Cowboy Boots and Uncensored Behavior Read online

  “What the hell were we thinking?” Drake fired off a round of shots before ducking behind the storage bins again.

  “I’m hit.” Phillip fell against Drake’s leg.

  Drake gasped as soon as he looked down and acknowledged his injured fellow operative. Terror pumped through his veins as Phillip’s weak voice set off violent alarms inside his pounding head. Clearly wounded, Phillip’s gut gushed with blood as his hand seemingly disappeared beneath a thick red puddle pooling around his fingers.

  “Ah damn.” Drake tossed aside his gun and stripped off his shirt. “Hang on, Phillip. Stay with me, buddy.” He thrust the wadded material against Phillip’s midsection but he knew it was too late. The dark blood spurted free and completely soaked the pale blue cotton upon contact.

  Phillip’s free hand fell against Drake’s wrist. “Get out of here, Drake. Run. Get out of this unit or ask for…a transfer. If you stay in, the only thing you’ll look forward to is a death like this.”

  “Shh,” Drake whispered, pushing harder against the material and trying to ignore the blasts behind them. “I’ll get us out of this. Do you hear me?” He grabbed hold of Phillip’s nape and shook him. “You stay with me!”

  His teammate’s eyelids lowered and closed. “You…should…go.”

  “No! Don’t you quit on me! Do you hear me? Listen to me! There’s a way out!” Drake shook him as hard as he could. “It ain’t your time, brother!” With all his strength he grabbed Phillip’s fallen form with every intention of finding a way out.

  Phillip released a final sigh as blood slowly oozed from his mouth. Drake felt for a pulse then jerked his limp form against his own. “Don’t you quit on us! Do you hear me? Hang on, Phillip! I swear I’ll get us out of this! Stay with me, brother. I will do what it takes to save us both!”

  Even as he made the promise, Drake knew his best friend had already slipped away. He was talking to a corpse, the dead body of a fine operative he’d fought beside, an acclaimed soldier who was said to take the shots no one else dared to make. He’d covered them in war zones no one else attempted to enter. He was the man who had always had his teammates’ backs. He was there when the Unit most needed an extra pair of eyes watching for what the rest of the team couldn’t sense, let alone see.

  “Get up,” Drake whispered. Tears streamed down his face. “Damn it, Phillip! Don’t you quit on us now. Do you hear me? Don’t you go!”

  He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. The warehouse filled with screams, cries of agony as the torturous killings continued. He slowly released Phillip. The need for revenge came rolling to the fore. He snatched his weapon and rose to a standing position, prepared to fight.

  About that time, a gun was cocked and pressed against his temple. “Don’t move a muscle, boy.”

  Drake stilled. He stared at Phillip’s lifeless body, a significant reminder of how important it was to heed the cartel member’s warning. Where the hell were the others? Where was his backup? What was taking Cade so long to strike? He had to be there in the shadows. He must’ve been waiting and watching.

  The man holding Drake hostage dragged the muzzle of his gun down the length of his set jaw. “Such a pretty face on such a strong man.”

  “I’ll kill you,” Drake promised him.

  “And when should I watch for this attack, hmm? Tonight, perhaps? Tomorrow? How do you propose to ‘kill’ me exactly when I don’t believe in ghosts or the living dead?” The man snarled. Three more cartel members stepped away from the hollow drums with their machine guns aimed in Drake’s direction.

  “I’d say it isn’t looking too good for the home team,” the first cartel member said, shoving the toe of his boot against Phillip’s torso and rolling his body out of the way.

  Laughter resounded before the younger man, clearly their leader, barked out a few orders over his shoulder. “We need to clear out!” His final message brought with it a possibility. The others on Drake’s team were gone. They’d been assassinated on a mission gone terribly wrong.

  “You must’ve had a death wish coming here today.” The man was younger than most of those Drake had gone up against. Wrinkles weren’t etched in his brow. Scars didn’t mar his flesh.

