UNDENIABLE: Sexy Sizzlin Romance (Siri's Saga Book 1)

by Jessika Klide

  At the airport, the traffic is heavy, so I tell Angelo. "Pop the trunk. I’ll walk in." He gives me a look that says he would rather I not, but does what I say. I grab my bag, and trot to the private terminal, check in and board the plane without incident. Once on board, I pull out my laptop and begin reviewing the documents Mia sent over. Halfway across the Atlantic, I finally finish, sign them and hit send. Then I look over the bid for the North Dakota fracking contract, verify the numbers are where they need to be and give her the go-ahead to negotiate the terms. Next, I review the list of charities and notice that Wounded Warriors isn’t on the list. I send her a note to add them and also remind her to make sure she sets up the scholarship for Bradford’s children and pays off their home mortgage for his widow. I close the laptop, take the pillow the flight attendant offers and settle in to catch up on my sleep. "Please wake me when we are Stateside. I’d like to eat while the jet refuels."

  "Yes, sir. Sleep well." He tells me as he pulls the shutters over the windows, blocking out the sun.

  I’m asleep before he finishes.

  ....

  ....

  ....

  I’m driving to the flight line. Bradford sits next to me. Everett’s in the back. Bradford is talking about his wife and kids. His youngest just started the first grade. Proud papa. He kisses his school picture and tucks it back inside his flight suit.

  Everett unbuckles leans up and shows off a picture too.

  Crack! Boom! The vehicle rocks and nearly flips, then lands hard upright, shaking us as it bounces to a stop.

  My ears are ringing from the blast. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart in them, drowning everything else out. The world seems to be in slow motion. I survey the cab.

  There’s blood everywhere.

  Bradford hangs dead in the passenger seat.

  Anger floods my mind.

  Rage drenches my body mixing with the sweat.

  Then ... a scream that deafened sanity.

  The world speeds back up and the noise is deafening. Everett is screaming.

  I yell over it, and command calm, then try to move to help. My harness is locked. The mechanism is jammed. I’m strapped to the seat. I try to rip it, but it’s too strong.

  My knife is in the leg side pocket of my flight suit. Wedging my leg in the space between the seat and the console, I stretch my arm down to the zipper. My fingers touch the edge of the metal and nimbly I gather the fabric, pushing the zipper open. I continue gathering more fabric with my fingers until I feel the cold metal of my revolver. I flip the snap and pull it from its holster. Quickly cock it, then return it and hunt my buck knife. By the time I pull it from its sheath, there is complete silence. Only the deep, even breathing of Everett fills my ears. I glance back and receive an affirmative nod. I cut the strap and free myself. Lay my fingers on Bradford’s neck. His jugular is quiet, confirming his death.

  Exiting the vehicle, I quickly survey the danger. Looking around the empty area, I spot a burka running with what looks like an AK47. I move around the vehicle, assessing the damage while I hurry to Everett’s aid.

  The roadside bomb was a singular hit.

  We are immobile.

  Trapped.

  Stranded.

  Alone.

  I snatch hard on the damaged door and open it. Only the sound of heavy panting greets me as Everett, who is a seasoned soldier, controls the pain with deep measured intakes and exhales of breath, forcing control, knowing we must contain the situation if we are to get out of this alive.

  "Bradford?"

  "Dead."

  "Fuck!"

  I look down to find a badly mangled leg. Blood has saturated the flight suit. I can’t tell if it’s an artery or a vein. I talk softly while I take my knife and cut the fabric off. "It’s pretty bad, Easy, but it’s only a flesh wound. You’ll live, but you can’t move it." Our eyes briefly connect as I unzip my flight suit, and pull my arms out, letting it hang off my ass as I pull my t-shirt off. Both of us know that means target. I make a command decision. "Call it in and lay low. I’m going after the motherfucker. Shoot anyone who isn’t wearing an American uniform. That’s an order."

  Everett nods.

  I tie my t-shirt above the wound and cinch it tight, knowing the pressure is lifesaving. "Tourniquet. Just in case." I try to offer reassurance.

