Read Online Shadow Ops: Danger's Heat (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 2) by LS Silverii - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: LS Silverii
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contorted. Although the empty warehouse was open at each end, light was at a minimum. He seemed to loom with the sun behind him—a purposeful tableau.
Hollywood didn’t detect any others in the area, so he gambled that the spectacle Justice made was more to establish dominance than concern over STR’s jurisdiction. Still, through eyes bloodshot and blistered by fatigue, he kept a narrow lookout for others. He knew the Savage Souls MC all too well and still couldn’t shake regret that he had to compromise his integrity by asking these criminals for help.
“They—I mean, we—are trying to stop some crazy fuckers trying to kill people in Chicago.”
“Dah’lin, this city got lots of crazy fuckers trying to kill people, why’s this any worse?” Justice’s enormous hands tucked under a mane of tousled light brown hair and pulled it out of his face to expose a near carbon copy of Lawless.
“Maybe so, but you in or out?” Hollywood spoke up out of frustration.
“You ain’t no cop. SEAL?” Justice said with a thick, ringed finger pointed at Hollywood, who reared up rigid, his mind shifting into combat mode.
He didn’t want to go hands on, but he wasn’t going to be disrespected either. “Why’d you say that?”
“Because I used to eat pussies like you for breakfast.” Justice roared with a back-bending laugh. Square-toed Harley Davidson boots creaked under his bulk to balance him.
Hollywood’s heart raced as he stepped forward from the group of STR operatives. No way this asshole was going to insult his beloved SEALs.
“I doubt biker scum ever did anything other than what a SEAL told him to do.”
“Before I saw the light, squid. But I’d still mop the floor with your ass today.” Justice waggled his fingers in a c’mon gesture as he brandished a shit-eating grin. His fingers sported huge silver rings that featured skulls or crosses. Hollywood made a mental note to avoid the punches.
“Before?” His chin jutted toward the biker.
“I was SAD’s SOG,” He said with a leer.
Hollywood eased his posture with that bombshell.
“CIA?” His face twisted in doubt.
“I never heard of you.” Rose spoke up—mostly to cool the egos on parade.
“And whoever you are, I never heard of you. Who the fuck are you, some government agencies’ house mouse?”
Hollywood’s initial reaction was to attack for the insult. The outlaw underworld used the term house mouse to describe females they swapped for sex. The biker world viewed women as property, or old ladies.
“NCS?” Rose asked, as she seemed to ignore his insulting comment.
“Fucking A, momma—the National Clandestine Service. Was on my way to being like you Billy Price, but their Special Activities Division knew Delta shit was for bitches. Probably why they accepted you,” He squared his jaw and spoke directly to Billy.
The Delta Force veteran brushed off the comment with a flip of his finger.
Hollywood looked around the warehouse. Surely this was a set up. No way in hell was the president of the Savage Souls outlaw motorcycle club a former CIA Special Operations agent.
“Are you shitting us? Who the fuck are you, dude?” Hollywood approached but kept his body bladed to fight.
“Fuck him, he isn’t worth it,” uncharacteristically Billy’s words came petty and taunting.
“Just like it read—weak.” Justice said. His hands spread open his black rawhide motorcycle vest to reveal a chiseled torso. The old leather creased against a matrix of demonic-looking patches sewn into it. Hollywood scanned the calling cards of Justice’s biker life, typical of outlaws who wore patches and pins like uniformed cops and military wear badges and rank insignia.
“Read what?” Billy filed through the others to confront him. He was about ten years past his physical prime, but at forty, Billy was still the biggest badass Hollywood knew. He sensed Justice respected it also.
“Your dossier. Fuck, every asshole with a criminal record has had
Hollywood didn’t detect any others in the area, so he gambled that the spectacle Justice made was more to establish dominance than concern over STR’s jurisdiction. Still, through eyes bloodshot and blistered by fatigue, he kept a narrow lookout for others. He knew the Savage Souls MC all too well and still couldn’t shake regret that he had to compromise his integrity by asking these criminals for help.
“They—I mean, we—are trying to stop some crazy fuckers trying to kill people in Chicago.”
“Dah’lin, this city got lots of crazy fuckers trying to kill people, why’s this any worse?” Justice’s enormous hands tucked under a mane of tousled light brown hair and pulled it out of his face to expose a near carbon copy of Lawless.
“Maybe so, but you in or out?” Hollywood spoke up out of frustration.
“You ain’t no cop. SEAL?” Justice said with a thick, ringed finger pointed at Hollywood, who reared up rigid, his mind shifting into combat mode.
He didn’t want to go hands on, but he wasn’t going to be disrespected either. “Why’d you say that?”
“Because I used to eat pussies like you for breakfast.” Justice roared with a back-bending laugh. Square-toed Harley Davidson boots creaked under his bulk to balance him.
Hollywood’s heart raced as he stepped forward from the group of STR operatives. No way this asshole was going to insult his beloved SEALs.
“I doubt biker scum ever did anything other than what a SEAL told him to do.”
“Before I saw the light, squid. But I’d still mop the floor with your ass today.” Justice waggled his fingers in a c’mon gesture as he brandished a shit-eating grin. His fingers sported huge silver rings that featured skulls or crosses. Hollywood made a mental note to avoid the punches.
“Before?” His chin jutted toward the biker.
“I was SAD’s SOG,” He said with a leer.
Hollywood eased his posture with that bombshell.
“CIA?” His face twisted in doubt.
“I never heard of you.” Rose spoke up—mostly to cool the egos on parade.
“And whoever you are, I never heard of you. Who the fuck are you, some government agencies’ house mouse?”
Hollywood’s initial reaction was to attack for the insult. The outlaw underworld used the term house mouse to describe females they swapped for sex. The biker world viewed women as property, or old ladies.
“NCS?” Rose asked, as she seemed to ignore his insulting comment.
“Fucking A, momma—the National Clandestine Service. Was on my way to being like you Billy Price, but their Special Activities Division knew Delta shit was for bitches. Probably why they accepted you,” He squared his jaw and spoke directly to Billy.
The Delta Force veteran brushed off the comment with a flip of his finger.
Hollywood looked around the warehouse. Surely this was a set up. No way in hell was the president of the Savage Souls outlaw motorcycle club a former CIA Special Operations agent.
“Are you shitting us? Who the fuck are you, dude?” Hollywood approached but kept his body bladed to fight.
“Fuck him, he isn’t worth it,” uncharacteristically Billy’s words came petty and taunting.
“Just like it read—weak.” Justice said. His hands spread open his black rawhide motorcycle vest to reveal a chiseled torso. The old leather creased against a matrix of demonic-looking patches sewn into it. Hollywood scanned the calling cards of Justice’s biker life, typical of outlaws who wore patches and pins like uniformed cops and military wear badges and rank insignia.
“Read what?” Billy filed through the others to confront him. He was about ten years past his physical prime, but at forty, Billy was still the biggest badass Hollywood knew. He sensed Justice respected it also.
“Your dossier. Fuck, every asshole with a criminal record has had
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