by J. B. Havens
“Where the fuck is he?” I glanced at my phone and a very intense looking Jones who was now back on the screen.
“Got him. He’s hiding behind the kiosk desk. Likely with the intention of ambushing you the second you show yourself.”
“We need to breach the gate. Colette, we can’t be the only people here. Where are your resources? I know the French SWAT guys are fucking kick-ass. I don’t have the gear for this.” My stress was slowly ratcheting up. I wanted in on this takedown, but not at the expense of my men’s lives. Or my own.
“They are on their way. Five minutes out.” She was folding; her steam was running out and adrenaline was crashing her system. Soon she’d be useless.
“You need to get your shit together, lady. This is not the time for you to panic and lose it. They are bad guys. But you have to know that there will be no arrests today. They won’t allow it.”
“I k-know that.” She was pale and trembling slightly. “I’ve arrested lots of people.”
“But let me guess; you’ve never fired your weapon off the range?” I sighed in disgust. “I get it; you’re a cop, not a soldier. This is a situation for trained shooters who won’t hesitate to take a life. Not when it will save so many others.”
“Y-yes. You’re right. I’ve never killed anyone.” Making her way carefully to the sink, she splashed water on her face. The droplets were hanging off of her lashes and slowly dripping down her checks and onto her chest.
“Boys. Thoughts?”
Before they could answer, shouts and screams reached our ears. The loud echoing boom of a gunshot sprung us into action by instinct alone. A woman was screaming, keening in grief and anguish. It was a sound we’d all heard before—after the battles when the women find their dead sons and husbands bleeding in the street.
“On me. We’re not fucking waiting.”
Rook was at my side, pushing me back and stopping us. “We don’t have the right weapons; we need a plan.” His careful reason interjected into the situation.
“Jones, where should we go in?” I looked down at the screen and his face told me what the sound of the crying woman already had. A hostage was dead.
“You can’t get the other flank without being seen. You all have to go in from the same side.”
“That’s not going to work.” I turned back to Colette. “Do you have any men on the other side of the gate?”
She nodded in response, still in shock at the death we were going to be running toward.
“Get them to line up and go in with us. We need to flood that gate with as many friendlies as possible.”
She only nodded in response before getting on the phone and relaying my orders. After a moment, she disconnected. “You’re good. They will be in position any second. They will wait for your command.” Just like that, she handed me the lead. She might regret it later, but at this moment, she knew that my experience would get the hostages, and us, out of this alive.
“Jones?”
“They’re in place, Mic. Go now.”
I slid the phone into my pocket and got into formation with my men. Rook was on point and the rest filed in behind me. We kept close to the wall, using what cover it provided. When we passed the last gate between us and the enemy, my heart rate picked up. This was it. I could see the police on the other side, stacked against the wall, one in front of the other. I counted a team of ten; their black uniforms, riot helmets, and rifles looked very intimidating and deadly, which was exactly what we wanted.
The crying and screaming noises were getting louder. A man was yelling in Russian, most likely trying to shut the hostages up so that he could hear our approach. I tapped Rook’s back, pointing forward, to convey that he needed to pick up the pace. We had to get there before another hostage was killed. A sense of dread settled upon us, the air heavy with the impending release of violence. We were professionals trained to not let the nerves show. We felt them, but didn’t acknowledge them. We reached the edge of the wall and made eye contact with the leader on the other side; no words were necessary. Rook held up his fist and prepared to count by raising one finger at a time. When he got to three, we would rush forward. I could feel Chris at my back; time was slowing and each breath was counted. Less than a second later, Rook’s third finger went up and we moved. I was his shadow and stuck to him like a burr.
