Blue Moon II ~ This is Reality (3 page)

Chapter Two

Hawk

Hawk went to his senior commander inside the eighteen-wheeler. “Call, they had AK12s, sir.” Although the Beastmasters were no longer active duty, they were highly regarded military consultants. They also served as instructors of Guerilla Warfare Tactics for the Special Forces. When out on any mission, they all still respected the chain of command.

Call spun around at Hawk’s comment. The man didn’t ask was Hawk sure, of course he was sure. Anything he looked at directly he made no mistake about.

Call’s once gorgeous face twisted in concentration. Deep, cratered marks covered his left cheek, down his chin, onto his neck, disappearing into his collar. It looked like severe acne. But it wasn’t acne. It was where shrapnel had entered his flesh and taken away his handsomeness. A constant reminder to Hawk that he couldn’t rely on his perception alone. He’d been ten seconds off with a warning to his friend on that dreaded day.

“Something’s not right. Where the fuck would they get Russian weapons?” Call asked the question more to himself rather than his team. They were used to his asking rhetorical questions, so no one offered an answer.

Hawk took his mind away from the past and awaited his instruction.

“Lucky, Viper; get on that. There’s only one drug king that I was informed of with Russian mob contacts. Let’s see who Valenzo’s been communicating with in prison to pass the time while enjoying the lifetime sentence he’s currently serving. I want to see all the man’s visitor records and have all his phone calls transcribed, immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” they responded in unison. Lucky and Viper were the surveillance and intelligence men. Viper could do anything involving electronics, including hacking into any system – regardless of whether it was a local power company or the CIA's database. The red Irishman – code name Lucky, was practically a ghost. The man could go anywhere at any time, completely undetected. He was a master at surveillance and a huge asset to this team.

Call looked at Shot, his second in command. “As soon as we get back to headquarters, I think we need to have a serious talk with our task force leader.” Call motioned his head to the back doors. Shot followed Call. Hawk wanted to go but he was not asked to join and that was not his duty. Instead he and Fox went about getting their weapons disassembled and preparing for the four-hour drive back to DC.

Chapter Three

Pierce

“When it comes to my men, there isn’t a fucking ‘need-to-know basis’ and I don’t give a fuck about plausible deniability! Neither my men nor I are concerned with legal repercussions. So don’t tell me you’re protecting us by withholding valuable information!” Call was tearing Pierce a new asshole for not being completely forthcoming with everything he knew.

“Those men had AK12s. Russian machine guns. Something my team and I were not informed of. If it hadn’t been for Hawk, a couple of my men could’ve been killed!” Call fumed.

“Your men are not so easy to kill, Call,” Pierce said nonchalantly.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, because before Pierce could blink, the SEAL had his forearm up against his throat and was throwing him against the wall in a matter of seconds. He moved quickly and quietly. All Pierce could do was gag and grasp nervously at the thick arm cutting off his air supply. Pierce’s eyes were bulging with fear and he vaguely registered Shot calling to his commanding officer to release him.

“The bullets from those fucking guns can pierce Kevlar, smart ass!” Call roared in his face. “We should’ve been prepared. If you enjoy breathing, you better never withhold inform–”

A loud ‘what the fuck?’ came from near the door seconds before Call was being gripped around his own neck. Pierce was scared and dangerously deprived of oxygen, but he’d recognize those colorful tattooed sleeves on Hawk’s arms in his sleep.

“Get your fucking hands off of him,” Hawk snapped.

He yanked Call away from Pierce and threw him back against the small desk in the conference room. Call recovered quickly and came back around to Hawk’s front. The two men were equally matched. Both standing at six-three, six-four, heavily muscled and masterfully trained. “Stand down Hawk. That’s an order.”

“With all due respect, sir, fuck you,” Hawk snarled. “You are a man of honor. You’re using your physical dominance on a civil servant. I have every right to intervene.”

Shot had moved between them and was staring Call in the eye. “He’s right and you know it. Walk it off soldier. I’ll talk with Backhander. We’ll rendezvous at 0700 tomorrow.”

Call walked out and slammed the door behind him.

Hawk turned and knelt down in front of Pierce. He brought his hand out and Pierce unconsciously flinched at the action. He immediately felt sorry for that reaction when he noticed the hurt expression on Hawk’s gorgeous face. Pierce was a genius, not a soldier. He was beyond tired of being surrounded by big men who thought it was okay to push him around whenever they saw fit.

“I’d never hurt you. You know that,” Hawk whispered. Pierce saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Could Hawk really be different? He was huge too. He could squash Pierce’s lithe, five-foot eight frame if he pissed him off too. Hawk was a soldier, a warrior. Hell, he might even have some degree of PTSD – most of those Special Forces men did. How could he be sure that as soon as he dropped his guard and got in the man’s bed, he wouldn't end up getting the shit choked out of him while he slept? That was why he persistently rebuffed Hawk’s frequent advances.

“Let me help you,” Hawk insisted.

Pierce put his smaller hand in Hawk’s and was easily lifted to his feet, wobbling slightly from the rush of oxygen trying to replenish his body.

“Easy,” Hawk said gently.

Pierce's hand went to his sore throat. He saw Hawk frown and place his hand over his, carefully rubbing the burning skin.

“What the hell has gotten into Call?” Hawk turned and growled at his second in command.

