Blind Shot (The Sharpshooter Series Book 1) Read online

  BLIND SHOT

  THE SHARPSHOOTER SERIES

  LOLA FERI

  Copyright © 2017 Fiction Dream Publishing

  All rights Reserved

  www.FictionDream.com

  ISBN-13:978-1983912047

  ISBN-10:1983912042

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE Ryland

  CHAPTER TWO Garrett

  CHAPTER THREE Ryland

  CHAPTER FOUR Garrett

  CHAPTER FIVE Ryland

  CHAPTER SIX Garrett

  CHAPTER SEVEN Ryland

  CHAPTER EIGHT Garrett

  CHAPTER NINE Ryland

  CHAPTER TEN Garrett

  CHAPTER ELEVEN Ryland

  CHAPTER TWELVE Garrett

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Ryland

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN Garrett

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN Ryland

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ryland

  After getting out of my debriefing, I was escorted to one of the ugly little rooms on the seventh floor where they put you when they didn't exactly want to put you in one of the detention cells. But they didn't want us running around loose on our own either. My escort, two big guys I didn't know, put me in the room and locked the door behind me. The loud click echoed like a gun shot.

  I threw myself down on the bed, not even bothering to remove my boots or clothes. It felt like weeks since I’d had a proper bed to stretch out on, and even longer since I had slept for anything more than four hours at a time. I rubbed my fists into my eyes, trying to relieve the itchy burn from too much time awake, but when I rolled over to try to sleep, I couldn't keep my eyes shut.

  I was worn out from the op and from the time change from Spain back to the United States, and all I really wanted was to sleep. I thought about that for a second and realized it wasn't true at all. What I really wanted was a pizza. Wait, a pizza and a lay, that was what I really wanted.

  I don't give a flying fuck about the Chicago deep dish pizza fight, all I wanted was something round, covered with red sauce, and cheese. It could maybe have some sausage on it, but nothing else. I like a salad, sure, but I need my pizzas simple.

  Yeah, I could definitely go for a sausage pizza, and while I was wishing for things, maybe I could have someone cute deliver it. Someone big, I figured. The last guy I'd fooled around with was on the wiry side, good enough fun, but with hip bones that dug into mine, hard enough to leave bruises. Nah, this time I wanted a real bear of a guy, bigger and stronger than me; kind of a tough order. I'm not really big, but I'm tough and strong, and it had been going on five years since I'd met someone who could really pin me down.

  The thought of getting pinned down made me squirm, so I gave up on the pizza to focus on that image instead. I thought about a tall, broad guy, face blanked out, bending over me, kneeling between my legs and forcing them open. It had been a long time since I had gotten topped, and suddenly, like the flick of a lighter making a flame, I wanted it. I was already half hard and fumbled with my pants, pulling my cock out.

  I glanced up at the corner of the ceiling where I knew they had rigged a camera, and I paused for a second to hoist my middle finger at it before getting back to business. It wasn't anything they hadn't seen before, and while it didn't exactly get me hot, it did make me smirk to think of some straight asshole in the control booth spending the next ten minutes watching me jerk it.

  I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, palming my dick with one hand and rubbing hard at the head with the other. I imagined someone bending over me, blocking out the light and pinning me to the bed with calloused hands from long hours at the shooting range, just like mine were. I imagined one of those hands lifting to press two hard fingers between my lips; choking me and making me suck as he fucked my mouth.

  Yeah, that was exactly what I wanted, and I would tell him, too. I would say anything he wanted me to say, I would beg to have his cock, whether he shoved it in my mouth or my ass, and no, I didn't want him to be nice about it. I craved something rough, and before I knew it, my heels were planted on the bed and my hips were rocking hard on the mattress, pushing up into my hands.

  I squeezed my cock brutally hard, imagining his hands on me, making me yell. Maybe he would slap me to shut me the hell up, or maybe he would bite me to make me yell louder. I liked both, I'm pretty easy like that.

  I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I came quickly, the cum landing on my hands and on my T-shirt. I lay still for a minute, but it wasn't really like getting fucked out. I sat up, wiping my hands on my shirt before I pulled the shirt over my head and pitched it into the corner.

  For the first time since stepping off the plane, I felt like maybe I could relax and get some sleep. I stretched out on the bed again, and this time I swear I was just getting ready to drift off when I heard the lock turn.

  If you're in my line of work, practically anything that comes through a door can be really bad news, and that combined with the fact I was finally about ready to drift off made me feel piss-mean as I rolled up to a sitting position. I thought about standing, but fuck it, whoever the hell it was was getting in my face. After all, I didn't come to his place of employment and ruin his post-orgasm glow.

  The guy walked in with a cane, a stiffness to his right leg showed me exactly where I wanted to hit him if I wanted to take him down quick, hard and dirty. The suit he wore was nice but I could tell it wasn’t something he was used to. There was something about it that said boyfriend at a wedding, or, and this was more likely, given the organization, a field agent stuck behind a desk.

