Exposed (Eternal Brethren Military Romantic Suspense Book 7)

by Shirleen Davies

  Raider remembered listening to her story, wishing he could be as open. He hated everything about his life between the death of his father and the day he’d run away. His grandparents had changed his life, providing the love and support he’d craved.

  Despite all the good, he hadn’t wanted to share his upbringing with anyone. Not even Ali.

  He jolted at the feel of her hand moving over his chest, fingers brushing across his nipples. When she trailed kisses over his taut muscles, he drew in a shaky breath in an attempt to tamp down his growing need.

  It had been this way since the first time he’d kissed her. As if he’d found home.

  “Are you awake?” Her sultry voice, raspy from sleep, rolled over him. The way his body instantly responded, he didn’t see the need to reply.

  Her hand moved down his chest, over his taut abs, fingers slipping around him, stroking until he wanted to explode. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around her wrist. She glanced up, eyes full of confusion.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he growled, lifting her to straddle him. “I want to watch that beautiful body of yours as I make you come.”

  Junior’s head hung down, his body soaked in sweat even as he shivered from the cold. The men questioning him hadn’t allowed him to sleep. He didn’t know if it was day or night, morning, afternoon, or midnight.

  His head throbbed, the constraints on his wrists and ankles biting into his skin. Junior wondered if anyone had missed him, if a search had been triggered by his disappearance.

  The men had tried to get him to confess, admit he’d gone to the authorities in return for immunity for his part in the human trafficking. He’d denied the accusations. At some point, they’d doused him in cold water, forcing him to sputter but getting the same response.

  Junior tried to focus on something he’d heard them say. Not to him. Their low whispers had turned into snarls. They’d been arguing, but not about him.

  Wendt’s name had been mentioned more than once. He wondered if they’d taken him also, were torturing him in the same way. If Malcolm was in this same building.

  He’d tried asking, earning a harsh blow to his face. Blood had trickled down his cheek and over his jaw. For an instant, he’d felt himself grow woozy, ready to pass out. Another bucket of water had erased the lightheadedness.

  “Ready to talk, Junior?” A sharp slap accompanied the menacing voice.

  He didn’t have the energy to respond, so he continued to hang his head, hoping they’d give up and leave. Junior silently cursed himself for the irrational thought.

  The next blow was more severe, closer to his eye. A trickle of blood fell down his cheek, causing his stomach to roil. He’d been fighting the urge to puke since they’d taken him from his bed. A part of him knew this day would come. Partners turning on each other, their intricate plan blowing up in their faces. If one went down, they all would.

  That was what he’d told himself since agreeing to join them.

  In reality, Manny, Mario, Cal, and Eddie wouldn’t lose sleep if he and Malcolm disappeared. They’d killed before. Two as agents of the law. Two to protect their illegal activities.

  Splitting the money between four instead of six wouldn’t be a hardship. Junior had thought of the same scenario before, now wondering why he hadn’t taken the money and vanished months ago. He had several false IDs, knew the best places for an expat to get lost, and had access to a private plane through his father, Senator Harold Blackmore.

  “Who did you talk to about us?” The gruff voice smelled of alcohol, tobacco, and garlic. Not an appealing combination.

  Clearing his throat, Junior grasped at courage he didn’t feel. The chances of him leaving this place alive were dropping at a rapid rate.

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone.” The indignant lie came easily. It should. He’d practiced it enough in front of the mirror in his home. “What would be my reason?”

  The same gruff voice chuckled. “You got scared. Wanted out. We have proof you had a meeting with the state attorney general, stayed with him for two hours. That wasn’t some fucking social call.”

  Junior relaxed a little. If that was their only proof, he had no reason to worry. “It had nothing to do with my association with you and the others.” He could hear the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, the man lowering himself into it. “Whoever told you otherwise is a lying sonofabitch.”

  Down the hall, a similar conversation took place between Frankie and Wendt. The D.A. no longer fought back. He’d lost everything in his stomach hours ago, fallen into unconsciousness from the beatings more than once.

