Violet
What the hell had I been thinking hauling ass to Annapolis and barging in on Zane Lewis, owner of the most sought after private security firm in the US? Everyone in the government knew about Z Corps and his Red Team. His tier-one team was handpicked by Zane himself, comprised of former spec ops soldiers, and one woman – Jasmin Parker, Zane’s sister-in-law. Jasmin was known throughout the community as being a hardass. She’d have to be to keep up with her male counterparts.
Now I was sitting across from her, and the rest of the Red Team in an old barn that Zane had converted to an off-site covert headquarters. When I’d suggested we go to his downtown office he’d laughed at me and accused me of wanting intel on his inner sanctum. Then he said he didn’t trust me not to blow it up or sell his security protocol to one of the many foreign agencies that would love to see him dead.
He wasn’t wrong about half of the foreign governments wanting him gone and buried. Zane seemed to know, and have in his back pocket, information brokers around the world. He had the instincts of a predator, and the best intuition in the business. Both made him dangerous to those who went against him. He was also known to hold a grudge. I’d done my research on him and his team before I’d made my approach. I had thought when Timothy Clark died I would be free. I wasn’t. The information Timothy had used to blackmail me had been sold. Now someone much worse held my future in their hands. I had one shot at freeing myself once and for all, and Zane Lewis held the key.
“We don’t need her, Z and I don’t trust her, she’ll only slow us down,” Jasmin argued.
Zane had just finished explaining we were headed to Africa. As expected, his team wasn’t happy to see me. He hadn’t sugar coated my felonies and told them all the information I had given the Bolivians. Not that they needed a recap. The team had been the ones to save Olivia from her captors. The information he had provided was correct; I had hacked into the White House to get information on Pamela Cox. I had also deleted call logs from the prison server in Iceland where witnesses or prisoners were held in rendition. What Zane failed to understand, and I wouldn’t correct, was I did not sell anything. And the call logs and recordings were not deleted, I still had copies of all conversations between Siles and his men. Siles had been planning a coup. He wanted to take over a drug lord’s, Gomez, territory, and thought the easiest way was to set up the kidnapping of Olivia Cox Newton, the Attorney General’s daughter, and pin it on Gomez. The US government would go after Gomez and kill him, freeing Siles to take over without having a war with Gomez. It was a good plan and may have worked if someone hadn’t sent the recordings to Gomez, prompting him to reach out to Zane and clear his name. Once the team knew who was truly behind the kidnapping, Siles was taken out.
Jasmin Parker was trying her best to get Zane to hand me over to the Director of the CIA and head to South Sudan without me. I couldn’t let that happen. I needed information Wolf and his team had; it was the only way for me to end the shitstorm that had become my life. A simple trade.
“That’s not an option,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t give away how nervous I was.
“Why is that?” Jasmin asked, and narrowed her eyes on me.
“Because I have information Zane needs.”
“Information? We don’t need jack shit from you. There’s nothing you have that we can’t get,” she returned.
“Is that right? I believe I’m the one that brought this intel to you. No one in the government knew the platoon was walking into a trap. And the longer we sit here and argue, the more danger they’re in. So, cut the shit and let’s go.”
“You probably set it up. And while we’re on the topic, why the fuck are we trusting her anyway. How do we know she’s not setting us up to walk into an ambush, too?” Jasmin asked Zane.
“Tex has vetted her intel. I don’t have a choice, not with the guys lives on the line, we have to go in. And she’s coming with us, if nothing else I’ll use her ass as a human shield. When bullets start flying, just hide behind her,” Zane snorted at his comment.
Dick.
I’d take his nasty comments until I didn’t need him anymore. He was a means to an end. They all were.
“Who’s responsible for the strap?” Jasmin asked, and pointed at me. I’d kept my temper in check for as long as I could. Hearing her call me a strap had me seeing red. She’d said it to be a bitch, implying I was being strapped to the team and was a hindrance. In a normal operation the extra personnel that were not part of the team such as the linguists, were called straps. They were extra weight, someone the team had to cover because they had subpar, if any, combat training.
“My name is Violet, I suggest you learn it and use it. I believe my job title and clearance are higher up the food chain than yours. Just because these men pussyfoot around you, and think it’s cute to let you play G.I. Jane, doesn’t mean I will. I’ve heard all about your itchy trigger finger, and how you fucked up in Russia, too busy playing Miss Rambo to see the threat. You’re a cautionary tale of what not to do. You think because you’re Zane’s sister-in-law and the President’s niece your shit don’t stink. Well guess what sweetie, I’m coming on this op, and if I have one fucking problem with you, I’ll use your ass as my shield.”
“Can I shoot her now? It’s been weeks since Penelope has come out to play,” she asked.
I knew about that too, her naming her gun Penelope. Yet another thing I didn’t like about her. Who the fuck named their gun?
“You’re on thin ice,” Zane growled. If I didn’t need to go on this op so badly, I probably would’ve run. He scared the shit out of me – they all did. “You forget I was on that Russian op, too. Do you think I was out playing Rambo as well?” Zane stopped and turned to Jaxon, “Blue, she’s your problem. Keep her ass in check, by any means necessary.”
Just a means to an end, I reminded myself.
I could do anything for him.
I would do anything for him, including selling my soul, facing life in prison, and keeping company with a group of people that would sooner kill me than believe me.