Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

  Despite great trepidation, she’d been the real hero up there. Right then, she’d looked like some warrior goddess out of a graphic novel, her hair the mane of a lioness, the silky strands whipping into her eyes like tongues of fire. Frightened yet fierce, she’d ruled the day when—like a gracious queen—she’d granted York another chance at life instead of taking the revenge she’d so righteously deserved.

  Stretching alongside his queen, Chance let the cares of the world slip away. His nose came to rest at the now bare nape of her neck. His belly expanded with one delicious breath after another. If there were a heaven on Earth, Suede was it. He had no business loving her, but God knew he did. Patrone or Gonzales, or whoever’d sent that death squad, had best go home to Colombia where they’d be safe. If they thought for one second they were coming after Suede, they were Dead. Damned. Wrong.

  *****

  She heard voices. Pleasant male voices, but none of them belonged to Chance.

  “Whatever happens next, I need one alive for questioning.”

  “We’ll see how it plays out, sir. They won’t come willingly.” Pagan? What’s he doing here?

  Suede shifted to her elbows, listening. She’d slept into the evening.

  “Then drag the bastard in kicking and screaming. I’m getting to the end of this bullshit today, goddamn it.”

  Shhhhhs hissed out of at least two male mouths, and Suede needed to know who was in the cabin with her, and where Chance had gone.

  Gallo sat at the partially closed bedroom door with his ears cocked forward. Tiptoeing closer, she listened before she revealed her position.

  “Son-of-a-bitch, he ought to be right in the middle of them by now.” Whoever that strange man was, he seemed wound as tightly as a spring. Every word out of his mouth was clipped and sharp.

  “This is what you hired us for, sir. He’ll be fine.”

  It sounded like a fist hit the coffee table in Chance’s front room. “Goddamn it, stop ‘sir’-ing me!”

  When someone grunted, Suede eased Chance’s bedroom door open. Three men were in front of the fireplace, two in the easy chairs, their backs to her, the other seated on the leather couch facing her. She recognized Pagan by his shiny, tousled locks and his broad shoulders. The man seated next to him had to be Kruze. He had the same color hair and build, but the third man on the couch was gray-haired and dressed completely in green/brown/black camouflage like a hunter. He stroked his silvery moustache repeatedly. His bushy brows looked like they’d never slanted up, only down, matching the wrinkles etched into his weathered face. So where’s Chance?

  Suede cleared her throat to make her presence known, then stepped around Gallo’s bushy tail and into view. The gentleman in camouflage sprang to his feet. “Ma’am,” he said as his eyes scrolled from her face to Gallo and back again. “I’m sure sorry if I disturbed you.”

  By then Pagan and Kruze were on their feet as well, both headed her way.

  “Hey, Suede. How are you feeling?” Pagan asked.

  “Where’s Chance?” she fired at the three men.

  Pagan drew up short. His gaze flitted to Kruze as the stranger spoke up from behind them. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Tennyson. I’m Senator McQueen Sullivan, and right this moment, Chance is two miles south of here scouting an incoming army that’s headed your way.”

  “You’re Chance’s boss? A United States Senator?” She hadn’t seen that coming.

  He gave her one curt nod and snapped, “Chance was supposed to read you in. Didn’t he tell you?”

  Suede shrugged her shoulders, not sure precisely what McQueen Sullivan meant, but for the first time, acutely aware that Chance and his brothers were more than just former Navy SEALs if they worked under the direction of a US Senator. This man had an intensity to him that rivaled the alpha streak in Chance when he’d faced York.

  “He told me enough,” she replied steadily. There was no way she’d be disloyal to her man by hinting that Chance should have told her more. Suede turned to Pagan, who was nearly at her side. “I thought you were in Portland.”

  His shoulders came up. “Portland’s not that far away. Kruze and I hightailed it out of there this morning after Chance told us you guys had trouble.”

  “And I wasn’t about to sit on my ass in D.C. while all hell’s breaking loose here,” the Senator growled. “I trust my operators, but there’s no sense throwing them to the wolves.”

  A breath whooshed out of her. Suede swallowed some of the angst she hadn’t realized had been building inside her like a pressure cooker. “Are you gentlemen hungry? Can I get you anything to drink?”