  He was a blocky guy with broad shoulders, with more than a little gray in his regulation haircut. His broad face was accented by sharp cheekbones like guys from the Slavic countries, and I couldn't imagine his slash of a mouth unbending long enough to smile.

  For a long moment, he looked at me like he wanted me to start talking, but I wasn't interested at all. Instead, I stared at him and when he didn't say a word, I started checking him out, long, slow and insolent. At the agency, the trainers teach you early on not to let anything rattle your cage, but a lot of the older guys can't get used to getting the eye from another man.

  The more I looked, the more I grinned, because whether he was an office drone or not, I liked what I saw. Despite the cane, I could see how easily he stood, and when he shifted, his tailored trousers strained against thighs that were thick with muscle. He was less blocky than I thought and was more or less all shoulder. I would bet that even if he had a layer of bureaucratic fat, what was beneath it was hard as steel. Besides his cane, he carried a sleek little tablet tucked under one arm, but I was willing to bet that if you frisked him, you'd probably come up with a service revolver.

  I let my eyes drift up to his face again, and while his mouth hadn't budged, I was surprised to see that his eyes were creased with some kind of secret amusement. That made me balk a little bit, and I felt my face fall into that familiar scowl that I seemed to wear whenever I was in headquarters. I don't like being laughed at, and it always felt like the bureaucrats were five seconds and a closed door from laughing in my face. I was just a dumb kid an old agent fished out of the justice system for a career as the organization's hands, ears, eyes and occasionally gun, so what did it matter who laughed at me?

  “Starzek refuses to work with you any longer,” he said, breaking our silence. I looked at his face for any kind of irritation, and I couldn't find a trace of it.

  “That's a shame,” I said finally. “I liked him.”

  The man raised an eyebrow.

  “No, you didn't,” he said. “You don't point guns at people you like, and you don't tell them to
'go fuck their blonde whore.'”

  I smirked a little.

  “Ain't you ever been in the field before, sir?” I asked, drawling it out so it was just this side of respectful. “Guys in the field, we joke and kid a lot.”

  If his inactive status bothered him, he didn't flinch. All he did was ignore me and settle down on the chair next to the bed, unlocking the tablet with a flick of his finger.

  “I've been going over your file for the past two days,” he said. “The big boss started pushing you on me pretty hard, ever since Starzek said he wouldn't work with you. I've been resisting.”

  I slapped my hand to my chest like I was heartbroken, but he ignored me.

  “You're a talented field agent,” he continued, “but you've gone through guardians one after another since you entered the organization at the age of 22. Not a single one has lasted more than seven months, and the number of operatives who refuse to work for you is alarmingly high.”

  “Can't please everyone,” I muttered.

  “Refuse to please anyone,” he corrected, and he turned the tablet to me.

  The camera work was shaky, but I recognized the scene right away. It was a shot from just two days ago; right after business with the cult in Barcelona had gone down. The main building was still smoking, and there I was, powder-burned with a gash on my arm needed stitches, holding a gun on Special Agent Starzek. I knew better than to let myself flinch, but anyone with half a brain could see I wasn't joking around. There was no audio, thank fucking God, but it was enough to see Starzek was good and terrified of me.

  The video ended and I handed the tablet back to the man. It was beginning to creep me out that he hadn't introduced himself, and the more paranoid part of my brain wondered if this was how it ended. Agents who were problem cases might be farmed out to other agencies or fired outright, but the rumors that some of them just... disappeared still got around. We were that kind of place, and though I had never been involved in disappearing any of my co-workers, the thought was fresh on my mind.

  “Did you change your mind?” I asked. “If you've been resisting, why are you here? You got a hard-on for bad little boys or something?”

  To my surprise, he laughed. That kind of backtalk to Starzek could have had me doing push-ups until I puked, but he looked like he actually thought I was funny.

  “I'm here because the boss asked me to be,” he said, without a lick of meanness to it. “Regardless of why, however, I'm here to bring you to your new station. We can go from there.”

  He stood, so I did, and to my surprise, he stuck out his hand.

  “I'm pleased to meet you,” he said, and it was almost like he was telling the truth. “Alec Garrett.”

  I thought about not taking it. I had had years and years of experience being the bad case, the one that social workers took on top of a staggering workload with an impatient glance. Something about the look on his face, both warm and expecting me to behave right made me take his hand, even if I shook it like a disgruntled dog asked to perform a boring trick.

  “Ryland Cortez,” I said sullenly. He ignored it, choosing instead to shake my hand in a firm, warm grip.

  “Get cleaned up,” he said, as if it was all a done deal. “I'll have clothes delivered to you while you bathe, and then you'll meet me down in the lobby.”

  I cocked my head to one side. “We going somewhere?” I asked.

  “Yes. I am taking you to my home downtown. You will be staying with me for the moment.”

  I frowned at that. “I haven't lived off base for years...” I said as he raised an eyebrow.

  “Do you think living off base will impair you in some way?”

  The question seemed pointy to me, like he was expecting me to admit that I was one of those sad sacks who can't function away from the premises, and I scowled.

  “Didn't think so,” he said. “Though if you do think that something is going to impair you in any way, you are to tell me immediately.”

