MC BIKER ROMANCE: Bad Boy Romance: BETRAYED: (New Adult Motorcycle Club Navy SEAL Romance) (Contemporary Military Romance Thriller) Read Online Free PDF
Author: Kate Shepherd
some crazy things to keep from getting caught by him, but he always seemed to track me down anyway. The pressure and the fear kept eating at me until it finally came to a breaking point. Something inside me snapped and I stood up to him.
I was pretty sure that he was going to kill me, but I’d had about enough of his shit and I didn’t really give a damn anymore. It hadn’t taken much to take him down. In fact, I had realized that whenever I went postal, I felt sort of a surge of super-power, like my turbocharger had kicked in and given me an extra boost. Billy had never known what hit him. Nobody fucked with me after that.
I smiled at the memory as I watched Denny’s place from concealment and assessed what I was about to walk into. I’d made a visit to Denny, who was our meth distributor, before, and I’d left a rather poignant message. Several broken bones and some kidney problems, which had had him pissing blood for a week, hadn’t been enough to bring him around to the Hell Dogs’ way of thinking about what rightfully belonged to him and what belonged to us. The problem with showing up again was that I was pretty sure that he knew I was coming and that he would be waiting for me, likely with reinforcements.
When defusing a bomb, you took it slow. There was a step-by-step method of securing the area around you, assessing the situation and the device, putting together a plan and then carefully and deliberately executing that plan. Basically, it was a game of chess with an opponent who had set up the board with your king in check, and you had to try to figure out how to get out of it. The drawback was that instead of losing your king, a mistake would get your face blown off.
Since Billy Bartholomew, I had learned to watch my own back. I had learned to be cool and, for the most part, to defuse things with good humor and a friendly manner. Denny had taken things past friendly a very long time ago. It was time to put him out of business, and it could be done the easy way or the hard way. I was pretty sure that he was going to choose the hard way.
I’d seen guys coming and going for several hours and had started to pick up a pattern. Denny had put together a security force that rotated on a regular basis so that everyone was fresh. It looked to me like he had nine guys total and three fresh guys on duty at all times. Though three guys had just left and were probably off for six hours or so, I had no doubts that they weren’t far away and could be brought in pretty quickly. Things were going to be tricky unless I did them just right.
The best time to hit a security detail was toward the end of their shift. It was human nature to start looking at one’s watch and becoming a little bit sloppy just before your replacement showed up. I’d use that complacency to my advantage, but I’d have to get in and get out before the new crew arrived. I’d also have to be quiet. Very quiet.
I reached in my jacket pocket, pulled out the silencer and screwed it onto the barrel of my M45A1 Colt. It had been the choice of Marine Special Ops pukes for several years and I’d gotten my hands on one via a buddy who was pretty slick at shuffling inventory. I’d heard that the new thing among Navy SEALs was the 9mm Glock 19, but I’d been happy with the .45’s extra bit of knockdown power and I was a jarhead, not a frogman.
I’d scoped out my entry point and waited for darkness to help cover my approach. The shift would change just after dark, so I knew that I couldn’t wait much longer. I crept out of my hiding spot on cat feet and made my way around to the back door. There was guard there, and I would have to time things just right if I was going to take him out without a sound. The sharp, softened puff of a silenced .45 was still louder than I wanted that first takedown to be, so I tucked the Colt in my waistband and reached for my knife.
I moved quietly into position, waited for that moment when he turned, and made my
I was pretty sure that he was going to kill me, but I’d had about enough of his shit and I didn’t really give a damn anymore. It hadn’t taken much to take him down. In fact, I had realized that whenever I went postal, I felt sort of a surge of super-power, like my turbocharger had kicked in and given me an extra boost. Billy had never known what hit him. Nobody fucked with me after that.
I smiled at the memory as I watched Denny’s place from concealment and assessed what I was about to walk into. I’d made a visit to Denny, who was our meth distributor, before, and I’d left a rather poignant message. Several broken bones and some kidney problems, which had had him pissing blood for a week, hadn’t been enough to bring him around to the Hell Dogs’ way of thinking about what rightfully belonged to him and what belonged to us. The problem with showing up again was that I was pretty sure that he knew I was coming and that he would be waiting for me, likely with reinforcements.
When defusing a bomb, you took it slow. There was a step-by-step method of securing the area around you, assessing the situation and the device, putting together a plan and then carefully and deliberately executing that plan. Basically, it was a game of chess with an opponent who had set up the board with your king in check, and you had to try to figure out how to get out of it. The drawback was that instead of losing your king, a mistake would get your face blown off.
Since Billy Bartholomew, I had learned to watch my own back. I had learned to be cool and, for the most part, to defuse things with good humor and a friendly manner. Denny had taken things past friendly a very long time ago. It was time to put him out of business, and it could be done the easy way or the hard way. I was pretty sure that he was going to choose the hard way.
I’d seen guys coming and going for several hours and had started to pick up a pattern. Denny had put together a security force that rotated on a regular basis so that everyone was fresh. It looked to me like he had nine guys total and three fresh guys on duty at all times. Though three guys had just left and were probably off for six hours or so, I had no doubts that they weren’t far away and could be brought in pretty quickly. Things were going to be tricky unless I did them just right.
The best time to hit a security detail was toward the end of their shift. It was human nature to start looking at one’s watch and becoming a little bit sloppy just before your replacement showed up. I’d use that complacency to my advantage, but I’d have to get in and get out before the new crew arrived. I’d also have to be quiet. Very quiet.
I reached in my jacket pocket, pulled out the silencer and screwed it onto the barrel of my M45A1 Colt. It had been the choice of Marine Special Ops pukes for several years and I’d gotten my hands on one via a buddy who was pretty slick at shuffling inventory. I’d heard that the new thing among Navy SEALs was the 9mm Glock 19, but I’d been happy with the .45’s extra bit of knockdown power and I was a jarhead, not a frogman.
I’d scoped out my entry point and waited for darkness to help cover my approach. The shift would change just after dark, so I knew that I couldn’t wait much longer. I crept out of my hiding spot on cat feet and made my way around to the back door. There was guard there, and I would have to time things just right if I was going to take him out without a sound. The sharp, softened puff of a silenced .45 was still louder than I wanted that first takedown to be, so I tucked the Colt in my waistband and reached for my knife.
I moved quietly into position, waited for that moment when he turned, and made my
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