Pitbull (SEAL Team Alpha Book 10)

by Zoe Dawson

  “Yeah, yeah, wankers and prats,” Dodger murmured, tying up his shoes.

  The room started to clear, and Saint said, “Pit.” When Pitbull looked toward him, he threw him a bottle of water. “Stay hydrated. It’s hot out there.”

  He gave Saint a quick salute.

  Dragon said, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “What? Mak?”

  “Yeah, it can be complicated enough with all these personalities. You sure you want to open up your preliminary dating, especially in the early stages, to this kind of scrutiny?”

  “Believe me, Mak can handle these knuckleheads with one hand tied behind her back.”

  Dragon laughed and nodded his head, sly humor pulling at his mouth. “You didn’t do any tying last night—”

  “Not you, too.”

  “I’m as nosy as everyone else.”

  “No, no tying,” he said.

  “Oh, no. I see.”

  “What?”

  “There’s plenty of tying going on…as in the dreaded C word…commitment. This babe is under your skin. I know all about that. Be careful.”

  “Should I really be careful? Is that our mindset? Aren’t we SEALS?”

  “Hoo-yah,” Dragon said. “Be brave, little grasshopper. The way of love is a rocky road—make sure to wear your combat boots.”

  Pitbull laughed.

  Dragon nudged him. “Let’s hit the weights. I don’t have all day to spot your ass.”

  “You need another spotter?” Max asked.

  Dragon started to answer, and it was clear he was going to turn Max down because of the natural animosity between Pitbull and Mad Max, but Pitbull interrupted, clearing his throat. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

  He wasn’t sure who looked more surprised. Max or Dragon.

  Up on the balcony, they banged out the sets and with every hard lift, it helped to alleviate Pitbull’s anxiety of that picture. The more he thought about what kind of person Mak was, the more he believed there was a long, deep, painful story in her past. It’s why she protected herself so diligently.

  Ha, he shouldn’t judge Mak when he’d also done the same damn thing. The truth of the matter was, he’d gotten burned and burned bad by Speed, lost faith in his friend and his brother. That guilt and disillusionment had led him to trying to help Helen, which had landed him in this situation with Samantha.

  When Speed died, Pitbull thought his mourning had been only for his teammate, a brother who had been lost. But he’d been wrong. He was mourning their friendship and the close bond that Pitbull was unable to maintain with his teammate.

  So, when the new guys came on the scene—Max, Saint, and 2-Stroke—he’d subconsciously shut them out to protect his already battered heart.

  That had hurt the cohesiveness of the team. He was LT’s number two, the glue that held the team together, and he’d not only failed the new guys, but he’d failed his existing teammates—LT, Dodger, and Dragon, who had become an even closer friend to him throughout this terrible ordeal.

  Seriously, putting the past behind him was about making amends to his teammates, including Fast Lane, coming clean about what had happened, then laying down the law with Helen. He decided that he was going to do everything in his power to make it work with Samantha, know her as his daughter and make sure she understood that he wanted to be in her life.

  It would be easy to recede into the background, easy to find his refuge in war and deployments and let her grow up thinking that Speed was her father.

  But it wasn’t the truth.

  And, fuck, yeah. The only easy day was yesterday.

  “I’m hitting the showers,” Dragon said as they finished their last set. Pitbull sat up from the bench and grabbed for a towel. “See you in the galley.”

  “Yeah,” Pitbull murmured.

  He wiped his face as Max did the same. “I’ve got to feed Jugs before he turns into Cujo.” He paused as if he wanted to say something, then shook his head. “Good set.” He dropped the towel over the lifting bar and started for the balcony doors.

  “Wait a second.”

  Max stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

  “What is your take on the brotherhood?”

  Max cocked his head and smiled. “Is this a trick question? Another way for you to bust my balls?”

  “No. I just want an honest answer, man. That’s it.”

  “I have a simple answer to that. It’s about protecting your brother no matter the costs.”

  Pitbull gritted his teeth. “How would you feel about someone on the teams who felt they might have failed in that mission?”

