by Zoe Dawson
Ceri took a bite of her pizza. She chewed, then mumbled, “That’s good.”
Jo glanced at Gen, who was now grinning like a fool. It was contagious, and Jo grinned back. Gen reached out and they clasped hands. After a tight squeeze, Gen let go.
“Don’t you want to know where I’m opening my shop?”
Ceri turned to look at her. Her expression transitioned from uninterested to puzzlement, then to enlightenment. She looked at Gen, who nodded.
“Where, Mommy?”
“Oh, I was thinking someplace sunny, warm all the time, and has a great beach.”
Ceri burst into tears and got out of her seat and rammed Jo so hard as she flung herself into her arms that Jo rocked back and almost went over. “Daddy!” Ceri shouted. Jo was laughing so hard she was crying.
Stabilizing her and her exuberant daughter, Jo said, “That’s San Diego.” Hit with a heavy rush of emotion, Jo hugged her daughter, her happiness unparalleled.
When they finished their pizza, Ceri asked for ice cream and Jo agreed. They definitely needed ice cream to celebrate. Jo couldn’t wait to call Dragon and talk to him. Or maybe she and Ceri would fly out there and surprise him. She could barely contain the excitement.
She called her car service, and they headed toward the curb when she saw him pull up. With Ceri skipping alongside her, her small hand in Jo’s, chattering about all the things she wanted to see in San Diego, Jo pulled open the door.
Inside, on the floor, was one of the gangbangers who had come into her shop, and he was holding a gun. “The old woman gets in the front. You and the kid in the back. One word and I’ll kill you all. Now, get in.”
Jo looked toward the driver, and Ceri shrank away from the man. It was the other gangbanger, the leader, and his evil smile spread across his face. He said, “Where’s your boyfriend?”
They were minutes from the jump, and with effort, Dragon put Jo and Ceri out of his mind. When the signal came, Dragon prepared himself to flip out of the chopper with the slice of the night sky visible as the sound of air rushed loud in his ears.
He was behind Max, his broad shoulders giving him away in the dim lighting of the helo, Juggernaut strapped to him, his doggles in place over his excited and alert eyes. Jugs loved jumping from any aircraft.
The chopper flew closer to a wide sweep of green water below them. The Orinoco River, third largest in the world, a seventeen-hundred-mile-long waterway that dumped into the Atlantic Ocean, was their ticket to the hostage. They would be deploying with a Kodiak, a black rubber raft that would motor them out of Colombia and into Venezuela.
As soon as Max moved forward and out of the chopper, Dragon followed. It was a quick fall with a quick parachute deployment as chutes blossomed around him. He touched down, took care of the chute, and assembled with his teammates.
“Touch down completed,” 2-Stroke said into the comms.
“Get the raft blown up,” Fast Lane said through their comms. “Dragon, overwatch.”
“Copy.” Dragon moved through the brush at the edge of the river. Scanning the darkness with his night-vision goggles was a piece of cake.
Behind him, his teammates worked on the raft. It was designed to inflate in forty seconds.
“Come on, Max, put your back into it,” Saint said, his West Virginia accent low and pronounced through the headset.
“Better yet, use all that hot air to inflate it,” Pitbull said.
“Both of you fuck off,” Max growled. “I’m pretty good at pumping.”
The inuendo wasn’t lost on any of them because they all had dirty minds. “Yeah, he delivers his load in less than forty seconds,” Saint drawled.
“Probably wham, bam, thank you ma’am, then you pay her for her time,” 2-Stroke added.
All of them chuckled.
“Max don’t listen to those guys,” Dragon said. “At present, I believe I’m the only one getting it regular.”
That caused more laughter.
“Right, man, but she’s in New York City. I don’t believe your dick reaches that far,” Pitbull said.
“That’s enough,” Fast Lane growled. “Launch the damn thing.”
Dragon pulled back and was the last man into the boat, straddling the gunwale and scanning the river for baddies.
They reached the point to disembark in ten minutes. Pulling the raft onto the riverbank, they concealed it in the thick brush.
