DELTA FORCE: SIX

Las Vegas. Present day.

“Well, this is a clusterfuck.”

Casey “Six” O’Reilly groaned as Kameron’s words hit home. She only ever said that when shit was about to go sideways. Not because of bad intel or them making a mistake. But because she was about to take matters into her own hands.

Which likely meant a brawl.

He snagged her wrist, tugging her against him. The flowery scent of her perfume surrounded him, making the air dense. Saturated with her essence. One he’d gotten so accustomed to, he noticed when his clothes didn’t smell like her. When it didn’t fill his truck or cling to every surface of his loft.

Odd, since they were only colleagues. Partners for most of their cases the past several months. Six wasn’t sure why he’d gotten teamed up with her. Why Cannon seemed to think they were a good match. Six was calm. Level-headed. He’d had strategy and tactics drilled into him for over a dozen years in the Teams, most of that time with Delta Force. Knew a good plan from a bad one. A calculated risk from an act of pride. And had a habit of seeing the way things would play out before they actually happened.

Kameron Monroe was his polar opposite. Impulsive. Always looking to charge in. Worried more about if she could than if she should. To her, any risk was calculated if it got the job done—saved a friend or eliminated a threat. A complete contrast to how she’d been in the service. She’d worked MI, Military Intelligence, with Colt’s wife, Ellis. From what Six remembered from the few times they’d crossed paths, Kameron had always been quiet. Subdued. Gathering all relevant information, first, before making recommendations that might put her fellow soldiers in jeopardy.

He’d heard that had all changed a couple of years ago. After she’d been involved in an IED incident returning from a reconnaissance trip into some two-bit town near Jalalabad. When she’d been one of only two survivors from the eight-man team accompanying her to walk away after avoiding Islamic forces for four days. And she’d done it half-carrying her injured teammate. She’d beaten the odds. Survived, albeit not unscarred. Hers weren’t on the surface. Couldn’t be treated by skin graphs or masked by makeup. They ran soul deep. Hidden so effectively, he’d bet his ass even Kameron couldn’t suss them out. That she only allowed herself to see them when she let her guard down—was vulnerable.

Which she actively avoided. Six wasn’t sure what kind of training she’d undergone, but she’d turned herself into a warrior. Not that he minded. Having a partner who could throw a punch or kick and have it land—take out a tango—was invaluable. Being able to take a few hits and keep fighting was even more impressive. And knowing she could handle herself with a variety of weapons—like the rifle she’d used when helping Colt and Ellis out several months, ago… It made his job that much easier.

Except for the part where the damn girl went looking for trouble. Was quick to not only jump into a fight but start one. As if she always had to prove she was stronger—tougher than every guy in there. Queen of the alphas. She was cocky and reckless and a giant pain in his ass.

And he was hopelessly falling for her. Belay that. He’d fallen for her. The mass of strawberry blonde hair—always slightly tousled. As if she’d been standing in the wind too long. Green eyes that could stop traffic. Not quite jade. Lighter. With a splash of amber—a golden ring around jet black pupils. And her body… It was curvy and strong with a hint of muscle but enough softness he knew she’d fit perfectly against him. Complement all his hard planes and angles. There wasn’t a part of her he didn’t want to touch. Taste. Drown in.

Which made pairing up with her borderline torture. Spending endless hours with her, so fucking close but stuck in the friend zone, was taking a toll. He was edgy. Restless. And so preoccupied that his sixth sense he’d been aptly named for had taken a damn siesta. Just shut down because it was too busy focusing on now. On every moment he spent next to her. How he could make all his dreams come true if he’d just grow a set and make a move.

Shit. Cannon knew.

That’s why he kept matching them up, the sadistic bastard. He was pushing Six. Daring him to lose his cool. To go outside his comfort zone. And Six would kick his buddy’s ass as soon as they got back, but for now…

He needed to crush the predatory look in Kameron’s eyes. The one he knew would either land them in jail or in the hospital.

Kameron stared up at him. Green eyes catching the lights behind the bar. Making those beautiful irises gleam. Her blood-red lips curled into a smile, and he felt his damn heart kick him hard in the chest. An actual thump he was sure moved his shirt because it hurt. Staring at her like that. So beautiful, he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t freaking breathe.