  Max shifted and eyed Pitbull, his gaze narrowed. That’s what he liked about Max, the way the man took the time to think when it was necessary and make a quick decision when required. Pitbull was discovering that there was a lot to like. Max was dedicated to the team, no matter the conflict they had already endured, he was a tough-as-nails door kicker, and he was a brilliant strategist. Qualities Pitbull would normally have acknowledged, even if he would have also busted Max’s balls anyway.

  Max walked to the balcony and leaned back against it. “This isn’t a hypothetical we’re talking about. Is it?”

  “Right to the heart of the matter,” Pitbull said, leaning his elbows on his thighs and taking a big breath. “You didn’t know Myerson.”

  “I knew of him.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Max shrugged. “I don’t normally talk shit about a teammate, especially one who was tortured and killed. He died for his country. But I heard rumors, which I also don’t like to repeat. But no one has talked about that day you lost him. Not my business, I know. But it would help to understand why you’ve been a big part in fracturing this team even more than it was when I got here.”

  “Damn,” Pitbull said. “Brutal honesty.”

  “I don’t know any other way to be, Errol. How about you? Truth be told, us…the seven of us have the potential to be one of the best fucking teams there is. I’d rather transfer out than continue to do this bullshit. So why don’t you tell me about that day.”

  “It was a goat fuck. Charlie team was killed. Eight guys taken out and the wounded executed. We knew what we were up against that day, but we didn’t know we were compromised. Sold out.” He ran his hand through his damp hair. “LT and I were clearing a building when we heard over the comms that Speed was in trouble.” He swallowed hard. “He was supposed to be with us,” Pitbull admitted, “but I was okay when he went outside to hold the perimeter.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I was having personal issues with him. He and I weren’t getting along.”

  Max nodded. “Because he was abusing his wife.”

  Pitbull’s head came up, and he met Max’s eyes. “Rumors. I get it.”

  “Yeah, can’t abide a man who hurts a woman. Go on.”

  “We couldn’t find him, then six of the rebels got the drop on us and took us to a place in the heart of the city. They kept us bound and beat us periodically. Fast Lane was rock solid…he bolstered me and the NATO guys with us. We were rescued by a combination of Ruckus’s team and ours, but Speed was still lost.” He sat up straight and rubbed at his face.

  “So Speed ended up dying and you feel responsible.”

  “I feel like I didn’t have his back, man.” Pitbull’s voice broke. “Like I’d forsaken him because he wasn’t living up to our code.”

  “He wasn’t captured because you didn’t have his back,” Max said.

  “How do you know that? How do you know my mind?”

  “Because we’re a lot alike and you would never abandon a brother, regardless of the circumstances.” He pushed off the wall and strode to Pitbull as he rose from the bench.

  He wanted to believe Max, his nemesis, who had all along been on his side.

  “It’s completely natural to have these feelings,” Max said, grabbing the back of his neck and squeezing. “I wasn’t a fan of the guy, and I’m sorry he
died like that, but we all know the risks and we take them every time we go out. The only constant is that we’re a band of brothers no matter what.” He cleared his throat. “Trying to protect yourself from caring for your teammates is wasted energy. It’s going to happen and some of us may die, but that doesn’t diminish what we have as a team. Hoo-yah.”

  Pitbull’s throat thick, he nodded. “Hoo-yah.”

  “You didn’t leave him behind, and you had his back the whole time. That’s a fact.” He shook Pitbull, his hand hard on his neck. “What’s the rest? There’s enough guilt in you to satisfy the Catholic Church and Jewish faith combined.”

  Pitbull sputtered out a laugh. “I had a relationship with Helen Myerson when she and Speed were separated. I didn’t go in coveting his wife…I just wanted to help, but I was weak. Samantha, her oldest child, is my daughter.”

  “Geezus, what a goat fuck. Does the kid know?”

  “No, I’m having issues with Helen and custody. She doesn’t want anyone to know that we were having an affair when she was separated from Speed.”

