by Louis Scott
Her feet shuffled, entwined in the bed sheet to move closer to him. He lightly touched his mouth to hers, playing with fire, he knew.
Alex was in the middle of an interrogation and information gained might send any or all members of FORCE on assignments in a flash. If he got Voodoo heated up and had to leave suddenly… Nope, didn't want to go there. Better to do the deed quickly and hope Alex didn't call. His eyes darted away as Voodoo pressed her thick, full lips against his.
“Baby, you’re killing me,” he said.
“I know. I can feel you.” Her fingers pulled at him, “I need to be close, Dwight. I need you next to me.”
“But…"
Alex might call at any moment. His mind finished the sentence but he didn't dare say the words out loud.
“I know, High and Mighty Alex Vaughn might call. And that is why I hate her.” She gasped as her fingers unwrapped the hold. He stopped her, and pressed his mouth against hers.
“Is this a government issued t-shirt?” Pike asked. Her nose crinkled and she laughed. “Umm, yes it is.” She wagged her head.
Pike gripped her shirt in both hands and ripped it in half. She groaned through an electric smile. He moved down to her waist.
“Are these government issued?” His fingers slid inside the lining of her modest sports panties.
“No, they belong to me,” she pretended to scold. Green eyes exploded with anticipation. Her hips began to wiggle before he moved.
She lay bare on the government issue mattress with nothing but the shredded remnants of a black t-shirt over her shoulders. She didn’t seem to care. They needed the connection and the release.
They laid quiet in the dark room. Holding hands because it was too warm to cuddle. It wasn’t until the flash of Pike’s phone lit up the room did the dread of reality return.
“Looks like we’re back to work.” Pike said with hesitation.
Voodoo huffed, “That’s my cue to leave.”
Chapter Eight
“Would you care for water?” Alex asked Bonny.
She’d grown weary of this cat-n-mouse game. Someone she once dismissed as a dumb blonde, turned out to be much more talented than she had imagined.
“Would you?”
“You’re not in the position to offer water. Only information,” Alex said.
“Tell me, what did the DNA swab reveal?” Bonny grinned.
“You already know the answer. You wouldn’t have offered the profile match unless you wanted me to know who you are. Let’s cut the crap and talk like two regular people.” Alex twisted her hip and tossed her right elbow over the chair’s back.
“That’s the problem. Neither of us are regular people. The world could never know who we are or what we do—like super heroes. But I will tell you who I am and what will soon happen as compensation for what’s about to happen to you.”
Alex jerked her elbow off the chair and glared. Her mouth slipped open to retort, but sealed instead. She’d hear her out.
“Sometimes its best to bite your tongue. Now, hold it a bit longer and I’ll tell you everything. Not like you can stop destiny.” Bonny’s tone grew more arrogant.
Alex’s jaw jerked as the muscles strained to prevent an outburst. She peeled her lips back and upward in a fake grin and nodded.
“My name is Georgia Washington Ross. I’m from Virginia—Mount Vernon. I am a direct blood descendent of our nation’s father and the most influential woman of their time—George Washington and Betsy Ross. They first met during worship at Christ Church in Philadelphia. This bloodline has been guarded for over two hundred and forty years. Our family’s confidences are shielded by a secret society that has also run most of this nation’s affairs since the beginning.”
“Do you expect me to believe a club controls America?” Alex laughed in dismissal.
“You don’t think we’d leave it up to just anyone to run what we created, do you?”
“So why are you trying to destroy a nation your family built by working for the Rougarou?”
“Poor dah’lin, I love this country.” Bonny smirked. “But its so far off track, that the only way to right it, is to destroy it and rebuild. Oh, and I don’t work for the Rougarou—I am the Rougarou.” She cackled.
Alex’s chuckled lightly. It was only partially an act.
“I can accept you’re related to George Washington—hell from what I remember, he fathered a nation,” Alex scoffed. “What I can’t buy is you being the terrorist mastermind, and calling yourself the Rougarou. That’s stupid.” Her eyes rolled.
