The Hidden: A Black Force Thriller (Black Force Shorts Book 4) Read online

  The Hidden

  Black Force Shorts Book Four

  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

  Chapter 27

  Announcement

  Reader’s Group

  Books by Matt Rogers

  About the Author

  Join the Reader’s Group and get a free 200-page book by Matt Rogers!

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  Meet Jason King — another member of Black Force.

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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)

  Visit amazon.com/author/mattrogers23 and press “Follow” to be automatically notified of my future releases.

  1

  Will Slater took one look through the entranceway to the cocktail lounge and figured, at twenty-three years of age, he probably didn’t mesh with the typical Friday night crowd. Mood lighting covered the interior in a dark hue, and the soft jazz filtering through the air had a relaxing undercurrent. Not the sort of scene a man who should be fresh out of college would eagerly dive into.

  Then again, he was not a normal twenty-three year old.

  So he stepped across the threshold without a second thought, exchanging a brief nod with the broad-shouldered bouncer manning the door. The guy didn’t even think about asking for identification, and Slater hadn’t expected him to. Something about working for a black operations division of the U.S. military charged him with a confidence that couldn’t be faked. He kept his chin held high and his shoulders back. It hadn’t even crossed the bouncer’s mind that Slater could be underage.

  Slater certainly didn’t look twenty-three.

  The last six months of his life had consisted of such utter madness, such indescribable carnage with no end in sight, that he felt right at home mingling with an overwhelmingly older crowd. Any kind of social awkwardness or hesitation had been rudely stripped away. Slater had come to embrace the strangeness of life, and in the brief periods of downtime he’d received over the last half-year he’d thrown himself in the deep end, seizing every opportunity that came his way, even if it made him uncomfortable.

  So he had no qualms about approaching the two women sitting across from each other on bar stools in the far corner of the room.

  No-one glanced at him twice as he made his way through the lounge. He passed broad leather armchairs arranged stylistically in tight groups, most of them occupied by wealthier types. This was a socialite’s haven, which explained the attractiveness of the women by the bar. They appeared to be the only people in the room roughly similar to Slater in age. He put them at no older than twenty-five. Strangely enough, it took him a moment to realise that he was probably wealthier than half the people in this room, even though most of them were three times his age.

  Black operations paid handsomely and offered impressive rewards if you survived the job.

  Which was no easy task.

  Slater opted to ignore the nagging aches and pains in his body from the last three consecutive operations. Nevertheless, he took them as a sign of achievement. He shouldn’t have survived any of the situations he’d found himself in.

  Which added confidence to his psyche.

  Which seeped through into his abilities.

  Which made him a better soldier.

  The effect of compounding.

  If he strode into a situation without a shadow of a doubt that he would succeed, the sheer mental edge often swayed results in his favour. The battlefield had taught him that. But he was starting to learn that it also applied to almost anything in life.

  Namely, most social encounters…

  Slater stopped alongside the two women and rested both elbows on the countertop, an enormous slab of polished wood with accompanying downlighting to accentuate the shadows of the giant bar. He was in shape, and he didn’t feel the need to hide it. Men in this cocktail lounge had probably spent thousands of dollars on designer clothes to hide their flabby physiques and the fat running around their mid-sections. The benefit of putting yourself through a fitness regime that most Olympic athletes would frown at, Slater had realised, was being able to dress in a twenty-dollar long-sleeved shirt and attract as much attention as one desired.

  He noticed the women studying him out of the corner of his eye as he ordered a glass of eighteen-year-old Macallan, on the rocks.

  ‘That’ll be fifty dollars,’ the bartender warned.

  ‘Think I would have ordered it if I didn’t know that?’ he snapped.

  ‘Just checking.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  As the bartender set to work making the beverage, Slater figured he’d overreacted and made a mental note to correct the situation. When the man passed the drink across, Slater slid him seventy dollars cash with a knowing nod. The guy smiled, nodded back, and pocketed the change.

  Strangely enough, Slater found himself stunned that he’d been so curt in the first place. It had been an astonishing six months, a whirlwind of solo operations — three missions, back to back to back — that had pushed him to his physical and mental limits. Each time he’d crawled out of the pit of war with his body barely held together. Each time he’d been patched back up and returned to the fray.

