by LS Silverii
“Don’t worry about me, I’m a survivor.” He nudged her right shoulder with his left hand. She landed on her knees abruptly. There was no sheepish smile or implied apology—he was in the throws of enduring yet another near death experience.
“Suck my dick.”
“Please?” she resisted.
“You wanted sex, now suck my dick.” He tightened the grip on her hair.
Her eyes combed the length of his torso until they met his eyes. Her eyelids fluttered and she pursed her lips. “This ain’t gonna end well—you about to unleash the Creole in me.”
She swallowed him down until gags replaced her moans. His fingers wrapped into her mane and jerked her by the hair to slow down—she resisted. Water welled in the corners of her eyes, but the fiery lover refused to relent. His knees finally buckled and he twisted his torso for something, anything to hold onto. Nothing—they were in the middle of the hotel room. She snugged her left arm behind his hamstrings, looked up at him, shook her head, and hummed, “Oh no.”
“Come on then badass, swallow it.” His chin juddered up and mouth stretched open where silent screams escaped. Pulsing veins coursed through his temples and tore across his neck. The blazing pain in his right rotator cuff spiked his pulse even higher.
She sucked on his dick as hard as her hollowed cheeks allowed. Lips purpled from the intense friction, creased with intense pressure. He writhed, unable to escape her hold. Neither would relent—adrenaline ignited their animal instincts. The raw emotion had to run its course. Sex—primal, visceral sex was their remedy.
Hollywood’s palm shoved against the top of her head and then pulled her to her feet. His right hand grabbed her waist—he chomped his teeth together in agonizing discomfort. Their lips smashed together and his tongue flittered inside of her mouth. There was nothing sweet about this. His arm still trembled as he pulled her toward the bed. The weather had broken bad again. Rain slammed against the windows and roof. The chaotic storm only heightened his excitement.
“You’re an animal.”
“You’ll see my animal, now lay back.” Hollywood demanded.
Voodoo’s look teetered between ecstatic and frantic as her body surrendered onto the thinly padded mattress. Vibrant colors and designs flexed to life as her tattooed arms reached to challenge his arrival. Bent knees opened to receive him as she curled upward to take his mouth against hers.
Her thighs fell open as his hand slid between them. He pushed two fingers into her pussy—soaking wet. He leered—foreplay wasn’t going to happen, or be needed. He pressed his fingers against her bottom lip and she licked the moisture off them. Her moan ignited his need to fuck her to a fever pitch. Propped onto both knees, he grabbed his dick and aimed its head toward her pussy.
“What’cha got, big boy?” she teased once her voice returned from the mouth fucking he’d given her. Drawn tight, her thighs pressed back together. Hollywood grabbed her by both ankles and straightened her legs. He rested the crossed feet atop his left shoulder to expose wet pussy lips. Watching him watch her made her throb deep inside. Her anticipation was as sky high as her adrenaline.
“This is what I’ve got for you.” He stuck his cock inside, not slowing his force until his pelvis slammed against her ass and hamstrings. She gasped. Green eyes bulged from between bouncing lids. Hollywood leaned back because of the pitch, “You okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
He slammed his dick into her, and she grabbed for more. Both their bodies covered in sweat and her wetness, they fought the desire to hold or kiss. They needed to fuck each other to feel alive. Both needed to know there was more to risking their lives than a job well done.
His roar reverberated like a tortured brute as she sensed his testicles swell with semen. Veins swelled with pumping blood and raised the tight skin covering his arms and chest. She moaned. His muscles jerked and twitched uncontrollably. Hot breath escaped from deep in his lungs across her hard nipples. Voodoo’s body bucked. She kicked her legs free of his grip. Her heels pushed against the wrinkled bed sheets.
Thunder clashed with rips of lightning. She pressed against his cock until he couldn’t bury himself any deeper inside of her. Their breathing synched. Hollywood closed his eyes to ride the sensation of their bodies racing to orgasm. He cried out in a confluence of pain and pleasure before he collapsed into her arms.
“Dwight.”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Your cell’s buzzing. I’m sure it’s Rose, again.”
CHAPTER 6
The airport hotel’s front lobby was modest, but the effort was sincere. Rose was waiting when Hollywood hurried off the elevator.