She arched a brow, glancing over at the men gathered around their mark. A dickbag named Clive Martin—wanted for assault, among other nasty habits. Cannon had sent the two of them to hunt down the bastard, then bring him in. A nice twenty-grand to show for their efforts. They’d followed Martin’s ass all the way to Vegas. Not that Six would tell Cannon that. Crossing state lines wasn’t exactly encouraged. Not when each one had different rules bounty hunters, aka recovery agents, had to follow. It wasn’t illegal, but the last thing they needed was a run-in with the local authorities. It was always a crapshoot whether the lawmen considered them allies or assholes. Six had more experience with the latter. Especially, when things got physical. And damn, they always got physical with Kam. Just not the way he wanted.

“Something wrong, partner?” She stepped closer, pressing against him. Something she did on purpose to distract him. Sway him. She knew it made him lose focus—or maybe just switch it to her. Either way, it spelled trouble.

Six clenched his jaw. He would not develop a boner in the middle of a biker bar when they were greatly outnumbered. “Yeah, you. You’ve got that look.”

“Do I? Which one is that?”

“The one that says we’re not getting out of here without spilling some blood.”

“I don’t plan on it being ours, so—”

“That’s not the point.”

She lifted her hand—ran a perfectly manicured nail along his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about duking it out with a few redneck boys? I thought you Delta soldiers chewed on tanks and spit out bullets?”

“We do—back in Seattle. We didn’t check-in with local law enforcement. Haven’t notified anyone we’re going to make an arrest. Not to mention Cannon prefers to keep things local. Where they’re nice and tidy. Where he has all sorts of connections in case things go sideways. Unlike here. All of which I told you before we followed the bastard across two state lines.”

“That’s only an issue if we get arrested. Which we won’t.” She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Six, it’s not going to be much of a fight. I’ll take the two on the left. You take the two on the right, and we’ll have Martin all to ourselves.”

“You’re going to take on both of those guys?”

She scrunched up her face, giving the men in question a hard look. “What’s wrong? You need me to handle yours, too?”

“They’re armed, double your weight, and a good foot taller.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on them.”

“Or you’ll get us both arrested when you have to resort to capping one of them between the eyes.”

She scoffed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, partner. And here I thought you believed in me.”

“I do. Proven by the fact we’re even standing here, having this conversation. It’s just… One day, you’re gonna bite off more than you can handle, sweetheart.”

She smiled, her full lips lifting. Those eyes still gleaming. “Maybe. But, not tonight.”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not we get out of here before the bartender calls the cops. He doesn’t look like the type to stand by and let a fight play out. Ten to one he knows the local sheriff…personally. Has the guy on speed dial.”

She sighed then took a moment to scan the bar. The hairs on Six’s neck prickled, and he knew he was about to regret allowing her to talk him into this. And he didn’t need his damn extra senses to see it coming. It was a giant neon sign flashing above them. 

FUBAR.

Yup, things were about to get fucked up but good.

Kam paused, her eyes doing that shifting thing when she was working out a puzzle, before she gave him another stunning smile.

“Kameron—”

“Relax. You’re right. We need a different approach. So, stay here until you get my signal, then ride to the rescue like a good little soldier.”

He tightened his grip on her wrist. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing bad.” She slipped her hand free then took a few steps away, glancing back at him still grinning. “Just get close. Create a distraction.” She winked, damn it. “Whatever works.”

Six reached for her, but she was already moving. Sauntering up to the bar. Elbows on the counter, one foot tapping the floor behind her. Her ass hugging a stool. The denim clinging in all the right places.

Martin looked over. Stared, then rearranged his dick. He nudged one of the men, nodding toward Kam.

Six shifted to the other side, letting it play out. He knew how to control his emotions. Bury them. Emotions didn’t belong on an op, and they didn’t belong in this bar. He was working a case. Not on a date.

And he held firm. Stayed in the shadows. Waiting. He knew how she operated. What she’d do. Let them get close then pop one guy in the throat, the other in the groin. That would be his signal to move—prevent the other men from joining in. And her plan was moving along perfectly. Two of the guys had branched off—were sidling up beside her all cozy. Eyes slightly lust dazed. Focused on the healthy dose of cleavage she was sporting—had she really needed to undo three buttons? Show off the lacy white bra she had on?

They didn’t suspect a thing. Hands nowhere near the bulges beneath their armpits. Their movements a bit stiff, probably like their dicks. All the blood rushing to the wrong head. It got smart men killed. For these assholes, it gave them tunnel vision. Blocked out the fact you could just make out a hint of her ankle holster as she hooked the heel of one boot on the lower rung of the stool. The slight raise by her other ankle that hid her knife. All indicators she wasn’t looking for a good time—was actively on the prowl for blood, not sex.