  Except in the courtroom, he wasn’t a fighter. His conviction rate was one of the highest in the state. People respected and admired him. Years of hard work had paid off when he’d obtained the D.A. position. His only failure had been his marriage of ten years. At least there’d been no children, something he’d never wanted. His silly wife had thought to change his mind, but gave up after ten years.

  She’d found someone else within six months, remarried, and now had two children. He cringed at the thought. Bratty from birth, and they just got worse over the years. Demanding, expensive, and self-centered. Malcolm had never understood people who craved a family, avoided making friendships with those who spent their Saturdays at youth soccer and softball games, changed their plans to suit their kids.

  Malcolm had considered himself a good man, honest, and loyal. As the years passed, he realized his pittance of a salary wasn’t going to provide the lifestyle he craved. A chance meeting with Cal Coleman had turned everything around, but not in the way he’d anticipated.

  The money from moving women and children had tripled his salary the first two years, quadrupled it the last two. Four years had made an incredible difference in his holdings. He now understood the cost would be too high.

  A loud knock woke Raider and Ali from a deep sleep, arms around each other, legs tangled together. Turning toward the clock, he groaned. Eight in the morning. Late for him to still be in bed.

  Instead of answering, he tugged Ali closer, pulling her against his chest. The hard length pressing into her indicated he was ready to go again.

  “Raider, are you and Ali done yet?” Timmy’s voice stilled their actions.

  “That kid is way too street smart for an eight-year-old,” Ali chuckled.

  He stared at the door a long moment, giving a swift shake of his head. “You grow up fast with the life Timmy’s had.”

  Shoving up onto an elbow, she studied his set features. “It sounds as if you’ve had experience.”

  Wrapping a hand behind her neck, he drew her down for a brief, smoldering kiss. “Maybe I’ll share it with you someday.” Dropping his hand, he threw off the covers. “Time for reality, babe.”

  Ali stayed put, watching him slip into his jeans and a shirt, wondering about his vision of reality, including his thoughts about the future. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Dressing in jeans and a sweater, Ali pulled on black leather booties, feeling a chill even through the warmth of her clothes. Walking to the dresser, her fingers closed around her brush as Jace’s wrapped around her hand.

  “Let me do that.”

  Releasing her grip, she let out a slow, satisfied breath when he stroked the brush through her silky, black hair. Closing her eyes, she savored the slow, sensual way he drew the bristles over her scalp and down her back.

  “That feels wonderful, Jace.”

  He leaned down, sucking on the sensitive area below her ear, feathering kisses along her neck. Continuing to draw the brush through her hair, he slipped a hand around her to cup a breast. She let out a satisfied moan when he began squeezing, massaging. Three sharp raps on the door had both stilling.

  “Raider. Need you and Ali out here.”

  “Shit,” he muttered, setting the brush down. “On our way, Wrath.” Turning her to face him, he captured her mouth for a kiss he wished could last longer. “We’d better get out th
ere.”

  Opening the door, he was surprised to see Timmy still standing in the hall. “Hey, buddy. You sleep okay?”

  “All right.” He stared at his shoes, not meeting Raider’s waiting gaze.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I think something bad happened. Wrath got a call and his face scrunched up…a lot. I think he’s mad.”

  “Let me go talk to him.” When Timmy made to follow, Raider held up his hand. “Why don’t you stay out here? If Wrath’s angry, it would be best for me to talk with him alone.”

  “Come on, Timmy. I’ll get us some breakfast.” Ali put a hand on his shoulder, sending a meaningful look at Jace. “I’m starving.” She grinned at the cocky smile which appeared on Jace’s face.

  Waiting until they’d disappeared into the kitchen, he went straight to Wrath’s office. The instant he saw him, Raider came to a halt, waiting for Wrath to speak.

  “Cal Coleman’s body was found in a shallow grave.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A loud slap reverberated through the stale air of the room containing Malcolm Wendt. Forty-eight hours tied to the chair had weakened the D.A.’s obstinate refusal to confess.

