Shadow Ops: Danger's Heat (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 2) by LS Silverii Page A
Authors: LS Silverii
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long breath. Then he noticed tape strapped over a needle shoved in the top of his hand. Stinging throbs made him exhale that long draw of antiseptic air.
A figure was concealed in shadow, hovering in the corner of the shallow room. Black denims and dark loafers absorbed the low light but Hollywood was able to tell by the small feet and narrow anklebones that his watcher was a female.
Holy shit! Bonny?
“How long have I been in here?” he rocked his head back and forth on the pillow, trying to see more, trying to lose the pain.
“About three hours,” the voice bungled inside his head.
“Where am I?”
“Where you need to be.” Yep, whatever poison was pumped into his veins had him by the balls.
The monitor sported a green line that blipped with his pulse against the grey screen. Hollywood flexed to sit up. Skyrockets flecked behind his eyelids and the spinning made him sick to his gut again. This time, there was nothing to surrender but intestines.
Hands strained to help his fade back against the twisted bed sheet. A cool whiff of conditioned air kissed his skin, and Hollywood realized he was in an open-back hospital gown—but why?
He jammed his eyelids shut until crevasses etched into his temples and brow. The scent, body smells blended with antiseptic, sent his mind begrudgingly back to the Waziristan Haveli complex in Abbottabad, Pakistan—May 2, 2011. DevGru’s role in Operation Neptune Spear was to capture/ kill the devil. His memory retained every detail about the action that led up to pulling the trigger on his HK 416 rifle.
Human screams and animals’ sounds remained vibrant. The helicopter crash on approach, and firefights to gain initial entry into the compound still haunted him. Hollywood often relived the feel, and weight of his weapon’s frame. Even the metal clatter it made as his body rammed through obstacles to reach his objective.
Besides the carousel of images that led up to him placing three 5.56mm rounds into the head of the most notorious murderer in world history, it was the smell. His empty belly lurched. His watcher leaned forward into the modest light.
“Baby, you okay?”
“Krystal, thank God it’s you.”
“Who’d you think I was, Bonny?” Her dark complexion hid her face in the corner shadows. She emerged and knelt next to his hospital bed. Voodoo clutched his hand, lips parted slightly. She smiled with watery eyes.
“I’ll be okay.” Unsure why he’d been admitted, his breath temporarily bottled up in his throat.
“The doctor said you were extremely dehydrated and the trauma from your torn rotator cuff contributed to your body just revolting against you.”
“So fluids and I’m out of here?”
“Yep.”
Her quick agreement surprised Hollywood. He’d expected an argument to stay and rest. His limbs tingled—something was up.
“You did it, hero.” She soft-clapped her hands as if to lead a cheer.
“Ah, the four-leaf clover.” Hollywood held up his hand and pretended to hold the four-leaf clover he’d found in the ship’s bathroom. The single clue that helped break the mystery.
“You’re brilliant, baby. STR’s been piecing everything together, and we’ll leave as soon as you sign out.” She nudged over the paper-thin hospital bed cover and kissed him. He smiled—then she really kissed him. Her fingers rummaged against the grain of his matted hair and scratched the shaggy beard that had grown thick in no time. All the while, she drove her lips harder and tongue deeper against his.
The flimsy gown failed to restrain his erection as it lifted the sheet. Voodoo snaked her right hand beneath the covers and gown. Warm fingers wrapped around his girth and they both grinned with closed-eyes moans.
“This ain’t right,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth—her eyes glued to the door for intruders.
“It’s better than these fluids.” Hollywood jerked short pulls against the hospital tape and removed the IV set up. He pressed the
A figure was concealed in shadow, hovering in the corner of the shallow room. Black denims and dark loafers absorbed the low light but Hollywood was able to tell by the small feet and narrow anklebones that his watcher was a female.
Holy shit! Bonny?
“How long have I been in here?” he rocked his head back and forth on the pillow, trying to see more, trying to lose the pain.
“About three hours,” the voice bungled inside his head.
“Where am I?”
“Where you need to be.” Yep, whatever poison was pumped into his veins had him by the balls.
The monitor sported a green line that blipped with his pulse against the grey screen. Hollywood flexed to sit up. Skyrockets flecked behind his eyelids and the spinning made him sick to his gut again. This time, there was nothing to surrender but intestines.
Hands strained to help his fade back against the twisted bed sheet. A cool whiff of conditioned air kissed his skin, and Hollywood realized he was in an open-back hospital gown—but why?
He jammed his eyelids shut until crevasses etched into his temples and brow. The scent, body smells blended with antiseptic, sent his mind begrudgingly back to the Waziristan Haveli complex in Abbottabad, Pakistan—May 2, 2011. DevGru’s role in Operation Neptune Spear was to capture/ kill the devil. His memory retained every detail about the action that led up to pulling the trigger on his HK 416 rifle.
Human screams and animals’ sounds remained vibrant. The helicopter crash on approach, and firefights to gain initial entry into the compound still haunted him. Hollywood often relived the feel, and weight of his weapon’s frame. Even the metal clatter it made as his body rammed through obstacles to reach his objective.
Besides the carousel of images that led up to him placing three 5.56mm rounds into the head of the most notorious murderer in world history, it was the smell. His empty belly lurched. His watcher leaned forward into the modest light.
“Baby, you okay?”
“Krystal, thank God it’s you.”
“Who’d you think I was, Bonny?” Her dark complexion hid her face in the corner shadows. She emerged and knelt next to his hospital bed. Voodoo clutched his hand, lips parted slightly. She smiled with watery eyes.
“I’ll be okay.” Unsure why he’d been admitted, his breath temporarily bottled up in his throat.
“The doctor said you were extremely dehydrated and the trauma from your torn rotator cuff contributed to your body just revolting against you.”
“So fluids and I’m out of here?”
“Yep.”
Her quick agreement surprised Hollywood. He’d expected an argument to stay and rest. His limbs tingled—something was up.
“You did it, hero.” She soft-clapped her hands as if to lead a cheer.
“Ah, the four-leaf clover.” Hollywood held up his hand and pretended to hold the four-leaf clover he’d found in the ship’s bathroom. The single clue that helped break the mystery.
“You’re brilliant, baby. STR’s been piecing everything together, and we’ll leave as soon as you sign out.” She nudged over the paper-thin hospital bed cover and kissed him. He smiled—then she really kissed him. Her fingers rummaged against the grain of his matted hair and scratched the shaggy beard that had grown thick in no time. All the while, she drove her lips harder and tongue deeper against his.
The flimsy gown failed to restrain his erection as it lifted the sheet. Voodoo snaked her right hand beneath the covers and gown. Warm fingers wrapped around his girth and they both grinned with closed-eyes moans.
“This ain’t right,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth—her eyes glued to the door for intruders.
“It’s better than these fluids.” Hollywood jerked short pulls against the hospital tape and removed the IV set up. He pressed the
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