  One of the cartel members flashed a machete. He smoothly maneuvered the blade back and forth as he took calculated steps, inching forward like a day-old threat, looming closer and closer as if to build up the suspense when everyone already knew how the ending would play out. This was undoubtedly the final scene, the last episode of his life.

  Hell, there wasn’t any mystery here. Drake realized he was about to meet his maker.

  “Your unit commander—what is his name—Donovan?” The young fellow flashed a wider smile. “We have a message for him.”

  Mr. Machete swung his weapon a little faster. He was now within beheading distance.

  Fuck! Where the hell was Cade? What was taking him so long? Where were David and Manny?

  Laughter filled the warehouse. “I’ve got two dead Underground Unit operatives over here!”

  “Ah hell,” Drake breathed, barely aware of his own whisper as he tried to comprehend the loss of life there.

  “Did you hear that, boy? Two dead over there. One dead over here?” He clamped down on his bottom lip for a second, before he grated out, “Shucks. I miscounted.” He leveled, and then cocked his gun before adding, “I meant to stay two.”

  “Why!” A woman’s shrilling cry flooded the warehouse. “Why would you do this? What kind of monster are you?”

  “Get her out of here,” someone ordered. “Now!”

  The cartel captain’s arm jerked as an argument commenced somewhere across the expansive space. Drake glared at Mr. Machete.

  Their leader jerked. “Go! I’ve got this bastard under control!”

  Drake felt the pulse of his nostrils as they flared. He braced for a quick attack, but the machete man whipped around and said, “I’ll be back.”

  Drake’s fury was blinding, but his fear paralyzed him. Normally a smart ass, he somehow found his voice and said, “I’ll be waiting for ya, sucker.”

  The man stalled. He slowly turned and stalked him again. He grabbed hold of Drake’s long hair and yanked his head back. “You want to play before I send you away?”

  The leader slapped away his subordinate’s arm. “You can fuck around with him later!”

  The burly guy said, “I’ll be back, loverboy. Then, we’ll play.”

  “Now!” the one in charge bellowed. His corded neck pulsed with anger.

  Fuck. Drake glanced around the dark space, trying to spot movement, some sort of reassurance that he’d bought himself another breath of life.

  “Did you hear me?” A foreign dialect filled the warehouse once more. “I’ve got two dead ops over here! We need to get out of here!”

  The soulless creature holding Drake at gunpoint sneered. “I’ve got another couple over here as well.”

  Drake realized then he was left without a song or prayer. His body went rigid as he thought of a future he would not have, a past that no longer held merit or meaning, and a present he would never later recall.

  One shot was fired. And in the blink of an eye, the world went dark.

  Prologue Three

  Abingdon, Virginia

  Brock Donovan looked down on his wife as she struggled against the ties binding her to the bedposts. He stroked his cock and admired the way she clearly writhed under his scrutiny.

  “Please,” Sydney begged. She bowed her back as he dragged the engorged tip of his cock across her thigh.

  Her hard nipples tightened. Those sterling silver clamps against her tan skin made his mouth water. “Such a good girl.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “I’m not good, Master.”

  “Like hell.” He slapped her bare pussy and she released a delicious, and quite harmonious, cry. “Do you want to be punished, sub?”

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered, her next breath hitching in her chest.

&n
bsp; Her glistening pussy lips drew his gaze then and a guttural growl slipped from his throat. He would tease her until well past the midnight hour and if his brothers stayed away, he might taunt her well into the wee hours of the morning.

  He leaned over her. His tongue snaked around her extended nipple and the explosive consequences wreaked havoc on the man more than the sub. Thousands of sensations scattered up and down his spine as he caressed her soft flesh. Her seductive moans were like an aphrodisiac, comfort food to his very soul.

  The pounding of quick footsteps in the distance made Brock groan. “That’s what I get for thinking about them.”

  “Maybe they want to play, too,” Sydney suggested.

  The steps grew heavier, pounding out an alarming beat and alerting him to the possibility of impending trouble. Without a second spared, he grabbed a pocketknife from the bedside table and hurriedly freed Sydney’s wrists.