  “Fuck her,” Max said fiercely. “The woman uses manipulation from what I hear. The best you can do is be the father you want to be to Samantha. Fuck her again.”

  “Yeah, that’s what got me into trouble.”

  Max chuckled, the tension leaving his body, and he let go after one more squeeze. “We haven’t gotten off on the right foot since I showed up, so let’s change that…yeah?”

  Pitbull nodded. “It’s not going to be easy. You are such an asshat.”

  Max grinned. “Man, the only easy day was yesterday.”

  They left the balcony with a better understanding. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t clash in the future because Max was a jerk, but he was a new team member, a new brother, and once Pitbull worked through this thing with Speed and Helen sufficiently, he could turn his attention to the men he’d distanced himself from and start mending the gaps.

  In the shower, his thoughts turned to Mak and he got instantly hard. He washed himself clean of the sweat from lifting and his doubts about Speed. More work would need to be done, but he would come clean with every member of the team, so they knew where he stood. He most dreaded talking to his LT. Fast Lane wasn’t much of a touchy-feely guy, but he would care about any interpersonal problems within his team.

  Unity was compromised due to the secrets and the pain Pitbull had been carrying for going on a year. Battle stress was enough to deal with without holding onto this kind of baggage.

  Letting go. That was the secret, but after months of denying it and trying to justify his actions, letting go sounded so damn good.

  It sounded like…felt like…hope.

  11

  Hemingway made his way down the hallway, adjusting the pack on his back. Pitbull, Dragon, and Max were on the balcony lifting, and the rest of the team was running laps in the courtyard. He’d tried to sit tight, but every minute that passed with no results, Paige’s and Chris’s chances of survival diminished.

  He rounded the corner and stopped dead with an audible sigh.

  Fast Lane stood at the entrance to the street, his arms folded over his chest.

  “Where you goin’, kid?”

  “Dammit. How did you know?”

  “The same way moms know when their little brats are drinking out of milk cartons.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  Fast Lane pushed away from the wall, his eyes narrowed, his broad shoulders squaring. Hemingway was already calculating what it would take to down Fast Lane without injuring him too badly. He was dealing with a seasoned ass-kicking, highly intelligent operator, but Hemingway had perfected his fighting skills by studying many forms of martial arts. Also, this was a Lieutenant in the Navy, an officer.

  He couldn’t be more screwed.

  Fighting always began and ended in the mind and only involved the body as an extension of the mind. “You going to go through me, boy?”

  “I’m not a boy, and I can’t sit around while my sister and Chris are out there fighting for their lives. I have a plan.”

  Fast Lane laughed. “You’re trying my limited patience, Mr. Sinclair. Do you have any idea what you’re up against here?”

  “Yes. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “We’ve already answered that question.”

  “I’ve been accepted for special operations training. I scored the highest in my class on all my tests, including the intelligence ones. I hacked into the system to see what they said about me, and I quote, ‘Mr. Sinclair’s intelligence is only surpassed by his ability to fit into any situation he’s tasked with. Hopefully, the CIA won’t get wind of his abilities.’”

  Fast Lane shook his head. “No guarantee you’ll make the mark.”

  “Then I guess I have the CIA to fall back on.”

  Fast Lane huffed a soft laugh.

  “I know there are no guarantees, but I’m not stupid, I know how to blend, and I speak flawless Portuguese, Arabic, French, Italian, and Spanish. “I even know the border language, half Spanish, half Portuguese, Portuñol.”

  “You have a lot of time on your hands, man.”

  “I learn stuff fast. I was bored in high school and college.” He shrugged. “If the Cortez brothers have my sister, and I’m leaning toward the evidence of Mak’s excellent research and the way they killed that poor bastard who was selling his info to me about my sister, I can get the answers we need.”

  Fast Lane scowled, but he was listening.

