Three Alpha Romeo - A Military Reverse Harem Romance

by Krista Wolf

  “Why are we driving in circles?”

  I had to finally ask the question. So far the conversation had been limited to how bad the coffee was, and debating whether the vendor who’d sold it to us had given us last night’s batch.

  “See him?” asked Marcus.

  He was talking to Randall, who was leaning casually back in the passenger seat. He nodded and sat up.

  “Were you followed?”

  “To the gym?” replied Markus. “Don’t think so.”

  “Well we are now.”

  I spun to the look through the truck’s back window. Behind us, following along in the distance, I could make out the front end of a brown SUV.

  Marcus turned, then turned again, but our unwanted guest was still there. We went through a roundabout, and used it to reverse direction. Again, the SUV followed.

  “Can’t leave the city until we lose this prick,” said Randall.

  Marcus’s eyes remained locked on the rear-view mirror. “I’m aware.”

  His hand went over his lap, and came back with a heavy pistol. It was probably tremendous, but in his giant fist it looked average-sized. There was an audible ‘click’ as he flipped the safety off.

  “Nah man,” said Randall immediately. “Too many people.”

  “Have you ever seen me shoot?”

  Randall chuckled. “You’re Army. Don’t you guys get like a 2-hour course or something?”

  Marcus’s face remained unchanged. His eyes shifted to the side-view mirror now.

  “No, hang on,” said Randall, putting his hand gently over the weapon. “See that pile of crap we passed before? Slow down up there as we pass it. Just a little bit.”

  Up ahead was a stack of rubble, sand, and building materials. Just one of the many structures in the city always under construction.

  Marcus slowed down. Randall pulled on the passenger door handle until it popped.

  “Circle the block,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Double right back here again…”

  Without another word he flung the door open and leapt into the street. I gasped as he tucked into a ball, his body rolling fluidly until he disappeared behind the debris field.

  The truck rolled on. I jumped into the passenger seat, just in time to catch the door as it swung shut.

  “Oh my God!” I cried, glancing down at the dashboard. “We’re still doing thirty miles-per-hour!”

  “That’s actually kilometers per hour,” Marcus corrected. “But yeah. He’s nuts.”

  If the brown SUV had noticed anything, it didn’t show. It rumbled past the big piles of stone and mortar without slowing down, then followed us into the next turn.

  “Think he’s alright?”

  “I’ve seen guys like him before,” Marcus said. “They’re as indestructible as they are lucky.”

  We made two quick right turns, then a third. The SUV seemed to realize the jig was up, and sped up to follow more closely.

  “How many?”

  “Two,” I said, slinging my arm over my headrest.

  “Any weapons?”

  I squinted. “It’s hard to tell, but—”

  We swung back onto the main road, and the debris pile came into view again. I was sucked back into my seat as Marcus gunned the engine. He flew past the rubble and stomped on the brakes… just as I saw Randall leap into view.

  CRASH!

  Just behind us, the bearded SEAL had jumped from the top of the debris pile. He flew through the air wildly, coming down hard with both feet, right on the hood of the moving SUV…

  … while smashing a cinder-block straight through the front windshield.

  SCREEEECH!

  The enemy vehicle skidded forward and sideways. The momentum sent Randall flying over the roof and bouncing down into the street. I flung open the door and ran to him, just as I noticed Marcus was no longer in the truck as well.

  CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

  The sound of gunshots rang out loudly, pinging low off the side of the SUV. I saw it lurch violently, sinking to one side as Marcus blew out both its right-side tires. The men inside were cowering now, arms over their heads.

  Panic ensued. People on the streets were screaming and running, some clutching cellphones to their ears. A few were stopped dead in their tracks, frozen with terror.

  In all the confusion I reached Randall. I held my hand out of him, just as he struggled to push himself to his feet.

  “GO!”

  Marcus’s yell was sharp and commanding. I turned and suddenly we were running for the truck again, this time with Randall’s hand on my back. He shoved me through the passenger door and into the front seat. Then he leapt in behind me, just as Marcus jumped in and floored the gas pedal.

  “Hit it!”

  Cars were screeching all around us, trying to get out of the way. Luckily, it opened up a lane for us. Marcus took it, making a series of sharp, random turns before pulling back onto a new main thoroughfare. I recognized it as one of the highways leading out of the city. Off in the distance we could hear sirens, blaring loudly.

  “What’s the situation?” Marcus demanded tersely. His eyes shifted momentarily from the road. “Are you hurt? How bad?”

  Randall was covered from head to toe in dust and debris. He looked like a bag of flour had exploded right next to him, except for a few scrapes of bright red on his knees and elbows.

  “I’m good,” he said, giving a thumbs-up. Through the thick layer of dirt, his grin made his teeth look extra white. “Fanfuckingtastic, actually.”

  “Thank God,” I breathed, checking him over. His wounds all seemed to be superficial. No major bleeding. No bones sticking out.

  “You’re a psycho,” Marcus said. “You know that, right?”

  Randall finished picking a piece of gravel from the end of his beard. As he did, I noticed his grin had somewhat faded at Marcus’s comment.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I’ve been told.”