  "I know. Go."

  I turn toward the closest building as I pull my flight suit back on, estimate the time that has ticked off, the distance to it, the time it will take me to run there, and whether the motherfucker is hiding inside. As I reach into my pocket to retrieve my weapon, I hear Everett say in a voice just above a whisper. "Hard, my gun is jammed."

  Without hesitation, I hand mine over. "Here. Take mine. That’s also an order."

  I reach back in for my buck knife. As my fingers wrap around the handle, a feeling of calmness fills me. 'Hand to hand it will be then.' I pull it from its sheath, knowing all the years of training will give me the advantage. I see Augustus as I sprint to the building and hear the pride in his voice when he named me, The Bastard Son of Thor.

  Entering the doorway, I slide quietly in. Checking the space for movement. Listening with the intensity of a hunter. Knowing my prey is close, but not knowing if the enemy is a lone wolf or a member of a pack. Every sense on high alert, I move from room to room. No one.

  Climbing the steps to the first floor, I hear muffled voices coming from the room at the top. When I push open the bedroom door, a shocking sight awaits. Two women huddle together in the middle of the floor with one, two ... six small children lying face down. Their tiny faces hidden. Tiny hands over their ears. Only their sniffles can be heard. Along the wall to my right are three preteen boys standing at attention, but shaking with eyes bulging. Their faces full of fear.

  'Only a coward would hide here.'

  "Shush." I raise my finger to my lips and begin to back away, pulling the door closed, watching the eyes of the young boys. As they lose focus on me and see what’s behind the door, sheer terror fills their faces, then an automatic weapon begins spraying bullets. The women scream and fall over the children whose cries are more like wails. The young boys’ bodies fall to the floor and blood stains the wall behind them.

  I kick the door open, driving it into the wall and thunder into the room with the ferocity of the roman heritage that pumps through my veins. Hell bent on securing not only Easy’s safety and the safety of the innocents but having my revenge for Bradford’s death. I charge the enemy as the gun sprays the room. He tries to control it and turn it on me, but I reach him first. My left-hand smashes into his throat while my right stabs the knife to the hilt directly in the ball of his shoulder. The gun drops to his side and sprays rounds into the floor. I drive my body into his with crushing power and yank the knife out. My choke hold pinches off the scream of pain and I lift the enemy combatant off the floor, feeling like a raging bear, needing to look him in the eye. Blood soaks the burka deep red and the sight is satisfying.

  I stare ruthlessly at the red face of the murdering coward and see not a man, but a demon staring back. I can feel his jugular pounding to be free and remember the feeling of Bradford’s lifeless one. Laying the edge of my sharp blade against it, I slowly drag it across, using the edge of my thumb as a guide as my eyes pierce his evil eyes. As the blade slips through his skin, I watch them turn into the fearful eyes of a mortal man who knows death has arrived to claim him. I whisper his death name to him. "Motherfucker!" Then I slice his lifeline. Blood bursts forth with a velocity that shoots the ceiling, spraying it, painting it dark red.

  Silence falls heavy, filling the room with a deafening sound. I hold my attack until there is no life left, then I nimbly flip the knife through my fingers and return it to its sheath in my pocket. Its job is done. As I release the murdering enemy combatant, I take the automatic weapon from his lifeless grip as the dead weight hits the floor with an echoing thud. I turn the gun on the innocent occupants, no one is moving. Silent eyes
stare at me.

  My cold eyes stares back.

  Hard-Core.

  The only sound I hear is of my own blood thumping and my own calm breath inhaling and exhaling in rhythm with it. When the soldiers burst into the room, I watch the scene unfold as if in slow motion again. They stand guard over the women and children, search the dead teen boys, give the all clear signal and escort the survivors from the room. As they pass, the little ones’ eyes pierce me to my core. The pain, the fear, the unknown. When the women pass, their eyes are turned down as they approach, but one cuts hers at me and I see hopelessness.

  Everett!

