Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Note from the Publisher
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Cheyenne Meadows
Reviews
A Silver Publishing Book
Sky's Lark
Copyright © 2012 by Cheyenne Meadows
E-book ISBN: 9781614957720
First E-book Publication: November 2012
Cover design by Lee Tiffin
Editor: Jason Huffman
All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Silver Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
If you see "free shares" offered or cut-rate sales of this title on pirate sites, you can report the offending entry to [email protected].
This book is written in US English.
PUBLISHER
www.SPSilverPublishing.com
Note from the Publisher
Dear Reader,
Thank you for your purchase of this title. The authors and staff of Silver Publishing hope you enjoy this read and that we will have a long and happy association together.
Please remember that the only money authors make from writing comes from the sales of their books. If you like their work, spread the word and tell others about the books, but please refrain from sharing this book in any form. Authors depend on sales and sales only to support their families.
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Thank you for not pirating our titles.
Lodewyk Deysel
Publisher
Silver Publishing
http://www.spsilverpublishing.com
Dedication
For everyone at LOS who read my stories over the years, provided encouragement, feedback, and stuck with me as I practiced my writing skills. Without everyone there who pushed me to write professionally, who took the time to email with praise, I wouldn't have pursued this dream. Thank you all.
For E who suggested creating a female Wind Warrior. Without his idea, this book would have never come to be.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Mustang: Ford Motor Company
Suburban: General Motors LLC
Wonder Woman: DC Comics Inc.
Lexus: Toyota Motor Company
Army: Department of the Army
Marines: U.S. Marine Corps, a component of the U.S. Department of the Navy
Navy SEAL: Department of the Navy
West Point: Department of the Army
Playboy Channel: Playboy Enterprises, Inc.
Rambo: StudioCanal
Chapter 1
Why am I doing this? Again?
Lark muttered under her breath, mentally chastising herself for accepting this job, once again playing a blonde bimbo with no more on her mind than finding a sugar daddy and latching on to him like a life vest after the boat sank.
Nearly a month ago, she'd turned in her status change with the DEA from full time to as-needed contractual, opting for a new opportunity and direction in her career by becoming a Wind Warrior. The small group, made up of former special ops military personnel, worked in the private sector with contracts to take out the mean and nasties of the world, targets that normal police or even government agencies couldn't touch. Most made their riches in the illegal drug industry and possessed too much money, power, and pull for the authorities to tackle.
That's where the Wind Warriors, who were able to circumvent many legal barriers and regional policies, came in. They held the golden stamp of permission to take care of business in any way they saw fit. Their toy boxes held the latest and greatest gadgets and gizmos, all high-class, military grade, necessary and handy for many of their missions. After all, once one drug kingpin ceased to exist, their entire operation had to be blown to smithereens or another bully would rise to the top, seize control over the already established empire, and never miss a single beat.
Flexibility, excitement, respect, and the ability to make her own decisions. All those qualities had drawn her to the small group. The fact that she rode along and participated in a mission while still employed by the DEA and had a chance to learn the personalities and dynamics had sealed the deal. A raise, freedom to do her job as she wanted, getting to play with brand new weapons only the top ranks of the military owned, and one-tenth of the paperwork. What more could a girl want?
Not to be standing in four-inch stiletto heels with a miniskirt that barely covers the crotch of my panties with the temperature outside hovering around freezing.
She'd hoped by joining the action-packed Wind Warriors, she had traded in her slinky "screw me" undercover persona for wearing black and camouflage and combat boots, and sliding around in the dirt while in stealth mode. Unfortunately, the worst part of her former job returned with a vengeance, landing her in an outfit that set her teeth to grinding and her feet to hurting, and forced her to tolerate wolf whistles, jeers, and more pats on her barely covered rear than a baby went through diapers. Each time, she clamped down on her waning patience, reminding herself if she disconnected the offending hand from its male chauvinist owner, her cover and the mission would be blown. Times were tough and she needed an income, thus she plastered a smile on her face, put a wiggle in her walk, and strode toward the roulette table, her miniscule blouse hanging low enough to give just about anyone a free viewing of her braless cleavage.
"Hey, doll." A robust, sandy-haired man cupped her butt, giving it a squeeze. "Come to my room. We can see what kind of blow job you can manage."
She growled low, clenching her hands to keep from throttling the guy.
"Lark. The mission. Picking a fight will only drive Santora back into hiding." Night's voice of reason carried through the tiny receiver neatly doubling as an earring.
