“It’s a piece, but no one within ten square miles gives a shit about who’s coming or going.”

General Rainier glanced around his new office, sneering at the damp, moldy walls and single flickering light hanging from the concrete ceiling. The two a.m. train roared overhead, shaking free bits and pieces of asbestos lined insulation and sent a rat scurrying across the concrete floor. “Dammit. Damn that fucking asshole to hell.”

He didn’t deserve to be living and working in a basement in the middle of the Philadelphia ghetto, surrounded by subhuman convicts and drug dealers.

“You’ll get your revenge.” His guard stood in the corner, just out of reach of the dim flickering light, a ghost in the shadow.

“Damn right I will.” Rainier fought off a tremble of rage as he skimmed his fingertips over his new desk, metal flakes turned to rust chipped off and discolored his skin. A metal chair with yellow chunks of foam spewing from the cushion sat welcome and waiting for him to occupy.

Rainier kicked it across the room, his disgust mounting when the piece bounced off the wall and spilled onto its side.

His guard blended into the darkness, dispassionately waiting as Rainier expelled his fury. Reaper and Team Mayhem had destroyed everything for which he’d so steadily worked. They’d blown up his lab, kidnapped the only researcher on the planet who knew Project Mayhem and disappeared with every last drop of serum. Now he was empty-handed, and on the run from the government he’d betrayed and every bloodthirsty terrorist and dictator on the planet whom he’d promised a full delivery of invincible super soldiers’ ready for war.

Leaving him to hide like a criminal, constantly on the run from one poverty-stricken town to the next, as he hunted down Reaper and his team, a mission that was turning out to be impossible.

The men and Dr. Averton had disappeared without a trace. “It doesn’t make sense. They need the serum to survive. They’d have to have a full facility to produce the drugs. Even with that bitch Averton on their side, she needs equipment and manpower.”

“I promise you, she’s got everything she needs,” his guard said.

“Then find her,” Rainier spat out, slamming his fist on the table.

“It takes time.”

“I don’t have time, goddammit.” He’d already used up all his funds living on the run and keeping his contacts in the CIA and OGA on his side.

He was a walking, talking dead man. If he didn’t get a clue, a hint, anything about Mayhem’s whereabouts, he wouldn’t have to worry about being underneath the city subway train; he’d be six feet underground.

“I know,” his guard said as calm as the death itself.

“If I die, you do too,” Rainier reminded him.

“I know.” His guard didn’t move from his place in the shadows, as though standing in the light for him was unpleasant.

And Rainier preferred it that way. He’d seen some scary sons of bitches in his career, but his guard would terrify the devil. Enormous, callous and lethal, he killed without feeling or regret. He was the perfect soldier – and Rainier had created him. “If you know so much, why don’t you know where your old team is hiding?”

“I do.”

Rainier paused, his hand curled into a fist, his pulse hammering with a rush of adrenaline so hard he could barely keep his face from showing the flood of emotion those two words brought on. “How?”

The soldier stepped into the light, Rainier tried to hold his deadly gaze but found himself focusing on a spot just beyond his ear. He tossed a single sheet of paper on the scarred table. “This.”

A black and white photo, grainy and dark, lay in the center. “Hicks,” Rainier breathed out.

“Yes.” He melted back into the corner.

“Where is this?”

“Downtown D.C. Parking garage. Earth-4-One charity. He took out three men.”

Rainier’s insides started to shake. “They’re close.”

“I’ve already started a grid search, tapped into the CIA’s mainframe and am monitoring our other back channels. If they breathe too hard, I’ll find them.”

His fingers curled around the corner of the photo as he stared at his former subject’s face. “You sure you’re up to this? They were your team.”

Rainier suppressed a smile. He’d nurtured the soldier’s hatred, purposefully turning him against his old team. Told him they’d left him to die when they’d thought him too weak. When he didn’t answer, Rainier continued, “They left you to die, they abandoned you. I was the one who saved you. I made you who you are today. Your loyalty is to me."

There was nothing but silence in answer, the soldier didn't even shift his feet, but he didn't have to. Rainier felt it, felt the shifting violence in his blood.

And when the soldier spoke, the entire room seemed to turn to ice. "I'll find them, every last one."

The End

I hope you enjoyed Whitney and Hicks’s story as much as I did! Diggs gets the next book - and you’ll want to stay tuned for his - especially if you love big, alpha males who have a soft spot for injured dogs… and of course the fiery heroine of his dreams!

Make sure you sign up for my newsletter to be one of the few who will receive exclusive excerpts as well as custom prizes!

Exclusive excerpt: Diggs

Diggs took less than a second to analyze the situation and react. He raced from the war room, a blur as he ran out of the mansion and down the long driveway, barely aware of the afternoon sun on his shoulders or his boots pounding on the pavement.

Diggs reached the gate, slapped his hand on the digital lock and barely allowed the door to slide far enough for him to squeeze through. On the northwest corner of the perimeter, the man with the baseball bat he’d seen in the video swayed unsteadily over a bloody three-legged dog on the side of the road. 

Rage unlike he’d ever felt before scorched his veins. No animal deserved cruelty. Diggs had seen enough violence wrought on humans and animals alike in his missions, and he’d managed to turn a cold shoulder to the horror. Death and destruction were part of war. He couldn’t do his job if he broke down every time he saw pain or torture.

