THIRTEEN
Moose didn’t spend much time in titty bars normally, but this was not a normal night. He was on a mission of sorts. Specifically, he was keeping an eye on his nephew.
Something was up with that kid. Tanner had been giving off some weird vibes lately, and Moose hadn’t exactly been blind to the way the brothers had been looking at him either, their eyes following him around like tracking devices whenever they occupied the same space.
He could almost see the invisible bullseye painted on Tanner’s forehead. The question was why it had been placed there to begin with. But his brothers weren’t talking. At least, not to him. Hence his unofficial solo recon mission.
Moose was going to get answers, come hell or high water.
“Can I get you a refill?”
Moose glanced up at the soft-spoken girl. She didn’t look old enough to be tending bar, but she had to be over twenty-one. Those were the rules, and since it was club owned, Spartan territory, he knew that one in particular had been followed to the letter. Quick was good about that kind of stuff.
“Nah, mouse, I’m good,” he said, looking her over. Angel was new to the club, tinier than all of the other women there, standing only a head taller than him while he was sitting down, and she was quiet. That’s why he’d taken to calling her mouse. Most would take her soft voice and small stature as weakness, but he’d been watching her for a while now, and there was more to her. She was one of those unexpected surprises.
“Are you sure?”
“If I have any more, I won’t be riding home on my own,” he replied with a good-natured chuckle. A pitcher was his limit, and besides, he wanted to keep a clear head tonight. It wouldn’t do any good if he got foggy and failed in his mission.
“I wouldn’t mind driving you home,” she said coyly.
Moose’s brows jumped up. “You coming on to me, mouse?”
His question must have caught her off guard, because Angel’s eyes grew wide as dinner plates and she made quick work of grabbing the empty pitcher and mug from the table. “Oh, that’s not what I meant,” she insisted.
A tantalizing little strip of skin appeared as she leaned across the table to clear it, and Moose couldn’t help himself. The instant his fingertips made contact with the smooth, creamy pale skin of her hip, he felt a jolt of electricity shoot up his arm and wind a path down to his dick.
Instantly, he was rock hard and hornier than two-peckered billy goat.
“What did you mean, mouse?” Moose’s voice had grown deeper, darker with lust, and the look in Angel’s eyes when she turned to face him said she’d heard it too.
But that wasn’t all.
Facing him dead-on, Moose sat up in his chair, his excitement and desire nearly exploding the top right off his head. Her little nipples were hard under that barely-there shirt, pointing like arrows right at him. And the place was far from cold. In fact, with all the bodies and the lights and the sex, it was like summer in the bayou.
Angel was horny too. For him.
“I, uh, just meant if you needed someone to take you home, I’d be happy to help,” she said softly, and he almost felt sorry for the little lady. She was too pure for his world. Unfortunately, she’d already been tainted, stepping foot in it like she had.
Emboldened, Moose reached out and flattened one large hand on the outside of her thigh. His fingers wrapped more than halfway around. If he used both hands, no doubt he could lace them together. That alone had him picturing what it would be like to get her under him. She was so small, he might break her. His dick alone would need some greasing just to get inside her tight little sheath.
Fuck, he wanted her. More than his next breath, he wanted inside this little mouse. Vaguely, he remembered he was there for a reason, but hell if he could remember what that was just now. Moose had something new to keep his focus.
“You know, mouse, now that you mention it, I am feeling a little light headed,” he said. His hand skated up her thigh to her hip and up higher, stopped below her breast to wrap around her ribcage. She was breathing heavier than she should be. He smirked as he leaned down. “I think I could use a ride,” he murmured beside her ear. Then, because he enjoyed knowing he affected her, he wrapped his lips around the lobe, the silver metal hoops cool against his tongue.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Angel swayed on her feet, and Moose took the opportunity to wrap one strong arm around her waist and pulled her up tight against him. Even her hands were little as they grabbed onto his thigh biceps to steady herself, and that pleased him too.
She looked up at him, her head nearly parallel to the floor in order to meet his eyes. The prettiest shade of green he’d ever seen, like a mossy forest floor, stared up at him, pupils completely dilated as if she’d been drugged.
“What do you say, mouse? Will you give me a ride?” he asked again, and when she nodded mutely, his dick punch his fly in celebration. Restraining himself from scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder like a caveman, Moose steadied her on her feet, stepped back, and said, “Go clock out.” She blinked a couple times, making no moves to leave, and so he leaned in again, dropping a quick kiss on her lips. “Move your ass, mouse. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
This time she nodded, and when she turned to go, he slapped her ass, earning a little squeak that made him smile. Damn, he couldn’t wait to get her alone. He was going to turn her ass into a fucking squeaky toy.
***
Country had the perfect view from the hilltop. He’d scoped it out weeks in advance, then got in touch with some old SEAL contacts he’d know from his time in the service to acquire what he needed. Spec Ops had trained him for much. He specialized in all forms of combat, including how to stay calm and keep a clear head in a bad situation. But what Country really excelled at was how to get inside the mind of a terrorist.
And the Cruiz family was nothing short of a bunch of terrorist scum.
They’d come here with the express intent to tear down the Spartans and set up shop in their territory, in their backyard. In the last year, they’d begun what he called Stage Two—Stage One being when Ricky Cruiz first made his appearance, before his Talia put a bullet between the fucker’s eyes.