  Hence his presence in Chicago.

  He needed a break.

  He needed rest and recuperation and some semblance of peace for a couple of weeks if he was going to do this job for the rest of his life.

  Which he fully intended to do.

  So he didn’t even hesitate in turning to the pair of women and flashing a grin of pearly white teeth. Thankfully, although he’d been beaten to a pulp in every other way, he’d kept the workings of his mouth flawless. He assumed fake teeth would come in future if he maintained his current pace. He’d take it all in stride. Just as he’d handled everything in the last half-year.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Figured I’d introduce myself. Will Slater.’

  He shook each of t
heir hands in turn, applying just enough firm pressure to let them know he meant business. The woman closest to him seemed to be the elder of the two, although she couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than Slater. Physically, she was stunning — model calibre at the very least, with an expensive black dress hanging off a slender frame and a long flowing mane of golden hair. The other woman was a redhead, slightly shorter with a more curvaceous physique. She seemed in impeccable shape — Slater figured she lifted weights religiously. He found that even more attractive.

  ‘You’re forward, aren’t you?’ the taller of the pair said.

  Slater eyed the empty cocktail glass on the countertop in front of her and noticed the warm glint in her eyes. She’d had a couple of drinks to take the edge off.

  He shrugged. ‘I think we’re the only people in here under the age of fifty.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘Bit of an exaggeration,’ the redhead said.

  Slater cast a quick look over his shoulder. ‘Not really.’

  ‘What are you doing here, then?’ the taller one said. ‘If it’s not your crowd.’

  ‘Did I say it wasn’t my crowd?’

  ‘You seem to think we shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘You’re both single?’ Slater said.

  ‘Cutting right to the chase, aren’t you?’ the redhead said, but she was grinning devilishly.

  ‘Well,’ Slater said, sensing his opportunity, ‘I just figured — why else would you be here?’

  ‘We’re both single.’

  ‘Looking for a guy with money?’

  ‘You’re not supposed to say things like that to people you’ve only just met.’

  Slater leant in, and neither of the pair flinched or shrank away. He took that as a positive sign. By now he was only half a foot from the taller woman, and he downed half his Macallan. Before continuing, he flashed a look into the woman’s eyes, and she met his gaze. Her eyes were stark green, piercing, vibrating with energy. She sensed something there.

  So did he.

  ‘I mean, there’s no point skirting around it, is there?’ he said. ‘I can’t see anyone in this room who would give you a fun time. They might buy you nice things down the road, but where’s the fun in that? I’m young. I’m single. You could wait around here all night in the hope of striking up a shit conversation with one of these grumpy old bastards, or the three of us could stick together.’

  ‘Stick together?’ the redhead said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘How about I buy you a drink? Let’s talk.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer, but—’

  ‘Why not?’ Slater said, fixing his attention on the taller model.

  She returned the stare, in much the same way she had before. There was palpable chemistry there, two young beautiful souls free in Chicago for a night. That concept had electricity — it had potential. She could sense that. Slater certainly could.

  The redhead wasn’t buying it.

  ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ she muttered. ‘Florence…’

  The taller woman — Florence, evidently — twisted around, a sly smile edging at the corners of her mouth. She gave her companion a quizzical glance.

  ‘Bathroom,’ the redhead repeated.

  Slater knew what was happening. The redhead expected Florence to accompany her, at which point they would be free to gossip about the overly forward, well built African-American man in the bar who neither of them had any intention of taking home. If she went, Slater had lost her, and he might as well be on his way. In that brief moment in time he subtly applauded himself for having the courage to approach someone so stunning, so exquisite. Florence seemed to be captivated by it, too — maybe her beauty put men off cold approaching her.

  He’d certainly taken a risk.

  Florence nodded to her friend. ‘No problem. I’ll be here.’

  Slater stifled a grin, keeping his expression deadpan.

  The redhead silently huffed, trying to make a scene as best she could without drawing attention to it, and shifted off the bar stool. She disappeared into the corner of the cocktail lounge in search of the facilities.

  Slater hunched forward another few inches.

