High Octane Heroes Page 4

  Of all the stupid things a rookie could do, Officer Kara Brown had blundered so badly, they’d have to make a new category just for her. In the barely there dress she’d picked for the undercover assignment, her choices had been limited. But no, she’d picked her cleavage to hide the wire.

  Kara scooted across the cold concrete floor of the warehouse. Her back ached from slouching with her arms tied behind an iron water pipe. The maneuver gave some slack to the handcuffs—her handcuffs—binding her wrists. If she was going to die, she might as well be comfortable. She’d been too anxious to slap the cuffs on these goons to prove her worth, and she’d stashed a set in her purse. It hadn’t occurred to her the first place they’d look would be her ample mocha breasts.

  Duh, Kara.

  Always jumping first, thinking last. This latest decision topped them all, and she was going to pay with her life. The possibility of being shot was only the beginning of her nightmare.

  The way the five gangsters groped her flesh with their hungry gazes made death welcome. They were going to rape her and then cap her. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see the writing on the wall.

  Kara fought the panic welling in her chest. She wouldn’t cry. Death before dishonor. Frantic, she scanned her surroundings for a way to kill herself so at least she would die with dignity.

  Carver, the leader, stood over a makeshift desk. He was the smart one and scared her most. Allegedly, he raped women before carving them beyond recognition with a fillet knife.

  A chill trickled down her spine, and she closed her eyes. Desperately, she wished away the horrific visual.

  Keep your wits.

  She opened her eyes and focused on the other gangsters. KK Jones, a psychotic biker, just out on a truncated ten-year sentence for second-degree manslaughter. He was a mountain of a man with a beard to match.

  Reggie Jefferson, aka “The Bling,” was a capable gangster. His being alive and not in prison at age twenty-eight was almost a miracle. Criminals were dangerous with an ounce of brains.

  And cops were dead without an ounce more of gray matter than their adversaries. Terror clawed at her throat. She shook her head and looked to the remaining thugs. The other two she didn’t remember from the briefing. All that mattered was they carried 9mms and listened to Carver.

  Even if her backup could find her, she’d be dead before they could mount a rescue. A SWAT team was her only chance. They would send Renegade. Sexy, hot, Sergeant Michael Delaney. He’d wade through these pukes, leave a wake of death and sweep her off her feet. If there were a God, he’d take her as his reward.

  The thought warmed her and sent a spike of erotic pleasure straight to her core. Many times she’d fantasized about the walking, talking death machine and his stacks of muscle. His wavy dark hair, rugged Italian features and deep mesmerizing eyes had invaded her private fantasies far too often. But he didn’t know she existed.

  Some said his methods bordered on police brutality, yet he always got the bad guy and society was safer for it. Either way, he made her wet. Since day one at the precinct, she’d gone out of her way to get his attention. Kara had jumped at the chance for this assignment. Not only to prove herself, but also to put herself on his radar. What an epic fail.

  “She ain’t no cop, fool,” Reggie argued. “Cops ain’t got legs like that.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Only a cop is stupid enough to wear a wire on us,” Carver countered and crossed his thick, tattooed arms across his massive chest.

  “Yeah, but check that little black muff. Bare as a schoolgirl. Shit, cops don’t shave. Not even lady cops.”

  Kara realized her dress was too short for her seated position and her womanly wares were on display. She’d lost her tiny, delicate thong in the scuffle when they’d taken her. It explained why they kept looking her way every five seconds. Shifting onto a hip, she crossed one leg over the other and blocked their view.

  On cue, they turned and looked straight at her. Their gazes drifted to the hem of her flimsy dress, and her cheeks burned with rage. She wished they would kill her and be done with it.

  “She’s a fucking Fed, I tell ya.”

  “Whatever, she is—” Carver stopped in mid-sentence and tilted his head to one side.

  Then she heard it. Sirens. A lot of them. Her heart pounded triple time. They would kill her before her brothers in blue could break in and take out all five gangsters, but now they wouldn’t have time to rape her.

  “Fuck. Cops,” KK growled.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Reggie said.

  Carver glared at Kara. She met his menacing stare with all the courage she could summon.

