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By the time he passed Poppy’s gate and stepped into the alley, three of the powerful machines had eased up to his back drive, the riders backing them into the parking area next to his bike with quick, well-practiced movements.
“Hey, boss,” the oldest of the three—recently dishonorably discharged SEAL Lucas Royce—greeted him. Six-two, thirty-three years old, his hair already salt-and-pepper gray in contrast to the single gray streak Jack had along the right side of his head. Jack had had his badge of horror since he was fourteen.
Lucas had spent twelve years in the SEALs. Purple Heart recipient, Medal of Honor recipient, multiple Distinguished Service Medals. All wiped away when he’d taken out a military contractor who had leaked intel on an operation that caused the deaths of the two youngest members of Lucas’s team.
Next to him was Hayes Granger. Hayes was a fighting machine. The fucker would get up and keep charging when normal men would have been dead. Dishonorably discharged for not just one but multiple violent occurrences against civilian assholes. Which he’d have gotten away with, if he hadn’t decided to punch a commander whose bad decision on an op resulted in the death of Granger’s mentor and team leader. He’d broken the commander’s jaw and put him in intensive care.
Thirty years old, six-two like Lucas, his dark blond hair still military-short, his left cheek bisected by a scar he’d received in a bar fight as a teenager. Hard-drinking, always up for a fight, and a grinning fool if someone made the mistake of pulling a knife or gun. He was merciless then.
Sitting at the end of the line, more in shadow than not, was thirty-year-old Hank Brady. Jack knew Hank from several missions they’d participated in, and knew that he had a very low tolerance for bullshit or fuckups.
Like Jack, he was quiet, antisocial, and worked well only within his own team. Until that team had fucked up and caused the slaughter of several innocent women and children. Then he’d gone on a rampage that put three other SEALs in the hospital and the team’s leader on medical discharge.
At six-three, he was tall enough to be imposing, with a natural musculature similar to Jack’s. He was damned strong, and smart enough to make his way back to a team if he could control his anger issues, once this mission was over.
All four of them had their asses on the line. They fuck this up, the dishonorable discharges were for real, for all of them. No matter which one of them caused the fuckup.
The Navy had informed Jack fast that this was his one and only chance to keep that early retirement package they’d given him for taking this assignment. With the pension would come an added bonus from sources unknown for fixing whatever the hell was broke in this area of the country.
The others had their own financial packages to think of. Jack didn’t give a shit what they were getting, and he guessed that, as for him, the financial end of things was the least of their worries. What was going on in their backyards was another matter.
“Hope you have beer and pizza,” Hayes drawled, dismounting from his bike and staring around the alley with narrowed eyes. “We goin’ in or what?”
“Didn’t you just eat pizza a few hours ago?” Lucas quizzed him with an edge of surprise.
“I’m still a growin’ boy,” Hayes retorted, his smile tight and cold. “I need fuel to work at peak capacity, and pizza gives me the biggest bang for my buck.”
That was something Jack understood. For the time being, their funds went from Jack’s extremely limited to the others’ nonexistent. They were still a few weeks away from those first checks arriving. Hopefully they’d walk away from tonight’s meeting with operating funds.
“Beer and pizza inside,” he promised. “Come on in.”
He led the way into the house, the men moving behind him, watchful, suspicious.
“Who’s watchin’ us, boss?” Hank asked, his voice low as the door closed behind them. “I can feel it, but can’t place it enough to decipher whether it’s friend or foe.”
Jack glanced upward, wondering if God had just a minute to help him keep his head in the game and his dick out of Poppy for at least one more night.
“Neither,” he told Hank as he flicked a finger at the four large pizzas stacked on the kitchen table. “Beers in the fridge.”
“Everyone is either friend or foe,” Hank informed him, grabbing the top box and propping himself against the counter as he pulled a slice free. “Though mostly just foe. In any case, it can’t be neither.”
“House across the street. That hot little redhead…” That was all the man next to Hank, Hayes, got past his lips before his feet were swept out from under him and his ass landed on the floor.
He stared up at Jack in surprise.
“That redhead doesn’t concern you,” he told the other man with icy fury. Because he knew, to his soul, that Hank had intended some real disrespect to spew from his lips.
Lucas clicked his tongue at the other man chidingly. “You smart-assed young’uns never learn. She wasn’t watching us. She was keeping her eye on Bridger as he walked away from her house. You don’t pay attention real well, do ya, son?”
Carefully, Hayes swallowed as he rose slowly to his feet again. “I got ya, man. Won’t happen again.”
“It happens again, you won’t get a chance to ‘get me,’” Jack promised him with a tight smile. “The redhead is off limits, period. No discussion.” He glanced around the room, then turned back to Hayes and sneered, “You got me?”
“Loud and clear, boss,” Hayes promised, pulling a pizza box to himself and flipping it open. “Damn, I’m hungry.”
Jack made eye contact first with Lucas, who besides Jack was the strongest of the group, then with Hank, and finally with Hayes.
“We’re operating within a tight window,” he warned them. “We have four to six weeks to find out who’s involved and who’s not, and to eliminate the threats before securing the target.”
