by Shauna Allen
Redeeming Brianne (Special Forces: Operation Alpha)
Shauna Allen
Contents
Foreword
Acknowledgments
1. DeAndre
2. Brianne
3. DeAndre
4. Brianne
5. DeAndre
6. Brianne
7. DeAndre
8. Brianne
9. DeAndre
10. Brianne
11. DeAndre
12. Brianne
13. DeAndre
14. Brianne
15. DeAndre
Epilogue
A note from the author
Other Books by Shauna Allen
More Special Forces: Operation Alpha World Books
Books by Susan Stoker
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
© 2018 ACES PRESS, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the Special Forces: Operation Alpha Fan-Fiction world!
If you are new to this amazing world, in a nutshell the author wrote a story using one or more of my characters in it. Sometimes that character has a major role in the story, and other times they are only mentioned briefly. This is perfectly legal and allowable because they are going through Aces Press to publish the story.
This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I might have assisted with brainstorming and other ideas about which of my characters to use, I didn’t have any part in the process or writing or editing the story.
I’m proud and excited that so many authors loved my characters enough that they wanted to write them into their own story. Thank you for supporting them, and me!
READ ON!
Xoxo
Susan Stoker
About the book
DeAndre “Tito” Johnson has led his United States Marine Corps Force Reconnaissance team through countless battlefields and thousands of hours of recon collection. As a proud warrior and no-nonsense leader, he would gladly take a bullet for any one of the men on his team—because they are more than fellow Marines. They are family.
Working with the Navy SEALs on their current op, they have taken down the Mexican drug lord, Marco Esteban, and crippled his cartel. Now, they are closing in on terror mastermind, Mustaf Al Shadeek, the last piece of the puzzle.
Or is he?
Both scumbags used the elusive and dangerous hacker, El Lobo Blanco—The White Wolf—to intimidate and infiltrate their networks. But the U.S. military has The White Wolf now . . . and she isn’t all that intimidating anymore.
In fact, Brianne Kennard claims she was a victim and that she wants to take down Shadeek as much as they do. But something in Tito’s Marine training and hard-as-nails mind doesn’t want to trust her, no matter how beautiful and vulnerable she seems or how his traitorous body desires her.
But when Shadeek’s threats hit too close to home, something deeper and more primal knows he may have no other choice.
***Don’t miss the epic conclusion to the saga that began in Defending Danielle and continued on through Rescuing Rebekah, Saving Scarlett, Saving Grace, and Protecting Carissa!
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I have to thank the two Susans in my life—Susan Stoker, for sharing her world, characters, and encouragement with me, and for generally being an amazing person. And Susan Muller, for being one of my very best friends, and for always offering her home as a writing retreat, her brain to pick, and her ear to listen. I love you!
Thank you to my assistant and girl wonder, Kimberly Dawn, for always being spot on in her feedback and edits, and for sticking with me from the beginning. And to Ella Gram, for all of her beta reading, insights, and amazingness! You girls are awesome!
Thank you LeTeisha Newton for all the amazing covers as well as the extra advice and nuances to help me get DeAndre’s characterization right. You are a good friend and an amazing writer and artist in your own right. Hugs!
Lots of love to my Shauna’s Angels Street Team for their continued love, support, and devotion. That means more to me than you will ever know. The same to my Diva’s Ink gals, Sharla, Jamie, Selena, and Jennie. True friends are hard to find in this industry, and I’m grateful for you.
To my husband and children, you know how I feel, you know I do it for you, but I will say it again so everyone else can know it too. You are my heart.
And, lastly, to you, my reader . . . thank you SO much for taking a chance on me and my books. Your investment of time and money has not gone unappreciated, and I hope my words give you enjoyment and maybe even some sighs and swoons. Thank you for kindly understanding that I write fiction. I have done my research, but I have also knowingly taken some liberties in the name of entertainment, while trying to remain respectful to those I write about. I appreciate those of you who can suspend your disbelief and embrace the “movie in my mind” and come along for the ride. For those of you who take the time to write me with your kind words, thank you, it means so much!
DeAndre
My phone buzzed with a text from the nightstand beside my head, rousing me from a deep sleep and killing a dream of long, platinum hair, ethereal blue eyes, and fuck-me long legs wrapped around my waist.
I snapped awake and fumbled for the phone, checking the time with a groan.
5:54 a.m. Sunday morning.
Tex: Tag you’re it.
I ran a hand down my stubbled face and texted back. What the fuck man?
Tex: Since when am I her babysitter?
Her, meaning Brianne of the fuck-me legs. My still hard body twitched uncomfortably in remembrance of my dream.
Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about. She doesn’t need a babysitter. She’s a grown woman.
And, God, did I know. I hadn’t been able to not know since I’d been unofficially/officially tasked with keeping an eye on her by the commander for the past two weeks. Her recovery since her rescue had been nothing short of miraculous, considering what she’d been through, but there was a tiny part of me that still found it hard to trust her. She’d been held captive by a blood-thirsty Mexican drug cartel for months.
Or had she?
That was the rub.
Was she a pawn or a willing participant, playing a game with us now just to save her ass because she’d been caught? I wasn’t sure anyone could be that devious, but I’d seen the worst humanity had to offer, so I put nothing past anyone until they proved themselves. Period. Not even gorgeous blondes with curves for days.
Tex: Either way, you’re supposed to be her contact, but because you’re ignoring her, she’s calling me with information. Remember, my family and I are here to visit, and I got wrangled into helping so get your ass in gear Tito and CALL YOUR ASSET BEFORE I KICK YOUR ASSET!
I huffed out a laugh and typed back. Roger that.
I hadn’t been ignoring her per se. I’d simply let her last two calls roll to
voicemail and not answered her last few text messages. I had every intention of replying Monday morning or maybe stopping by, but she knew if she had any urgent information, all she had to do was text 9-1-1, and she hadn’t done that, so . . .
I glanced at my phone and scrolled to re-read her messages from Saturday again.
9:48 a.m.: How’s your day?
11:07 a.m.: Call me when you get time please.
4:27 p.m.: I need to talk to you ASAP.
10:49 p.m.: It’s urgent, DeAndre. Please. I don’t think we’re focusing on the right target.
Then, one I’d missed while I’d been sleeping at 2:52 a.m.: 9-1-1!!!!!
“Fuck.” I scrolled to her number in my contacts list and stabbed it with a finger.
She picked up on the first ring. “What the hell, DeAndre!” she demanded. “If you can’t be bothered to return my calls, then why don’t you assign me to one of the other guys who will?”
“It’s six o’ clock on a Sunday morning, Brianne. What did you expect?”
“For you to do your damn job.”
She’d never snapped at me like this, and I wasn’t sure what to make of the show of fire. “Well, you’ve got me now. What’s on your mind?”
She sighed as if it was a chore to speak to me. “I think we’re focusing on the wrong embassy.”
My stomach sank. We’d spent the last two weeks, countless hours of manpower, and unknown amounts of resources to prep for an anticipated attack on the brand-new U.S. embassy in Jerusalem. Now she thought it was for nothing? “Why? Shadeek’s threats were very clear in the intel you gave us.”
“Yes, but I think it’s a ploy. He’s playing us.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Well . . .” She hesitated. “I just am. It feels wrong.”
“It feels wrong?”
“Yes.”
I could picture the cute wrinkle of her nose when she concentrated or the way she played with her hair when she was uncertain. Was she doing either of those things now?
“Call it instinct,” she went on. “Remember, I dealt with these people for months. I know their habits, the way they operate. This feels too out there, too obvious, too much like he wants us to know about it. Besides, this embassy is too new and well publicized. He’d know it was heavily secured. Why, out of every embassy in the world, would he choose that one? Why now? It makes no sense.”
What she said was reasonable, yet it went against every grain of intel we had. My training as a Marine told me to follow where the intelligence led, and that was to Shadeek and the Jerusalem embassy. We nearly had the threat wrapped up . . . or so we thought. We had the embassy as secure as it could be, and we had Brianne working on locating Shadeek so we could take him down. Now she wanted to throw this monkey wrench in the mix?
“Do you have another target to point us toward?”
“Well . . . no.” She sighed heavily. “Not yet. But give me some time. I will.” Keyboard keys clacked in the background, and I could envision her long, ivory fingers working the computer as well as my body.
I squeezed my eyes closed and shoved that thought away. “Well, in the meantime, we have to proceed with the intel we do have. You know that.”
“I know, but—”
“Just keep working and bring me anything new the moment you get it.”
“Will you stop ignoring me now?”
“I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“Uh huh.”
“I wasn’t.” I was such a fucking liar, and I hated liars. There was just something about this woman that drove me to distraction, and until I found a way to control my body’s reaction to her, I had to keep as much distance as possible.
“You know, I’m with Grace and Lucky all the time anyway. Maybe he can be my keeper.”
I nearly choked. “Keeper?”
“Handler. Whatever you call it.”
I didn’t dare tell her Tex called it babysitting. “Nobody’s keeping you or handling you. You are a free citizen of the United States who is generously helping us with your very specialized skills.”