  By then she was close enough to Pagan that he grabbed her under his arm and hugged her into his side. “No way are you waiting on us. Have a seat by the boss, and we’ll fill you in first.”

  Kruze smacked Pagan’s bicep. “Hold up. I haven’t been formally introduced.” He held out a massive callused hand, his green eyes dark and sizzling with interest. “The last time I was here, you weren’t feeling too good. Name’s Kruze Sinclair, ma’am. I’m the handsome one.”

  Pagan groaned, but her brows lifted at that brag. “Hardly,” she shot back at Chance’s other baby brother. “Chance is much better looking than you, and he smells better, too.”

  Pagan slapped his thigh and hooted with laughter. “Man, she told you! Told you to shower once you got here.”

  The surprise on Kruze’s manly face made Suede smile. He lifted one arm and performed one of those disgusting smellfies, sniffing at his armpit. “Whatchu mean? This ain’t stink. It’s perfume. Ladies like it.”

  Suede coughed, surprised how comfortable she felt with these two men. “Where? On the Planet of the Apes?”

  “Oh, come on,” Kruze grumbled over Pagan’s rowdy guffaw. “This is what a working man smells like after a hard day’s work. You know you like it.”

  She fluttered her fingers under her nose. “What I know is you need to step back. My eyes are watering and I can hardly breathe.” Cough. Cough.

  Pagan grinned. “Watch your Ps and Qs around Chance’s girl, Kruze. She doesn’t take any crap.”

  A genuine smile smoothed some of the worry wrinkles from Senator Sullivan’s stern face. “Chance’s girl, huh? Sorry, Miss Tennyson, but you’ll have to ignore Kruze a while longer.” He nodded to the cushion at his side. “Please, have a seat. We’ll bring you up to speed.”

  Kruze grumbled as he and Pagan took their seats while Suede accepted her position at Sullivan’s side. He didn’t sit until she did, and Suede couldn’t recall ever feeling more at home. Smoothing her hands over her knees, she was more than a little thankful that her jeans and T-shirt weren’t too wrinkled from sleeping in them.

  “My wife likes to shop,” Senator Sullivan said, his sharp eyes skating over her attire. “Hope you like what she sent. Everything looks like it fits.”

  “Please thank her for me. I’ll repay you as soon as I get back on my feet.”

  “No, you won’t. It’s on me.” The Senator’s gaze speared Pagan. “Goddamn, I hope Chance is smart enough to keep this one.”

  Pagan winked at Suede as his face cracked with a grin. “Yes, sir. He’d better.”

  Suede meant to argue about her not paying him back, but Senator Sullivan’s brows collided and one big hand smacked his thigh. “Will you two stop calling me ‘sir’? It’s McQueen. Just McQueen, Goddamnit.”

  She extended her hand to diffuse the stress in the air. “And I’m just Suede. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Senator Sullivan.”

  He took her hand in both of his. “You’re one helluva surprise, young lady.”

  “You might not know it, McQueen, but we don’t cuss in Chance’s home,” she told him evenly. “Now where’s my man and why’s he out there all by himself?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chance would’ve interrupted the conversation back at his cabin, but he had work to do. Still, it made him smile to hear his brothers’ and McQueen’s acceptance of Suede i
nto their tightly knit, all-male circle. Until today, Chance had resisted the familiarity of first names with the senator. It always seemed disrespectful. Well, no more. From now on, Senator Sullivan would be simply McQueen. If he proved worthy, the tough guy might even earn a nickname. Like Steve.

  Ha! Chance chuckled at his humor. He and his brothers would be working for Steve McQueen. The things that pass through a block operator’s mind when he’s inches from certain death.

  At the moment, Chance lay hunkered down and camouflaged beneath the snow-laden boughs of a giant mountain hemlock. The hollowed out tree well beneath those boughs created by too much snow falling in too short a time, provided the perfect sniper hide on this late afternoon. Another weather front had moved in, providing plenty of gray shadows that allowed him to get inside the enemy’s ranks without being seen. On his belly, he lay within hearing distance while he gathered intel on the small force of assassins making their way up the hillside to his cabin.