  His eyes said it all. He lifted a meaty hand, scrunched his tattooed fingers and tucked them into a fist. A sinister grin stretched across his bronze face.

  Like the angel of death, he moved toward her. Panic welled up her throat, and she swallowed the lump suffocating her. Fear clawed at her with its icy tendrils and tore away her courage in strips. Tears formed along her eyelids, and she fought her quivering lip.

  Bang! Bang, bang! Gunfire split the air.

  The face of the unnamed thug to her left imploded. A spray of blood splashed across the floor. His body slammed into the brick wall with a sickening thud. The bad guys scrambled for cover, and Kara frantically searched the dense array of shelving scattered around the warehouse. Whoever was shooting at them had just saved her life.

  Muzzle flashes flared through a haze of smoke, and then she saw him. Kara’s heart resumed its rapid thumping. It was Renegade —no mistaking the massive frame, the muscular broad shoulders and thick thighs. Delaney was built like a tank.

  Time slowed as she helplessly stared in horror. Gunfire blasted from every corner of the warehouse. Crates and shelves shattered, exploding under the impact of bullets zinging back and forth.

  The deafening roar of pistol fire thundered as bullets tore through wooden boxes and cargo while the thugs tried to shoot her hero down. She lost sight of him and scrambled onto her knees. She ignored the pain the awkward position brought, but that was the least of her worries. She couldn’t see Michael.

  “Did we get h—” The remaining unnamed thug’s question died on his tongue as Michael Delaney popped around a steel shelf unit and blasted a salvo through the goon.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” KK ducked behind a metal desk and slid in a fresh clip.

  Reggie rolled onto his side and shot wildly in Delaney’s direction. The battle was out of control.

  If she wanted to live, she had to pay attention and be ready for an opportunity to escape. The outlook was grim, but there was still a light. Renegade was tearing them apart.

  Through the haze, Michael crouched behind a crate and ejected a clip. His steely eyes locked on hers from twenty yards away and seared her with a ravenous hunger. The unspoken passion stole her breath. He’d never looked at her like that before. Or was it her imagination? He was so savagely beautiful, desire dove straight down between her legs.

  “You have the right to remain silent…” Michael said snidely, then jerked up and fired a blazing hail of death at the criminals.

  “Fuck you, cop,” KK shouted with a squeal at the end of his words as he ducked a shower of wood shards.

  “No, thanks. Not my type,” Michael yelled. His husky voice sounded like gravel.

  “You want the bitch? Come get her, pig,” Reggie taunted. The injured gangster patted his pockets.

  Her gaze shifted to his gun. The clip was out and he was searching for a replacement.

  “Yeah, come get her,” Carver repeated, then whirled down, dodging several shots from Michael. He snarled, jumped back up and fired five rounds before his gun clicked empty. He dove back down and ejected the spent clip.

  Carver waved frantically in the air and got Reggie’s attention. Carver shook the empty clip at Reggie expectantly. Reggie responded by showing his own spent clip, disgust curling his lips.

  Hope flooded her veins. KK was the only one left with ammunitio
n.

  “Delaney, two of them are out of ammo. Just the biker has bullets,” she cried.

  Carver whipped around, and if looks could kill, she’d be dead.

  Her fate was still up in the air, but she flashed him a defiant grin.

  “Fucking bitch!” Reggie covered his wound and crimson flowed between his fingers.

  “Where is he?” KK shouted. Kara could feel the panic rising in the thug. “Fuck. Fucking where is he?”

  A clatter near KK drew several shots. Michael rose over a crate to the left of KK’s firing arc and shot two more rounds at the biker. And then three dull clicks. He was out.

  Kara’s heart sank.

  KK turned and aimed.

  Michael ducked.

  KK jerked the trigger of his gun. Another click. Time sped up.

  “Fuck!” KK dropped behind the steel desk, but she could see his shoulders wiggle about. He was looking for another clip. He had to be out. Because surely there was a God.

  Or was there? Movement to her left caught her attention. Carver flashed a savage-looking fillet knife and unleashed the most sinister glare she’d ever had the misfortune of being on the wrong end of.

  It was a gamble, but she had only one chance. “They’re out of ammo,” she shouted. “All of them.”

