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.
FOURTEEN
Bambi was impressed. Curtis hadn’t fussed or complained about taking care of Beau. He’d just jumped right in there, eager to learn and participate. After walking him through a diaper changer, she’d taken over to feed him.
Curtis had sat by and watched.
She wasn’t sure if his intense interest was because of their son and all of it being new to him or because she had her breast out or a combination of both.
But she was enjoying his attention and his company.
She was on her way back into the living room after putting Beau back in his bassinette, feeling exhausted herself after everything, when Curtis cut her off at the pass.
“We need to talk.”
Four words had never sounded so ominous. “Okay,” she said, her nerves instantly on edge as she looked up at him and waited for him to drop whatever bomb he was holding on her.
“I want you and the baby to move back.”
That was not what she’d expected to hear. Frowning, Bambi said honestly, “Curtis, I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have a life here, for starters,” she reasoned. “I have a job and a mortgage, and most importantly, this is a safe place for Beau.”
“You didn’t move that far away. He can be just as safe there as he is here. You know I would never let anything happen to him. I promise.”
Bambi could feel herself getting upset. The last thing she wanted to do was fight with him again, but she already knew the chances of avoiding that were slim. She wasn’t going to give in, and neither was he.
“Curtis, you can’t make that kind of promise—”
“I am though,” he said, cutting her off. “Nothing would happen, I’d make sure of it.”
“How? I’ve been watching the news and reading the papers. Things are bad, and you’re only one man. You can’t protect him from everything. It’s just not feasible.”
“Bambi—”
“No, Curtis. I’m not moving back. I like it here, and this is where were going to stay.”
“Why are you so fucking hardheaded?”
“I’m being reasonable. I’m being a mom,” Bambi argued. “My first and only concern is my son.”
“Our son,” Curtis snapped, his gaze suddenly filled with anger and frustration. “You made all the decisions for his care up to this point by yourself. You never even tried to include me, but I’m here now. I deserve a say.”
“Not about this,” Bambi said, forcing herself to stay level. This conversation was going south fast, but she had to hold steady, reminding herself it was always bound to come to this.
“Look, that’s my kid in there too. You get to see him every day, watch him grow and change. All things you’ve cut me out of. I won’t be cut out anymore, and certainly not by something like fucking distance,” he snarled.
Bambi wanted to scream and shout at him, as much as she wanted to make him happy and bend. Guilt was responsible for the latter, but she wouldn’t be ruled by her emotions. As wrong as her reasoning may have been in the beginning, she’d made the right choice. Her son had and would have a better life now than he ever would have been in a town that was overrun by crime and violence.
She would not take him into that kind of environment. There was no argument Curtis could ever made that would change her mind on that.
BLAZE ANDREWS AND HIS INDIAN CREW ARE SUPPOSED TO LET THE SPARTANS KNOW IF THEY HEAR ANYTHING GOING DOWN THE GRAPEVINE CONCERNING THE CLUB AND THE “RAT”, NEW PLAYERS ETC.
* * *
[bs1]Use “Quick” for all Blake references from Taco’s POV
[bs2]He should call her that more often ;)
[bs3]Taco knows she was pregnant
J.C. Valentine, BRASH: A Spartan Riders Novel
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