We rounded the corner of the wall, taking the terrorists by surprise. Quickly breaking off into formation, we rushed the room as a single unit. Twin number one didn’t hesitate; he fired his rifle without aiming, the bullets shredding through the armor of one of the police officers, who fell to the ground silently. The twin then turned his body slightly, bringing the barrel of his weapon around toward us. The report of Rook’s pistol was loud. The bullet hit its mark, smacking into Ivankov’s chest and exploding outward through his back with a splash of blood that decorated the wall. His brother screamed in rage and pulled a young woman in front of him as a shield as he brought his weapon up with his free hand.
I braced myself, found my balance, and let out a slow breath as I squeezed the trigger. My aim was true; the small hole in Grisha’s forehead exploded outward into a fist-sized wound, blowing the back of his skull onto the wall like a grotesque painting. The woman’s mouth opened in a silent scream of horror. Her eyes widened in shock and her skin bleached white. She crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings were cut. Shots to my right caused me to drop to my knees, even as I pivoted toward the sound. A French officer was as pale as the smoke from his gun that swirled around his face. The hostile who’d been hiding behind the kiosk was bleeding from a wound high on his chest. Bubbles frothed from his lips as he fruitlessly struggled to breathe, drowning in his own blood. The hostages had either fallen to their knees or stood in shock, shaking like leaves in the wind. Tears streaked down their faces and one man lit a cigarette with trembling hands, his face as white as the cigarette he sucked on. I holstered my sidearm and checked on my team, anxious to know if our side had any casualties.
“Everyone okay?” I found Chris first, my internal relief welcome. He gave me his sideways dimpled smile. Pierce and Flynn stood side-by-side, checking on the hostages with the police who issued an all clear and EMTs rushed forward. After confirming the kills, they turned their attention to treating the victims.
Rook appeared next to me as if by magic. I glanced sideways and he nodded, not needing me to ask if he was alright.
Colette approached, her face once again a cold mask of composure, as if the minor freak-out from before had never occurred. However, I knew it was something that she’d never forget; that moment of weakness would haunt her forever. “We have one dead police officer and one dead civilian; three dead Russians.” I didn’t know how to respond to her, so I said nothing. “The big, bad Staff Sergeant Michaels is silent? Nothing to add? Need to gloat?”
“No. I wish we could have saved everyone, but two casualties is better than twenty or more.” I pointed to the line of hostages who were being attended to by the EMTs.
“That is two too many. I don’t have the ability to find it acceptable like you do.”
I gritted my teeth in frustration; I assumed that she was still reeling from the events of the day, which was causing her to lash out in anger. “Whatever, lady. We’ll make our own way out of here. Have a nice fucking life or career or what the hell ever.” Pivoting on my heel, I turned my back on her and waved for my men to roll out.
A hand on my arm jerked me to a stop. “You’re not going anywhere. This isn’t over. We have reports to file, press briefings; you will need to speak to my boss, just to name a few things.”
I looked at her perfectly manicured hand on my arm, then over at Rook and Chris, and back to her face. Every tick of the clock that passed with her hand on my body dialed my anger up another notch. “You’ll want to take your hand off me, right fucking quick sister, before I forget professional courtesy and break it off.” I didn’t raise my voice; didn’t need to.
Colette me
t my eyes for a long second, not blinking or giving an inch. Just as I was moving to grab her wrist, she let go. She probably realized how close she had come to a beat-down in front of half of the agents from her office. Suits were pouring in from every direction. There were also officers in black tactical gear. It was turning into a bureaucratic shit show real fucking fast.
Flynn laughed in her red face, earning a glare in return. “Yeah, that’s not happening. We’re Steel; we don’t do ‘interviews’ or any of that other crap. Have fun with the paperwork. We gotta bounce. We’re ghosts, once the day is saved, we vanish.” Waving his fingers at her, he led the way out of the gate area.
Chuckling under my breath, I followed Flynn out with Chris at my side. For the most part, the police and government officials ignored us. No one halted our progress or even seemed to notice us. Exactly how I liked it.
Once we got out to the sidewalk and clear of the press starting to arrive, I pulled out my phone to check in with Jones and Nickoli.
