Walker (Bad Boys of X-Ops #1) (3 page)

Beirut Can Suck My Cock Already

I WAS DIRTY, DISGUSTED with myself, covered in the blood of other people. Wet from sweat and sea spray, fucking hungry, and what I wouldn’t kill for a stiff drink.

Jade swanned away on her boat while I trudged into Beirut, staying off-road and to the shadows as much as possible. Running when the urge hit me.

I’d retrieved my pack—the one missing the
boom boom
blocks.

It took three hours and I could’ve made it faster, but I was deliberately missing my extraction, knowing Storm would beat my ass—or try to anyway—when he caught up with me.

I made it to the outskirts of the city just as dawn broke across the
sky.

No peasantville, that was for certain. Skyscrapers rose like needles toward the rose-colored, early morning clouds. Construction cranes lumbered right alongside, looking like hulking dinosaurs from this distance.

Urban culture, high-end stores, and underground youth bucking the system made this city a mecca of the Middle East despite the ever-present danger.

Daytime in Beirut
. Not a joyride for someone in my line of work, but doable. And it was warm for February, compared to DC or NYC or Wyoming.

My first goal? Make sure I could hide in plain sight. I’d performed a quick clean up in a stream on the way toward town, the cold water bracing and clear. Concealed in the shadowed corner of a back alley, I ripped off the guard gear, tossed it into an overflowing bin, and changed into daytime threads consisting of jeans, boots, shirt, and jacket. Gone were the days of the traditional blousy
sirwal
pants.

In my Western clothing, I wrapped a couple woven scarves around my head, neck, and lower face. Wouldn’t do to get recognized and picked up by the Mukhabarat motherfuckers.

They didn’t think very highly of me.

My file was probably a yardstick thick.

Guns and knives placed where I could get at them with a flip of my hands, I wandered without looking like an aimless tourist until I hit an Internet café.

Bingo.

The place was called Battleground Beirut.

Fitting. It was like it almost called my name.

And heaven came in the form of a hot cup of kahweh. Hated to break it to the Americans, but no one did coffee like the Lebanese. The rich brew lightly spiced with cardamom almost felt like an orgasm on my tongue.

Didn’t take much after the night I’d had. And the night I reckoned was in store for me ahead.

Yessir
. Juan Valdez had nothing on this shit. Although Colombian beans came a close second.

I gulped the burning brew down, then slowly nursed a second coffee as the caffeine kickstarted my system. I cracked my knuckles, cracked my neck, and studied my little computer terminal, considering
WWJD
?

What Would Jade Do?

Goddamn Jade Huntington. The woman was a highly trained professional, one not to be messed with. Her assassination skills put most operatives to shame. She could get in, make the kill, and disappear like vapor. It didn’t hurt she was walking, talking sex in the flesh with her long claret-black hair, her figure tight and coiled with power, her lush lips, and immense green eyes.

She and I had come to heads on more than one occasion, working opposite angles. We were two for two when it came down to covert missions. Not that I was keeping score.

Not. At. All.

The last time had been right after Hunter’s and my master fuck up, followed by a Hail Mary save of the operation with the Tampa Bay Outlaws the previous spring. T-Zone cut Hunter loose,
reluctantly
, but they hadn’t cut me any fucking slack at all.

Flying off to Somalia where the action never abated, I’d had the bad fortune to come up against Jade while we battled to derail each other’s mission. Mine to kill the drug- and gunrunning warlord, hers to get him to a sanctioned safe haven.

She’d always been a hardliner.

But I was harder.

Except when it came to her, more and more.

“Admit it. You’d miss me if you killed me,
mahasani
.” I’d grinned, standing braced in front of her.

The bomb-blasted stone walls of the apartment block showed new damage from us throwing one another around during the twenty-minute close-hand combat that had us sweating in the sweltering Somali heat.

“I could rectify that right now if you wish.” Jade’s hair had fanned around her in a perfect dark halo when she hit me in the chest with a roundhouse kick.

I’d laughed, a breathless chug of sound, the impact of her foot sending me backward. “But you won’t.”

“You’re an arrogant prick.”

Her chest heaved.

Her eyes flashed.

She’d curled her fists, ready to go at me again.

“Got a big cock for you. No need to call me names.” I’d hefted my meat, rapidly swelling in my pants.

Seemed like nothing got me off anymore but danger and death threats. And the thought of Jade.

“
Ha
! I’ve used weapons bigger than that, and I’m not interested.” She taunted me with her fingers held up in challenge.

A flash of anger at her response hit me, but if she’d been easy I wouldn’t have wanted her with this intensity. This sudden insanity.

And I was done fighting her. The fight was over.

I’d relaxed, muscle by muscle, limb by limb, easing back from her.

“I win?” Her head had cocked curiously.

“Not this time. General Raage Guuleed Osman? He’s dead.” I took out my miniature earpiece and smashed it on the floor. “Bane made the kill ten minutes ago.”

Bane. They should name a lethal drug after the quiet killer. I was glad he was on my side. The fucker literally had no emotions. Possibly no allegiance either.

“Yanks are not always right,” Jade had hissed.

“No shit? But I am.” I’d prowled toward her, easily relieving her of the gun while my lips skimmed up the glistening length of her neck. “And you want me.”

Vulnerability had raced across her usually unreadable irises. “What did that word mean, what you called me?
Mahasani
?”

“I’ll tell you next time,” I purred.