“It’s disappointing, Alex. To be mocked by another woman of influence. I’ve never made light of what Vladimir did to you over those nineteen days in Avagravia. I respected your struggle—your strength to survive. Here I offer you the truth and you call me stupid? I should have the call made now—would serve you right.”
“You’re not entitled to one call, this ain’t the county lock up,” Alex said bitterly.
“No honey, I’m not going to call out. Someone will call in—for you.”
“Better not be a collect call. We don’t accept charges.”
“The family is disappointed with the leadership of the nation. Heroes and elected officials no longer stand for anything but themselves. We tried the legal system to pursue the crooks, but soon that became corrupted. Assassinations were always useful, but we’d allowed the family to be dissuaded from doing so many. It’s time the family takes a new look at using them as a deterrent. We want to teach America a lesson by making a strong statement. We’ve decided to eliminate two bad examples—a disgraced politician, the POTUS and a dishonorable war hero—JW Colt.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“The Devil’s Own really aren’t that bad a bunch of boys once you get to know them. I’m also big on efficiency—you know, two birds with one stone kinda thing.”
“Do you really think I’m going to allow you to follow through on your plans?” Alex taunted.
“FORCE will not stop the family. You’ll see why very soon. And the name Rougarou might sound a bit silly to you, but I liked the legend and the name seemed to fit. Fats and I were down at a little rum distillery in Thibodaux, Louisiana. The tour guide shared the legend, and my alter ego was born. The Rougarou was a good deterrent to scare bad kids into behaving. What’s so different than what I’m doing?”
“How does Fats factor into this?” Alex asked.
“I needed him to lure Pike down to the bayous. Hated sleeping with that pig, but a girl gotta do… You know the rest. I suppose they’ll find him soon. Best I know he’ll have an alligator’s meat hook run up under his chin and out below his tongue. I was told a man could hang by that hook for a long time before he died. Fats really was a rotten pig.”
“Bonny or Georgia, while your direct bloodline to GW might’ve earned a no mention blue star in the law enforcement’s database, it doesn’t mean crap here and now. You’re under arrest for treason—punishable by execution. I'll have someone escort you to your cell.”
“I told you, honey, that there’ll be no arrest being made.”
Ellie and Jim slipped into the room through the silent door.
“For you, Alex.” Jim handed her a cell phone.
Alex nodded. They left
“Hello, this is Special Agent in Charge, Alex Vaughn.”
Surely Bonny's threat couldn't be real. She kept her voice steady, determined to portray a strong front.
“Alex, this is Senator William Rogan.” The voice was unmistakable.
He chaired the United States Senate oversight committee, which controlled FORCE. Alex had met the man many times, and they’d enjoyed a neutral relationship in the past.
“Hello sir, what may I do for you?” Her eyes sliced to Bonny.
“What the heck do you think you’re doing? She’s a blue star.” Rogan’s voice trembled in rage. Alex imagined his fat chins quivering as he threatened. “You’ve got three minutes to release Ms. Ross. I want her escorted from t
he warehouse and placed in the limo we have waiting for her outside.”
“And if I refuse?” Alex challenged.
“”I have an FBI SWAT team positioned to storm your facility to take you into custody for high treason.” Rogan replied.
“You realize she just confessed to a plot to assassinate the President of the United States?” She regretted the statement the moment it slipped between her lips.
“According to who? I have grave concerns about FORCE’s ability to play honest with the public and us. I don’t know that I trust you anymore. Without trust, Alex, you got nothing. FORCE is done—I’ve contacted a quorum of the committee and we’re pulling the plug.” Rogan raged on.
“Just like that? But what about POTUS?”
“Enough of your wild imagination. Get your personal belongings and get out.” He slammed down his phone. The crack reverberated through Alex’s cell.
“Silly rabbit. Told you so.” Bonny smirked.
Chapter Nine
Saturday mornings were for sleeping in, or at least that’s what Pike had gotten used to over the last several weeks on injured reserve. Absent was the glimmer of gold shimmering off the late morning bayou, and the gentle toe touches across the mattress from a lover debating sleep or sex.
