Operation Dark Angel

  Shepherd Security – Operation Dark Angel

  Margaret Kay

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  Copyright © 2019 by Margaret Kay

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful husband, Brian.

  Many have asked where the inspiration for the men of Shepherd Security came from. The care, honor, love, and selfless nature of these men was inspired by my husband’s everyday acts. Brian, you are an amazing father, partner, man, and you are my best friend. I love you with all my heart

  Alpha

  The night air was cooler than it should have been for July in the Midwest. Here in the heartland, the corn belt, the fucking middle of nowhere. It was quiet, and the sky was pitch-black behind every sparkling star in the heavens, which twinkled like a thousand strings of bright white Christmas lights. It was something she wasn’t used to, the backdrop of darkness and the beauty of the many stars. There were no reflected city lights illuminating the sky. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, and it almost made her feel safe. Almost.

  Sienna Andrews rode in the old pickup truck as it rattled and bucked across the uneven blacktopped road, which gave way to a gravel path, which eventually became a narrow dirt trail. As the truck climbed the little rise its headlights spotlighted the gleaming chrome on the three Harley’s and the three rough-looking, leather jacket-clad men who stood anxiously by their rides. One was pacing.

  Michael McKnight put the truck in park and turned to the woman beside him. He had remained quiet the entire way, but now that they were here, he couldn’t hold his thoughts. His voice was tense, his eyes serious when he spoke. “You sure about this? You can still change your mind, Sienna. Let me take you to the cops instead, surely,” he began.

  “The cops will get me killed,” she interrupted. It was a fact. “Tried that already, Michael. Before I made it to you.” She grabbed his arm as the three men in the lights took a step towards the truck. He killed the headlights as he had been instructed to do upon arrival. “I have to disappear. It has to be this way.”

  “Watch yourself. This guy doesn’t fuck around,” he warned.

  She nodded. “But he’ll complete the job for the fee paid?” She asked for the third time. She was so far out of her comfort zone. Thank God, her cousin, Jimmy, had a connection like Michael, who dabbled in the less then legal, so to speak.

  “Always has, got no reason to doubt he will now.”

  “That’s all that matters then,” she said.

  Without another word, they both got out of the truck. She zipped her black leather jacket to ward off the night chill and to hide the Smith and Wesson .380 Bodyguard with integrated Crimson Trace laser on her right hip. It was no bigger than the palm of her hand. Its magazine held six rounds, enough firepower for someone like herself, who only fired a gun a few times in her life at a range on date night.

  She shrugged her heavy backpack on and squared her shoulders, trying to project a confidence she didn’t feel. She caught sight of herself in the side mirror still shocked by her new appearance. Her hair was now jet black and cut in choppy sections. Her eyes had thick black lines smudged around them, and the makeup on her cheeks was caked on much heavier than she would ever wear. She pulled her eyes away from her reflection and followed Michael around to the front of the truck.

  One of the men stepped forward as they approached. He was the roughest looking of the three of them. He was also the biggest, tall, wide, appeared to be made of solid muscle. His black hair was long and unruly, windblown from the bike, no doubt. His facial features were chiseled and severe looking under the scruffy growth that hadn’t had a shave in at least a week. His black leather jacket had heavy buckles, his blue jeans were worn and held a thick chain from his black belt to his wallet, and his black boots were big, at least size fourteen.

  “Shit! He’s scary as fuck,” she whispered to Michael.

  “Last chance,” he answered. “I’ll be gone in two minutes.”

  “Your late,” the man barked. “Another minute and we’d have been gone.”

  “We’re here now, Razor, let’s just do this,” Michael replied with annoyance and concern. Michael pulled a fat envelope from within his jacket and handed it towards him. “As agreed, half now, the other half at the destination.” Wherever that was. He wished he would at least get confirmation from her of her safe arrival. If Jimmy ever suspected he had anything to do with his cousin getting hurt, Jimmy would kill him.

  Razor took the envelope and fingered through the bills. “I’ll count it later. It better all be here,” he warned. His voice was low and menacing, gravelly from too many cigarettes inhaled over the years.

  “It’s all there,” she spoke up. Her pale blue eyes met his. His eyes were so dark they looked black. He was of Hispanic or American Indian descent. In this lighting, it was hard to tell. She couldn’t believe she was putting herself, her fate, into this man’s hands. She turned to Michael. “Thank you. Please be safe. Lay low for a few weeks, take a vacation or something.”

  Michael winked confidently at her. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Seriously, Michael. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” She raised up on tip toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek as she embraced him.

  When they separated, he gave her a silent nod and then went back to the truck. She watched it retreat down the hill. Her eyes scanned the tree line nervously.