Glaring at her offender, she altered her route, getting away from temptation before she kneed the guy's balls into his body cavity.
"This job sucks," she grumbled between clenched teeth.
"Just a bit longer, then you can whale into any other man you want," Night, her boss and leader of the Wind Warriors, said.
"How would you like it if a man grabbed your ass while making lewd sounds and suggestions?"
"He would wake up in the hospital wonderi
ng what truck ran his ass over." Loco snorted through the communication link. The lone Marine in the group tagged along for backup, or in her opinion, to annoy the crap out of her.
"If you squeezed my ass like it was a ripe melon, that would give me a hard-on." Spoon said in his lighter tone.
She huffed, barely resisting the urge to beat her head against a nearby slot machine. "I better be getting hazard pay for this."
"Get Santora out of there and alone. Then we'll discuss it," Night ordered, essentially dismissing her until she worked her wiles on the drug tycoon target.
Lark released a long breath in an attempt to push out all the frustration and distractions that came with her undercover position. Once refocused, she plastered a "come get me, I'm yours" smile on her face and sauntered up to the table, squeezing in at an angle from where Santora stood with one person between them.
The slim Hispanic man with a short mustache matched perfectly the picture and description given to her earlier in the evening. His dark suit and the large rings on several fingers spoke of his wealth. While not much on appearances with his acne-scarred face and slight build, he possessed enough money and power to control an entire region with a simple command.
He pushed chips into a small square outlined on the green cloth, called out his number, and waited for the small marble to find a momentary home.
The roulette dealer set the ball in motion and a moment later called out a match for Santora's selection. A couple other gamblers grumbled, their faces screwed up in disgust as they took their remaining chips and left.
Lark edged closer. "Wow. Handsome and lucky." She purposely dropped her tone to a sultry purr, using every asset she possessed to catch her target's interest. She trailed the fingers of one hand across her upper chest, drawing attention to the overly exposed cleavage as the slightly taller Latino man looked her way.
His gaze followed her caress and lowered before lifting finally to meet her eyes. "Pretty." His accented English carried easily.
Tucking her chin, she batted her long mascara-covered eyelashes at him, playing the coy beauty ripe for the taking. All the information she'd read on her target indicated he liked total control with no questions, and women who knew how to please without crossing a certain line. Hookers weren't his style. From what they gathered, he shunned women who dressed, acted like, or asked for money in exchange for sex, preferring a loose lady in the market for a sugar daddy. If she happened to be dumb as fruitcake, all the better.
His hand reached out to caress her backside, rubbing and compressing as if testing out the goods before he bought.
Fondled like a frigging ripe cantaloupe in the produce section. She set her back teeth and forced herself to press into his questing hand, pretending she couldn't get enough of his touch. Forcing a small moan from her throat, Lark sidled closer to the man.
Santora's thin lips curved into a wicked smile as his hand delved between her legs, cupping her femininity from behind.
Automatically, she sidestepped, grabbing his wrist but in a deliberately weak hold, as she blinked up at him. "I'm not into performing for voyeurs. Perhaps we could go somewhere to be alone…?" She sweetened the deal with a quick lick over his earlobe and a rub against his crotch.
"You do anything I wish?" he whispered loudly in her ear, over the thump of music in the background. The small dark hairs of his moustache brushed over sensitive skin, irritating rather than enticing her.
"Anything, baby. Anything you want." She brushed her fingers over the bulge in his trousers. "Just you and me, though."
He yanked her to him, covering her lips with his and aggressively shoving his tongue in her mouth.
Lark resisted the urge to fight, instead concentrating on pulling off the best acting performance of her life. Opening her mouth, she submitted to his assault, rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat just begging for attention.
Santora withdrew from her mouth, his respiration accelerated. "Carlos." A taller, bulkier henchman, dressed in a somewhat faded suit that molded to his wide upper body like a second skin, immediately appeared by his side. His bald head completed the intimidating appearance. "Have someone cash out my markers then get the car. Now!" He wrapped one arm around her waist and guided her along.
With a nod, the guard led the way from the main floor of the casino to a side door, simply nodding at the security man who blocked the exit. The door opened before them just as a black stretch limo drove up.
Lark's mind whirled with possibilities while she tried to tamp down the horrible dread and doom that shadowed any decision to get into the car with a known killer. Once inside a vehicle most victims were never seen alive again. She shuddered at the thought.
"Cold, baby?"
