Free Shadow Ops: Danger's Heat (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 2) by LS Silverii

access to the Preacher’s database.” Justice rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “Money gets access to everything.”
    “Okay, enough macho bullshit,” Voodoo said. “I don’t know y’all’s military mumbo jumbo, but I do know Justice left the bayou years ago to join the service. Hell, we all swore the same oath, just wear different patches now.” Both shoulders drew back—she’d never stood taller. “It’s not about police work or whatever the hell you do, Justice. It’s about saving America, and unless y’all got a better plan, then my fucked up roommate Bonny is going to do some serious damage on St. Paddy’s Day.”

CHAPTER 11
    The brownstone looked like any other West Side single-story building. Chase Westin steered the SUV along Division Street until he found a spot to squeeze into between a row of rat bikes. Hollywood kept his eyes peeled from the shotgun seat while Rose gave instructions to her team. Hollywood blinked into the rearview, watching Voodoo’s expression as Chase pulled forward and eased back until the extended ride snuggled between two Harley Davidson Fat Boys.
    “Voodoo, you sure about this?” he questioned her again, interrupting Rose’s briefing.
    She snorted with a shake of her head, but kept silent.
    Hollywood’s hands were moist and cold, but he felt sweat popping from the flood of heat that rose up his neck. The last time he entered a biker clubhouse, he’d taken a knife in the thigh before he strangled the douche bag to death with his bare hands.
    “Welcome ladies,” said Justice as he soared his hog over into the space reserved for the chapter president.
    Hollywood’s elbow tapped the top of his holster as a reassurance that his Glock 9mm was secured. He patted the inside of his right calf to adjust the concealed KA-BAR knife he carried. It was his favorite multipurpose tool, given to him as a birthday present by Chase. He knew how much Force Recon Marines loved their KA-BARs, and Hollywood always took pride in maintaining his. He touched the snub-nose revolver on his left calf for good measure, too, before exiting the Suburban.
    “Nice place you got here, baby,” Voodoo’s singsong tone agitated Hollywood, but he trusted her. He assumed—well actually hoped—her flirtatious nature was another tactic to keep Justice mellow and focused on the agreement.
    Hollywood’s legs hardened and steps became labored as his boot soles scuffed across the debris-cluttered street and onto the chipped sidewalk. Obvious that Chicago’s public works departments had avoided this strip of real estate. He was careful not to touch anything. He surveyed the building’s design as he approached. There were no windows, a steel swing gate reinforced the front door, and a rectangular metal sign had been bolted into the brick. It alerted the world that this property belonged to the Savage Souls Motorcycle Club, Inc.
    The dinged-up metal banner was white with dark red trim. The demonic emblem and club name also displayed a diamond shape with 1%er inside of it. This announced the club’s fringe existence and commitment to the counter-culture of society’s expectation for acceptable behavior. Hollywood realized Outlaw Motorcycle Clubs, OMC took pride in shocking the sensibilities of honest citizens. He also saw the letters FSS-SSF, which stood for Forever Savage Souls – Savage Souls Forever. Finally, the last message on the club’s calling card was the letters FTW. He wasn’t surprised by the Fuck The World message.
    “Carrying?” Justice asked.
    “Stupid question,” Hollywood said. His elbow tapped the holstered 9mm pistol again.
    “Stupid not to, but you’re good with your hands, ain’t ya?” Justice’s eyes injected frozen slivers into Hollywood’s spine.
    He stopped in the threshold to glare at Justice, and allowed his eyes to adjust to the low interior light. The drone of heavy metal music echoed from within.
    “Yeah, I am.”
    *     *     *
    Hollywood