The Wicked_A Black Force Thriller Read online

  The Wicked

  Black Force Shorts Book Seven

  Matt Rogers

  Copyright © 2018 by Matt Rogers

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Onur Aksoy.

  www.liongraphica.com

  Contents

  Reader’s Group

  Books by Matt Rogers

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Announcement

  Books by Matt Rogers

  Reader’s Group

  About the Author

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  Books by Matt Rogers

  THE JASON KING SERIES

  Isolated (Book 1)

  Imprisoned (Book 2)

  Reloaded (Book 3)

  Betrayed (Book 4)

  Corrupted (Book 5)

  Hunted (Book 6)

  THE JASON KING FILES

  Cartel (Book 1)

  Warrior (Book 2)

  Savages (Book 3)

  THE WILL SLATER SERIES

  Wolf (Book 1)

  Lion (Book 2)

  BLACK FORCE SHORTS

  The Victor (Book 1)

  The Chimera (Book 2)

  The Tribe (Book 3)

  The Hidden (Book 4)

  The Coast (Book 5)

  The Storm (Book 6)

  The Wicked (Book 7)

  1

  Venice Beach

  Los Angeles, California

  Will Slater certainly hadn’t been expecting company, so when the flimsy plywood door to his motel room thundered open, the lock snapping clean in two from a well-placed kick, he found himself uncharacteristically slow to react.

  Thankfully for Slater, “uncharacteristically slow” still ranked faster than ninety-nine-point-nine percent of society. So he clawed his way out of unconsciousness in an instant. He reached down, shoved a hand between the mattress and the base, yanked a loaded Glock 17 out of the gap, trained the barrel on the blinding rectangle of light, and waited for an excuse to pull the trigger.

  None presented themselves.

  There was no shootout.

  He managed all of that before the ungodly hangover symptoms hit him in the stomach. As his liver battled furiously to digest the mountain of alcohol he’d fed it the night before, he allowed his aim to slip for a moment, the Glock’s barrel drifting down toward the floor as soon as he recognised there was no immediate threat.

  Big mistake.

  The silhouette standing in the doorway drew a weapon of his own. The intruder trained it between Slater’s eyes. By that point Slater had corrected his aim, but now a standoff unfolded. Someone stirred beside Slater. He couldn’t immediately ascertain the source. Then a soft whimper and a flash of bare skin in his peripheral vision brought the memories back.

  Oh, yeah. College girl.

  The man in the doorway said, ‘This isn’t like you, Slater. Thought you’d get the beat on me.’

  ‘Lars?’ Slater groaned, squinting to try and make out the features of the newcomer. But the sunlight flooding in prevented any chance of that happening. His heartbeat throbbed in his head, drawing sweat from his pores, sending nausea through his insides.

  ‘You wish,’ the guy said. ‘Unfortunately, your handler’s busy. But I’m in town, so I’m doing his dirty work.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Just a guy. We’ve never met.’

  ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘Pretty sure. Otherwise I never would have got the call. Maximum deniability.’

  The man stepped into the motel room and gently kicked the door shut behind him, sealing the unlikely trio inside. Now the only illumination came from a desk lamp in the far corner. The mind-numbing sunlight had vanished, only evident now in the thin gaps around the doorframe. Slater sat up, snatched a plastic water bottle off the nightstand, and gulped back half its contents. The liquid was lukewarm. He grimaced, wiped a few droplets off the side of his mouth, dumped the bottle back down, and sat up. He pulled the sheets up over his naked body to maintain some semblance of respectability.

  Now he could get a better look at the intruder. His heart rate settling, he shoved the Glock back under the mattress, deeming the guy no threat. True to his word, the man was unfamiliar. Slater could have passed him off as any college-age jock making the trip to Venice Beach to party and drink and fuck. But even though his close-cropped blonde hair and pronounced jawline and athletic frame could have gelled with thousands of similar-looking people along the beachfront, something in his eyes told Slater the man wasn’t there for fun.

  He was military in some capacity. His gaze didn’t waver. Even though the tanned Scandinavian at Slater’s side was slow to cover her own bare skin with the sheet, the newcomer didn’t stare. He simply watched Slater, keeping his own weapon — a Beretta M9 — hovering at his side.

  Ever vigilant.

  The guy finally looked at the woman, then turned his gaze back to Slater. ‘Can she go?’

  ‘Yeah. Probably a good idea.’

  Slater turned to her — Lucy, was it? ‘Hey, look…’

  She held up a hand. ‘Don’t even start. I don’t want to know. I’m out of here.’

  ‘Well, it was nice to meet you.’