“While being constantly monitored on a military base.”
“True, but you agreed to this arrangement, and you’re free to terminate it at any time.” But I had her in a corner, and we both knew it. She’d agreed to be under our protection because until Shadeek was brought down, she wasn’t truly safe anywhere else, but I knew it had to grate to feel like a willing prisoner.
“I’m not terminating anything,” she said, her voice breathy and frightened, and I mentally kicked myself for being a dick. “I’m just trying to help. It’s what you asked me to do, remember?”
“I remember.”
“Will you at least think about what I said? Look into other potential targets?”
“I’ll look into it,” I promised, though my words rung hollow. How many millions of other targets could there be? Where would we even start without a shred of intel to point us in the right direction?
“Okay.” She sounded relieved. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“You do that.”
We hung up, and I sunk back onto my pillows to stare up at the ceiling, wondering how much longer I’d have to be tortured by the very existence of this woman, and how long every cell in my body would have to ache to know what she would feel like pressed up against me.
Brianne
I worked simultaneously between my PC and laptop until my eyes were bleary and my fingers numb. I’d broken through about ten layers of code to infiltrate some of Shadeek’s deepest secrets, but still nothing. It was as if he had a neon sign pointing directly to the Jerusalem embassy . . . and that’s what niggled me. It was too direct. Like he wanted me to find that and send the U.S. military directly into an ambush.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I jumped from my chair, my heart in my throat, when someone pounded on my door. My instinctual reaction was to cower. Protect myself. But I stifled that. Remembered I was safe now. I wasn’t in the clutches of Marco Esteban and his drug cartel any longer. My body may have healed from all those months held as his captive, but sadly, my mind still had a way to go to be free.
I padded to the front door and peered through the peephole. My silly heart began to pound for an entirely different reason when DeAndre’s face came into focus, bathed in the early afternoon sunlight. I unbolted the lock and swung open the door, drinking in every inch of tall, dark, and delicious.
“You were right,” he said without preamble, his voice naturally deep and gritty.
My stomach dropped. “About what?”
He moved past me without being invited inside, giving me a teasing hint of his scent—ocean and spice and glorious man. He grabbed my remote and flipped on the television, changing channels until he found a news station. He turned down the volume, tossed the remote, and faced me, his expression pained.
A reporter was live in front of a chaotic scene, smoke and emergency vehicles choking the area behind her. The news ticker scrolled along the bottom of the screen, reporting numbers of casualties and other information I simply couldn’t absorb.
“What happened?” I croaked, my eyes continuing to scan the TV for clues, as it was clearly not the U.S. embassy in Jerusalem. “Where is that?”
“London.”
My head snapped around.
“Wimbledon,” he clarified.
I glanced back with a gasp. “No.”
“Yes. Sixty-four confirmed dead. Probably at least that many with serious injuries. Maybe more.”
“Shadeek?”
“So far, no one is claiming responsibility, but we think so.” He raked a hand over his short hair. “We were hoping you would be able to help us find out for sure.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Our eyes caught. Held. His were the most beautiful crystalline green I’d ever seen and made me want to dive in and get to know him. DeAndre “Tito” Johnson was a mystery to me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he did his damnedest
to stay as far away from me as possible. What I couldn’t figure out was why. I hadn’t done anything to him other than try to help.
“Yeah. Okay.” He paced a few steps then turned back. He seemed at a loss on what to do or say to me, which wasn’t the man I’d come to know over the past weeks. Not that I knew him at all really, but I’d wanted to ever since the night of my rescue when I’d been put into the van with him, and he was so gentle and calm when I was so traumatized. I didn’t remember much from that night, but I did remember the way he spoke about his mother and how I’d wondered where he grew up. I still did. And I remembered those eyes and that voice and the sweet, self-conscious way he’d told me his name—his real name—instead of having me call him Tito like everyone else.
His phone buzzed with a text. He yanked it out, glanced at the screen with a frown, then tucked it away.
“Bad news?” I asked.
“Both teams are meeting at HQ in an hour to debrief.”
“Of course.”
“So, you’re absolutely sure you don’t have anything new on this end for me to bring to the table?”
“I’m sure. But I’ll keep working and call you the minute I do,” I promised.
He didn’t look like he quite believed me, but he nodded anyway. “Okay.” He took a step toward the door then paused. “You gonna be okay here alone?”
I frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. I just thought . . . you’ve been here alone a while. It’s been a rough day. Maybe you want to spend some time with Grace or something? I could drop you off or call her for you.”
