Violet (Men of Siege Novellas Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Violet (Men of Siege Novella One) © 2017 by Bex Dane. All rights reserved.

  Published by Larken Romance

  First Edition December 2017

  Warning: Adult content, not intended for readers under 18. Explicit sex, violence, and graphic language.

  Cover by Elizabeth Mackey Designs

  The Men of Siege Series

  Imagine an elite group of tall, dark, and rugged heroes.

  All connected to a nightclub in Boston called Siege.

  They live by the motto die before surrender.

  But what happens when the warriors of Siege face down the power of love?

  Will their physical strength help them in battles of the heart?

  You have to read to find out!

  Find your next book boyfriend at Siege, and your next, and your next…

  Violet (Men of Siege Novella One)

  My commander's daughter is smokin' hot and going for broke to get my attention.

  She's ten years younger than me and off-limits.

  With Delta Force selection approaching, I can't afford any screwups.

  But Violet's curves and sassy smile push my self-control to the limit.

  What is it about her that makes me want to risk it all?

  I'm sure we could get away with one night.

  What could go wrong?

  Everything.

  A note to readers: Violet is the tragic story of how Rogan lost his first wife. Her death affected him and all the men of Siege. The events in this book occur chronologically before the events in Rogan. Rogan gets his happily ever after in Rogan (Men of Siege Book One).

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  Siege: any prolonged or persistent effort to overcome resistance

  Chapter 1

  Colonel Langbow's daughter flashed her tits again. She propped one elbow on the dinner table, pretended to fiddle with her earring, and gave me a straight shot at her gravity-defying cleavage.

  She'd caught my attention even without the extra effort. Shiny jet-black hair bounced in twists down her back, full lips painted blackberry-red. She looked about twenty-one, maybe twenty-two.

  "Eden's nineteen," Colonel Langbow announced.

  Alrighty then. He'd just stamped forbidden on Eden's boobs. Barely legal and my commanding officer's daughter. Still, a helluva show welcoming me back to the good ol' U.S. of A.

  The collar of my dress shirt constricted around my neck. In my eleven years—and Falcon's thirteen years—in the military, neither one of us had been invited to a commander's home for dinner. As a sniper team, we'd deviated from standard procedure more than once on our last deployment, so this could very well be our final dinner before a serious demotion.

  "So, where are you from, Rogan?" Anna Langbow, the colonel's wife, was an older version of Eden, the wrinkles framing her deep-set chocolate eyes the only giveaway to her age.

  "Everywhere. My dad was in the service."

  "And you, Falcon? Where are you from?" she asked, turning to him beside me.

  "Nowhere."

  She blinked at him three times then smiled. "I understand."

  There's no way she understood Falcon. I knew him better than anyone and I could barely grasp his thought process.

  "We traveled with my dad too. Germany, Japan, Bosnia," Eden said.

  "I've lived in all those places," I replied.

  "Life of an Army brat." She gave me a sweet smile. "Do you skate?"

  "You mean ice skate?"

  "Yeah, you know, hockey, pucks, brawls, sticks..."

  "Huh. Now that I think of it, I've never been on skates. You know how to ice skate, Falcon?"

  "No." His tone made it clear he didn't find ice-skating worthy of pursuit.

  "You two should put down your guns and try it. For fun."

  "You play hockey?" I asked her. Between the botanical illustrations on the wall, family portraits showed Eden standing next to what I assumed to be her brother. Another picture showed him in his Army service uniform. The next one was the two of them holding hockey sticks in the snow. The oversized mask and pads made her look like a shrunken munchkin next to her big brother.

  "Yep. The pond out back freezes over. My brother taught me."

  Colonel Langbow cleared his throat and gave Eden a stern glance. "Help your mom with the dishes."

  Anna shared a look with Eden before they stood to follow the order Langbow had called to dismiss them. When Eden bent low to collect the dishes, I caught a glimpse of her white lace bra encircling the bewitching roundness of her breasts.

  I stood and set my napkin next to my plate. "Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Langbow. Ain't had a home-cooked meal in years. Even then, my mom could never cook a juicy rib roast like yours. Nothing against my mom, but cooking is not her strength."

  "I'm glad you liked it." Anna and Eden carried the empty plates to the kitchen. Her polite grin faltered with stiff tension.

  "Rogan and Falcon, come with me."

  Oh, man. He was using our first names. This could be bad. Really bad. Langbow led us to his office and sat on the edge of his desk. He motioned for Falcon and I to take seats in the chairs facing him.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and peered down his nose at us. "Captain Molina called me last week. Informed me on a battle with Mustafa Ahmed Hakim Osmani. Special Ops Command assigned him the codename Jericho."

  "Yes, sir," I replied. "I'm familiar with him and his codename."

  "Molina reported the two of you took out thirty of his men in an exchange of gunfire."

  I glanced at Falcon then locked eyes with Langbow. "I heard there were approximately thirty combatants. Didn't keep count myself."

  "You should've called for support before you engaged a group that large." He lifted his chin.