  She flashed an icy glare at the Beretta the newcomer was displaying in plain view. ‘Uh, yeah… you too.’

  ‘I’ll wait outside,’ the man said. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Will. You’ve never met me but you can trust me. You’re needed.’

  You’re needed.

  Three simple syllables that stripped him of all his hangover woes. Put him straight back into operational mode. He hadn’t been expecting the call so soon. He’d been largely enjoying his time off. The blonde guy turned and slunk straight back out of the motel room, leaving far more discreetly than he’d entered.

  As soon as they were alone, Lucy sent a withering look in Slater’s direction. ‘What the hell was that?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, passing her the clothes from the previous night. ‘I just … you know … work commitments. Shit happens.’

  ‘I can see that. You don’t have a phone?’

  ‘I have a phone. That’s how they usually contact me. This is slightly more drastic. Must be serious business.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘Let’s not get into that.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  She pulled the simple floral dress over her lithe frame and shrugged it down. He took the time to admire her, considering he would probably never see her again. ‘Look, I really am sorry. I wasn’t expecting that.’

  Despite everything, she rounded the bed, slipped into her sneakers, bent down, and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. When they parted, she was smiling. ‘You’re lucky I like yo
u.’

  Slater raised an eyebrow, mockingly. ‘Oh?’

  ‘You know, I pegged you as an athlete. D-league, or something like that. A cut under the pros.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Don’t know how you keep a body like that if you work a regular job.’

  ‘It’s not a regular job.’

  ‘Figured.’ She shrugged. ‘Oh, well. I thought I’d run into some wild bastards sooner or later down here.’

  ‘Where are you from?’

  She touched a finger to his lips. ‘You had all the time in the world to ask me that last night. Enjoy your … work.’

  ‘Yeah. I will. Enjoy your holiday.’

  ‘I will.’

  She glided to the door, threw it open, and disappeared onto the landing, floating past the blonde man on her way out of the motel complex. He must have sensed the post-coital glow emanating off her, because he stepped back into the room and said, ‘I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep.’

  ‘Very little.’

  ‘Too bad. Get dressed. Duty calls.’

  Slater sucked up all the toxic symptoms of the mother-of-all-hangovers and expunged them from his body in one giant exhale. He drained the rest of the water from the plastic bottle, dropped a couple of Tylenols into his mouth, swallowed the whole lot, and lurched to his feet, throwing the sheets off his naked frame.

  He wasn’t shy — there was nothing about his anatomy to be ashamed of.

  ‘Jesus,’ the blonde man said, turning away.

  ‘No-one’s forcing you to look,’ Slater said, finally snapping. ‘In fact, did I fucking invite you inside in the first place? Wait outside. I’ll be there in a minute.’

  2

  He wasn’t joking.

  Less than sixty seconds later, he stepped onto the concrete landing with a faded duffel bag slung over one shoulder, dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain cotton T-shirt that hadn’t been designed to cling to his musculature, but did so all the same. The blonde guy eyed him warily.

  ‘Where’s all your stuff?’ the man said.

  Slater gestured from his head to his toes. ‘Right here.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘I don’t need much. No point lugging it all around when I’ve got the money to pay as I go.’

  ‘Didn’t take you as a man of simple pleasures.’

  ‘I’m not. You should see what I spend on substances.’

  Only half-joking.

  ‘Let’s go,’ the man said, gesturing for the stairs trailing down to the parking lot. There was an olive green Ford pick-up truck parked diagonally across the open space in front of the steps, where it had seemingly screeched to a halt minutes earlier. Slater had been sufficiently comatose, and hadn’t heard the guy approaching until he’d kicked the door in.

  You have to stop doing that, he told himself. One day it’ll get you killed.

  But he’d lost count of the number of times he’d tried to get clean.

  Besides, he was having fun.

  And how the hell else was he going to tolerate this life?

  He coughed, swigged more water from the same plastic bottle he’d refilled in the bathroom sink, and ignored the gesture completely. ‘What, you just expect me to follow you?’

  ‘Of course,’ the guy said. ‘Lars gave me full approval.’

  ‘You part of Black Force?’

  ‘No. But I’m one of the rare individuals who’s not part of it, yet still knows it exists.’

  ‘Then you’re not making me go anywhere.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘Because if you’re not part of the organisation, then your reflexes aren’t anything to write home about, which means the second you try to lay a hand on me and force me into doing anything I don’t want to do I’ll break that hand and the arm that comes with it, and then I’ll knock you unconscious and leave you sitting here in a bloody heap so I can carry on with enjoying the rest of my vacation, as I was doing before you so fucking rudely interrupted me.’