  Carver froze where he was. A whimper came from KK’s hiding spot, and Reggie simply collapsed onto his back in defeat. The truth of her words was revealed by their reactions.

  “Well now. Wasn’t that fun?” Michael asked. He stood up and holstered his pistol. Kara knew he liked danger, but this was crazy. With three punks left, and Michael with the only bullets, there was no need for bravado.

  But Renegade wasn’t stupid. She’d read every declassified file on him. His methods were outrageous, scary and daring, but never dumb. Kara pushed up on her stiletto heels to gain some elevation.

  Delaney’s black BDUs were torn across one thigh. The frayed fabric was wet with blood. His uniform was stretched over his massive frame and armor with the sleeves rolled up, showing his thick forearms glistening with sweat. For a fleeting second, she imagined them pinning her legs wide.

  With a gasp, she shook the image from her mind. All the ammo pouches on his belt were empty. He was out of rounds, too. The fear swarming around her spiked once more. It wasn’t over yet.

  “Looks like we got us a problem,” Michael said with deadly irony.

  “Fuck you, cop. She’s wrong. I got a full clip. Show yourself,” KK screeched.

  Kara saw Michael’s lips twitch, and then stretch into a grin.

  KK didn’t realize Michael was already in the open. The bluff was an utter failure.

  “Bring it,” Michael dared.

  Carver glared in the direction of KK. She couldn’t see the silent body language, but Carver lurched and stood. From her vantage point, clinging to the iron pipe, she saw KK and Reggie rise up, too.

  In turn, Michael stared each criminal in the eye. If they weren’t scared, they were idiots. Michael was a massive chunk of masculinity. Savage. Raw. Powerful. Death incarnate.

  The three gangsters flanked Michael who stood in an open area between shelves and crates. She’d never seen him in action, but a burst of heat swept through her in anticipation.

  Michael twisted, his thick legs set wide in a defensive stance, and tracked all three of his opponents seemingly with peripheral vision.

  The air crackled with an eerie, someone’s going to die, intensity. A snick came from the right and Kara saw the gleam of a buck knife shimmer in the dim, flickering lamplight.

  “Let’s do this,” Michael said. The echo of his icy voice rang flat, like the death he promised.

  Carver slashed at Michael, but the veteran cop spun away, double-stepped forward and smashed his elbow on Reggie’s wounded shoulder. A series of snaps announced the fracture of bone, followed by spurts of blood. Reggie staggered back in agony.

  Michael didn’t hesitate; he curled a leg back and shifted his weight. KK’s meaty fist flew past his helmet. In a blur of motion, Michael dipped, swung a leg out and clipped the burly biker.

  Carver slashed again and missed the agile SWAT leader. KK’s overweight frame crashed into the concrete floor with a shuddering boom. Reggie stumbled back to his feet in time to receive another elbow to his injured shoulder.

  Michael flung a fist at Carver. The gangster sidestepped, but then the legendary cop reversed direction. Forcefully, he hammered his steel-toed combat boot into the throat of the recovering KK. The biker staggered back.

  Kara watched in morbid fascination. Michael was awesome to behold. Reggie lunged with an animalistic growl. His knife dug through the rolled-up sleeve on Michael’s left arm. Renegade whipped his arm in a twist, deflecting the blade’s lethal strike, but taking a minor gash for it.

  Like a fighter in a kung fu movie, he spun, chopped a leg into the gut of Carver, and landed a solid fist to Reggie’s rib cage. Kara cringed at the gruesome crunch of bones.

  The stabbing, hacking, punching and kicking action came as flashes. Wound by wound, the three criminals were pulverized into submission.

  Reggie lay at Michael’s feet, gulping in wet, wheezing breaths and clutching his chest. Kara was sure the man’s snapped ribs had pierced his lungs.

  KK lay bent at an awkward angle across a demolished crate. A jagged, blood-soaked plank of wood pierced through his lower back and stood out from his abdomen. The biker’s eyes stared unfocused off into space, frozen by death.

  “You like cutting up women?” Michael snarled.

  Kara shifted to see. She knew Delaney had won the fight. Of course he had, but now he was going to execute Carver. No judge. No jury.

