Prologue #2
“I asked you a question,” the man barked out. The bottle was still in the guy’s hand, but he’d lowered it to his side.
Finn needed to distract the asshole for a few more seconds, and then he could move in and knock the bottle from his hand before he had a chance to puncture the kid’s neck. “Are you his dealer?” he pressed. “How much does he owe you?”
“More than what’s in your hand,” the man growled out. Based on the glassy eyes and aggressive behavior, the guy partook of his own product.
But what kind of drugs? Meth? PCP? Would the man come at him with Hulk-like strength, or would he fall flat on his ass with an easy punch?
“I’ll take you to an ATM. Just let the kid go,” Finn offered as he took another step closer. The shadow from the light above the door off to Finn’s right shifted, enabling him to get a better look at the boy’s face. Dark, vacant eyes, pale skin, and hollow cheeks.
Finn nearly froze when the kid stared right at him without any plea or hope in his eyes.
“Hey, fuck face. Back up.”
Finn blinked and looked to the asshole who’d released his grip on the boy to fully face him. Well, mission accomplished. Now it was game on.
Finn dropped the money in a split second and rushed the guy, quickly blocking a wild bottle swing with one arm to land a punch square across the guy’s jaw.
The son of a bitch didn’t flinch.
Hulk it is, then.
“Run,” Finn shouted at the boy, risking a glance to see him grabbing the two fifties off the ground before taking off. Sadly, Finn knew there was no more he could do. He turned his attention back to the game at hand and narrowly missed the big-ass man’s fist as it swung clumsily toward his face.
With the kid safe, Finn blocked the punch and sent a palm heel strike between the eyes.
Still no reaction aside from the bottle falling to the ground.
“You can’t hurt me.” The man barked out a laugh and flung all of his weight at Finn, who quickly moved to the side and took advantage of the guy’s momentum to shove his face against the wall.
Hulk shook his head a little and turned around to face him. Finn was half expecting the guy to remove his jacket and crack his neck like they were in some 1980s action flick.
He didn’t have time for this, so he utilized a combination of moves that’d always worked for him in the Middle East whenever forced into hand-to-hand combat.
A few quick maneuvers and Finn managed to get the beast on the ground. And after another minute, he knocked him unconscious.
“What the hell were you on?” he muttered as he knelt alongside the guy and patted him down for a phone. Luckily, it was a basic burner, no lock. Finn checked the last five calls, all to one number he hoped belonged to the kid, but no one answered.
For one crazy, fleeting moment, Finn contemplated that maybe he’d been compelled to return to LA for a different reason than a long overdue visit to the cemetery. Maybe he was supposed to save that boy?
He added the number to his phone, then dialed the police with an anonymous tip. He had no desire to stick around and make a statement. When the familiar flash of blue and red patrol car lights appeared, Finn ducked out of the alley and slowly walked the short distance to his hotel.
With every step, his thoughts grew darker, tumbling around in his head, threatening to overwhelm and drag him under until he reached the hotel parking lot.
And then he worried he might be hallucinating. But I wasn’t punched, was I?
A tall, well-built guy stepped away from the dark SUV he was leaning against and removed his black ball cap even though it was still raining.
A woman bundled in a thin black raincoat with a matching umbrella over her head stood by his side.
One hand casually tucked into her pocket, her eyes razor-sharp on Finn.
Finn redirected his focus to the man that had Teamguy written all over him, from how he carried himself to the intense way he scrutinized Finn.
He conveyed the irrefutable confidence essential for a SEAL to accomplish a job that very few others could.
“Luke Scott?” he damn near whispered, doubt penetrating his tone.
Because why would a legend who’d supposedly up and quit the Teams be in a shitty, slightly shady hotel parking lot?
“Yeah, it’s me.” His gruff tone was on point with a Teamguy, too.
Finn tossed a look at the woman again, wondering what in the hell was going on as he closed the remaining gap between them. “What are you doing here?”
“Can we talk in your room?” Luke tipped his head toward the old two-story building with a faded red roof.
“Uh, yeah.” Finn motioned for them both to follow him to his room, which was on the first floor not far from where he’d parked the Civic. “Everything good?” He opened the door and quickly flipped on the lights.