  "There was no time," Falcon said. "From our hide on the ridge, I spotted the convoy of five trucks a thousand meters out. Didn't see anything unusual about it except there were so many, maybe a little extra weight in the back. Usually you see one or two trucks come through that pass at a time. They drew weapons a hundred meters off the checkpoint we were guarding."

  "We had seconds to decide a course of action." I continued where Falcon left off. "Falcon shot the tires of the lead truck and I took out the rear. They returned fire. We blew out the windshields and killed most of them inside the trucks. Caught a handful who panicked and ran."

  "They detonated a bomb in the third truck, killing at least five of their own. So, we didn't shoot them all," Falcon said in a convincing tone.

  It wouldn't help. If we were being reprimanded for failing to call in support, it didn't matter if they blew themselves up or we killed them. We still didn't follow protocol, and Langbow had every right to nail us for it.

  He rested his thumb under his chin and touched his index finger to his lips. "Two against thirty is not good odds. You took a huge risk."

  "We did," I replied. "But it turned out to be a good call."

  He nodded. "I also received word from intelligence you've earned a reputation as the Executioner. Jericho and his brother Zulu issued bounties on your head.
"

  This was news to me. "Is that so? It's not true. There's no way Jericho or Zulu have figured out my identity."

  He tapped his lips and looked from me to Falcon. This was it. We were gonna be blacklisted. All we'd worked for gone because of what we did out there.

  Langbow twisted back to grab a manila folder from his desk, pulled out some papers, and handed one to each of us. "The DoD is looking to form a new Alpha Squadron for the First Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta. I'm recommending you two for the sniper team."

  My head snapped back, throwing a glance at Falcon. He pressed his lips together, but his pupils blew wide open. Not what we expected at all.

  "I'm sure you've heard talk of Delta Force. Some of it's true. Some of it's legend. But there's no doubt "the unit," as we call it, is the U.S. military's premier anti-terrorism force. There's a four-week assessment and selection process. Only one percent of candidates make the cut. If you succeed, you'll be an integral component of a six-man team focused on specialized missions."

  I'd wanted to make Delta since I first heard of it from my dad. He called Delta Force operators meat-eaters because they were out looking for blood, not working security or recon. Unit snipers hunted and killed with impunity, a freedom coveted by discontent Rangers like Falcon and I who struggled to follow the mold.

  "By the hunger in your eyes, I see you're both eager, but Delta Force is not about glory. You'll be sent to situations so dangerous, we can't send Rangers. You're taking on a much greater chance of injury and death, not to mention mental fatigue and the stress on your family."

  "We're aware of the sacrifice. It's not a question for us." I spoke for Falcon. We were on the same page with this.

  "So, you're in?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "One hundred percent," Falcon said after me.

  "Excellent. Report to Fort Bragg on April twenty-fifth."

  End of April only gave us two months to train for the most demanding test of our lives.

  "Good luck, men." We exchanged gratitudes and pats on the back. "Prepare to become legend."

  "Excuse me, sir. One question."

  "Go ahead, Rogan."

  "The last two years, we were a canine team. My dog retired in January."

  "I'm aware of that. You handled Zeke well."

  Makes sense Langbow took note of Zeke's service record. Word of Zeke's bravery spread fast and inspired morale among the ranks. I missed that damn dog.

  "You make Alpha Squadron, and I'll see to it you get a new dog."

  "Thank you, sir."

  We exited his office with shit-eating grins on our faces.

  "'Night, Mrs. Langbow," Falcon said.

  "Thank you again." I dipped my chin to her in the kitchen.

  "You're welcome, boys." She held a pan and dishtowel in her hands. "My pleasure to feed our heroes."

  "We're no heroes. Just at the right place at the right time," I called.

  I gave a wink and a wave to Eden on the way out. She bit her lip and smiled.

  Cute girl. Would be fun to hit that. Nah. Totally off-limits and not worth the trouble.

  Chapter 2

  "To the unit." Falcon raised the shot of Tennessee whiskey the bartender served him. The Baltimore tavern in Federal Hill was packed with suits and uniforms as government employees milled about, eager to burn off some steam after hours. "Oh shit." Falcon gulped down his drink and set his empty glass on the bar.

  "What?"

  He angled his head to the front door. Eden Langbow stood by the entrance and scanned the room. No nineteen-year-old girl should wear an outfit like hers. Instead of having her boobs pushed up like earlier, she had them smashed down beneath two wide straps of a stretchy purple dress. Or was it a shirt? Whatever it was ended at the tops of her thighs. A few inches of taut muscle and tanned skin showed above her high-heeled leather boots with laces that strapped up her shin and tied in bows above her knees.

  "Holy fuck." I downed my drink and gritted my teeth through the burn.

  Her gaze searched the place and landed on me and Falcon across the room. She stepped forward like she'd finally earned her turn on the catwalk and was taking her victory lap.

  I leaned my elbows back on the bar and stared above her head, pretending I wasn't really soaking in the badunkadunk of her tits and hips as she made her way toward us.

  "Hey, Rogan. Buy me a drink?" She propped one boot on the rung of the barstool next to me.

  "Hell no," I said without looking her in the eye.