“The intel is the same, LT. The camp is less than a click away.”
“Copy,” Fast Lane said. “Let’s move.”
Max took point with Jugs, and they moved like wraiths through the heavy underbrush. The lights of the village were in the distance, a halo of green in his goggles.
When they reached the camp, LT said, “Target acquired.”
Command came back with, “Ten warm bodies. The hostage is located in the ramshackle building, huddled in a corner. He appears bound.”
“Copy,” Fast Lane responded. “Dragon, Max, hostage. The rest of you take out the tangos. We rendezvous here in ten minutes.”
Dragon rose and moved off with his teammate. A man stepped out of the latrine, and Max popped off a shot and the guy went down. They took out two more tangos and reached the door. Max looked at him and held up three fingers. He counted them down, then kicked the door in as small-arms fire erupted to their left.
They immediately took out the two guards and ran to the corner of the room.
“Who are you guys,” Douglas asked, terror filling his voice.
“Navy SEALs, sir. Can you walk?” Dragon asked, reaching down and helping him up.
“Hell, man, I can run,” he said, relief and gratitude in his voice. He rose and Max cut the flex cuffs off his wrist and ankles.
Max’s big body shielded him from the front and Dragon from the rear. They slipped out of the door, making a beeline directly to the Kodiak. More small-arms fire sounded off behind them, but neither SEAL hesitated.
It wasn’t long before Fast Lane and the rest of the team got to the raft. Then it was a fast trip back down the river to the waiting chopper.
Back in San Diego, they came off the C-130, and after changing into civvies, they all headed over to the All In Bar and Grille. Dodger met them at the door, and Dragon noted how the new guys peeled off and went to shoot darts. After getting his beer, Dragon walked over to where Max, 2-Stroke, and Saint sat.
“Can I get some of that action?”
Max looked over at him, his brows raised. “You want to shoot darts with us?”
“Why not? I’m here to teach you how tough it is to lose.” Dragon hooked his thumbs into the loops of his jeans.
Saint laughed and 2-Stroke straightened.
“Boy, I think you’re about to be whooped but good,” Saint said.
“We’ll see,” 2-Stroke said, smirking. “He is a sniper, man.”
The laugher faded from Saint’s face. “Right. I forgot about that.”
Dragon chuckled. “Max,” he said, turning to him. “I wanted to say you’re one of the best handlers I’ve ever met, and Jugs rocks.”
“We going to play darts, Sally, or hug it out?”
Dragon went to open his arms, and Max shoved him with a snort of laughter. “You go first, kid,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling. His other teammates eyed him but kept on their side of the bar. Dragon knew the first step was going to be the hardest.
After an hour and many wins later, Dragon decided to call Jo. Her phone rang, then she answered, “Dragon.”
“Hey, I’m back. I wanted—”
“Safe and sound, little soldier. That’s good to hear. Your little lady, kid, and mother depend on you…for their lives.”
“Who the fuck is this?”
Several of his teammates, looked over at him, then rose.
“Let’s say we need information from you.”
“What kind of information?”
“Why, you’ll have to come back to New York City to find out. We’ll be at the TGG digs. Oh, no cops,
no NCIS, or you will never see your ladies again. Are we clear?”
“I swear to God if you harm them, there will be no place for you to hide.”
The line went dead and Fast Lane said, “What was that about?”
Dragon was breathing hard. He closed his eyes as fear he’d never felt in his life paralyzed him.
“Dragon?” Pitbull said shaking him. “What’s going on?”
“They have them. The TGG.”
“What? Who has who?” Fast Lane asked.
A half-gallon of adrenaline drop-loaded into his system, switching on every survival instinct, warrior skill, and lethal ability he had. “It’s a gang in New York City. They have my family.”
“Why?” Fast Lane’s voice was clipped, and he had the kind of look no one ever wanted to see on the LT’s face. At least not directed at them.
He racked his brain and came up with nothing. “I don’t know. They say I have information they want. I don’t know what they’re talking about. Someone in that gang killed my brother.”