  “I don’t want your real name, but what can I call you?” Razor asked.

  “How about Faith, because I have faith that you will hold up your end of the deal?”

  He chuckled a short burst. “Sounds too religious and I’m an atheist.”

  “Then how about Hope, because I hope I can trust you to get me to my destination?” She suggested without missing a beat.

  His lips formed a smirk. “My grandmother’s name was Hope. That won’t work for a multitude of reasons.”

  “Then you pick a name. It really doesn’t matter,” she replied, her eyes scanning the nearby tree line.

  “Charity, to help you remember the charity I’m extending to you by transporting you.”

  “Your being very well paid for your efforts. I hardly consider it charity.”

  He ignored her. “Three ground rules. First, you be completely honest with me. This includes lies of omission and half-truths. That shit don’t fly.”

  She nodded.

  “Your trying to disappear to get away from someone. Are you wanted by the law? And it doesn’t matter if you are, I just need to know.”

  “Yes,” she answered, but didn’t elaborate.

  “Anyone else?”

  “Yes,” she again replied.

  He nodded. “Rule number two, I’m in charge. You do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. If I say jump you don’t even ask how high. You just fucking jump, is that clear?”

  “Crystal,” she replied.

  “I am not fucking around about this, both our lives could depend on it,” he added, and then lit a cigarette.

  “Got it, can we get on with it already?” Her eyes scanned the horizon. Why was he stalling? They should have been gone the second after Michael pulled away. Here in the open, she was exposed and vulnerable. Was this a double cross?

  “Third, if you’re on my bike, you’re in my bed,” he
stated plainly.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” That smirk took up residence on his face again. “You are being very well paid to bring me from point A to point B. Don’t try to pull that shit with me.”

  “Those are the terms, sweetheart, take them or leave them, but there’s no refunds.” He patted his jacket over the outside of where he had slipped the envelope and then took a deep drag from his cigarette.

  No, that would not be happening, any of it. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Are you trying to shake me down for a larger fee?”

  He laughed that low chuckle again. It was a sound that already annoyed the hell out of her. “No additional amount negates rule number three. Deal with it or walk away.”

  Her eyes swept the area. She’d deal with it later. The .380 on her hip could take care of it, if need be. They had to get moving. She’d been in the open too long. She nodded to his bike. “Let’s get on with it.”

  He looked her up and down. “Question and answer session first and remember rule number one. Besides the gun in your bag and the one hugging your appendix, you got any other weapons on you?”

  “What?” She replied in outrage “Why do you think,” she began, but was stopped mid-sentence by him suddenly drawing a gun, his arm extended, pointing it directly in her face. Her hands automatically raised in surrender.

  “Uh-uh, sweetheart, that’s not how this shit works. I ask you answer. No deflection, no answering a question with a question insulting my intelligence.” His voice sounded pissed. She remained quiet. Michael was right. This guy didn’t fuck around. “Now, let’s try this again. You got any other weapons on you?”

  “No, just the .45 in my bag and the .380 on my hip.” She began to drop her arms from the raised position they had gone to when he had pulled the gun on her.

  “Uh-uh, keep them up.” He nodded to one of the other men, who went behind her and took her backpack from her. He stood behind her and she heard the zipper opening on her bag.

  “Got a CZ and ten plus magazines of ammo for both guns.”

  Razor holstered his own weapon. He stepped close and took hold of her jacket. He unzipped it. A lust-filled grin curved his lips as he stared unabashed at her cleavage displayed nicely from the stretchy dark blue V-necked tee she wore. “Nice,” he said aloud. Then he reached into her coat and pulled the Smith and Wesson from her hip. He dropped the clip, retracted the slide to view the chambered round, then replaced the clip. He tucked it, holster and all into the top of his right boot. “Nice piece. I might just have to keep it.”

  “Not that one. It’s my favorite, has sentimental value.”

  Razor laughed, and that smirk came back on his lips. His eyes went to the man who stood so closely behind her, over her left shoulder, that she could feel his breath on her temple. “It’s her favorite,” he mocked.

  He patted her down, everywhere, with no shyness. She’d had less invasive gynecological exams.

  She put her arms down. “Can we go now?”

  “You spend any time on the back of a bike?” He asked.

  “No,” she admitted. Still stalling? What. The. Fuck.

  “I didn’t think so.” He pulled an elastic covered rubber band from his wrist and handed it towards her. “Your going to want to ponytail that hair.”

  “Thanks,” she reluctantly said as she took the tie from him. She smoothed her hair and put it up as he continued.