But he wasn’t at war anymore and this we his turf. His home. Diggs would rot in hell before he allowed anyone to perpetrate violence on an innocent without justice.

Diggs sniffed the air, picking up the overwhelming scent of stale alcohol and sweat. The guy had apparently skipped showers in lieu of supersized burgers at a fast food chain and a bottle of whiskey.

His meaty fists were wrapped around a wooden bat lifted over his dirty head, completely unaware he was no longer alone.  Diggs shot forward, running as fast as his legs would allow. He grabbed the bat and jerked it from the assholes grip, sending the man careening to the ground.

The dog didn't get up. It looked like a German Shepherd, but the massive amounts of blood matting his fur made it hard to tell. Dammit. Diggs cracked his knuckles around the handle, testing the bat's weight. It was short and wood and heavy enough to break bones.

The guy managed to roll up onto a knee, his bloodshot eyes going wide when he saw the bat clutched in Diggs’ hand.

"I'll teach you the same lesson I taught the dog,” he slurred, spit flying from his mouth.

The need to commit violence against the drunk vibrated through Diggs’ veins. Giving the man a taste of his own medicine was almost too tempting to pass up.

Almost.

"You're welcome to try old man."

The dog whimpered, and Diggs took a menacing step forward, eager to dish out his own lesson.

"You ain't got no right to come between a man and his property."

"Property? That dog is a living breathing creature. You have no right to beat him.” 

The man lumbered forward and spat on the ground Diggs’ feet. The stench of alcohol was strong enough to melt pavement. "What you gonna do pretty boy? Call the police?" He said with an accent straight out of the hills of the Virginia coal mines.

"I don't need the cops take care of you," Diggs said quietly.

The steel threaded threat in his voice must've penetrated the drunk fog, because he pulled up short and his bloodshot eyes narrowed as he reassessed the situation. "Where you come from boy?"

Diggs slowly shook his head, letting his fury feel the intense focus winding around his body. Losing his temper would end up getting someone hurt. "Doesn't matter. All that matters is you walk away while you can."

He'd never intentionally harmed a civilian in his life, but this guy had teetered right up to the edge of his thin red line. If this guy was too drunk to see he was walking into his own death, so be it. He’d trained with the most elite of the military, and then he’d become the man the elite trained to become. His skills were as natural as breathing.

Diggs cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck in a way even a drunk could recognize as dangerous. He wouldn’t kill him. He’d just teach him a lesson in pain.

The man stumbled closer, tripped on a rock and landed hands on Diggs' chest. Diggs took rolled sideways. The guy grabbed his shirt, ripped the fabric and fell to the ground.

Diggs glanced down at his now torn shirt and fingered the flap of bloodstained material. “That your best shot?”

The man staggered to a knee, wheezing and coughing. “You –” His voice wobbled as he got one foot under his frame and focused on Diggs. “You-” The man's reddened face paled to ash, and his fat lips flapped open and shut.

“What?”

“Your military.” The guy croaked out, grabbing his chest like he had a heart attack. Which was a very real possibility considering he had to be over two hundred pounds past healthy and smelled like a still.

“Ex-military.” Diggs glanced down. His dog tags, worn out of habit more than anything else, hung through the tear in his shirt.

"You stay the hell away from me. Take the damn dog, you two deserve each other."

And with that cryptic comment, the guy stumbled across the blacktop and into the woods, muttering incoherently as he bashed his way through the trees and kept going.

What the fuck was that?

The dog whined, and Diggs banished the man from his mind. The dog's eyes were closed, and his breathing was labored. Every other second, he whimpered. Dammit. He should have killed that bastard. "Hold on, fella. I've got you now."

Suddenly, the dog opened his dark eyes and stared straight at him.

He'd seen that look before, that shattered panicky look with hollowed out eyes. This was a creature used to living in fear. He’d seen that look on his own teammates face earlier this morning.

The dog called out to him for help, but not with words.

Not even with a whine.

He just did.

Diggs knelt, barely aware of his own legs shaking, and ran a callused hand over the dog’s slick blood-soaked fur. A blast of rage caught him off guard. He shouldn't have let that bastard live.

Diggs lifted his hand, blood sticking to his fingers. A hollow rage formed in the center of his chest. The dog let out a weak, almost helpless growl, the kind an animal gave when he’s cornered and under threat for his life. Any sane person would run, but for some reason, he scooted closer. Neither insanity or hate caused the dog to shake every few seconds or pant like he’d just run ten miles.

It was terror.

Diggs gaze landed on the bat a few feet away. He picked it up and held it for inspection, reading the inscription beneath all the blood. The Boom had been etched into the bottom of the barrel, right above the words Little League World Series. The ache in his chest swelled, forcing out the oxygen in his lungs, leaving room only for fury.

The bastard had used some kids bat to beat the dog.

He’d probably used the bat to beat the kid.

A roar of fury ripped from his throat, and Diggs slammed the bat over his knee, splintering the wood in two. Had he let the man stumble home to abuse his son?

Before he could take a step to give chase, an olive-green hatchback came careening around the curve in the road, it's V4 engine straining with effort. The car skidded to a stop about ten feet past him and with the engine still running, the driver slammed out of the door.

Diggs took in two facts at once: the driver was breathtaking and she was furious. Her thick red hair swung in long tendrils around her shoulders and bright green eyes glowed with ferocity.

"Get away from that dog! I’ve got pepper spray!"

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