“And an NCIS agent,” Max said.
Fast Lane was on the phone, his mouth set in a grim line.
A killing rage flashed through him, and he started toward the door at a dead run. Fast Lane covered the phone and shouted, “Stop him!”
Someone grabbed him from behind, but he broke his hold and banged through the door. Running full out, he headed for his car. He had to get back to New York City. Someone tackled him from behind, and he fought like a man possessed. Then someone else and another guy. Dragon was blinded by a deep-seated fear, the kind of fear a father felt when his child was in danger, a son felt for his beloved mother, the kind of fear he felt for the woman he loved, had loved—any remnant of that armor he’d decked himself out in for six years fell from him like scales from a wounded dragon. He roared until Fast Lane got into his face.
“Get a hold of yourself, sailor. Now! That is an order.”
His breathing hitched, but his teammates didn’t let him go. Fast Lane was on one knee next to him. “Listen to me. If you think we’re going to let you go off to fight a gang by yourself, you are out of your peanut-sized brain.” There were nods and hoo-yahs all around the circle of faces above him. “We have no goddamned authority to attack gang members in the United States. That’s a fact,” Fast Lane said.
“Then let me go, because I’m not standing around while the cops go in and get my family killed!”
“Did I say we weren’t going in?” Fast Lane’s eyes narrowed, and a glimmer of hope burst in Dragon’s chest.
Dragon stopped struggling. “What?”
“We’re flying this one under the radar. Am I clear?” Fast Lane’s piercing stare didn’t waver, and Dragon nodded once. “If we get caught or we kill anyone in that gang, we’re done. Stripped ranks and court-martials all around.” He rose and said, “Let him go.”
His teammates got off him.
“No weapons, just flex cuffs.”
“Cool,” Saint murmured. “We’re going to be ninjas tonight.”
Dragon didn’t know and didn’t ask how Fast Lane had gotten them a C-130 to New York until they got on board. Kat Cross, her red hair in a braid, stood in the center of the jet. When she saw Fast Lane, she walked over to him, and they had a brief conversation. She nodded and then started off the plane. She stopped when she came to Dragon.
“If you need anything else, let me know.”
Hollywood pushed off one of the webbed seats. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go kick some drug dealer asses.”
“Give us a damn minute to load the rest of the guys.”
Dragon was flabbergasted. That was Ruckus’s voice. “Rest of the guys?”
He turned to see Ruckus, Cowboy, Wicked, Blue, Tank, Scarecrow, and Kid freaking Chaos walk up the ramp.
“Now we can go.” Fast Lane grinned, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
They landed at Fort Hamilton in record time, right in the borough of Brooklyn. They loaded into three black SUVs. Dragon got into the driver’s seat of the lead vehicle. He knew where these dirtbags were holding his family.
On the outskirts of the gang’s headquarters, a scrapyard, the SEALs fanned out. “Silent and deadly,” came through their comms.
His gut in a twisted knot, Dragon told himself he wasn’t going to accept anything but victory. He was going to flip the script in his head. This was the brotherhood they had fucked with, and the hammer was coming down. Tank, Bronte, and Jugs shadowed him, the big SEAL handling both dogs with ease. They moved through the camp like shadows, choking out and flex cuffing anyone they came across. The two dogs a formidable team. Jugs spotted one of the gang members in the shadows, and he’d taken him down before he could get off a shot or raise the alarm.
Overconfident and commonplace, the gang members went down one by one until Dragon entered the heart of their operation. When he walked into the large warehouse, the bodies of Jason Sato and Brendan Nakamura were lying in pools of their own blood. There was a large chair situated toward the far wall with several couches here and there.
The man with the long hair had his legs draped over the side as he reclined back against the opposite arm rest, and he was eating from a takeout container with chopsticks. Dragon headed toward him as Tank stayed in the shadows with the two dogs.
“You made good time, little soldier.”
“I’m a fucking Navy SEAL.”
His second in command stood next to him. Both of them had handguns. Long Hair had his in his lap, and Skin Head had pulled his when Dragon entered the room. He trusted his teammates to find his family and keep them safe.