Jones answered right away. “Mic, fucking talk to me. It’s on the news already.”
“We’re good; enemy is eliminated and we need to evac.”
“I’m all out of helos, so you’re gonna have to settle for something less flashy. I’ve ordered you an Uber. Get over to the passenger drop off/pick up area. The car should be there in about ten. Look for a blue Honda.”
“This is what we’re reduced to? A college kid or some fucking shit driving us around? Where’s the blacked-out SUV? The chopper? Fucking something!” Flynn ranted behind me.
“Thanks, Jones. See you in a bit. Wipe any trace of us being here and pack our shit. We need to be wheels up and out of France ASAP.”
“Copy that. Consider it done.” He ended the call and we waited. I had to agree with Flynn, this was not our normal style. I was about to steal a car, when a Honda minivan with an Uber sticker in the window pulled up to the curb next to us.
The window rolled down slowly and a man who looked to be in his fifties called out to us. “You guys call for an Uber?” He asked in heavily accented English.
“Sure did.” I was laughing at Flynn’s expression. “I guess this is the only thing Jones could find big enough to haul all of us.” I slipped into the front seat, not letting any of them claim dibs. I gave the driver the address for the safe house and we were on our way. Leaning my head back against the headrest, I gave myself a few minutes to reflect on the day. A car chase, hostage situation, followed by a shoot-out. I was tired and wanted to get home to my own bed. Get back to a normal routine of training and range time. I wanted to think about the ring on my finger, its significance, and what would follow.
A short while later, the van pulled up to the safe house. Jones and Nickoli were waiting on the sidewalk, surrounded by our luggage. “We’re picking them up,” I told the driver before hopping out and helping to load our stuff.
“We good?” I asked Jones.
“Yeah, everything is good to go. We can’t get a flight, though. Air travel is suspended for the time being because the attack was at an airport. We’re taking the train home. Red and Roza will meet us at the station and drive us back to the castle.” Jones slid the side door open and climbed into the back, followed by a silent Nickoli.
“Rook, Roza wants you to call her when you can.” Jones gave the driver our new destination, leaned his head back, and pulled his Stetson down over his eyes. “Oh, and by the way Mic, well done.” He spoke without moving the hat.
“Thanks, but it was a team effort, as always. This one goes to you, Nickoli, and Egghead more than anyone else. Let’s get home. I need a drink.”
Chapter 16
The trip took longer than it should have and included several train changes. By the time we arrived at King’s Cross Station in London, I was ready to rent a car and drive home instead of getting on another fucking train. I hated London; after being there a few times I saw that it was like New York City, too many people and cars. But I knew that Red was going to be waiting for us at Perth to drive us home. With any luck, we wouldn’t have to leave the castle for a good long while. I wanted to sleep for a week, at least.
Chris slung his arm over my shoulder and urged me forward. “Come on, almost there. Then we can go to bed and put all this shit behind us for good.”
“Let’s just get this over with.” Towing my bag, I followed Jordon onto the train. Flynn, Rook, Pierce, Jones, and Nickoli stepped aboard behind me. Jordon was right when he had said this wouldn’t be as cramped as a vehicle. And at least on the train, I could go to a different car or something if I needed to get away from the guys for a bit.
“I’m with you, Mic. I’m ready to be home. We left Red and Roza in charge; God knows what we’re going to go home to.” Flynn had a point.
“They are either best friends or they killed each other. I hope it’s the former, because Maggie hates it when we get blood on her floors,” Pierce said, as we found our compartment and stowed our bags overhead. As our housekeeper and cook, Maggie was as much a part of our home as anything. She was fast becoming family. She didn’t know that we were former operatives for the American government, but she suspected. Quick with her wooden spoon and her wit, there wasn’t much that got past her.
“We’ve only been gone for thirty-six hours, what could have happened?” Nickoli chimed in. It was the first time he’d spoken more than a yes or no since we left France.
