Scorch: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance (Military Bad Boy Romance) (3 page)

And for the record, being a full time C.I.A. agent while also maintaining the presence of being a full time graduate student to
literally
everyone you know - including your family - isn’t exactly
a walk in the park.

The Director clears his throat, and the small chatter around the room instantly goes quiet as every eye in the room turns to him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ve got a runner. Four days ago, a man of importance to our interests managed to break out of a remote prison named
El Meurto Viviente
on the coast of Venezuela. He managed to commandeer a boat, killing two guards in the process.” People around the room begin taking notes and nodding at the Director’s words; “We’ve tracked his movements, and though he hasn’t gotten far, he
has
managed to gain entry into Aruba.”

There’s a snort from the other side of the room, as one of the senior analysts shakes his head; “Well, he sure knows how to escape in style I suppose.”

The tittering laughter around the room is cut short by a curt nod from the Director. He leans down over the head of the table, glowering at everyone else in the low light of the room; “People, this man holds certain information pertaining to national security, including information on ongoing domestic intelligence assets. That he was ever allowed to
leave
U.S. soil is a Goddamn bewilderment to me, but that he got to where he is now is an
embarrassment
.”

The room is pin-drop silent as the Director stands and clears his throat; “Recovery operations need to be
covert
, as well as seamless. This administration is a bit more
sensitive
to holding an active operation on sovereign soil, and so we’re going to
keep this quiet
.” His eyes scan the room; “No teams, no heavy back-up. The plan is to send in a single asset who will intercept, apprehend, and signal for extraction.”

I wonder who they found crazy enough to want to pull a stunt like tha-

“Agent Archer.” The Directors voice cuts through the silence of the room like a knife, and I feel my face go flush as every eye in The Vault turns to me.

Um, what
?
 

I drop the pen in my hand and look up sharply; “Sir?”

“Agent Koufax has assured me that you’re field ready, and he’s given me his full confidence in your ability to execute this mission.”

My eyes fly to my smarmy supervisor, who’s turned and smirking at me like he’s daring me to say something.

Field ready?
I’ve barely graduated from training, I’ve never been on an actual operation, and I’m by far and away the greenest person in the room.
Me
?

I shoot Koufax a questioning glance, wondering why on Earth he’d give me such a glowing recommendation for something like this considering he clearly hates me. But he only shrugs and gives me that same smirking look before I clear my throat and look up at the director; “Sir, I’m-”

“I’m giving you a crack at the big leagues here, Agent.” He crosses his arms over his chest; “That is, if you can handle it.”

My jaw tightens at his words; I
don’t
back down from challenges. And even if I’ve got half an idea that this was some elaborate scheme of Koufax’s to make me look like an idiot during a Vault meeting, I’m certainly not going to back down from this one; “Absolutely, sir,” I say without another moments hesitation.
 

Koufax’s smirk instantly drops from his face as he frowns at me;
Check mate, asshole.

“Excellent. You’ll be leaving tomorrow, and asset intel will help you with your cover story. Let’s go over your target.”

It’s my turn to smirk at my superior now as I hear the Director click to the next project screen. I’m still grinning and reveling in the moment when I look up, and it’s almost as if in slow motion as my eyes drag back to the main screen.
 

Every single cell in my body freezes.
 

It’s like a horrible dream as I focus on the dark, smokey eyes, the black hair, and the lips pulled back in a cocky grin at the camera.
 

Holy shit.

The man is staggeringly handsome, in that dark, brooding, almost scary way. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes that just screams a disdain for authority; clearly evident in the way he’s even smirking in his damn mug shot. Honestly, in any other circumstances, every woman and probably some of the men in this room would be fanning themselves at the Spaniard on screen oozing pure sex and the promise of mistakes you’d
love
to regret later.

But these are
not
other circumstances, and the arrogant grin on the screen belongs to the Devil himself.

A lump forms in my throat that I try to swallow, only to have it immediately replaced as I stare into the face of the last man on Earth I ever thought I’d see again. The face of the man who almost destroyed my family; who terrorized Logan, and the man who kidnapped him and my sister Quinn.

The man Quinn stabbed in the neck, and who should be dead or rotting in a Spanish prison right now.

‘For every light in this world, there’s a shadow somewhere else’
, my dad used to say. Every story has a bad guy, and this is ours.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Javier Gael Toro; our number one priority.” The Director says, looking sternly around the room.

He starts to go into details of the escape and last known whereabouts, but I’m barely listening as my eyes burn hot into the eyes on the screen in front of me. Nine months ago, this man almost destroyed everything I know.
 

I was powerless then, but I’ve just been given the keys to revenge.

Goddamn freedom tastes good. Well, specifically, tequila añejo especial on the rocks is what tastes good, but the lack of iron bars and armed guards around me is pretty fucking nice too.