  Twenty was a larger force than he cared to take on alone, but it wasn’t unheard of. He knew this land and winter better than his brothers, which was why he’d taken point and was now lying where he was. They’d been holding up this three-legged tripod called the Sinclair Brothers long enough. He meant for them to sit this one out as long as they could. Besides, he needed them to keep Suede safe.

  At rest, these spec ops guys rarely spoke, but the few times they had, they’d used American English, not the Spanish Chance expected. Most were Caucasian males, one Japanese, and one African-American. All were Americans and obviously former military. They looked the part and they moved like it. All were thick-bodied and decked in tactical gear from their armor-plated vests to their kneepads and reinforced work gloves. No doubt about it, this was an army on the move.

  The leader wore no identifying rank insignia to set him apart, but all deferred to the one who Chance had tagged ‘Grunt,’ simply because that was the extent of his communication skills. Apparently, these guys had been pre-briefed and were running a predetermined drill. Either that or they were online with someone back at their combat control team via earpieces.

  When he’d first wormed his way under this tree and into their rest stop, Chance needed to know who they were looking for, York or Suede. Not that it mattered either way. The second they hit the kill zone he’d established around his cabin, they’d be history and he’d be glad to bury them alongside York. Let whoever’d had the balls to send them after Suede come sniffing around next. Chance would end him—or her—too.

  The mole in McQueen’s office might not have revealed this location to York, but someone else surely knew where Suede was. Body recovery didn’t require the assets these guys had. Several carried heavy gear bags no doubt full of ammo or grenades, while others toted RPG launchers. One shouldered a LAW, a light anti-tank weapon to breach heavy-duty defenses, or an eight-inch thick wooden door and steel plates.

  After gulping down a quick meal of protein bars and bottled water, Grunt shoved to his feet. Tossing the plastic bottle aside, he dragged his M2010 sniper rifle out of the snow and back over his shoulder. Fitted with a quick-attach sound suppressor, a Leupold Mark 4 scope, and clip-on night sights, that rifle alone made this guy a lethal killing machine all by himself.

  The rest of the men were equipped the same. Each performed a similar drill, discarding their trash and gearing up, yet none of them were wise to the sniper in their midst. Considering the spec ops training these guys obviously had, Chance made certain he gave nothing away. Not one breath or a whisper.

  The men moved out, Grunt leading the way. Interesting. He hadn’t sit-repped any CO while he’d rested, leading Chance to think these men operated under the same ROEs he and his brothers did. Report only when the job’s done.

  And if they never reported? Who’d come looking for them? Chance intended to find out. He stayed in the shadows, appreciative of the active weather front moving in over Old Man Mountain and the light snowfall blanketing the forest. Bodies were easier to bury in deeper snow.

  “Comm check,” Pagan whispered in his ear. “Can you talk yet?”

  Chance cupped one hand to his mouth and spoke low, his gaze never leaving Grunt and his men. “They’re coming your way. Twenty. All former-military. All Americans. Move Suede into the basement. These guys intend to level the place.”

  “They can try. Sullivan, I mean McQueen’s here.”

  “Damned glad that was his chopper earlier.”

  “You know it. What are they packing?”

  “Automatic rifles. LAWs. RPG launchers.”

  “No kidding? Who the hell’s behind this? They said yet?”

  “Wish I knew. Can’t be Tennyson. He wouldn’t dare.”

  “The man’s chicken shit,” Pagan agreed. “McQueen ever find out who leaked your twenty?”

  “Not yet. The real question is who paid the folks on his staff to do it. None of them have the guts to ante up and rat him out. He must be one powerful SOB.”

  “Or they’re scared of him. Which leaves you in the crosshairs. Bastards.”

  “Is there a reason you called?” Chance had to ask. Pagan tended to take the world of covert operators lightly, instead of seriously. Chance did not. Not since Suede.

  “Just wanted you to know Gallo took off.”

  “He what?” Chance hissed. “You couldn’t have led with that?”

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be back.”

  “No, Pagan, he won’t. Christ, he’ll come gunning straight for me.”

  “Sorry, I—”

  Chance stopped listening. A crazy damned German Shepherd had just plowed through the ranks of bad guys and straight to him.

