going into her veins.

  Her green eyes glazed. Her head lolled. My throat chugged and I tried—tried so fucking hard—to remain docile, but it was getting goddamn near impossible.

  “I ordered the bomber to raid the casino and kill you. And a few hundred Western and traitor casualties.” He shrugged. “Nothing is
too high a cost for the cause.

  “But you”—turning, a toxic expression slicked over his face like an oil spill—“you would not shut your mouth, Majedah.”

  “Your regime is corrupt!”

  “Ali ibin abi Talib is good.”

  “Fuck you and your platitudes! You don’t care about Lebanon or my people. You crave power, and you are a coward, Qasim Hassan.”

  “Your virulent tongue and peacekeeping ways are why I tried to have you publicly killed.” His chest puffed up. “You would have been the martyr for your people. Me the grieving husband. That is how we could have brought the people—your precious people—together. But no. You wouldn’t die so easily. I had to bring in every agency I’ve ever used, bribed, and bought off to make it look like an outside job. Yet here you stand, Roohi. Alive.”

  Holy fuck.

  Saliva dotted Qasim’s lips. He raked his hands through his hair, leaving it standing on end. Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, he ran an unsteady finger around the inside.

  His earlier boasting turned to blatant threats. “You should’ve died when I said so, Majedah.”

  “I will die when I am called to Paradise. And you can go straight to Hell, Qasim.”

  His team rode up against my back when I stepped forward.

  I froze, stock-still.

  Hassan paced in tightening circles, rubbing a finger against his neat mustache. “You were stupid to come back.”

  He pointed his finger at Madge like a loaded gun.

  Jade’s head lifted, her dimmed green eyes seeking mine. I didn’t know what he’d pumped into her, but her condition was deteriorating.

  Hassan was unraveling.

  I couldn’t move. Couldn’t shoot. Couldn’t knife. And I couldn’t get to Jade.

  I hoped like hell Madge kept up her part because I was close to losing it.

  “Do you know how many countries are indebted to me? Me?” Hassan pointed at his chest. “Do you know why?” Grabbing Madge’s cheeks in his hands, he crowed, “Because I bring the war. I do their dirty work. I keep their news channels spinning. I demand attention! Not you with your pathetic pacifists tendencies.”