Blade (The Alpha Elite #11)

Chapter Forty-Two

Blade

F ifteen hours later, I was in theater, on the roof of a half-blown-out, abandoned ten-story building.

On my stomach, sighting through my scope, I was watching a depraved motherfucker with three women when the fucking burner I should’ve had off vibrated with a text.

Crazy Chick: Do you even know what having a fat ass means?

Yeah. That every asshole with a heartbeat wanted to fuck her from behind.

Adjusting position, I used one hand to text back.

Me: No .

Crazy Chick: Ofcourseyou would reply with that. Ohmigod. Why do I even bother?

Good fucking question.

Me: Busy. Cut to the chase.

Scanning through my scope, I checked the deserted street and surrounding buildings for anyone watching me. Nothing.

Crazy Chick: Hello. I just did. But you missed the part of normal society where you pick up on social cues.

I didn’t miss shit.

Me: Not stroking your ego .

This fucking woman. Goddamn, she was a head case. She was also a wet fucking dream. If she didn’t know that by now, I wasn’t cluing her in.

Crazy Chick: Then what are you good for?

Killing.

Me: Nothing .

The target moved, I adjusted my scope, then quickly sent another text quantifying my first.

Me: For you.

Crazy Chick: Awesome. Then me and my fat ass are out.

I resighted. For half a goddamn second.

Then I glanced from the scope to the cell and made the worst fucking call in my entire career as an operator. I took my eye off the objective and the goddamn mission.

Sliding a thumb across the screen, I called her.

Her raspy voice came through the line after one ring. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Good. Because you’re gonna listen the fuck up.” Giving her an in for her compulsive word vomit to surface, erupt like hell, then calm the fuck down, I paused half a beat.

She sighed but didn’t say shit.

I dropped the hammer on her shit insecurities. “Don’t pull that derogatory fat bullshit with me. If you don’t have any self-control, then lose that fucking word from your vocabulary. Don’t use it. Don’t say it. Don’t put yourself down. You hear me?”

She pulled a line out of my book. “Are you done?”

“No.” Fucking Christ , this woman was a handful. “Don’t piss me off.”

“Gee, great, got it. Glad we cleared that up.”

“I’m not fucking around.”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing, Mr. Bossy Asshole.” She hung up.

Shoving the burner in my pocket, I focused back on my scope.

Two hours later, the fucking target was still going at it with all three women. No clean shot, I scanned the street again.

Four buildings and half a klick north was my alt location.

With a direct sight line into the kitchen of the penthouse, it was still a riskier shot. The distance was longer, and I couldn’t guarantee the HVT would go into his kitchen alone tonight. But he would eventually.

Making a tactical call, I packed it up.

An hour later, I was on another roof, sighting through my scope when my cell vibrated. Not willing to miss a chance at the fucking shot, I answered without glancing at the caller ID. “What?”

“This should’ve been handled already.”

Fuck him. “Then do it yourself.”

“What’s the holdup?”

“Collateral damage. Who the fuck is this guy?”

The asshole ignored me. “Get the job done. After oh five hundred, your exfil’s compromised.”

“You don’t know my fucking exfil plan.” I’d kept it all offline. Including getting in country and tracking this motherfucking target from a nightclub to his current location.

As if the asshole had hacked what should’ve been my unhackable shit, he cited my first extraction point. “Border crossing in Hajjah. You’ll be compromised after oh five hundred.”

I had a forged visa to get me in and out of the country that wouldn’t hold under scrutiny, but that wasn’t the issue. The border agent I’d bribed who went off shift at oh five hundred was. “Intel source?”

“You’re out of time. Get it done.” He hung up.

On my stomach, still sighting, I silently swore as I tracked one of the women walking naked into the kitchen and grabbing a drink before heading back to the bedroom.

At oh two thirty, down to minutes until I needed to be Oscar Tango Mike if I was going to make that border crossing exfil in time, my burner vibrated again.

Swiping to answer, I didn’t say shit as the mark waltzed into the kitchen with all three women—on fucking leashes.

The sexy rasp of the craziest chick I knew filled my head like a drug. “You know what’s not fun?”

This fucking guy. “No.” I double-checked wind speed, distance, and trajectory.

“Unintentionally watching the sun rise.”

Anyone else, I would’ve told them to embrace the suck. “Why couldn’t you sleep last night?” The HVT yanked one of the women’s chains until her body was in front of him, blocking my shot.

She sighed. “Last night, this morning. Last, last night. That morning. I don’t know. Why don’t grocers groce?”

What the fuck? “Because it’s not a word.”

“Maybe it should be.”

“Maybe you should lay off the coffee.” The mark violently pushed the woman in front of him down to her knees. Gripping her hair, he shoved his cock into her mouth, then pulled the second woman in to suck face with.

“Ha! Nice try, but I have an obligation to keep my local coffeehouse in business.”

“I’m sure they have other customers. Ax the caffeine. Cold turkey. Talk to me in three days about sleep.” I hung up.

She called back.

I stupidly answered. “Busy.”

“That was rude.”

“I’m a rude motherfucker.”

She went silent.

I caved. “What now?”

“You’re a rude motherfucker.” She hung up.

The target yanked the third woman behind him, pushed her to her knees, then shoved his ass in her face.