“You know damn well what, and so does your boy toy here,” Shot responded while pulling the chair out at the small metal table.

“He’s not my boy–”

“Save it for someone who gives a fuck, Hawk.” Shot turned and looked at Pierce, his hard, dark eyes shooting daggers into Pierce's brain. He pointed his long trigger finger at the uncomfortable looking chair. “Sit down and talk Backhander, and I’m not going to say it again. I don’t care if your bodyguard is here or not. Because honestly, he can’t beat my ass, not even on his best day and my worst, so sit the fuck down and start talking.”

Pierce still had one hand on Hawk’s shoulder and the other lightly touching his own throat. He tilted his head way up and looked at his rescuer, his eyes now glowing with more gold than purple flecks.

“Sit down, Pierce and tell us what’s going on, okay? Shot, Call or any of us, we won't stand for being led into a situation that we’re not fully prepared to handle,” Hawk said quietly while guiding him over to the seat.

Pierce knew that he should’ve told the Beastmasters that the men they were going to apprehend were also indebted to the Russian Mob, but he had superiors, too. His orders were that he give the Beastmasters only need-to-know information. But in his defense, he didn’t have intelligence that Sherminsky would be traveling with his own personal arsenal.

So far, Pierce had done an excellent job of orchestrating these missions, which resulted in few casualties, none of which were on their team. They only had one more op to run, out of the country, before Pierce could leave all this bullshit behind him.
What the fuck? This is my last mission anyway.

After Pierce finished debriefing Shot and Hawk regarding every piece of information he had on their current target and the next one, Pierce was exhausted. They’d been in the conference room for three-and-half hours. He didn’t miss that Hawk went and got him a cold bottle of water every thirty minutes until he was finished. His throat hurt like a bitch. After this was all said and done, it would be too fucking soon if he never saw Call again. As far as Pierce was concerned, the man was an emotionally unstable bully. It was a shocking conclusion since the man used to be the epitome of calm and he had enjoyed working beside him. Now he’d finish this mission, go home, and hope to never see the Beastmasters again.

He told one of his IT guys that he’d be in one of the upstairs rooms resting and to call him when they got something. They were tracking Valenzo’s wife over half of the East Coast. She was last spotted at Miami International eight hours ago. It was believed she had knowledge of Valenzo’s business dealings from prison and knew where his millions had been stashed. Since Valenzo was popped by Backhander before he could make his deal with the Russians, he’d disappeared into prison owing them just a little shy of thirty million dollars. Mrs. Valenzo was doing so much traveling and partying, it was assumed she had access to those funds. They needed to get to her before the Russians did, in turn snatching them up or running them back across the seas. Their smuggling and arms dealing days in the United States were about to be over.

Pierce was in a dead sleep on the uncomfortable bed when he heard the door to his small room pop open. His head shot up as he took in Hawk’s large frame. He only had on low-riding jeans and boots – no shirt. Pierce was sure that the man heard the gulp he struggled to get down his throat when he took in the defined pecs, hard abs, large tattooed arms, and eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.

“I thought I locked the door,” Pierce said as his greeting.

“You did,” Hawk’s deep voice responded. “Do you think three-inch thick reinforced steel can stop me from getting to you, gorgeous?”

“I don’t like it when you talk to me like that Hawk. Why are you breaking into my room?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You’ve been asleep for hours.”

Pierce jumped out of the bed and began sliding his feet back into his black Doc Martens. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to sleep that long. Have there been any new developments?” He waited a couple seconds, but after he heard no response, he turned to look at the man who was once again slowly invading his personal space. Pierce scrubbed his hands over the two-day old stubble on his face. He couldn’t deal with Dane Aramis and his incessant flirtation right now. “Jesus, fuck.”

“You shouldn’t use such language, pretty man.” Hawk turned up one side of his mouth in that sexy way that Pierce secretly hated because it immediately made him pop one-quarter wood.

“Fuck you. And stop calling me pretty. I’m not a broad,” he argued back.

Before Pierce could think of anything else to say, he found himself being aggressively thrust against the wall by Hawk’s brawn. His large chest keeping him pinned in place, Pierce's arms held in a vise-like grip secured to his sides. He took in a large gulp of air and got a huge lungful of Hawk’s scent. He smelled like motor oil and aftershave. If Pierce knew the man at all, he’d say Hawk had been working on his Ducati while he was asleep.

“What the fuck, Hawk?”

“Shhh.”

“Shhh, hell. Get off me. What the fuck is with you all? Is it throw the little guy around day? Do you guys get off on pushing people around that are smaller than you?”

Pierce had to keep his head turned or else his lips would land right in the center of Hawk’s sternum. “Back off,” he growled.

“You think I think you’re a woman? I know you’re not, because I don’t fuck women.”

“Well we don’t have shit in common – because I do.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I don’t know why you think I’m gay, or how many fucking times I have to say that I’m not.” Pierce craned his neck to look up and quickly regretted it. Hawk’s eyes were sparkling and radiant. The purple now more evident – and it was so damn exotic. He’d never seen anything like it.
Holy fuck. Breathe.
Pierce tried to look away but couldn’t, he tried to budge, but couldn’t, he tried to free his arms, but couldn’t.

“You’re right. I do get off when I have you under my will.” Hawk leaned down and ran his bristly cheek over his hair and down the side of his face until he was at his ear, “And under my body.”