The cheap lamp by the bed buzzed and flickered. And there was the spooky, Alfred Hitchcock movie effect that’d been missing at the cemetery.
“I heard you left the Teams rather abruptly. Was that a rumor?” Finn slowly eased his body down onto the bed as if he’d just done a grueling leg workout at the gym while the woman collapsed her umbrella and Luke shut the door.
“Yes and no.” Luke pinned him with the look of a master chief about to tell his team they were going into hostile territory with empty mags. “This is my sister, Jessica. She was a CIA officer up until last week.”
Okaaaay. The word dragged out long and slow in Finn’s mind as he worked to wrap his head around why these two had come to LA.
The only people who knew Finn’s current whereabouts were his master chief and commanding officer, which meant someone felt the need to provide Luke with Finn’s coordinates. Shit. Not good.
“I’m going to cut straight to the point.” Luke’s hat was back on his head, and he crossed his arms over his navy-blue shirt. “We’re here to recruit you.”
Say what? That wasn’t the counterstrike he’d mentally prepped.
Not even close. Recruit? Finn pictured the Army recruitment poster he’d seen hanging in a storefront window once before he’d dropped out of college.
It’d been a vintage shop, and the poster was of a soldier holding a flag that read, “Your flag. Your future.”
For some reason, he’d never been able to shake that image from his head. And, of course, instead of joining the Army when he’d decided he wanted the military to be his future, he’d gone the Navy route like his favorite uncle on his old man’s side had done.
“Recruit me for what?” Cue dramatic music. Another effect that’d been missing from the cemetery. He almost laughed, but damn, Luke didn’t look like the type to make a special appearance for the sake of a joke.
The room next door suddenly turned on some beats that were of the smoke-some-dope variety. Finn considered pounding on the wall for them to turn it down, but maybe it’d be better to have some cover for whatever conversation was about to go down.
Luke’s gaze flicked across the slightly stained burgundy and flower print wallpaper and back to Finn.
“The Navy believes I retired. My family does as well.” He glanced at his sister.
“Well, aside from Jessica here. But the truth is, my sister and I will be handling a team of ten SEALs, one of them being myself, to run off-the-book ops for the President, CIA director, and Secretary of Defense.” Luke’s matter-of-fact tone of voice had dropped a few octaves, almost too low to hear over the music next door.
“And before you ask,” Jessica began as if reading Finn’s racing thoughts, “this won’t be like the covert group of Delta guys already running missions for POTUS. Or like DEVGRU.”
DEVGRU. The elite of the elite. They were more commonly known by the public as SEAL Team Six, made famous, much to the government’s dismay, after Osama bin Laden had been eliminated.
“We’ll handle imperative missions that haven’t been given the green light by the government. Sometimes on U.S. soil.” That last bit of information had Finn rising to his feet.
U.S. soil? Yeah, that’s not exactly legal.
He continued to carefully assess Luke’s sister.
It didn’t take but a second for him to observe the intelligence in her eyes.
To see the mind of a CIA officer at work.
It wasn’t his habit to blindly trust the Agency, but something in his gut told him she was solid.
“Dalton,” Jessica went on, but Finn held a hand up at the use of his given name.
He rarely used his first name, preferring “Finn,” short for his last name of Finnegan. “Finn,” he corrected with a small smile, grateful the knot in his stomach seemed to have disappeared despite the odd conversation he was engaged in.
But work talk had always been easier than discussing anything personal.
“Finn, we want you on our team.” She raised her voice as if worried he’d missed the information train and hadn’t processed the hammer of news they’d thrown at him.
But no, it’d hit him square in the head. With his feet planted firmly on the cheap burgundy carpet, he asked, “You want me to leave my platoon and lie to everyone about what I do?”
“Yes.” Luke’s answer had Finn’s gaze swiveling his way. “You’ll still technically be active duty. But to your family, friends, and well, to the world, you’ll have retired and moved into the private sector.” He drew a hand over the stubble on his jaw as if he was still digesting his own words.
“More specifically, the private security sector,” Jessica added.
Finn tucked his hands into his jeans pockets, his knuckles still a bit sore from his unexpected Edward Norton in Fight Club–style alleyway encounter not too long ago. “Why?” He cleared his throat. “Not why me, but why does POTUS want this team? Aren’t we violating some laws by doing this?”