Chapter 19

An hour later, the skirmish was over—for now at least. We were exhausted, bloody and a few less men, but they were down a hell of a lot more than we were. After they surrendered, we'd allowed them to gather their fallen, then escorted them out of our territory with a warning to never fucking show their faces in our area again.

Afterward, I returned to the clubhouse, and Burdock met me at the door, stating, "We're moving in fifteen. Grab your gear. I'll brief you on the way."

I hadn't even had the chance to ask about Marlowe before he was walking away. I was shifting from being involved in a biker skirmish, to a black bag operation in a matter of minutes, my mind still on Marlowe. I grabbed a hasty shower to wash the blood off, then slid into my usual apparel of a black t-shirt and pants, that I reserved for assignments.

After twisting my hair into a long tail, I pulled it up and placed it back into its customary man-bun. Once finished, I slid my equipment bag over my shoulder and slipped out of my room.

Fast paced, I moved toward Marlowe's room. I needed to see she was all right before leaving. Raising a knuckle, I rapped on her door. Several seconds passed, and when she didn't answer I raised my hand, giving it another rap.

More seconds passed, and still receiving no answer, I turned, making my way into the common room. Tossing a glance around the room, I spotted Marlowe making her way through the injured men, administering aid. Drawing a breath at seeing she was okay, I placed my worry aside and set my concentration on the task ahead of me.

TWO HOURS LATER

Watching the warehouse through my scope, I silently mouthed, "Make your move motherfuckers, and I'll gladly plant your asses six feet under!"

We'd been watching this group of gun-smugglers for months now, but so far tonight, they hadn't given us a damn thing to warrant my, or any of the team members' bullets!

I'd been sitting in this same spot for an hour, nestled into the landscape like I was part of the fucking weeds, waiting for my chance. My high-powered rifle was settled against me like a lover. My finger stroking the trigger like a woman's clit—waiting, waiting for the moment I could give us both the pleasure we wanted.

A curse flew from my lips when from my earpiece, I heard Burdock call, "Mission scratched. All rendezvous at location cleared."

Lowering my rifle, I pinched my eyes shut in frustration. FUCK! Blowing out a breath, I shifted, then lifting myself out of my prone position, I set about clearing my rifle of the shell encased within it and packing everything up.

Fuck me, if this hadn't been a goddamn waste of time. With a shake of my head, I hunched my shoulders and set off to the rendezvous point.

When I reached Burdock, I snapped, "What the fuck happened?"

Burdock just shook his head. "Someone fucked up, somewhere."

"Dammit, this is a load of bullshit," I snarled.

Burdock just gazed at me. "Got something better to do?"

I snorted. "Yeah, see a hell-cat."

"Can I be a fly in the wall?" Burdock asked, smirking. "This ought to be fun."

"Just shut up!" I snapped, then turning I walked off, Burdock's laughter following me.

Disgusted with everything, I drew up next to a tree, then sliding my rifle off my shoulder, I let it rest on the toe of my boot. My leg was aching again, and I reached down, absently rubbing at the muscle.

From above me an owl hooted and I flinched. Then, looking upward toward the sound, I growled, "Go away, you creepy mother fucker!"

Few things bothered me. But the fact an owl could turn its head until it was looking over its shoulder and keep going until it's eerie yellow eyes were looking over the opposite shoulder, did. And I sure as shit didn't need its mythical omen at the moment—whether true or not—I didn't want a supposed harbinger of death screeching above my head.

I wouldn't say I was superstitious, but I couldn't say I wasn't either. But what I could say was that I didn't like the damn things. So, when I heard the owl take flight, I let out a relieved breath. "Fucken hooter!" I grumbled.

Glancing at my watch, I was surprised the rest of the team weren't here yet. What the hell was the hold up? I wondered. Suddenly the unmistakable sound of gunfire ripped through the air, and lifting my rifle, I took off at a run.

Catching up with Burdock, I ducked to miss the low hanging limbs of a tree as we sprinted forward. "What the hell is going on?" I panted, now running full out. We still obviously had men around the house.

"Fuck if I know," Burdock snarled, then face darkening, he snapped, "But by the sound of it, something sure as shit is. Why the hell haven't they made contact?"

I could now hear return fire from our team, and turning in the direction the fire-power was coming from, we ran as far as we dared, before hunching over, we continued forward. The ricochet of bullets were now hitting the trees around us, and we dropped even lower. In a squatting position, we began practically duck walking, but still moving forward. When we finally found two of our men, Surgeon and Houseshoe, Burdock growled, "What the hell is going on? Are your fucking headsets broke?"

Surgeon shook his head. "I ain't got a fucken' clue, Boss. I've been trying to get Slimer and Pattycake to check in, but I'm gettin' nothin'."

Burdock, adjusting his headset, called into its microphone, "Pattycake, radio check!"

Having moved far enough away, we couldn't communicate without shouting at each other, I signaled Burdock the headsets were dead.

I read his lips. "SON OF A BITCH!" Then, rasing his voice and uncaring who might be sneaking around us, he called, "We gotta go get'em, otherwise this thing is gonna turn into a fucking slaughter!"

We still had six men unaccounted for.

At my nod, Burdock ordered, "Satan, you and Surgeon go left. Houseshoe, you, and me will go right. We don't fucking come back until we have'em all."

I was gone before he'd finished his last word.

The sound of limbs breaking and pounding feet accompanied the continuous gunfire, and I knew shit was not good. We were surrounded, but it didn't stop me, I continued moving forward. Surgeon was right behind me.

Like any military or elite force, our motto was, a man is never left behind.

We had just hit the tree line leading into the gravel yard of the warehouse when I felt the bullet hit me in the leg, and a sudden warmth cascaded down my calf. Shaking it off, I kept going, but I hadn't taken twenty steps when I felt another bullet hit my shoulder, then everything began to whirl around me. Dropping to my knees, I tried steadying myself, as placing both hands on the ground, I peered down at myself. Even lightheaded and in the dark, I could see the blood saturating my shirt and pant leg.

Coming up beside me, Surgeon asked, "You okay, man?"

With a shake of my head, I breathed, "So didn't fucking need this," then I lost consciousness.