  Mario had learned the man had met with a local judge in his private chambers. No written record had been made of their discussion. Given the timing, Mario had no doubt the esteemed D.A. had discussed a deal—information for a lighter sentence.

  After two days with the man, Frankie didn’t doubt Malcolm had turned on all of them. He also believed they were close to getting the confessions they sought.

  He leaned close, sneering, “I won’t ask again, Mal.”

  Today, Frankie, Hammer, and the other men in the room wore masks, removing the one over Wendt’s head. They’d left their cuts in another room, something that would’ve been cause for punishment without Mario’s order not to let their prisoners know their identities.

  The instant they’d pulled the mask from Wendt’s head, his eyes widened in terror. The icy water, slaps, and blows to his ribs and stomach had him seeing stars, weakening his resolve to stay silent. Seeing his torturers lined up before him, bats, knives, and whips in their hands, produced an unexpected horror.

  Any doubt he had they would spare his life if he remained silent fled. He couldn’t see their faces, but could feel the hostility in the air. These were men used to getting the answers they sought. He’d been a fool to believe otherwise, or that he’d leave here alive without confessing the truth.

  Frankie took a menacing step toward him, causing an involuntary shiver to rip through Wendt’s body. “You’ve got one minute to enlighten us on your meeting with the judge. And don’t consider lying, asshole. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

  Eyes gritty and swollen, his gaze moved from one masked threat to the next. Sick with understanding, Malcolm steeled himself. His fate had been determined the moment he’d agreed to take part in illegally transporting children.

  Staring at the man who’d spoken, the D.A. lifted his chin, opened his mouth, and sealed his death.

  Eternal Brethren Clubhouse

  Wrath stared at the men around the conference table, expectant gazes locking with his. The news he’d been expecting would disappoint them, as it had him. From the beginning, their part in helping to bring down the trafficking ring had been temporary. The FBI should’ve taken the lead, and would have if Grayson and their own director didn’t have doubts about the local office.

  “With the discovery of Agent Coleman’s body, the FBI has taken over. Grayson pulled us from the operation as soon as the feds arrived.”

  “Completely?” Moses asked.

  “Yes. They’ll be leading the search for Wendt and Blackmore. The senator has been apprised of his son’s possible involvement in the trafficking ring.”

  “Let me guess. He doesn’t believe any of it.” The slight trace of bitterness in Fuse’s voice surprised no one.

  “No, he doesn’t.” Wrath placed his hand on the table and stood. “From now on, it will be their job to uncover the links between the participants.” Walking to the other end of the room, he revealed the presentation screen. “There will be no downtime, gentlemen.”

  Several of the men chuckled. Downtime wasn’t part of their vocabulary.

  He clicked a button, projecting a map of the United States onto the screen. “We have an unprecedented situation. ISIS has taken credit for seizing two cruise ships. One off the Eastern Seaboard, the other off the Pacific Coast. It was a simultaneous seizure. The president spoke with Grayson directly, requesting our help neutralizing the attack off the coast of Seattle.”

  Rock stared at representations of the two ships on the map. “Isn’t this an op for one of the other teams?”

  “Normally, yes. The president specifically asked for teams from DEVGRU.” Wrath turned to face them. “Both vessels are owned by a European/American conglomerate based in Port Royal, Washington. A member of the board of directors is a personal friend of the president’s, and a former member of DEVGRU.”

  Ghost leaned his arms on the table, studying the maps. “And we’re the ones closest to the West Coast.”

  “Our team is close and ready to deploy. I’m certain there will be a lot of chatter about the decision, which we will ignore. Our job is to respond to the Commander-in-Chief’s order. Twelve operatives will be deployed for this mission, all under Ghost’s leadership. Rock will be his second-in-command. I’ve already provided details to them. You’ll be briefed on the helo ride to the target ship.” Wrath passed out the information.