“Look at it this way—what can we accomplish in less than two days? Leave those two alone in a castle, they may have taken over the world by now.” Jones grumbled from where he was trying to find a comfortable positon for his tall frame. He’d been sullen and moody for most of the trip. At first I thought it was because of the confines of the train, but now I’m thinking it had more to do with a blonde, leggy, Interpol agent. He’s got it bad…
****
Thirty-two hours ago…
Roza tightened the laces on the black corset she was wearing. She had no idea how she’d let Red talk her into this. Red had suggested that this would be good for her. Roza didn’t know how it had happened, but over dinner with the older woman she’d spilled her guts about how she’d been trafficked and then tortured at the hands of that bastard, Julio. Mic and the others had only been out of the house for a few hours and here she was, about to go to Perth with Red. A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. “Come in,” she answered.
“You almost ready?” Red came deeper into her bedroom, revealing her shiny red leather cat suit. It left nothing to the imagination and set off her light hair beautifully. The black knee-high boots that hugged her legs completed the look of the badass she was.
“Why are we doing this again?” Nerves plagued Roza, twisting her stomach into knots. She hadn’t spoken to Rook about it, either. He was aware of everything that she’d endured, both back home and in Mexico, and he thought she was dealing with it. On most levels she was, but there was a niggling idea in the back of her mind that she was broken forever. Both inside and out. She gently touched the thick scar on her wrist; the twisted rough skin was one of the few leftovers from her torture. While she was able to be intimate with Rook, there was something missing. There was a part of her she always held back, part of her brain that remained steeped in fear.
“We’re going to Knobs and Dwops because it’s going to help you see things from a different perspective. I’m a member there, though I rarely play. You won’t be touched, I promise. You wouldn’t be allowed to play even if you wanted to.” The BDSM club in Perth was one of the finest in the United Kingdom. Very high class and not plagued by amateurs or tourists like some of the other clubs were. “It might help you come to terms with everything you’re feeling. If it’s not for you, then it isn’t. But the lifestyle may provide an outlet for some of the things that happened to you. Turn the bad to good. Let’s just go and see the sights while Mic and the guys are away. You’ll have plenty of time to mull it over if you decide to talk to Rook about it.”
Roza hung her hea
d; her hair had recently become long enough that it brushed her cheeks. She fingered the intricate lace outlining the edge of her corset; it was surprisingly soft and delicate. The contrast of the lace against the leather made it seem softer. “Okay, let’s do this. Tell me again about this club.”
Red led the way down the staircase. They both made use of the banister due to their tall heels. Red repeated what she’d already told her about the secret club. “Knobs and Dwops basically means dicks and butts. The name sort of tells it all. You’ll see couples of every type. Men with men, Dominatrix women, Submissive men, the list goes on. This place is going to throw all your misconceptions of what BDSM is out the window. The first and most important rule is that whatever takes place must be safe, sane, and consensual. You may see things that will trigger memories for you; but I assure you, any pain inflicted in there is very much appreciated. Stick by my side and you’ll be fine. You’re going in with me as a sub-in-training. I’m officially a Domme in their membership, but I’m nothing like most of the dominants there. I only break out my inner Domme when I want to play. It’s not a regular thing for me and I don’t apply the rules of the lifestyle to my day-to-day life. Hell, Flynn doesn’t even know about all this yet.”
Upon reaching the foyer, Red handed Roza’s coat to her before donning her own. “You don’t have to speak unless you want to. You’ll have a yellow wrist band which means you are only there to observe. It will protect you from Doms asking to scene with you.”
“O-okay.” She twisted her fingers together, not at all sure this was a good idea. What if Rook got mad at her? Or was disgusted by her? She wasn’t sure that she wanted to try BDSM, but she needed to do something to deal with the memories.
“Plus, this is going to be fun. Just relax and enjoy yourself. There are no strings and no pressure.” Red opened the door and they went out into the cold night air. They were taking Flynn’s Z-28 for the drive down to Perth.
