Free Shadow Ops: Danger's Passion (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 3) by LS Silverii Page B

button. The metal bullet holder clanked to the floor. His left hand swept across his chest, snatched a fully loaded magazine from his vest pocket. Hollywood rammed it home and opened fire once again.
    The massive lock housing fell to the floor.
    He swung to the opposite side of the creaking door. “I’m out,” Hollywood said, again changing magazines.
    Rose led the charge. Her high-powered flashlight attached to the bottom of her weapon gave glimpses of a long staircase leading into the basement. Reloaded, Hollywood fell into the number three spot behind KC. Chase remained up top to thwart anyone from following them.
    The temporary silence after Hollywood’s rapid-fire flow of ammunition into the door lock created a hushed oh-shit effect. He heard Rose and KC’s weight flex each crooked wooden step as they rushed downstairs. He kept close.
    Hollywood felt the prickle of anxiety and anticipation. His skin crawled the closer he came to seeing beneath the upper structure. Sweat bled from his saturated black hood and dribbled into his face—the burnt skin just under his right eye a distant memory. Legs like lead, he struggled to land each downward step on the balls of his feet.
    He heard her, or thought so. Whimpering on a soiled mattress pitched in the corner on mud-covered concrete. Hollywood spotted the biker facing her. He had to have known they were coming, but he didn’t appear to give a shit. Dirt bag’s attention was focused on Voodoo’s nudity, and zipping up his diesel coated jeans.
    Hollywood secured his firearm—Voodoo was deep in the dark corner, but still in his line of fire. He couldn’t take the risk. The KA-BAR knife made a zip sound as he ripped it from its sheath. Rose and KC hadn’t noticed his move, nor had they slowed their descent down the stairs. The moment his head cleared the structural support beam, Hollywood launched himself from the open staircase. The biker never knew what hit him. Hollywood’s steel blade sank deep into the soft spot just below the back of the biker’s skull.
    Blood gurgled through the gap at the front of his throat. The biker hung, suspended from Hollywood’s blade. Voodoo kept her face pressed against the brick corner. Her foot dangled off the thin mattress. They’d carved a tattoo into her leg—Property of Devil’s Own. Vomit pooled in his mouth.
    Rose and KC reached the landing to encounter another biker too fucked up to resist.
    A picture flashed in Hollywood’s mind. He recognized the silhouette shivering in the shadows. Spittle built up in the corners of his mouth. A guttural roar formed deep within him. Vision clouded. His heart rate exploded with fury.
    He snatched the corpse up by his leather vest and yanked his knife out.
    “No Hollywood,” Rose’s voice warbled as if she were underwater. The shots and adrenaline had taken their toll.
    Too late—he ran the razor edge of the blade around the biker’s neck until his head rolled off onto the cement. Hollywood stabbed at the back of the biker’s cut. He held up the patch, an image of satan breastfeeding an infant. Waved it in his fist like a Super Bowl trophy.
    “What’ve you done?” Rose said.
    KC held the other biker at gunpoint. The man was frozen with fear.
    Hollywood stalked toward them. He threw the biker’s patch to the ground and drew the Glock model 19. Rose moved in front of him.
    “Move,” he growled.
    “No. You will not shoot this unarmed man. We’re better than that.”
    KC’s glower twisted from Rose to Hollywood to the cornered biker.
    “You’re right. I’m not going to shoot him.”
    Hollywood’s stance widened and his fingers spread wide. Tunnel vision had taken its grip, but he didn’t care. Both STR team members were speaking at him, but the high pulse rate and tsunami of adrenaline pushed him to the edge of unconsciousness.
    Hollywood chopped their hands away and lunged to the corner with a blood lust. Grabbing the biker by the skull, he peered deep into the man’s