This Saturday, the day before Easter, he was alone in a Baltimore economy hotel room. Voodoo was on her way back to Louisiana. He wasn’t happy about it, but he respected her decision. It wasn’t like he could go after her. He had a duty to fulfill.
He rolled over to slap at the buzzing cell phone. It was from Alex, and it caused his heart to drop. She signaled that FORCE was now in phase Zulu. It meant FORCE’s facility and network were under attack. The warehouse was no longer safe to return to.
The back-up, COOP system Alex had established, provided for a series of off-site safe locations to reconstitute operations. Pike knew that an abandoned mini-mall’s suite near BWI airport was designated as their temporary facility. Picked because the area was kind of crappy, no bureaucrat would expect to find them there.
Like most of the other FORCE operatives, he knew the Senate oversight committee had terminated their authority. Reporting for duty would officially classify their efforts as “rogue.” Which is what they all became once they convened that afternoon. A subdued Alex greeted them, setting out bottles of water and an assortment of cookies in the shapes of Easter bunnies.
“Team, thank you for seeing this through. You know the implications of participating in an unsanctioned action against American citizens.” She said.
Pike thought she looked deflated. Substituted for her always-intense persona was a mechanical warrior trained by a government that had abandoned her—again.
“Save the official record warning, Alex. We’re here to do what’s right,” Jim assured her.
“Thanks, but there is no longer an official record. No rules,” she murmured past tight lips.
Pike slumped in a rickety office chair. The lack of pain pills, and the loss of Voodoo, had combined to drain and distract him. He’d become accustomed to operating under any and all dire circumstances, but her heading home to Turtle Bayou had him off his game.
“This is our situation as we understand it.” Jonas cleared his throat and paused for Pike to open his eyes. “Bonny, with help from the Devil’s Own Outlaw Motorcycle Club will try to assassinate the President tomorrow during Easter service at the 9-11 Memorial. They wanted extra-long range sniper rifles. As far as we know, they never secured any.”
Jonas rapped knuckles against the Formica-topped conference table—causing Pike to jerk awake, sliding from the edge of his seat. His head popped up once both knees slid to the carpeted surface.
“Sorry, I’m bushed,” he said as he recovered.
“With no long-range options confirmed, we have to assume Bonny will try a direct assault. Maybe the Devil’s Own will also try to assault the target location, cause chaos and kill POTUS. We just don’t know.” Jonas nodded sympathetically as if he understood Pike’s behavior was more than just exhaustion.
A slight vibration against the tabletop caught Pike's attention.
“No way,” he exclaimed, blasting from his chair.
A dark energy came off of him, flooding the small room. The experienced Navy SEAL’s body quivered with adrenaline. He scraped a hand through his blond hair. Swollen blue eyes stared at the phone in his hand. His chest rose and fell as if he'd run a four-minute mile. No one spoke—just watched.
Ellie reached over and took the cell phone from Pike’s fingers. Her face blanked as she read the text message from Bonny.
[We have her]
The picture attached showed a terrified Voodoo. Everyone lowered their glances after Ellie waved the phone around the group. Jim, seated closest to Pike, reached an arm across slumped shoulders, and was immediately joined by the others.
Jonas snatched the cell to mash out a reply to Bonny. [Where is she]
[Voodoo for the products]
[Products?] Jonas texted, beads of sweat framed the ridge of his mouth. This was a negotiation for Voodoo’s life.
[Rifles]
[Never were rifles. U/C deal all the way] Jonas’s fingers ripped into Pike’s phone screen. He looked to Alex for input.
[Then you better crap some by Sunday morning]
Pike jerked the phone from Jonas to check the dialogue. Inadvertently, his thumb slid across the screen and pulled up the next picture. It turned his guts. Two dirt bag bikers stood over a stripped-nude Voodoo. Their tattered leather vest read Devil’s Own motorcycle club—1%’ers. Backs turned to the camera, their colors were the only clothes they wore. The conference table splintered beneath the force of Pike’s fists.