  Twenty-Four

  ANDREA

  We headed south together to Piraeus, along the Saronic Gulf. Out to where the where the blue waters of the Aegean yawned open again.

  No one followed. It was just the three of us, rumbling along in the truck. My body pinned in the front seat between a hulking Army Ranger and a mouthwatering Navy SEAL.

  All things considered, I had very little to complain about.

  “Wanna answer a question for me?” I asked, turning to Randall. “One that Holden keeps avoiding?”

  He smirked a little, still looking out the window. Watching the beautiful Greek countryside go by.

  “Shoot.”

  “Why are you guys after Kyrkos?”

  I saw Marcus’s eyes shift a little. He still kept his nose pointed at the road, but now one ear was cocked.

  “That’s easy,” said Randall. “He wiped out half our platoon.”

  I blinked a few times, in stunned silence. It wasn’t at all the answer I expected.

  “Xander Kyrkos did that?”

  “Indirectly,” nodded Randall. “Happened twenty-two klicks outside of Belgrade, towards the Romanian border. We were on a routine raid. Grab one man, a simple in-and-out. Only Kyrkos found out about it, because he’d bought one of the SAJ’s.”

  “SAJ’s?”

  “Serbian Special Anti-Terrorist Unit,” explained Randall. “This one fucker on that team sold us out. Tipped off the fighters before we got there, so they were all set up and ready for us.”

  The way he talked was so casual, so nonchalant. Like he was describing a movie he saw, or a favorite restaurant he visited.

  “We lost half the platoon in under a minute. M84 fire, raining down on us from three different positions.” He took a long breath before continuing. “Cut us up real bad. Lost the captain and the chief straight off, then Holden took over…”

  He trailed off, still looking out the window. But his face remained impassive. Unchanged.

  “W—What happened then?”

  “Holden took command
,” he replied. “Charged one of the Zastavas, took it out, and used it to take care of the other two.”

  “Damn,” swore Marcus.

  Randall nodded. “Trust me. It was even more impressive actually being there.”

  The truck bounced over a slight rise. Randall finally looked back at us.

  “So yeah, we took on eight KIA’s, five wounded, two critical. But Holden got us out. We fought like demons, behind him. If not for him…” He shrugged.

  “He blames himself,” said Marcus abruptly. “Doesn’t he?”

  Randall nodded. “And that’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it. He even refused his commendation. Begged our commander to stop pursuing it.”

  “I could see that,” said Marcus.

  “Anyway, turns out the whole thing was all over Kyrkos,” said Randall. “Somewhere in the past, our unit had crossed him. The whole clusterfuck turned out to be punishment for our involvement in some foiled drug connection, all wrapped up in Indigo. Cost the organization a small fortune. But it cost Kyrkos more in terms of his reputation…”

  It was the end of his story, apparently. Even so, I could put the rest of the pieces together. It was one thing to be wracked with survivor’s guilt, which was something I knew about, to some extent. But knowing that the source of your pain was still out there somewhere? Laughing and breathing and living his life?

  Well I knew all about the hell of that frustration, too.

  We reached town not long after that, Marcus guiding the truck along without the benefit of a map or GPS. He knew exactly where he was going. And wherever it was, we were along for the ride.

  Not ten minutes later we were parked before a large, electronic gate. Marcus punched in a series of numbers and it began rolling slowly back, on a rusty chain.

  “If Kyrkos is still in country,” he said, “we’re gonna need gear.” He turned the wheel and pushed forward. “Good gear.”

  Randall perked up immediately. “Now you’re talking sense.”

  Marcus pulled through into a small courtyard, rolling past a dozen or so aluminum doors. He pulled up to a storage locker near the far end, got out, and pressed his thumb against the isometric keypad of a very sophisticated-looking lock. Randall helped him roll the door open, and together they pulled out a trio of large, navy-blue duffel bags that looked heavy as hell.

  “Not here,” Marcus advised, as Randall went to unzip one. “Later.”

  We loaded up and got back on the road. Piraeus was extremely pretty. As one of Greece’s older cities it was architecturally rich in history, but there were parts of the town that had a distinct, modern flair.

  A phone near my left leg buzzed. Marcus pulled it out and checked it, looking a little confused.

  “It’s Holden,” he announced. “He’s staying the night in Athens. Says he’ll meet up with us tomorrow.”

  He slipped the phone back into his pocket and continued driving. The expression on his handsome face was utterly blank. He could be thinking of a thousand different things… or he could be thinking of absolutely nothing.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked.

  Randall leaned back into his seat a little further and yawned.

  “We relax for a little,” he said, closing his eyes.

  Twenty-Five

  ANDREA

  We got coffee first. Good coffee. The kind of coffee that leaves you floating in an almost post-coital trance, although maybe not the coitus I’d been receiving lately.

  After that came breakfast, followed almost immediately by lunch. None of us had realized how hungry we really were, or how long it had been since we’d had an actual meal. It was nice for once, not to be running on empty. Not to be running, period, considering the last forty-eight hours of our lives.

  I learned more about Randall, and Holden, and their post-military life. They’d stayed close after their service. Even rented the same apartments, while Holden consulted for the Navy and Randall did contract work. Eventually they’d gathered enough intelligence to know where Kyrkos was, and that wasn’t easy. They’d acted on it together, without hesitation.