  “There are over a thousand passengers on the Wind Breeze, including five hundred Americans. They’re three days from completing a fourteen-day cruise between Los Angeles and Vancouver. You’ll be deploying from the modified Blackhawk, fast-roping to the top deck. Snipers will be positioned to neutralize tangos.” His gaze moved between Moses, Banner, and Gunner, their best snipers. “Once the initial team is on the ship, they’ll join you. The helo team will retreat, wait on my order for extraction.”

  Wrath spoke of the same helo used to rescue Brittany Blackmore, the senator’s daughter, not long ago. Swift and silent with enough room for sixteen fully equipped operatives, the Blackhawk had proven indispensable for mission deployment.

  Fuse rubbed a brow, tapping a pen on the table. “How are we getting intel, Prez?”

  A small smile crossed Wrath’s face. “We’ve got two Naval ROTC students from Texas A&M on the ship. They’ve been reporting to their commander since minutes after the seizure occurred. By their count, twenty tangos are on board. There are no extraction vessels waiting beside the ship.”

  Understanding came right away. “They intend to blow up the ship and everyone on it.” Fuse’s hands clenched on his thighs, voicing the thoughts of everyone.

  “That’s what the brains in DC believe.” Wrath checked the time. “It’s 1900 hours. Suit up. You’ll leave for the helo pad at 1930. Wheels up at 2030. Good luck, gentlemen.”

  “What do you make of it, Sheriff?” Deputy Vela Bettencourt stared at the body staked out on the ground within a circle of Saguaro cactus.

  Bloated, wearing a dirty pair of silk boxers and nothing else, his face was so disfigured a review of dental records would be required to positively identify him. Ethan and Vela didn’t need them to be certain who lay dead at their feet. District Attorney Malcolm Wendt.

  Fifty yards away, another body, this one still alive, was tied to an older manzanita with a thick trunk and multiple branches. Two other deputies worked to cut the almost naked man loose. The odds State Representative Junior Blackmore would make it were worse than slim.

  His tongue was missing, the same as Wendt. A request for medical assistance had been made within seconds of arriving on site and detecting a weak pulse. Pictures had been taken, blankets placed underneath and over him. Unconscious, they hoped he wouldn’t come to anytime soon.

  “It’s a warning, deputy. My guess is Wendt and Blackmore admitted to giving up their partn
ers for immunity from prosecution. Just a guess, but…” Ethan’s voice trailed off, his gaze landing on the cross cut into Wendt’s chest.

  Vela followed his gaze. “Do you think they did that to him when he was alive?”

  “Yes. Same with his tongue. No point in either if Wendt was already dead.”

  Giving a slow nod, Vela turned away, taking a few steps toward where Blackmore now lay wrapped in blankets. She placed a hand on her stomach. So far, she’d held it together, not embarrassing herself by losing her dinner, as she wanted to do.

  Sirens indicated they would soon have the medical help requested. Vela hoped it would be soon enough for Junior. The increased pallor of his skin indicated otherwise. He was a dead man drawing his last breaths. The same as Wendt, he’d be taking his knowledge of the trafficking operation with him.

  Pulling his personal phone from a pocket, Ethan touched Wrath’s number. It rang several times, enough for him to believe his brother wouldn’t answer. Preparing to leave a message, he held back when Wrath answered.

  “Busy here, bro.”

  “I’ll make this brief. We found Wendt dead, staked out in the desert, his tongue cut out and a cross cut into his chest.”

  “Shit. Any sign of Blackmore?”

  “He was close by, tied to a tree. His tongue is missing, too. EMTs are working on him now, but I doubt he’ll make it through the night.”

  “Coleman, Wendt, and Blackmore. Seems Mario is dumping the garbage. What about Katz?”

  “No idea. We’ve been careful to keep what we found tonight close to home. Now that the EMTs are here, the silence will last about another thirty minutes at most. Any chance you have any men who can track Katz down?”

  “Most are on an emergency mission for Grayson, but I can spare two.”

  “Vela called Geoff. He said Katz is off duty.”

  “No problem, Ethan. We’ve got it covered.”