He waited as Long Hair finished his meal. He set down the container and stood up, waving the gun.
“What do you want?” Dragon asked through clenched teeth.
“You tell me where your brother is, and I’ll make a phone call and release your family unharmed.”
Dragon stood there for a second, at a loss for words. Finally he found his voice. “My brother? Asahi?”
“That would be the one.”
Incredulous, Dragon said, “Unless you can commune with the dead, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. “I could send you to him if you like. But I think my brother is up, and my guess is you’re going down.”
Long Hair turned to his buddy and they both laughed. “We’ve got ourselves a comedian.” He walked forward and stopped in front of Dragon and pointed the gun at his head. “We know for a fact Asahi is alive and well in WITSEC. He has been all this time. I’m sure you know where he is.”
“What?” Dragon’s heart lurched to a stop, and he closed his eyes, certain that he wasn’t hearing this dirtbag right. His legs were suddenly weak, and he stumbled a bit. His heart hammered so hard that it felt like it was going to come out of his chest.
Stunned speechless, a wave of shocking reaction slammed through him. “That can’t be. I held him in my arms when he died. What is this? Some kind of sick joke?”
“I know. I shot him and missed you. That was a pity. He was going to rat me out to Sato. What a joke.” He kicked the dead man and walked back to the chair.
“You killed Agent Saxon, didn’t you?”
Long Hair smirked. “He was sticking his nose into TGG business. We can’t have that. A lesson had to be taught.” He set his gun on the arm of the chair.
Max’s voice came through the comms. “Got them. Your little girl is as cute as hell.”
He closed his eyes, relief spiraling through him. “Get them out and back home,” he said in a low voice. “Tank, release the hounds.”
Two tan and black bullets came rushing through the door, and neither men could react in time. Bronte hit Skin Head with stunning force. Dragon heard bone crack as her jaws clamped on his arm, his screaming echoing through the warehouse.
Jugs decided on a different route. He landed in Long Hair’s lap and bared his teeth, his feral eyes locked on the man. His growl said, Do you feel lucky, punk?
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Thirty minutes later, Detective Tim Gavin showed up, but Dragon’s teammates were long gone. Gavin eyed the two men face down, each flex cuffed. “Steven Nisha and Robert Watanabe,” he said. Dragon was sitting in the chair Long Hair had just occupied.
“Petty Officer Shannon. What do we have here?”
“They kidnapped my family. I got them back. End of story.”
“You took all these guys down?”
Dragon didn’t say anything as he rose and picked up the gun through the trigger guard with one of Long Hair’s chopsticks. “I think you’ll find a ballistics match to these two men, Sato and Nakamura. Also, he said he killed my brother, and you should contact NCIS as well. I think the ballistics will match in the death of Special Agent Michael Saxon.”
Gavin looked impressed. “You’ve solved four murders and a kidnapping in one night. Hell, man, you want a job?”
“I’ve got a job.” He dropped the gun in an evidence bag. He crouched down and said to Steven Nisha and Robert Watanabe, “Enjoy Rikers. You ever come near my family again, I won’t be so…nice.”
He rose and walked out of the compound.
Jo just stared as more big, handsome men came through the door. It was a never-ending stream. She sat on the couch with Ceri and Gen, while the man who had rescued them…Max, stood nearby protectively.
Gen kept giving them glances, then looking at Jo with a shell-shocked look on her face, mixed with pride for her son. Then there were two dogs in her apartment and Ceri yelled, “Doggies!”
One of them came over to Max and sat down after a quick hand signal.
“Can I pet him?” Ceri asked. He nodded with an indulgent smile on his face. Glancing at Jo for her permission, she nodded. No harm could come from these men.
Ceri petted the dog. “What is his name?”
“Juggernaut. We just call him Jugs.”
Another big, big man dwarfing Ceri knelt down. “I’m Tank and this is Bronte.”
She gave Max a very flirty look, then Tank. “Do you guys know about the golden ratio?”