Everything was proceeding exactly how she’d intended—men separated. Martin too focused on his boner to see her as a threat. Everyone’s guard down—until one of the mother fuckers touched her ass. Six knew it was coming. His damn sixth sense had decided to kick back in. Right then. Give him a ghosted snapshot of that bastard’s palm on the rounded curve. Heading south. About two heartbeats before it went down.

And Six lost it. Imploded. Rational thought a distant memory as he took four steps then struck. No waiting for her signal. No warning. No trying to take the high road. Trying to talk it out. Take Martin in peacefully. Ask his men to step aside.

Just Six’s fist catching the first guy in the throat, knocking him back then doubling him over. Six grabbed the creep’s neck, pulled him into a raised knee, and the guy was down. Out cold on the floor. That broke the silence.

Martin’s other guy locked his fingers around Six’s arm, which only made snagging him easier. A hand over the creep’s, a pivot, and Six had the idiot’s arm extended. Shoulder already popping out of the joint as he levered the guy up. A kick shattered his knee, had the jerk crumpling to the ground.

Six punched him twice in the face, just to be sure. To expend a bit of the energy thrumming through him. Then, he was on Martin. Knife out and through the bastard’s hand—pinning him to the counter. A quick elbow to Martin’s face cut off the man’s scream mid-note—had him slumped over. Mumbling. Drooling.

Six turned in time to see one of the guys pull Kam off his buddy—spin her around then backhand her to the floor. Last thing that asshole did with that hand because Six was on him. That hand smashed against the counter—fingers bent back. Cracking against the strain. Two hits to the head and an elbow had blood splattering on the floor. Pooling beneath what used to be the guy’s nose. A few kicks to the leg, the groin, and it was over. The guy laid out across the bar. Groaning. Whimpering.

The one Kam had downed tried to push onto his hands. Hit the floor hard when Six booted him in the face. Heard his jaw snap. Served the bastard right. Touching her ass. Thinking he could treat her like a piece of meat.

Six moved over to her—went to one knee. “Kam? Come on, sweetheart, look at me.”

She groaned, blinked, then groaned, again. Palming her cheek. Eyes slowly fluttering open, giving him fleeting glimpses of green. Took about a minute for her to finally focus on him. Glare. “What the hell, Six? I had it all under control.”

He snorted. “You are some piece of work, lady. Up you get.”

He cupped her elbow. Helped her stand. Stubborn girl swayed to her right, caught herself on his shoulder, then straightened. She blinked several times, though, he knew it didn’t do much to clear her vision. Not with the way she stumbled the few feet to the bar. Kicking the guy who’d hit her. Hard.

Six walked over to her. Brow arched. “Feel better, now?”

“A bit. The jerk has big meaty palms. That hurt.”

Six pushed down the resulting jolt of anger. The one that wanted him to kick the guy’s ass all over, again, for touching her. Now wasn’t the time to delve into that train of thought. Not with the way Kam was looking around—scanning the bar as if searching for a new target. Someone to take out her frustrations on. If the men hadn’t already been out cold, Six had no doubts she’d be raging on them like a damn badger. A weapon in each hand, raining the fury of hell down on them. Instead, she grabbed his knife and pulled it free, wiping Martin’s blood off on his jacket before he fell to floor, his hand cradled against his chest.

Six took the knife she offered then sighed—surveying the mess he’d left in the bar. Overlooking the fact that the staff were still cowering in a corner behind the bar, looking as if they were just waiting for a chance to make a run for the door, the rest of the takedown couldn’t have gone worse. Even if they wrestled Martin into their truck before the cops arrived—because Six hadn’t missed the way the bartender was clutching a phone to his chest as he stared at the two of them in horror—he’d just singlehandedly left a shit ton of evidence behind. Probably had been caught on video taking the creep down.

Kam had Martin tied up. Leaning against the bar. She looked over at him. Smiled, and everything else just faded. Gone. Except for that smile. Those green eyes with the gold ring around the centers.

He crossed over to her, considered staring a while longer, when his senses kicked in. No images. No sounds, just the hairs on his arms prickling. Trouble brewing—a second away from boiling over. He dove at Kam, caught her in his arms, then rolled. Over Martin, across the floor and behind an overturned table. Stopping with his gun leveled. Sights on the two men charging through the doorway. Big black Glocks aimed their way. Matching vests blending in with the shadows—except for the yellow block letters on the front.

U.S. Marshals.

Well, fuck.