  As for Marcus, I still knew very little about him. Somehow I planned to change all that. He’d been a Ranger, but from the way he talked about it, it seemed like a very long time ago. Since then he’d taken ‘other jobs’. Jobs he wouldn’t specify. Jobs that kept bringing me back to what Randall said at the gym..

  So you’re an assassin.

  He didn’t act like an assassin. Then again, what did an assassin act like? Between jobs, between contracts… wouldn’t the best assassin look and act just like everybody else?

  And then there was me. The would-be assassin. The wanna-be killer who’d either botched our chances on Rhodes or who’d somehow tipped Kyrkos off so that he never entered that bedchamber.

  There were too many possibilities. My head spun with them. I cleared a good deal of them out while we walked the circular main harbor, past chapels and churches, over cobbled streets more than two thousand years old. We stuck to the crowds and did our best to blend in. Never took the same road twice, and always looked over our shoulders.

  As it grew dark we drove the city some more, keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. Luckily, there was no sign of whoever had been following us in the SUV. It could’ve been Indigo, or it could’ve been someone working directly for Kyrkos. Either way, we seemed to be in the clear, at least for now.

  Eventually Marcus swung into the valet area of an impressive, ten-story hotel. It was a luxurious-looking building, with a sharply-dressed staff that moved with crisp efficiency. They opened our doors, took our keys, and a few minutes later we were walking over the vast marble floor of an arching, impressive lobby.

  “Think this is smart?” asked Randall, spinning around to look in every direction.

  “What, picking a 5-star?”

  The SEAL nodded. “If Holden were here, he’d tell us we need to ‘lay low’. Then he’d check us into the dirtiest shitbox possible.”

  “Fuck that,” I chimed in.

  Marcus reinforced my sentiment with a nod. “We’d stand out in a small place,” he said. “Better to have crowds. The bigger the better.”

  “Hey man,” Randall chuckled. “You don’t have to convince me. You’re talking to a guy who’s been sleeping on a mattress in the middle of a boxing ring.”

  Marcus left us in a little seated area before heading off to the main desk. Randall and I took one look at each other, grinned like schoolkids, then headed straight to the hotel bar.

  “Should we get him one too?” smirked Randall, raising his hand to grab the bartender’s attention.

  “Probably,” I chuckled.

  We ended up spending nearly two hours in the bar, unwinding from the rest of our day. When we finally went up to our rooms, I was surprised to find there were only two, not three.

  “A suite?”

  Marcus nodded as we pushed inside. The guys’ room consisted of immaculately made twin beds, a kitchenette, and a really fancy leather seating area. Mine was identical, but my bed was king-sized.

  “I’m gonna get lost in that thing,” I said happily.

  Both rooms were connected by a double-locking adjoining door. Having the door propped open — and the locks on the hallway doors latched and bolted — made me feel immeasurably safer.

  “It’s like a sleepover,” winked Randall.

  “Not unless there’s wine and snacks,” I shot back with a grin. I was still feeling good. Warm and flush and happy, from our time at our little table, in the back of the bar.

  “That’s easily fixed.”

  We dropped our things and stretched out. Took our shoes off, and made fists with our toes in the carpet. They were little traditions every traveler employed to feel more at home in a strange place, including me changing into something softer and more comfortable.

  Then I fell backwards onto my bed, arms outstretched, staring up at the ceiling.

  I wish Holden were here, too.

 
It was an odd thought, but then again it wasn’t. I was genuinely worried about him. Hoping that wherever he was, he was still safe. My two gorgeous SEALs had done right by me. They’d helped me to the point of saving my ass, without asking anything in return.

  And if we were really going to get Kyrkos? We could all help each other. The four of us, Marcus included. For whatever reasons he had.

  My eyes closed and the room faded beneath me. I felt peacefully secure. Serene and protected. My lips parted as I took a long, deep breath, and let a contented warmth flow over my body…

  “Hey rock star, get in here.”

  I sat up at the sound of Randall’s voice. He was back from wherever he’d wandered off to next. Hopefully to get wine and snacks.

  Happily barefoot and newly relaxed, I walked back through the doorway and into the boys’ room…

  Twenty-Six

  ANDREA

  It was well after midnight and I was still staring up at the ceiling. I was overtired and wired. Pleasantly buzzed. Lying on top of my blankets, thinking about anything and everything.

  The night had been fun — maybe the most I’d had in months. We’d lounged around in the room’s little seating area, listening to music, drinking and talking. Breaking down each other’s walls. Coaxing things from each other, as the wine and beer flowed.

  Oh yeah, and flirting too.

  The guys had grown bolder as the night wore on, each watching the other carefully as to how they interacted with me. It started with a playful stroke of my arm, or one of them touching my hair. It ended with me somehow finding myself in their laps, each in turn.

  It was strangely comfortable, considering the circumstances. Two men I hardly knew, and yet I’d been so incredibly intimate with. They didn’t know each other either, but they shared many things in common. Specialized military training, for one. And of course the one thing we all shared together: Kyrkos.