  “Delaney. No,” Kara cried.

  The four men he’d slain were fair game. They’d tried to kill him and they’d lost. But Carver was captured. He had to be taken to jail. Michael’s reputation was mythical. Everyone knew he crossed the line. But it was all in the name of justice. Wasn’t it?

  Michael stood over the defeated gangster. The front of Carver’s wife-beater crumpled in Michael’s leather-gloved grasp. The other curled in a massive fist and stayed poised, cocked back and ready to deal death.

  Michael turned, and his steel gray eyes leveled on Kara. She swallowed in fear laced with arousal. His fury was terrifying and beautiful. “What for? For justice? So the courts can let him off on a technicality? Or set him free because there isn’t enough room in the prisons? This fucker is a plague on society.”

  He was right. She blinked and focused on him. His piercing eyes bored into her. She nodded. It was the wrong thing to do, but the world was a better place without the likes of the murderous gangster.

  Carver hung limp in Delaney’s grasp, beaten and bloodied worse than Kara had ever seen. And then Michael twitched. His fist came forward with a horrible meat-tenderizing squish. Kara closed her eyes and wished away the horrible scene.

  A slap of carcass against concrete resounded and was followed by heavy footfalls. Her handcuffs went slack with a click, and she opened her eyes. Michael scooped her up off the ground like she weighed nothing and curled her to his massive chest.

  She couldn’t help the tears of rejoicing. Horror still assailed every nerve in her body, but she was safe. Adrenaline pumped like furnace blasts through her veins, and she collapsed against him, sobbing.

  He held her in his arms and walked her out of the warehouse. She clung to him for dear life, not wanting to let go. Kara buried her face in his chest as the clamor of squad cars, officers and people all around her filled her ears.

  Shame replaced the waning heat of adrenaline. There weren’t adjectives powerful enough to describe how badly she had fucked up. She couldn’t face her brothers.

  “She all right?” Kara heard Jacobs ask, and she felt Michael bob his head.

  Her legs dropped, and she balanced on the five-inch heels still amazingly strapped to her feet. She opened her eyes and blushed at the impassioned gaze Michael aimed on her. She’d never
felt more like a rabbit caught by a lion than right then.

  Michael snapped his gloves off and tossed them in the squad car. He yanked off his helmet and threw it in as well. Then he turned back and fixed her with another dark glare.

  Kara fidgeted beneath his scathing stare and smoothed the folds of the tiny dress draped across her breasts.

  A blur came from her right, and his hand snagged the back of her neck and tilted her head back. She gasped, staring at him as he scrutinized her.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. Her wrists were sore, but she was otherwise unharmed. Michael’s abrupt arrival had saved her from untold horrors.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. I…I’m okay.” The touch of his hand was hot on her skin and sent sparks of arousal straight between her legs.

  His hand dropped from her jaw and gripped the front of her dress and pulled. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. The dress barely covered anything, and she knew her breasts were in full view although his body shielded them from anyone else’s sight. At his mercy, her sex clenched moistly.

  “What fucking asshole dressed you in this?”

  Kara looked down in shame. “I… I did.”

  “Seriously?” His voice was steel and electricity trickling down her spine.

  She nodded. His damning gaze narrowed, and she swallowed hard. Kara knew he would never hurt her even though he was the deadliest man she knew.

  “Yo, Delaney. Lieutenant wants to debrief Brown,” came a voice from over her shoulder.

  Michael nodded, but his stare remained on her. She looked to her open-toed shoes and focused there. Her toenail paint hadn’t chipped through everything.

  “I’ll make sure she gets there, but me and her are gonna have a little chat about police work one-oh-one.” His grave voice conjured another lump in her throat and forced her to swallow.

  “Get in the car,” he said with an ominously quiet tone.

  “I know I screwed—”

  Michael snared her wrist before she knew what happened. He spun her to face the open passenger door of the squad car and slapped her ass loudly. It stung but fueled her raging hormones as much as her outrage. Thinking he’d spanked her in front of half the precinct, she whirled in place. The flooding heat reversed from her core to her face. But his massive frame stood in the way and no one had seen. Relief washed through her. Of course he wouldn’t humiliate her like that.