“Sorry to interrupt your mini-vacation, but we’ve got a problem,” she said.
“What is it? Is the surgery over, is he okay?”
“He’s fine. He’s a SEAL isn’t he? It’s about Voodoo.”
His look soured.
“Tech Section back at HQ ran their regular security sweeps for bugs, trackers, tracers and everything high-tech I know nothing about. Seems Voodoo has an app on her smartphone for locating friends.”
“Great, let’s use it to follow Bonny.”
“There lies the problem—friends can also track her. Bonny knows our every location, yet Voodoo never troubled herself to inform us that we’d have the same resource.”
“Maybe she forgot, or Bonny disabled it on her end?” Hollywood said, figuring angles.
“Nope. Look here. Bonny, or at least Bonny’s phone is north of St. Louis.”
“Do you really think she’d be that dumb? To leave a tracking device on her phone?”
“I don’t know. You were the one about to have a menage a trois with her. Is she that dumb?”
“Fuck off.” Hollywood sprang from the lobby chair, and stormed out through the automatic doors. The small awning was little use. Lashing winds slanted driving rain across the tops of his loafers. His jeans saturated below the knee, but he stood there—statuesque. And pissed.
“You realize Fats runs his trap, don’t you?” Chase eased up behind him. His bare feet drew lines of water over the dry cement.
“I never said a word to him,” Hollywood swore.
“Don’t doubt it, but think she did?”
“Guess so,” his voice trembled with emotion he’d never displayed.
“You probably owe Rose an apology.” Chase returned inside as silently as he’d come.
Hollywood’s chest tightened—he knew Chase was right, but apologies never came easy or often.
* * *
Hollywood rushed back to the hotel bedroom without a word. Rose had decided not to discuss Voodoo’s smartphone app, but made it obvious during the briefing she no longer trusted her. Billy asked Voodoo to surrender her cell for national security reasons. Everyone but her knew what that implied.
Bonny’s diary not only gave STR a glimpse into the Preacher’s master plan, but also hinted Voodoo was aware of it. Although the IT geeks had only revealed the letters “KL” in Bonny’s notes, it was a safe assumption those initials stood for the woman Hollywood had just shoved his dick into. He was disgusted.
“Here’s the room key.”
“Thank you, Krystal.”
“Thank you, Krystal? What’s that shit about?”
Hollywood ignored her question and shouldered the door open. He turned to latch it behind them, but saw her wander away. She looked to be composing her thoughts as her fingers walked across her round jaw. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and her left foot tapped the dingy hallway carpet like a musician keeping time.
“We gotta move. Leave anything you can’t wear. STR will send a cleaner.”
“What’s a cleaner?” She poked her tongue into her cheeks.
“They pick up to make sure nothing’s left or exposed.” He tilted his body toward her—fingers picked at the nails of his other hand. “Cleaner.”
“Like my phone?”
“What about it?”
“I don’t want i
t left, why’d Billy take it anyway?”
“You really don’t know?”
He went silent, collapsed against the doorway. Air hissed through his teeth as his shoulder met metal. His nose picked up the antiseptic, industrial cleaners used by housecleaning from a roller cart in the hall. Mixed with the musk of the well-trafficked hallway, brought flashes of memory. It was the same concoction of odors in the Waziristan Haveli. His stomach rolled.
“Baby, you okay?” She reached to steady him.
“That smell fucks me up.” His hand slapped against dried lips. “His compound was pretty shitty, guess they tried to keep it sterile for his jihad.”
“I’m so sorry you had to experience that. Lets get in the room and take care of you.” She held the door off him with her shoe and guided him through. He pulled back as she advanced to kiss him.
“Still upset about something?
“That smell reminds me of Pakistan, but not about killing bin Laden. It’s about the sacrifices of everyone who made finding him possible. Are you willing to make a sacrifice like that?” His words trembled with emotion. His eyes drilled into her.
“I’m here, ain’t I?” Her head swiveled side-to-side—hand against a jutted hip. Shuffle steps brought him closer. He leaned down with lips pulled so hard against his teeth-they looked faded with white speckles.