  Rushing back down the stairs, real-time returns and my hand finds its way to my own jugular. The pounding comforts me. I stop in the doorway just long enough to assess the current conditions outside and wipe the blood from my hands before I enter the light. Soldiers are everywhere, combing the area for more IEDs; and more enemy combatants. The situation is under control.

  I step into the light and the intensity of the warmth feels good. I’m alive. Making my way back to the vehicle, I arrive just as a medic exits. Looking in, I breathe a sigh of relief. My crew chief sits there smiling.

  "You good, Easy?"

  "Always," Everett says with a smirk and heavily glazed eyes. "Morphine is my new best friend." I chuckle at that truth. "Did you take care of business?"

  "Always," I reply with the same smirk.

  "Smart ass!" Then Everett’s eyes clear and they look directly into mine. "Did you find the motherfucker?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Dead?"

  "Yeah."

  "Good!" She looks down at her mangled leg, then at the front seat where Bradford sat.

  "Bradford?"

  "He’s been escorted back."

  "Good." We stare at each other, knowing the pain of his death will bond us together forever. She opens her mouth to ask. I know she wants the details so I begin telling her before she has too. "The Motherfucker was hiding as a woman."

  "Piece of shit!" The venom in her voice is pure.

  "Yeah. Hiding with the women and children."

  "Are they okay?"

  "He killed three boys before I could get my hands on him."

  She looks up. "Are you good?"

  "Yeah." I smile at her, raise my arms and turn around so she can see, I’m unscathed. "I’m good."

  "How did you...."

  "Knife," I answer before she can classify the killing, then hold my hand out. "My gun, please, Ma’am." She stares at my open hand, digesting the information, and realizing I’m not going to share any more details. She quietly lays the weapon in it. I check the safety then return it to its holster and zip it up with the buck knife. "Looks like you’ll be heading home now."

  She looks down at her leg. "Yeah. Looks like a one-way ticket out of here." She takes a deep breath, then relaxes, letting the morphine have its way with her. When she looks up at me again, she says. "Easy Mama’s going home to see my Badass Baby Daddy!"

  The look on her face makes my breath hang in my throat and my gut tighten. Wow!

  She closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep and I stand there guarding her. When the medics return with a gurney, I wake her. "Easy. Time to go home." Her eyes flutter and when she focuses on me, she smiles.

  I continue standing guard over my friend as they remove her. When she passes me, she raises up on one arm and holds her hand out. I walk over to clasp it.

  "Take care of yourself, Easy. Your Badass Baby Daddy is one lucky man."

  "Will do, Sir. You too." She grins, then laughs, falling back onto the gurney. "Yes, he is!" I watch for just a moment, then walk away, knowing it’s time to report to my commanding officer.

  I hear her yell after me. "Hey, Hard? Don’t stay that way."

  I throw my hand up in the air, letting her know I heard her.

  "I’m serious, Asshole!" She yells.

  That makes me laugh out loud, so I turn to face her but continue walking backwards. "It’s who I am." I grin and double tap my heart with a closed fist. "Hard-Core." Then I spin around and continue walking away.

  She laughs and yells again. "Don’t forget hard head."

  I sling both arms in the air, spin to face her again and give her a final salute, flipping her off. "Affirmative, it’s a steel trap too. I won’t forget you, Easy Mama."

  "You better not!"

  "I won’t."

  I can’t.

  ....

  ....

  ....

  The shutters in the cabin are lifted one by one and the brightness brings me back to reality. I hear the flight attendant step up beside me and I acknowledge I’m awake by lifting my hand, but I keep my eyes closed, wanting to stay in that moment for as long as possible before consciousness arrives and the memory blurs. As the vision that haunts me vanishes out of sight, my gut tightens and I wonder.... Easy’s face. Full of undeniable love. It was unadulterated beauty. Will I ever have someone who looks at me that way?