She nodded, leaning closer to him. "It's freezing." Well, at least that was the truth. Goose bumps erupted all over her arms and she couldn't quite still the shivers.
"Get in. The car is warm." He opened the door, ushering her toward the spacious seating.
"I know you can warm me fast, make me so hot…" Her gaze flickered from Carlos to the driver. "But I can't with them standing there watching."
Santora's eyes sparked, even as he waved his hand dismissively. "Both of you go," he ordered them in Spanish.
"But, boss…"
"Go. Stand against the wall or something. Just get away from the damned car," he growled the orders as he shoved Lark over and climbed in beside her.
She scooted nearly to the opposite door, wanting to put some space between them, and prayed the Wind Warriors arrived before she had to scrub even more of her body with lye soap to get the feel of his grimy hands off her.
"All alone, baby. Get over here and get to work." He stared at her through dark eyes, his pinched nose flaring with each breath.
With a grin full of promise, Lark scooted closer, taking her time to unbutton his pants, a slow motion that smacked of teasing but related more to buying time than increasing pleasure. Once the fly flopped open, she tugged downward on his boxers. Santora lifted his hips, allowing her to shuck his clothing enough to sit back down butt naked with his pants around his knees while his shirt and jacket still covered his top half.
"Very nice," she purred, using her short nails to tease the hairs on his legs as she moved closer and closer to his erection.
He slumped in his seat, allowing her more room and access to his sensitive parts. "I don't like women that tease." The warning vibrated from his throat while his eyes snapped in annoyance.
He asked for it. With a mental shrug, she plunged her hand between his legs, wrapped around his scrotum, and squeezed for all she was worth. He screamed and writhed, unable to jar loose her strong grip.
Both doors of the limo flew open at once; men dressed in black with guns at the ready stuck their heads in. In a flurry of motion, they dragged him out of the car, threw him on the ground, and hog-tied him in record time.
As Carlos and the driver walked over with a gun to their backs, their hands bound and handkerchiefs tied across their faces, a jail transport vehicle pulled up. The guys hurriedly threw the captured men into the back, shut and locked the cage door, then banged on the side as a signal for the driver to head out.
Fast and efficient. Easy work. For the guys.
Lark climbed out of the limo, pulling at her tiny skirt. "What took you so long?" Relieved at finally being safe, she felt compelled to release her built-up annoyance.
Night shushed her. Loco grabbed her and dragged her to a waiting black SUV. Spoon unlocked the doors as he watched the area for anyone straying their way. They all tumbled in before Spoon hit the accelerator, heading out into the black of night.
Chapter 2
Men suck. Lark vented bottled-up annoyance as she pulled into her apartment's parking lot. I'm covered in gangster cooties and there isn't enough alcohol hand cleaner in this town to get it all off. A shower would be her first stop. Only once she resembled a wrinkled-up, scrubbed-red prune would she consider what the rest of the night's p
lans might be.
A good part of Lark's irritation was due to the fact that, rather than do their typical seek-and-destroy, DEA weight-throwing had resulted in the Wind Warriors turning the drug kingpin over. In all fairness, Night had argued futilely about consequences of leaving such men alive, but all his common sense had fallen on deaf ears. Lark empathized with him. She, along with the rest of their team, understood the ramifications of not cutting off the head of the snake to ensure it would never rise up to strike again. Most times they had to sever multiple heads and gut the body because the well-established drug enterprises rivaled Medusa in the number of arms and players that could regenerate and take over. Unfortunately, her old division didn't share the same sentiments.
All managers weren't created equal, unfortunately. This time fell into under that category. More than once, she had fallen under the command of a fluff-for-brains DEA supervisor named Thomas. Everyone knew he had gained the prestigious position through family connections and outright butt kissing. His know-it-all attitude and penchant for firing anyone who disagreed with his flawed views made every agent beg and plead to be free of his tampering. Rumors ran amok about money flowing under the table to his bank account. She could believe it. Otherwise, how in the world could such a moron hold a powerful and key post?
The quiet ride back home after the mission allowed her time to ponder her new job. It proved exciting and far more lucrative in pay, not to mention she had the luxury of declining any mission or job she didn't want, no questions asked. As rough and tumble as the pack of men were, she saw through their toughness, and secretly congratulated the girlfriends and fiancées for catching such quality guys in a deep pool of few keepers and an overwhelming number of tadpoles. A pool she hadn't successfully navigated yet.
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