  “Brock, what is it?” Fear settled in her eyes. “Were you expecting company today?” She was all too aware of the risks that came with loving Underground Unit operatives yet they seldom told her of the dangers surrounding their home, the threats moving too close to keep at bay.

  There was no reason to alarm her. They were her keepers. They were her protectors. Brock and his brothers would die before they’d let anyone so much as pluck one hair on her pretty little head.

  “Brock?”

  “Shh,” Brock whispered, placing his fingertips to his lips.

  She came to an upright position. “There’s trouble. I feel it.”

  No, she heard trouble. She’d been groomed for fast actions, trained for any and all circumstances.

  “It’s probably fine, baby.” He dove in front of her, hoping to hell and back that he hadn’t left them in a vulnerable position.

  The door swung open. Brock propelled his arm behind his back, a precautionary measure in case they had unwelcomed company. He rested his palm against her hip as his brothers stormed the room.

  “The Longhorn division operatives were ambushed,” Riley said, stalking the bed and gathering a clearly frightened Sydney in his arms.

  Brock took a curse-filled breath and narrowed his gaze on Jett. “This better be life or death.”

  Jett’s eyes were wild. He looked as if he were anticipating an imminent war. “Death is more accurate. The Longhorn Division lost three.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Brock hurriedly snatched his jeans from the floor.

  “Phillip, David, Manny…They’re all dead.”

  Sydney gasped. Covering her mouth with trembling fingers, she released a shattered cry. Sydney knew those operatives. Many of them had trained under her father. Manny had been a childhood friend.

  “Sydney, I’m so sorry,” Riley said, draping his arm around her shoulder and drawing her against his chest.

  “This can’t be.” Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as she fought to break free of his embrace. “There must be some mistake.” A beat later, her shattered sob turned into rage. “Brock, do something!”

  Brock hated that. When Sydney cried, she broke his heart. When she looked at him as if she believed he could solve the world’s problems, he longed to right all wrongs, but when she told him to “do something,” that’s when he felt obligated to drag Satan right out of hell and beat the ever-loving shit out of the sorry bastard for cultivating evil in the world.

  Brock swallowed the lump in his throat. He cupped Sydney’s cheek and then left her on the bed with Riley. He turned to Jett. “Are you sure we’re down three?”

  “Damn it, Brock. Of course I’m sure!” Jett yelled, stomping to the window.

  “What about Cade and Drake?” Brock asked, fearing the worst.

  “Tortured. Probably wishing they were dead by now.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They’ve been rushed to a private hospital right outside of Dallas.”

  “Do we know who’s responsible?”

  “It may be Rodriquez but we can’t be sure,” Riley said. “We need to take precautions. Based on the intelligence we have, we believe the division was lured away from their current post and ambushed. This could be the first of several attacks on the Underground Unit as a whole.”

  Brock shot Riley a stern glare. “Was it necessary to share that tidbit of information right at this moment?”

  Riley glanced at Sydney who wasn’t paying attention to them. She shook her head and stared at her clasped hands. “There must be some mistake. Manny was as well trained as all of you. He was a fighter. He was—”

  “Too ambitious.” Brock had always feared for Manny’s safety. Even during his training period, he had been a cocked gun waiting to misfire at any given moment.

  Sydney glared at him. “He can’t be dead.”

  Jett took a deep breath. He had undoubtedly suspected that Manny’s death would take this kind of toll on their wife, their shared and precious woman.

  “Tell me about the interrogation,” Brock said, wishing they could talk about this somewhere else, but realizing Sydney would never let them send her away. She had lived the Underground Unit and because she knew so many of the operatives personally, she wouldn’t easily let them dismiss her.

  She wrapped her thin arms around Riley’s middle and sobbed. Brock clenched his fists. Whoever was responsible, whatever group was behind this attack, they would pay and they would satisfy their debts in cold blood. “Tell me what you have so far.”