In Stage Two, Cruiz’s sister, the new leader at the crazy table, Luciana, began when she’d had Quick and Repo’s women kidnapped and held them hostage while negotiating a fake deal that resulted in them shooting up and burning down the Spartan clubhouse.
But Spartans could and would never be kept down. Hence their name. Historically, Spartans were the most highly skilled soldiers of their time, and they’d die defending their homes.
Country and his brothers had earned their place in the community, and they weren’t going to let it go. Ever.
They were here to stay, and they were willing to spill every ounce of Cruiz blood to prove it. Luciana Cruiz wanted to build an empire on top of Spartan ashes, starting by spreading drugs and sewing fear through their neighborhoods. But Country was about to show her that her empire was more of a deteriorating village headed up by a despot, and the Spartans were the true sovereignty.
With Quick’s blessing, Country had gathered his supplies and mapped out a plan. Now here he was, sighting down the scope of an AR-15, the Spanish style mansion in his crosshairs.
He was gathering intel to take back to the table, but he was also looking for his targets. If they crossed his path in any way, he wasn’t going to think on it. He was going to react and rid the world of one less POS.
For the most part, the property was quiet. Two armed guards framed the arched front door, their focus relaxed and singular. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d fallen asleep standing up.
Two more guards patrolled the perimeter, crossing paths every fifteen minutes. On foot, Country would have no problem getting past their defenses and inside without being made.
One more guard strolled along seemingly at random two giant Dobermans on three-inch thick chains tugging at their restraints. They’d be trickier to dodge, but a couple of sleeping pills in a lump of steak would do the trick. Sometimes old school movie tricks worked like a charm.
Country panned slowly from left to right along the entire length of property, and once he had all of the outside mapped, he turned his focus to the windows and doors. Twenty-seven in the front alone, and he tripled it to account for those outside his field of view. No bars or anything else to obstruct entry. Hell, there weren’t even any curtains or blinds to obstruct his view inside.
Hadn’t that bitch ever heard of a thing called privacy?
But up on the hill, maybe she didn’t see the need for such a thing. After today, she’d be changing her tune, though.
In a matter of moments, he spotted more guards inside. They appeared more relaxed, smiling and talking, some sitting and other standing, walking around to occasionally check a window, or eating and drinking. Since those who were dicking around were all downstairs he’d bet his left nut their lord and master didn’t know they were slacking on the job. Those jug heads would be easy to take out.
Turning his attention to the upstairs, Country tried to search out the bitch herself. He sighted through each window, hoping to see her and take her down with a bullet between the eyes to match her late brother, but after another twenty minutes of searching and coming up empty-handed, he had to assume she was of the property for one reason or another.
Bummer. He’d been looking forward to a little D&D—death and destruction.
But then Country thought, why did it have to wait? Just because the woman of the hour was MIA didn’t mean the party couldn’t start without her.
At that moment, his phone buzzed against his left ass cheek and Country sighed before plucking it out and answering. “Hey, sugar,” he purred, checking his sights again just in case there was any change below.
“Hey, honey. I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re working,” Talia said, “but I have a question.”
“Shoot,” Country told her, hoping to hurry this little conversation along. He’d always loved a good party and was eager to get this one started.
“Thongs or lace?”
His focus derailed, and Country pulled away from the scope, rolling over onto his back to look up at the bright blue sky and puffy white clouds floating overhead. “Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?”
“Yes,” she purred, a smile in her voice. “I’m picking out what I want to take on our trip.”
“Then neither. I vote neither,” he rushed out.
“What? I don’t think that’s a option.”
“Trust me, it’s better for your health. That pussy is going to need some airing out. Plus, I’m a big fan of all-access passes. Which reminds me, pack dresses. Only dresses.”
“We’re taking the bikes. I need pants for at least some of the trip.”
“Fine, jeans for the ride there and back, but the rest is dresses or skirts,” he asserted. “And no panties, sugar. I mean it.”
She sighed in feigned exasperation. “Fine, dear. Whatever you say, dear.”
Country grinned. “Oh, I like that. You should say it more often.”
“Soon, I’m sure I will be.”
“Better be,” he growled, his cock growing hard as he thought of all the other things he’d like to hear her say to him. But right now wasn’t the time or place. “Listen, sugar, I’m on a job.”
“Say no more,” Talia jumped to say. “Be safe. I love you. See you at dinner.”
“Alright, me too, sugar.”
Tucking his phone away, Country took a moment to stare at the vast expanse of blue overhead and think about everything he had waiting for him back home. This mission was dangerous, despite the precautions he took otherwise. But if anything were to go wrong, he supposed it was a good day to die.
Fortunately for him, he had plans, and the only people who’d be dying today were those cockroaches in the valley below.
As he aimed the scope where he wanted it once more, Country couldn’t stop the slow smile from spread across his face. While a normal person would look at a house tucked between hills as a beautiful escape from the world, he saw it more as a tragic mistake. One thing was obvious: while Cruiz might have the mind of a killer, Country had the mind of a warrior.
Finger on the trigger, he set his crosshairs on his first victim. “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” he said to himself…then squeezed.