  *****

  It was an honest, though bone-headed mistake. Gallo had to pee. Pagan opened the door and let him out. Now Suede sat glued to McQueen’s side listening while someone beat the hell out of Chance. Pagan and Kruze were on their way to get him. They just weren’t there yet.

  “They won’t kill him,” McQueen said through gritted teeth, his fists clenched, and his face pale. Gunfire erupted over the speaker amplifying his earpiece, and Suede buried her face in her hands. “He wants you below in the basement. Now’s a good time to—”

  “I won’t go,” she declared, her heart high in her throat, choking her. “I need to hear what happens to him.”

  “Then put this goddamned thing in before we have to move fast.” McQueen tossed an earpiece at her.

  She’d forgotten hers in the bedroom. Fumbling, Suede tucked it where she could follow every spoken word that came out of the Sinclair brothers’ mouths. If only they’d say something! All she could make out was Chance grunting and groaning over Pagan’s and Kruze’s heavy breathing. The guys pounding Chance hadn’t sworn or called names, not the behavior she’d expected in mercenaries. Her nerves stretched tighter as the seconds dragged into minutes. Poor Chance.

  Then rapid gunfire. Indistinguishable mayhem. Men bellowing. A dog yipping. Was that Gallo?

  “Got him.” Was that Kruze? Suede couldn’t tell who was who out there.

  “Bringing him in the back way.” Definitely Pagan.

  “What back way?” she asked McQueen, her feet set to fly.

  “Motherfuckers shot him.” Pagan again, his voice as hard as nails.

  “No!” she cried. “How bad? Is he alive?”

  “Yeah, but he’ll never walk on all fours again.”

  “Who the hell are we talking about?” McQueen bit out.

  “They shot Gallo!” she nearly screamed, relieved and terrified at the same time. “Not Chance.”

  “Copy that,” Chance hissed. “Hang tough, Suede. See you in a few.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m good,” he said, but she didn’t believe him. His voice sounded too tight. Too strained.

  “This way,” McQueen gestured as something tremendously loud and powerful hit the front of the cabin. The impact nearly knocked her off her feet. Suede ran for the basement, her heart pounding in her chest
as loud as her feet on the wooden steps. The labored rasps of three men’s heavy breathing vibrated in her ear.

  At the bottom of the stairs, McQueen strode past her and the shooting range into a hall dimly lit along the baseboards by safety running lights. She hadn’t noticed them before. They had to be part of Chance’s activating the cabin scheme.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, needing to be prepared for whatever Chance needed.

  “Here,” McQueen barked, jerking his head at the metal door in the hall. “This lock has a sixty second delay, so when I say ‘now’, you pull everyone on the other side in as if their lives depend on it.”

  She had a feeling the Sinclair boys’ lives did depend on it. Swallowing hard, she poised to be all she could be. Seconds dragged into minutes, until a raspy “Here” came over her earpiece. McQueen hit a palm pad in the wall by the door, and… Whoosh.

  Hydraulics hissed as the massive steel door rolled to the right and three men in snow gear tumbled onto the basement floor, Pagan with a whining Gallo on his chest, Kruze with his arm around Chance’s waist. With sweat dripping off their brows and running into their eyes, they’d no more than dropped to their knees when a yellow light flashed overhead and an alarm buzzed. The door began to roll back.

  “His tail!” Chance yelled. “Get my dog’s tail out of the way!”

  “Got it,” Pagan replied as he rolled from his prone position and grabbed Gallo’s fluffy tail in the nick of time. “Shit. Close call.”

  “Close call?” Suede shrieked. “You call that a close call? What are you guys, complete idiots?”

  Pagan quipped, “No one’s a complete idiot,” while Kruze shot Chance one of those raised-brow guy looks that pretty much said, ‘Women. Sheesh.’

  Enough! Fighting mad now and scared out of her wits, Suede slapped her palms to her hips and shrieked, “It’s not funny, Pagan! You boys are grounded!”

  If that didn’t make her look and sound stupid, nothing did. Chance rolled to his knees with a terse groan, and Suede lost the heat of her convictions. “You’re hurt,” she cried sinking to the floor with him, not sure if she should smack him for scaring her to death or kiss him for making it back alive.