  I shrugged then I blinked when his hand landed hard on my shoulder. Christ almighty he was fast, and even if they had him filling out reports now, he must have been a terror when he was in the field. I had barely seen him move.

  “That's your first order, Cortez,” he said sternly. “First and last, forever and always, you tell me if something is going to impair you, got me?”

  I don't know if it was the fact that his voice dropped like a brick or the way his cologne smelled of something classy and earthy, but I felt something soft inside me twitch even as it made my hackles rise.

  “Got it, sir,” I snapped, getting to my feet. When I stood, we were about the same height, and I could look him straight in the eye. He was a lot broader than me, though, and I wondered if I could have taken him when he was still doing field work. As fast he was, I wasn't sure which way I would have bet.

  He dropped his hand from my shoulder easily, nodding at me and stepping away.

  “Down in the lobby as soon as you're dressed,” he said, stepping outside.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Garrett

  The whole way down to the garage, I felt Ryland Cortez's eyes on my back. He was still trying to figure me out, and coming up with one wrong answer after another. That was fine. He would learn well enough who I was, and what he could expect sooner rather than later.

  I hadn't actually been expecting an incident before we left the building, but I was wrong. We rounded a corner and I nearly ran straight in Starzek, scowling over his files. He stumbled a little, muttering a perfunctory apology, and then his eyes narrowed as he recognized Cortez.

  “Are they finally taking you back to the jail they found you in, Cortez?'

  It was shockingly rude, but it was a legitimate guess. Ryland Cortez walked a narrow line. Contrary to popular suspicion, the agency didn't retire problem cases with a bullet to the skull, but putting them back where we found them was always a possibility.

  I started to tell him it was none of his business, but Cortez answered first.

  “Nah, once I told them how much you like sucking my cock, they told me they wanted to see you in action so...”

  Starzek turned bright red and for a second I genuinely thought he was going to lunge at Cortez. Cortez must have thought the same thing, because he stepped up with a feral grin on his face. I put myself between them, eyes on Starzek.

  “That's enough,” I snapped. I could have been speaking to both of them, but Starzek was the one who looked like he was going to bust a vein.

  “You can't talk to senior agents like that, you filthy little punk...”

  “And I'll thank you not to speak to my asset at all, Agent Starzek,” I said, and something about my tone got through to him because he stepped back, glaring at us both. I thought we would be able to make it to the garage without anything else, but Starzek wasn't done. He stepped aside to let us walk past, and when he we did, he called to us over his shoulder.

  “Good luck with Cortez, Garrett,” he said. “Watch out. If he can't get his way through bullying and threats, he'll see if peddling his ass will do it.”

  I didn't bother looking at Starzek again, but beside me, I felt Cortez flinch a little, hunching his shoulders higher. At some point in my late thirties, all of the new agents started looking alarmingly young to me. Ryland Cortez, even if he was twenty-six, was no exception. I wanted to tell him not to worry about it, but instead, I led him down to the garage.

  He stared when I stopped at my car, mouth open just a little. I hid a smile, because my rides tend to have that effect on people. Smug, maybe, but I'd gotten over feeling too bad about it.

  “Mercedes Maybach,” he whistled, stopping just short of running his hand along the hood. “This year's model?”

  “No, last year's. It's more responsive than the current crop. Get in.”

  I've always liked my cars fast and flashy, but of course the agency frowns on us sticking out too much. The Mercedes was just about the edge of what I c
ould get away with, but this car left me with no regrets. After we flashed our ID at the guard at the gate, I eased the car onto the empty freeway. It was a little past midnight, and with an hour before we got back to my place in the city, I was eager to be home.

  I had expected Cortez to be silent if not asleep the whole way back, and he was for the first few minutes. When he started talking, his voice was low and contemplative.

  “It's not true, you know.”

  “What's that?”

  “What Starzek said. We never did anything like that.”

  I snorted.

  “Didn't think you had. Starzak's too married to the company to mess around with an asset.”

  Cortez made a brief inquiring noise.

  “And you're not?”

  “I'm pretty married to the company,” I said drily. “I hit the 25 year mark this year. You don't stay in this long without being some kind of unhealthily devoted.”

  “Shit, almost as long as I've been alive.” He paused for a minute, and for some reason I tensed up a little. It felt that something was crackling in the air between us, and I didn't know what it was.

  “So being in so long, that's why they let you have the fancy car?”

  “It's not like I bought it with the company dime or anything,” I shrugged, having an idea about where this was going.

  “Yeah, but it's not just that, is it? Everyone else is driving Ford, Buick, whatever American POS isn't going to get them a second look. No one else is driving anything Japanese, let alone German, and here you are with a car worth enough to buy a nice piece of property somewhere quiet.”

  I couldn't say that it wasn't special treatment. It absolutely was. After a while, you get to a point where you make your own rules, and no one bothers to correct you because you trained them, helped train them, or they owe you. I decided that was probably the last thing I should say to Cortez.

  “It's a good car. Gets me where I need to go. That's what matters.”