  “Cade is in surgery,” Jett said. “They messed up his face, dislocated a jaw, and—”

  “And?” Brock hated digging for information, but Jett could take all day assessing the damages. It was as if he deliberately took extra pains in conveying the injuries and fatalities so when it was time for retribution, they’d draw their weapons with intent to kill, if for no other reason than to punish the perpetrators for putting them through the agonizing task of listening to Jett recount their stories.

  Jett shook his head. “I just can’t imagine what they went—”

  “Save the theatrics. What do we know? Stick to the facts.”

  “Brock, one of the assailants cut out Cade’s eye and tried to do the same with a kidney. He’s been in surgery for the last sixteen hours.”

  “Will he make it?” Brock asked.

  “If anyone can pull through, Cade can.” Jett glanced at Sydney and his lips formed a grim line. Apparently wise to her escalating pain, he regrouped. “He’ll make it.”

  Sydney pushed away from Riley. Her misty gaze held Brock’s as she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. “I want you to kill whoever did this! Do you hear me? Whoever did this deserves to die!”

  Brock wouldn’t argue there. Unfortunately, a man couldn’t dispose of his enemies unless he first collected names. Given the recent Longhorn missions, the list of possible suspects would be full of hardened criminals from around the world.

  Chapter One

  Dallas, TX—Three Weeks Later

  “I figured Donovan would be here to hand over my walking papers,” Cade said, taking a leather satchel from Ace Bristol’s hand. Cade was sick of being in a hospital gown and couldn’t wait to put on some street clothes and walk the hell out of there.

  “You aren’t lucky enough for him to send you packing,” Ace told him. “He would’ve been here himself but they’re on lockdown.”

  “Lockdown? Were they attacked?”

  “Not yet,” Ace replied. “But they’ve received some threats.”

  “What kind of threats?” Cade had thought the attack on the Longhorns had been neutralized. He never imagined it would fan out to the other divisions.

  “Those the Donovans don’t take too lightly.”

  “Sydney?” Cade winced as he shoved one leg into a pair of jeans and then another.

  Ace nodded once, glanced out the door and down the hallway, then turned around and said, “You look like shit.”

  “I feel like a million bucks,” Cade assured him, not at all exaggerat
ing. It was funny how a close call made a man treasure his life all the more. He felt better than he’d felt three weeks ago. That was for damned sure. “Have any of the other divisions been compromised?”

  Abby Rose, Ace’s sidekick, pranced inside his hospital room. Thank God he was fully dressed before she made an appearance. The last thing he needed was a woman—especially one who looked like Abby—gaping at his bare ass. Ace would have forty fits this side of Sunday if she so much as gave him a glimpse.

  “How you feelin’, tiger?”

  Ace jerked. He shot her a cool glance as she marched across the room and planted a friendly kiss on Cade’s cheek.

  Cade felt his nose twitch. Shit. His cock stretched forward, too. He ought to be shot for lusting after another man’s woman, especially one who’d been a friend through the years.

  “Watch it, Abby,” Ace warned her. “He hasn’t had sex in at least twenty-one days.”

  Abby flashed a million dollar smile. “Jealous, Ace?”

  “Somethin’ awful,” he admitted, rubbing his tongue across his upper lip and looking at her as if he could drag her into the bathroom and fuck out a few rising frustrations.

  “So?” Abby wheeled around and propped her hand on her hip. “Are you all right, Cade? You look like you’re all bandaged up and ready to get out of here, but if not, I’ll talk to the administrator and see if we can’t work an extended stay.”

  “I’m ready to roll.”

  “Is that a loaded statement?” Abby asked, undoubtedly deviling Ace.

  “Always is.” Cade dragged his finger under the thick eye patch. In deep thought, he turned and stared over the lush green gardens below his second floor window. “Is Drake settled back at the ranch?”

  “Settled isn’t quite the word.” Abby snickered. “He’s barely tolerable. He’s like a caged animal.”

  “I’ll bet.”