  CHAPTER THREE

  The plane touches down. Fully awake now, I brace myself for the momentum of the brakes. When the plane taxis down the runway, I pinch the bridge of my nose and let the raw emotions that the dream left settle back down. Leaning my head back, pushing them down deep inside, not forgotten, but not harbored, I gain control. They are a part of who I am now. I take a deep cleansing breath. War fucking sucks balls, but Warriors win.

  I unbuckle and visit the restroom. When I return, my food has been served. The flight attendant stands by the seat, smiling at me. "Mr. Moore, what would you like to drink? Coffee? Water? Or perhaps something else? We have Crown Royal in the freezer."

  That makes me smile. It’s always nice when your preferred drink of choice is remembered. "I’m good with water. Thank you."

  I spend the remainder of the flight to Vegas going over the architect’s plans for the farmhouse in Alabama and making notes on the changes I want. About an hour out, I text Kip to let him know. When the plane touches down, I’m caught up and ready to move forward.

  Walking down the steps, I see Kip. He throws his hand up and I wave back.

  When I arrive at his car, he shakes my hand and slaps my back in a bro hug. "Aurei, it’s good to see you, brother." He takes my bag and throws it in the trunk.

  "Likewise, buddy."

  Kip is not only my real estate agent, but he’s a close friend. When I first began investing in the real estate market in Vegas, he was a fireman dabbling in real estate remodeling on his off days. Kip showed me his first 'fixer-upper' and I negotiated with him to do the work. Since then, he manages my portfolio, buying and flipping fixer-uppers, while his wife manages my rental units.

  "Bianca sends her love."

  "How’s she doing?"

  "Ornery as ever." Kip smiles.

  "That’s why you’re still together. She don’t take shit off you."

  Kip laughs. "True dat. She’s one tough little bitch."

  I laugh. "Does she know you call her that?"

  "Hell no! And don’t you go telling her either." He changes the subject. "So, do you want to do the house tour now, or do you want to go to your place first and rest. We’ll head to Been Jammin' around midnight. If Surreal is performing, we don’t want to miss her."

  "I’m up for a tour now. I slept on the plane, but I want to be back to the house to see the sunset. I’ll meet you at Been Jammin'."

  "Good deal. Let’s start with the latest purchases and we’ll work our way down the list." Kip gives me the rundown as he drives. "This last batch of remodels are almost ready to flip. I think this team of subs is doing a better job than the last one. I have a group of fifteen houses I’m putting together to show to some Japanese investors." We spend the afternoon looking at properties, crisscrossing blocks and suburbs.

  When we’ve seen the last one, I ask him as he drives me back to my place. "Have you gone to Been Jammin' before?"

  "Yeah. It’s a happening place. Have you been yet?"

  "No, I haven’t.
Tell me what you know about it."

  "It’s the hottest gentlemen’s club in Vegas. I had to call in some favors to get us in tonight."

  "Thanks for that. I appreciate it."

  "Are you hoping to catch a Surreal Show? 'Cause they don’t announce them ahead of time."

  "No. I was wondering if you are familiar with the dancers?"

  He cuts his eyes at me and his eyebrows are raised. His voice is cautiously curious. "Somewhat. I’m not the regular I used to be since I hooked up with Bianca. She’s coming tonight, by the way. She insisted." He laughs and mimics her voice, making me laugh. "'You’ll be horny as hell within an hour and no one’s riding that hose but me.' But I know it’s really to see you."

  I crack up at that, knowing it’s true and thankful it’s open between us. Kip and Bianca are into BDSM and belong to a private club. She has been determined to get me to join them for a threesome for a long time now, but I ain’t into that.

  He chuckles. "She won’t stop you know."

  I laugh. "I know, but it ain’t happening."

  He laughs now too. "I keep telling her that if you haven’t already caved in to her, you aren’t going to, but she is a pitbull at heart."

  I shake my head.

  He goes back to my question. "Why do you ask about the dancers at Been Jammin'? Have you been referred to one?"

  "Yes. Her name is Seary."

  Kip whistles. "Damn man. Nothing like shooting for the Star. Seary’s the headliner there."

  "Tell me everything you know about her."