The Swim
; give me a fuckin break. I've been underestimated before; many times actually, and it's never worked out so well for the other guy. Clearly, Warden Gustavo won't be the last guy to do the same, but he certainly made my fucking list.

You get two things when you go for The Swim, because apparently the good Warden has a fucked-up sense of humor. You get a life-vest tied tightly around you; not so that you
live
, but so that you can't just say fuck it and drown yourself. You also get a gun with a single bullet, and that one’s a
gift
; the
last
gift you’ll ever get, and you can use it whenever you want. Maybe it's for when the sharks come. Maybe it’s for when night falls and the terrors of what might be beneath you in the deep get too much for your own head. Maybe you make it a day or two, but then realize you're going to dehydrate or starve to death and that piece of lead starts to look
real
good.

I frown into my near-empty glass, shaking my near-brush with death from my head and reaching for the bottle on the balcony table next to me.

Lightning flashes as the motor cuts. One of the two guards on the boat jumps at the sound of thunder before his buddy punches him in the arm and calls him a pussy in Spanish.
The thunder and lightning smashes against the sky again, and I can’t help but grin at how awesome and dramatic a sendoff this is for my own funeral.
"Hey, puta!" The second guard calls to me; "I hope you didn't eat anything in the last half hour. You don't want a cramp!"

Hilarious. Gallows humor to another fucking level.
They haul me up, tightening the straps to my life vest. The guard that jumped at the thunder grins as he hands me a pistol, butt first. He’s not grinning because he's helping me though. We both know there's one bullet in this gun, and we both know shooting him isn't what it's for.

Let me rephrase that; HE knows shooting him isn’t what it’s for. Me? I’ve got a different opinion.

He gasps and looks at me in total shock at the sound of the trigger being pulled. He's tumbling backwards, clutching his gut as he jerks overboard. The second guard is charging me from the bow of the boat firing his pistol wildly. I manage to catch him in the face with my own empty gun before I duck and lung, knocking him with my shoulder and shoving him over the side into the water as well.
I'm revving the engine and tearing off, only then realizing that the outboard motor at the back of the boat is smoking from a bullet hole and that I've got no fucking idea where I'm going.
 

But fuck it; I used to call these waters home, back in my smuggling days. I can do this. There's a map of the Venezuelan coast taped to the side of the wheel, and though I sincerely doubt I'm going to get that far with smoke pouring out of this fucking engine, it’s worth a shot.

Thunder crashes overhead again, and I glance up once more before locking my eyes on the map. I want to laugh when I see what the closest point of land is that doesn’t involve me setting fucking foot on Venezuela again. But as I rev the engine, I pray to God I make it to there before I sink into the ocean
.

*****

I slug back the añejo, trying not to dwell on the past and my escape from death. I've had enough of those already for one or five lifetimes; I don't need to dwell on the latest. Point is, I'm free, and thanks to the wallet I lifted at the docks from one of those guys coming off a cruise ship, I'm set up nice and pretty in the penthouse suite of the Ritz-Carlton. I've got tequila in my hand, the sun on my face, and a view of some
seriously
hot women hanging out by the pool. Life could be worse.

There's a flash of something blonde, and my head swivels to the doors by the pool bar.

Damn
.

She almost seems to glide out of the doors, her hips swaying in the sarong around her waist and her mouth-watering tits gently cupped in a white bikini top. Her eyes are covered by the dark shades and Panama hat she wears, and her long blonde hair spills out around her tanned shoulders.

Well hello, freedom
.

I tip back another swig of the the tequila before I stand, leaning against my balcony railing and staring down at the girl. She's young, and sexy as sin in a way that reminds me that I’ve been in jail for almost nine fucking months. The Warden's wife was a mediocre distraction, but this girl has my
full
damn attention.
 

She slinks into a lounge chair, smiling up at a one of the pool boys who brings her a drink on a tray. I make a note to go grease the kid’s palm later and figure out what she's drinking. She takes her hat off, her long blonde hair flowing around her as she sinks back into the chair and arches her back, pushing her tits up against the thin white fabric of her bikini top. I can already start to feel my cock stir in my shorts watching her like this. Yeah, I need to get down there
right now
and work some of that famous Latin charm.

I
 
snag one more sip from my bottle, feeling the pleasant burn of the tequila slide down my throat. I grab the gun that the second guard on the boat dropped when he went over and slip it into the waist of my shorts. Part of me knows I should just leave the damn thing in the room, but I guess it’s just the soldier in me that grabs it. I mean not only am I technically an escaped con, but I’ve also managed to walk into Aruba through the side entrance; the kind that doesn’t have a customs agent checking your papers, or lack there of.

No sense in not playing it safe, I figure.

I push my long hair back from my face in the mirrored interior of the elevator; I really need a trim, but I’m starting to like the shaggy look I guess. The doors open, and I strut my way through the lobby to the pool, feeling the liquid confidence of the tequila coursing though me as I glance around for the blonde.