The stakes were higher every time we butted heads because it wasn’t just The Job. Desire, and need, anger, hate, greed all combusted when we came together.

Bet that woman could suck cock just as well as she could cock a gun.

And nothing was hotter than Jade with her Beretta pointed at my head.

I obviously had some kind of sick, twisted fantasies. I blamed it on
the lifestyle
.

Fighting had never been so sexual. The blows she laid on my body, launching herself against me. Fuck, that shit made me feel high. The punching, the hitting, the slapping and scratching . . . talk about foreplay.

Sweating, breathing heavy, wanting to go at her with no armor or guns or clothes between us. No subterfuge or missions or outside demands.

Not that I’d ever admit to anyone else I wanted to bed her, fuck her, drill her right through a wall with my cock slamming inside her tight, hot cunt.

In this world where we abided by no rules, there was only
one rule
. You don’t fuck someone from the opposition.

You fuck them up.

Great. Sitting here, marooned in the middle of Beirut, my prey at large with a female who was my enemy, and all I wanted to do was search the Internet for some porn so I could stroke one out.

Walking, talking stereotype much?

There was one sure way to shutdown these thoughts. All I had to do was close my eyes and remember a different woman with night-black hair and beautiful eyes so dark brown they appeared onyx at times. The stab of pain was immediate and almost debilitating before I could close away the memory in the dark closet of my mind.

I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead, uttering a low curse. Regaining focus, I drank the coffee that had gone thick and syrupy, drumming at the keyboard through every single back channel I could tap into. Pretty boy Justice wasn’t the only one capable of hacking a system.

Hours later, I huddled in a shitty, scurvy, possibly rat-infested hotel room—the cheapest, dirtiest I could find.
This wasn’t fancy fucking James Bond shit. No Hilton for me. Not if I wanted to stay off the radar.

I’d eaten a couple of MRE rations and sat at a closed, nailed-down window, watching the light change. Fighting off fatigue, I checked my ammo, mapped my route, silently got back into all-black gear.

Nothing new really.

Not neutralizing the target was
not
an option.

Night fell, but the city was still alive. I slipped through the streets, undetected.

By land, water, or air . . .
WWJD?

The unconventional, of course. Majedah Chehab’s life was in danger because of me, and Jade wouldn’t leave her charge or be stupid enough to remain in Lebanon.

I couldn’t risk Jade putting an ocean between us.

No surprise, her eminence had her own private boat launch on the Mediterranean,
off the record
.

I got into place and just had to wait them out.

The sound of footfalls had me perking up from my berth on the luxury speedboat. The Dartline 60 must’ve been custom built, the sleek black lines of the hull providing excellent camouflage for a nighttime escape. I remained screwed tight as a cork inside the cabin located at the stern while the sound of feet clanged just outside the hatch door.

Noise and voices traveled—Jade and Majedah, arguing while the boat rocked gently. Then the forward thrust of the high octane, aerodynamic boat racing toward open water and the possibility of freedom I couldn’t wait to destroy.

“What about zat man last night?” Majedah’s voice floated toward me.

“Who? Walker? No threat.”

Bullshit
.

“You know
heem
?”

“He won’t be an issue,
Sheikah
.”

Double bullshit.

Softly treading up to the door, I eased it open an inch and peered out. I’d barely snuck a look when the rattle of machine gun bullets whistled through the air. The sides of the boat took the impact from incoming artillery, metal grating against metal.

“Hostile fire! Get down,
Sheikah
!” Jade swung around, pushing Majedah to the floor while the captain of the speedboat gripped the wheel and looked just about ready to shit himself.

After making fast work of slamming open a sleek silver case, Jade hoisted an RPG-7 onto her shoulder.

Had to hand it to the woman, she always came prepared.

I sped onto the deck, hefting my Smith & Wesson next to her. “Need backup?”

“What the bloody
hell
are you doing here?” she yelled, a scowl forming between her eyebrows as she took aim at the fast approaching boat.

“Fire now. Talk later. Yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan.” She let loose, the recoil of the RPG shuddering through her arm before she shoved another grenade into the launcher.

Water sprayed around the torpedo shaped stern of our boat. It was full dark, and the explosions from both sides lit the sky like fireworks detonating over the ocean.

While Jade blasted the lightweight watercraft again—sending bodies flying through the air—I steadied my aim. Arrowing in on the fuel line of the boat gunning for us, I unleashed a volley of bullets. With mere meters to spare before head-on collision, my bullets hit payload. The boat burst into flames rising from black clouds of smoke.

Too bad the sinking, smoldering vessel wasn’t the only shark on the water. Three more speedboats raced for us, the flak coming in fast and heavy. Metal hail rained all around us.

Great. All we needed now was a little air raid to complete the bad juju scenario.

“Give me a weapon.” Majedah crouched between Jade and me.

“You trust her?” I leaned across, grabbing Jade’s shoulder.

“More than I trust you.”

“Big surprise.”

Sliding my spare S&W into Majedah’s palm, I warned, “You plant a bullet in me, and I will bring on the pain.”

She narrowed her eyes at me as she checked the revolver’s fully loaded cylinder like a professional. “I am not merely an aristocrat.”

“No shit?” I aimed low, punching holes into the nearest boat’s hull.

Another one crested the white wave at our rear, and the captain of our vessel took a slug in the chest. He went down like a dead weight, snagging the wheel on the way. By the time his body hit the deck, our boat had spun, putting us directly in the path of incoming relentless fire.