  “There’s a handler who no one’s ever seen or knows his identity. He keeps it under wraps in case the Cortez brothers ever want to clean house. He goes by the moniker Picador.” At Fast Lane’s blank look, Hemingway continued, “Picadors work with a matador in a bullfight, testing the bull’s strength and providing clues to the matador regarding the bull’s weaknesses. Cortez is Spanish, right. He’s the matador.”

  “You think you can find this guy?”

  “Yeah, I do. While I was looking for clues to find Paige and Chris, I learned a lot about him. Cortez lets him do his own thing because he’s really good at what he does.”

  “You’re going to find the guy and become him? Is that your plan?”

  Hemingway smiled. “Not exactly. But he will have a wealth of intel.”

  “I could flex cuff you and march you to the airport, but I can’t follow you twenty-four seven or babysit you if you have your mind set on what you’re going to do. But do you know what is at stake here?”

  “Yes, I could lose my SEAL contract and my place in BUD/S, I could get caught and be tortured, I could be arrested, start an international incident, and I could be killed. But I know my own abilities. I’m confident in my skills. This area is lawless, and everything is up for sale. I’m going to go through the backdoor to find her. Nothing ever happens in a vacuum, Fast Lane. Please let me try.”

  Fast Lane pulled out his phone and Hemingway’s hopes deflated. He was calling in the cavalry and they were going to put him on a plane. He wasn’t sure that Paige had the time for this setback. But with a shocking move, he handed him the phone. “That’s my cell number. Memorize it. If you need us, call. We’ll come for you. That’s a promise.”

  Hemingway committed Fast Lane’s number to memory. “Thank you. If I get any leads, I’ll call.”

  He grabbed Hemingway’s shirt and drew him close. “Take care of yourself, kid.”

  Nothing in life was guaranteed. Not his safety and not Paige’s or Chris’s.

  “I’m not keen on going to your funeral, and if you ever hack my record, they’ll never find your body.”

  Fast Lane walked past him with a smile, and Hemingway slipped out the side door. Geezus, he was a scary dude. But the trust and faith Fast Lane was putting in him, letting him go out on his own, was enormous. And he knew, despite his smile, it wasn’t lightly placed.

  He smiled then, feeling calm for the first time since he had walked into that ambush in the warehouse, so certain of his decision. Up to now, he�
��d been an outsider to the SEAL teams, but this was making him understand what it was to be part of the brotherhood. He wanted that with every cell of his being. Fucking up wasn’t on his agenda, but he was prepared for anything.

  Out in the street, the first thing he did was find someone and shelled out cash to buy the guy’s clothes. The second was to buy untraceable weapons. It was time to blend.

  Paige, Chris, hang on. We’re coming for you.

  Pitbull headed back to Mak’s room with two cups of hot coffee in his hands, his tablet tucked under his arm as he maneuvered the door open. She was still asleep and that was good. The woman had been pushing herself way too hard. She needed the rest.

  He set the cups down on the bedside table, snagging a chair as he pulled his tablet upright and opened a file. He pointedly ignored the photo.

  The file was full of the schematics for the building. He wanted to review them one more time for any weak spots. He also had a ton of photos of the rooftops and adjacent buildings that would work as sniper nests.

  After about ten minutes he heard a rustling sound from the bed, and he glanced in that direction to find Mak gradually coming awake. She uncurled her body and stretched with her arms over her head, drawing his eyes to the way the sheet pulled tight across her full breasts and over the curve of her hip. His dick took notice—shocker—and he forced his gaze back up to her face, which was beautifully flushed and glowing.

  His heart skipped an odd little beat in his chest, and he grinned at her. “Good morning.”

  She blinked drowsily, her lush dark lashes still heavy with sleep. “Morning,” she murmured, then sighed contentedly, the sound laden with sheer serenity.

  They had torn up the sheets last night.

  One of her eyes peeked open at him. “Confident, attentive, and smug,” she said, the soft accusation in her tone tempered with humor. “A triple threat.”

  “I’d say you look pretty smug yourself, there, pot.”

  “That would make you the kettle?”

  “All black, baby.” He pointed back and forth between them.