“Then why the fuck didn’t you tell us about your cell phone?” His whisper was hard, fat with accusation.
Her face flushed red. A sharp tongue darted at arid lips. She cleared her throat but seemed unable to find the words to speak.
His glare sharpened. Tremors quaked across his face the longer it took her to justify it. He snorted a gust of air, threw his hand up and walked off.
* * *
Mechanical in his quick change, Hollywood flowed within the small space of his hotel room until he appeared in an olive-drab tactical uniform. His backpack sized go-bag was shoved full of necessary items, and the rest were pushed into a pile. Three extra strength ibuprofen down the hatch, and he stormed out of the room toward the lobby, an LSU Tigers ball cap tugged over his eyes.
“She coming?” Rose asked.
“How the fuck would I know? I was stupid to trust her, or anyone for that matter. Rose, I owe you an apology for earlier, and for bringing her into STR. I let my little head do the thinking, maybe I am the same old Hollywood.”
“Thanks for the mea culpa, but you’re not the same guy. You handled the whole damn New Orleans fiasco like a champ. And thanks to you, we’ve got your girlfriend’s phone to use for tracking a potential weapon of mass destruction,” she said. Then she looked down and laughed. “The old Hollywood would’ve never forgotten his boots,”
Hollywood winced. “Gotta clear the attic, and get my head back in the game.” He stamped out to the transport van in his sock feet to grab his still wet SWAT boots.
“Dude,” Billy placed his hand on Hollywood’s shoulder, “don’t jump to judgment, nothing’s confirmed yet. I know it looks suspicious, but it’s always grey in the shadow ops world.” The others sat stunned—they’d never seen this warrior as much as say ouch. Brooding, Hollywood dropped onto the middle row bench seat without a word.
“Wait, wait on me.” Voodoo’s petite frame barreled through the hall. Her tactical one-piece jumpsuit half unzipped, and an armful of boots, cap, holsters and a Glock 17, 9mm dangled from its holster. Hardly the composed agent who’d dropped two idiots fueled by methamphetamine earlier in the day. Tension was palpable.
Once Voodoo had taken her place in the van, Rose twisted around from the front seat to make eye contact. “We now believe Bonny traveled up river to meet another vessel around St. Louis. We can only assume wherever they met, the barrels of bio-chemical weapons were exchanged. I would’ve bet St. Louis was a prime river city target, but no verification she put down in the Gateway Arch area. Source shows north.” The dome lights were disconnected but blasts of lightning illuminated the cargo section. “Not sure how reliable our source is…”
“Just say it. Come out and fucking say it. Your source is my damn phone’s friend tracker app. Excuse the fuck out of me for not being a spy school scholar. I was lucky to get kicked out of high school instead of jailed. She was my roomie and, I thought, my friend. You high and mightys got any idea what it’s like to be a single female in a cesspool like the Big Easy? So excuse me if I felt safe with her knowing where I was on that dumb app.” Her voice crumpled beneath the confession.
KC pushed her closed fist out to knuckle-bump her, “Girl power, I feel ya, Voodoo.”
“Okay, your cell phone it is. If Bonny still has her cell then the vessel has passed St. Louis. We’ve no intel on what might be the next swap site or target location. Choppers are combing the river, but it’s a freaking huge body of water with traffic that’s out of this world.” Rose continued with a less stressed pace. A smile glinted toward Voodoo.
“Once they hit the Great River National Wildlife Refuge around Quincy, Illinois it’ll be impossible to detect. Rose, you’re the best at big picture projects—guesses?” Chase pressed back into the cloth seat and ran his thumb and forefinger over his chin.
“I’ll confess, I’m stumped so far. We’re going to leapfrog them. Assuming they’re where the phone shows and it’s not another teenager playing with a commercial quad-copter.” Rose spun around and looked like an eager teenager getting to ride shotgun for the first time.
“Why can’t we just BOLO every law enforcement agency with jurisdiction along the Mississippi River? Instead of searching for the needle, why not just bust up the hay stack?” The way KC looked at Billy didn’t seem like she expected a reply, and he didn’t.
Drizzle settled into a sprinkle during the personnel and gear exchange. Both pilots were new, but experienced Army vets. Their radar showed another vicious line of storms due west, northwest. Hollywood encouraged the unit to stow and go if time was to be made up in the air.