Alex paced the rear of the outlet store space, cell phone to her ear. She kept her distance from the others while she spoke in hushed tones. Agitation twisted her expression as she ended the unanswered call.
Rail-thin finger tapping against her teeth, she fretted over strategies to rescue Voodoo. She debated which of two options were the less, worst. She had no time for games, politics or personal feelings. The cell buzzed in her pocket.
“Alex, you called?” asked the deep voice.
“Justice, thank you for returning my call. You said when they screw me over, to call you. They have. and I need your help.” She expelled a gasp of relief.
“Not sure what I can do, but give it a shot.” Justice now sounded as if his offer had been more courtesy than promise.
“Bonny and the Devil's Own are holding Voodoo hostage.”
“What?” Rage resounded in his voice.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this. I know how close you two are.”
“How?” Justice demanded. “Is she okay?”
“She slipped out in the night to go back home. Said she’d had enough.” Alex offered.
“Why don’t you rain down the hell of the fed’s special ops?” Justice suggested.
“I got no stroke. The Senate oversight pulled the plug on FORCE. We’re rogue,” Alex said.
“How’d the Senate get involved? Especially over the Easter holiday.” Justice asked anxiously.
“Bonny is the blue star, real name is Georgia Washington Ross. She made it happen. She and the Apple Dumpling Gang are planning to hit POTUS tomorrow during the 9-11 memorial ceremony.”
“I figured as much on the blue star,” Justice said. “Is that memorial where cops, fire and military going to gather?” Justice’s voice elevated.
“Yep. Devil’s Own tried to buy long-range rifles to drop the president. That’s how the two undercover Navy SEALs got caught up.”
“Heard about that. Good rescue and recovery.” Justice knew the code—no one left behind.
“They want the rifles in exchange for Voodoo,” she said.
“Give them the rifles. Swap a sub for the prez and up outer perimeter security. Simple protocol,” Justice remained calm when talking tactics. “Just do whatever it takes to get Voodoo back.”
“We
don’t have access to anything. I’m sitting in a strip mall’s stock room. We were lucking to get away from HQ with our own weapons, much less sniper rifles.”
“I think it’s best handled by the suits at FBI. My boys won’t touch this stuff, much less beef with a sub-group like the Devils. Sorry, no can do, Alex.”
Justice had seemed to trust Alex and she sensed where his heart was. She debated before making her next move. Looking down at Voodoo’s picture of her horrified expression, Alex’s stomach knotted. Her imagination ran wild at what those two outlaws had probably done to her.
Alex swallowed hard because she knew what was about to be activated. She sent the picture of Voodoo to Justice and his brother, Lawless.
Chapter Ten
Justice James Boudreaux sat in the open field of an undisclosed airstrip just north of Chicago. Dusty goggles filled with condensation, he systematically scanned the whole area. He’d been trained at the sharpest tip of the United States government’s black ops spear. If there was a threat within miles, he’d detect it. And neutralize it.
His late model Harley Davidson Dyna Glide rattled between long, powerful thighs. Scuffed square-toed boots planted against the dirt, the bike easily balanced as an extension of his frame. He’d grown accustomed to the vibration—even as it caused the muscles packed across his chest to shake. A custom flat black paint job sported the Savage Soul’s iron, passion cross emblem embossed across the tank. The skull and sniper’s crosshairs hand-painted on the faring and rear fender epitomized Justice’s ideology—being lethal ensured survival.
Heat from the twin cam engine poured between his legs. The red-hot heads and cylinders snapped to life as he cranked back against the leather-wrapped accelerator. He rested easily atop the stitched saddle, but he never relaxed. He trusted Alex Vaughn—and only her.
The horizon was dotted with ten vertical figures. Their HOGs, a collection of stolen and refurbished bikes, also thrummed under the early afternoon haze. Justice’s government paid-for smile flashed past his thick beard. Trained to avoid ambush—their positions were as he had instructed to detect and defeat one. He didn’t think Alex would even try to assault the Savage Souls, but he was never one to assume.