  “Just hold onto me and lean into me. Lean with me. Don’t try to counterbalance when I take turns. I’ll compensate for your weight, which from the feel of you is about a-buck-twenty.” His eyes wandered up and down her with no shyness. He reached out and zipped her jacket back up as though she were a little kid. “We’ll put those away, for now.”

  She glared at him but remained silent. Without a gun, she wasn’t sure what she’d do now to hold him off. Hopefully, she’d come up with something. She’d made it this far, and as of now he was her only chance to disappear. Plus, just about all her liquid funds were in his jacket pocket. She didn’t have too many other options. She couldn’t walk away.

  “Last question, when McKnight and you approached, you whispered something to him. What did you say?”

  She looked him square in the eye. “I said you were scary as fuck.”

  A big smile spread across his face and then he laughed. “Yeah, you really need to work on your whisper, sweetheart, I heard you clearly.” He took one last deep drag from his smoke and then tossed it aside. “Whatever or whoever you’re running from must be really bad, scarier than me.”

  Before she could reply, movement in the tree line caught everyone’s attention. “We need to move, now!” She yelled.

  They all moved toward the bikes. Her eyes remained fixed on the trees, watching for whatever or whoever it was that was there, to show itself. She barely felt the tight grasp Razor had on her arm, pulling her to his bike.

  “Get on,” his throaty voice ordered.

  She snapped her attention to him, her eyes leaving the tree line. Her heart pounded, and she was sure she wasn’t breathing. She purposely and mindfully drew in a deep breath. As she swung her leg over the seat, she shifted her gaze back to the trees just as the threat appeared. Three large deer ran out from the cover of the wooded patch.

  The throaty pipes of all three bikes fired up and silenced the crickets and bull frogs serenade. She wrapped her trembling arms around his waist and embraced him tightly. It felt as though her arms had surrounded steel. His back was muscular feeling up against her soft chest too. He was solid. Shit! Who was this guy?

  The bikes raced over the grass and weeds at a fast clip. She glanced back. No one followed. Her eyes scanned the sky. No lights besides stars were in the vicinity and she had gotten pretty good at keeping her eyes peeled for any threat.

  They came to a paved road and headed south. They didn’t slow down or stop for nearly an hour. She got turned around, didn’t know what direction they were headed. They had taken several turns and the roads had curved to the left and the right several times. She’d kept her body pressed to his and leaned with him as instructed, even though it felt counterintuitive not to lean away from the ground as the bike dipped towards it taking turns going way too fast.

  They’d passed only a few cars while in-route. Michael had told her all the farmers were in bed by nine in these parts. She guessed he hadn’t been joking, after all. They were pretty far out, or as Michael had said, “Bumble-fuck-nowhere was a big city compared with these here parts.”

  After about an hour, Razor and the other two men pulled the bikes to the shoulder. He had to pry her hands from around his waist. He shifted his position so that he turned slightly to view her over his shoulder.

  “Why are we stopping?” She asked.

  “For starters, I need to breathe. A boa constrictor doesn’t squeeze as tight as you do, sweetheart.” He gazed over her face. She still looked traumatized. When the trees had been disturbed, she was genuinely terrified. This woman was in a serious shit-storm that she was not equipped to deal with. He was glad he’d been the one there to catch her.

  She had held on tightly, fear would do that to you. A few times, she truly thought they were going to wipe out and die. Had it been a month ago she would have apologized. She didn’t apologize for much any longer. And she had learned to say very little. By watching and listening she found she learned far more than by asking. And the less she said gave those around her less information about herself, another good lesson learned. She rubbed her hands together. They were freezing.

  Razor nodded to her hands. “Tuck them into my jacket or into my pants. That’ll keep them warm.”

  Her eyes flickered down to where his jacket met his jeans on his lap. When she again met his gaze, he had that smirk on his face that was laced with lust. He leaned down to her, his stubbled cheek grazing hers, and only spoke when his lips were next to her ear.

  “Oh, come on sweetheart you’re not shy, are you?” She didn’t answer. She leaned back an
d glared at him with the contempt that she felt for him. “I promise after tonight you won’t be so shy, not after our hands have been all over each other.”

  “Yours already have,” she spat.

  “Not everywhere, sweetheart, not yet.”

  She shook her head. Not happening, asshole.

  He took hold of her hands, which she still rubbed together to warm, turning her left over to reveal the diamond clustered wedding band on her ring finger. “You did a good dye job on the hair, even hit your eyebrows, but I’m assuming that can identify you.” He held his hand out, palm up.

  “I haven’t been able to get it off in years,” she replied. How did he know she had dyed her hair?

  “We’ll cut it off,” he said.

  “I assume you mean the ring and not my finger.”