  Now they were overtly close.

  Close enough for both their intentions to be placed on the table. Slater could smell her perfume.

  ‘I have to say,’ he muttered, taking another sip of the Macallan. ‘Your friend doesn’t seem very fun.’

  Florence eyed the drink. Slater took the cue and handed it over — she drained the rest of the eighteen year old scotch in a single gulp.

  ‘Where to?’ she whispered.

  Slater smiled.

  2

  Slater had stepped inside the cocktail lounge at just after nine in the evening.

  It was past midnight when Florence rolled off him and sprawled across the other side of the king size bed, sweat glistening off her naked body, her chest rising and falling as she panted for breath. Slater considered himself in peak physical condition, but the preceding hours had tested his endurance all the same.

  The lighting in the penthouse suite had been deliberately set to low, creating an almost romantic aura as the pair covered themselves with the crumpled bedsheet. Slater lifted an arm and Florence dropped her head to his chest, kissing his bare skin softly at random intervals. They lay there for some time, savouring the shared state of bliss, staring out over the Chicago River and the skyline running along the opposite bank.

  The room had cost Slater two thousand for the night, but money had become the least of his worries six long months ago.

  ‘So…’ Florence muttered, tracing a bare finger across his chest, pressing down in random places, admiring his frame, ‘I don’t think we ever discussed who we are.’

  ‘That’s a pretty broad question,’ Slater said.

  ‘I mean, career-wise.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You don’t want to talk about it?’

  Slater paused. ‘I mean… I could lie. But I came here to get away from all that bullshit. I’d rather tell the truth, but I can’t. So I’ll just say nothing.’

  ‘You could have made up anything.’

  ‘I know. I’m a little tired, though.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why.’

  ‘You do this kind of thing often?’

  ‘You mean… for three hours?’

  Slater masked a smirk. ‘No. Strangers. People you’ve never met before.’

  ‘Not usually.’

  ‘Then why me?’

  ‘There was something about you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The fact that you can’t tell me what you do. I like that. That whole aura. You had it when you walked into the bar tonight.’

  ‘Newfound confidence, I guess.’

  ‘From what?’

  ‘What life throws at me.’

  ‘Do you like what life throws at you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you still do it.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Why?’

  Slater swept a hand around the room. ‘You know… the usual. It buys things like this.’

  Florence shook her head, planting another delicate kiss on his left pectoral. ‘No, no. You’re not that kind of guy.’

  ‘You’re a good judge of character…’

  ‘I know.’

  Slater shrugged. ‘You don’t have to enjoy something to know it’s what you’re supposed to do.’

  She visibly clenched her teeth. ‘You’re really not going to tell me, are you?’

  ‘I don’t change my mind often. I’m pretty stubborn.’

  ‘I could return… favours.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve got the stamina for the kind of favours you have in mind.’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of stamina. I’m sure you’ll survive.’

  ‘Afraid I can’t talk. Lips are sealed.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  Slater looped his hand around the small of her back and
ran a finger down the base of her spine, bringing a soft flutter to her lips.

  ‘And what about you?’ he said.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘What do you do?’

  ‘This and that.’

  ‘I think I know what that means.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Careful. I’m not a hooker, for God’s sakes.’

  ‘I never said you were.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But there’s something there. In your eyes. Some kind of spark. You do things your own way. You make money from that, don’t you?’

  She shrugged and offered a flirtatious smirk. ‘There’s always opportunities out there.’

  ‘Big businessmen who need a companion? That sort of thing?’

  ‘I’ve only ever done it twice.’

  Slater believed her. Not that he would have cared either way. He wouldn’t be back in Chicago for a long time. ‘Only twice?’

  ‘You seem to think I’m a slut.’

  ‘Not at all. But if I were in your shoes -- if I had your looks — I’d use them.’

  Florence trailed a hand down his abdomen, and it came to rest in a sensitive area. She pressed her lips to the side of his neck, then came away and whispered, ‘You could probably use them now.’

  ‘Twice,’ he muttered. ‘Why’d you stop?’

  She shifted uncomfortably. ‘None of your business.’

  ‘You don’t want to talk about it. So it’s important. Whatever it is.’