  Her neck moved and I smiled inwardly at the affronted frown on her painted lips. "Fine."

  My eyes followed her ass as she walked past us. Falcon glanced from her to the ceiling and blew out a long breath. "Bolo that one."

  Exactly. Every guy in the place was on the lookout the second her purple dress passed through the entrance. Something that tempting had to be dangerous.

  A minute later, she'd conned some fool into buying her a mug of foaming beer. She strutted over to the dartboard and exaggerated her need to bend at the waist to set the mug down on the edge of the pool table. She schmoozed up next to the two guys who were playing darts at the time. Before she finished talking, they were backing away, letting her cut in for her turn.

  She angled one boot in front of her, the other behind, causing the purple fabric of her dress to curl higher up her thigh. A tattoo on her inner arm blurred as she stabbed the air to aim. She pouted when her first shot bounced off and plonked to the floor. With her jaw set and a ridiculous squint that would not help her shot, she threw and the point stuck in segment nineteen. Her last shot hit the double-five ring. The guys around her smiled and gave her high-fives.

  I acknowledged her did-you-see-that smile with a tilt of my head. Falcon skewed his lips and gave me a should-we-show-her-how-it's-done look.

  She pulled her darts from the board as we walked up to the game. "Twenty-nine points is better than zero points," I said to her.

  "Is that what I got?" She handed me her three darts.

  "You got a nineteen and a double-five. Twenty-nine. That's exactly how old I am."

  "You're twenty-nine? I thought you were younger."

  "Nope."

  "How old are you, Falcon?"

  "Thirty-one."

  "On my next turn, I'll try to get thirty-one points for you," she said.

  "How 'bout we take a turn first?" Falcon kept his voice casual, but his eyes grew focused like they did when he prepared to shoot.

  "How much is a bull's eye?" She glanced at the dartboard.

  "Inner bull is fifty, but even with three bull's eyes, you can only score one fifty." Falcon pulled three darts from the corkboard next to the target. "Highest score for one dart is triple-twenty." His first shot stuck in the triple-twenty wedge. "Sixty points. Three sixties equals one eighty." His second and third shots hit triple-twenty too. "One eighty," he said with a smug look on his face.

  Eden's eyes lit with innocent shock. "Oh my god."

  I lined my toes up on the floor mark. Eight feet felt short compared to the thousand-meters we practiced on. I sailed one of my darts to the right of Falcon's.

  Hit. Triple twenty. My next two shots landed butt-up against the first.

  "One eighty!" Falcon called again.

  "Two one eighties is three sixty." I bent down and spoke in her ear. "We win."

  The guys in the bar clapped and laughed. Eden nodded her head in appreciation.

  "Show-offs." She pulled our darts from the board. "You need a handicap. Like standing in another building."

  Falcon chuckled and walked back to the bar as I sauntered up to Eden. "You offered the challenge. We accepted."

  "I wasn't challenging you."

  "Sure you weren't. That whole show was for us."

  "Was not."

  "It's okay. I found it highly entertaining. You learn your lesson?"

  "Yes. Don't challenge the snipers at darts."

  "That's right."

  "Or get them more drunk fi
rst."

  I laughed and winked at her. "Even drunk, we can make that shot."

  "I'm sure you can." Her eyes raked over me from head to toe.

  Oh man. Langbow should've named this girl Trouble.

  I spent the next few hours standing next to Falcon, watching her work the room. She drank three more beers, giggling and tossing her hair, until the place buzzed like a scene from Animal Planet as we all stood around, half-hard, waiting to see who'd be the one to pounce on her.

  "Langbow gets word a this, he's gonna castrate us for not lookin' out for her." Falcon voiced the thought I'd been chewing on.

  "Call a cab. We'll get her sobered up and take her home."

  As Falcon busted out his phone, I broke through the crowd of hungry jackals to rescue the baby gazelle who'd wandered away from the herd. "Let's go, Violet."

  She propped her hands on her hips and scrunched her nose. "Violet? My name's Eden."

  "I know."

  "Then why'd you call me that?"

  "Because you're a shrinking violet in that purple dress."

  Her mouth dropped open and she looked down at her clothes. "I'm not a shrinking violet."

  I chuckled at her confused tantrum. "It's a joke. You're the opposite."

  A knowing grin appeared on her lips and she shook one finger at me. "Oh, I see. It's like ironic."

  "Yes..."

  "I get it. Well, thank you, I think. Violet's not so bad compared to some of the names I've heard my brother use."

  "Military nicknames can get pretty insulting."

  "My brother had a friend they called Munch."

  "Could be worse. I know a drill instructor who goes by Tampon."

  She covered her mouth so all I could see was her wide eyes.

  I wanted to keep making her laugh so I kept it up. "Then there's always someone with the last name of Dick. Chief Dick."

  She liked that one and slapped her knee, bending over to laugh. Yes, I looked down her top. Nice.

  "Have you ever met a Seymour Johnson?" she asked, trying to play along.

  Falcon walked up and caught the tail end of our conversation. "No, but I knew a Private Parts."

  Not to be one-upped by Falcon, I added, "Had a drill instructor named Major Wood."