Rose popped her head into the Black Hawk’s cabin with an unsettling smile. The unit hadn’t seen her smile in quite a while. She waited until everyone had grabbed a seat. Hollywood wanted to interrupt but knew better than to rush Rose Prospero. He nestled in for the flight, no matter where it took him.
“Guys, we got that break—HQ messaged. The diary decoding has progressed. The vessel’s heading for the Quad City area. Moline, Illinois to be precise.”
“Moline? What the fuck is in Moline?” Chase looked as surprised as everyone else by his outburst. Though he was right—what the fuck was in Moline, Illinois?
“You sure it’s Moline?” KC asked.
Rose didn’t seem amused by the doubt. They all knew the value of STR’s Intelligence Section busting their assets back at HQ.
“Okay smart butts, in addition, the FBI has been monitoring NOPD Detective Alphonse ‘Fats’ Hebert since the Rex parade. That lovesick pup has burned Bonny’s cell off the line with text messages and voicemails.”
The war machine’s turbine whined and the pilot motioned for Rose to clear the running board area. A series of interior LED lights flashed and converted to an eerie green hue once the matrix of panel switches were activated for lift off.
“Is her cell still active?” Chase yelled over the intense wash of the wide chord rotor blades.
“Yep,” Billy said. “Must be why she hasn’t flipped to using burner phones. She likes Fats. We snatched a communication earlier when she dialed in to check his voice message.” Billy swayed as the bird rocked and bounced on its wheel landing gear—nothing rattled the guy.
Hollywood crunched forward and belched into his hand. His gut burned. Fats had been a trusted friend in the Navy. Both served overseas together and only parted career paths when Hollywood was accepted to BUD/S School. Much as he hated the thought, Rose’s decision to let his friend walk after the assassination attempt was brilliant. His time would come, friend or no friend.
“What did his message say?” Hollywood felt shame in asking. It had been his friend, after
all, that put the screws to Voodoo and him at the Sheraton Hotel the night of the tableau.
“Basic mobster wanna-be bullshit, but he did say Lawless had recovered. Mentioned something about going after him but knew better. Some crap about the reign of savage souls if anyone touched him.” The corner of Billy’s mouth curled up like it did when he wanted a suspect to know he either really didn’t believe him, or he didn’t give a shit what he said.
Hollywood cut his eyes over, watching Voodoo’s reaction to the mention of Lawless. It was an old intel gathering trick—listening to what the speaker said, but watching how others reacted. Her body language morphed rigid, arms folded close to her chest. There was a hint of a sinister grin when Billy said the words ‘savage souls’.
Hollywood wondered what that look was for.
CHAPTER 7
Rotor wash from the stationary Black Hawk smashed wind toward the ground thirty-five feet below. The weather had turned to shit and rain threatened their fast rope insertion. Rose braced herself to the left of the open cabin door. Rope dangled at her feet—she served as the mission’s jump master.
“Go.” Rose yelled across crashes of thunder, feeding the operatives out one by one.
“Stop, Voodoo.” Rose yelled as Voodoo reached for the rope. “This ain’t my cup of tea either. You come with me on ground support from the LZ.”
“Let’s move Westin,” Rose admonished Chase as he angled around Voodoo. “The weather’s about to ground us. Go”
“Next. Hollywood, Ready. Go.”
Hollywood was next. He reached with his right hand for the thick, hawser-type rope. Pain shot through his shoulder. Hard pain. He almost blacked out. He clawed frantically with his left hand to slow the zip of cord as his body hurled toward the surface.
Rain lashed beneath his NVG. Slick rope made for fast descends. Thighs squeezed against the two-inch surface to control his speed, but the winds thrashed and he lost sight of where he was until he smashed onto a knee. He rolled against his hip, falling on his right shoulder.
Quick shots of air gunned out of his nostrils. He groaned through teeth clenched so tight from pain, he thought they’d snap. The tactical vest was jerked back in position and he glanced to see the braided cord fall into the mud before the Black Hawk quietly disappeared. Hollywood adjusted his night vision binoculars and spotted his tactical partner, Billy Price.