  The blonde guy just stared at him. ‘You done?’

  Slater narrowed his gaze. ‘Watch it, pretty boy.’

  ‘You think I’m some dumb jock?’

  ‘You sure look the part.’

  ‘I look the part for a reason. I’m sure if you thought about this for longer than three seconds, you’d know that I could tell your superiors that you’re not following orders and have all your accounts drained of government funds before you make it off this landing. But we don’t want to go down that path, do we?’

  Slater paused. He sure would love to wipe the smug expression off the kid’s face, but if there was one thing he loved more than revenge, it was money.

  ‘Alright,’ he said, taking another sip of water. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that. Can’t let the cash flow run out, can I? Got to pay the bills.’

  The guy stared at their surroundings. ‘You don’t seem to be spending it on much.’

  ‘A bed is a bed. I spend it on things I get use out of.’

  ‘Like drink and drugs?’

  ‘This is getting awfully close to a therapy session…’ Slater said, then trailed off, realising he didn’t know the guy’s name. ‘Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘Name’s Tommy.’

  ‘Bullshit it is.’

  ‘You’re perceptive, but why the hell would I tell you anything? My whole job is to direct special cases like you around when Lars and his buddies need more grunts on the ground. Anonymity is the only thing I’m good for.’

  Slater finished his second bottle of water for the morning, and strolled leisurely past Tommy. As he floated by, he pressed the empty bottle to the guy’s chest. ‘Special cases … I like that.’

  ‘They told me you had an ego.’

  ‘Need one, or I’ll go insane.’

  ‘Seems like you’re well on your way.’

  Slater stopped dead halfway down the staircase and seized Tommy by the collar, twisting around so fast that the man jolted in place, his eyes widening in surprise. Slater thrust him up against the banister and brought his face only inches away from Tommy’s. He could tell the guy was rattled. With a respectable physique himself, most street thugs and gangbangers would probably shy away from a confrontation with Tommy based on looks alone. But Slater had the unique advantage of having his combat abilities tested in the most unforgiving, brutal arenas imaginable. He knew he could beat the guy down in a well-timed succession of strikes and leave him a drooling mess before Tommy could blink.

  ‘Listen,’ he hissed. ‘I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but I’m not in the fucking mood. You burst into my room when I’m not on the job and think you can order me around like I’m just another natural prodigy who got lost in the drink. But there’s reasons why I drink, Tommy. There’s reasons why I do a lot of things.’

  Tommy said nothing. The blood had drained from his face.

  ‘We’ve got off on the wrong foot, haven’t we?’ Slater said.

  Tommy nodded.

  ‘I need a coffee. I’ll be a bit more sociable then.’ Slater released his hold, re-adjusted his grip on the duffel bag, and stumbled down the last few steps toward the Ford. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘San Francisco.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re in the right mood to talk about it.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Slater muttered.

  He wrenched the passenger door open and dropped into the seat. Half the padding was missing underneath the seat cover. Slater pressed two fingers into his eyeballs, let out a guttural groan signifying every sensation he was feeling in that moment, and stayed quiet as Tommy skirted round the hood, leapt into the driver’s seat, fired the Ford to life, and pulled out of the motel, accompanied by the screech of fat ancient tyres.

  Back on the road.

  Oh, how I’ve missed this.

  3

  A hundred miles and three cups of terrible coffee later, Slater final
ly felt like talking.

  The Tylenol kicked in as they roared up I-5, and the caffeine flooded his veins with molten energy, and finally the cocktail of hangover symptoms took a backseat to some semblance of ordinary consciousness. Slater stared out the passenger window, mute as a monk, and Tommy drove equally silently, and the strangeness of the whole situation began to wear off. Slater had done this kind of work for long enough to grow accustomed to the constant, incessant assault on his comfort zone. He had become comfortable being uncomfortable, and as soon as the hangover started to fade he could settle down and wrap his head around the fact that he was barrelling toward San Francisco with not a clue as to the reason why.

  He turned to Tommy when he figured they had less than four hours of driving ahead of them. ‘Okay, bud. Let’s talk.’

  ‘You’re ready now?’ Tommy said, and there was attitude in his tone.

  Slater didn’t bite. ‘Yeah, I’m ready now. Sorry about before. Rude awakening, you know…’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Lars told me you’d take it in stride, though.’

  ‘He probably didn’t know how much I had to drink last night.’

  ‘You got a problem, Will?’ Tommy said, with enough confidence for Slater to know he’d been thinking about bringing it up for most of the drive.

  ‘A problem?’

  ‘Drinking. Drugs. Whatever you do.’