Page 5 of Fire for Effect

“This is bullshit,” Matthews said, with far less steam than before. “You fuckers are all just pawns of that bullshit Davis Lau.”

“President Lau,” I corrected.

“He ain’t my President!” Matthews said, completely missing the point of democracy. “I didn’t vote for him!”

I rolled my eyes.

There was no point getting into a scholarly argument with a guy like Royce Matthews.

“You guys will pay for this.” His oversized teeth ground together as he laid down his threat. “This is absolute bullshit. Soldiers, sailors and airmen died bringing in that piece of shit.”

Soldiers, yes. Airmen… maybe? Sailors, not likely. Did SEALs still count as sailors, even though they didn’t really sail? The navy remained a bit of a mystery to me.

Matthews flinched, like he was going to take a step towards Sierra, and she calmly placed her selector switch from safe to semi with an easy flick of her thumb.

Our SEAL friend stopped moving. His sense of self-preservation kicking in.

The exchange was long, and tense, with our guns pointing at our fellow Americans instead of scanning for hostile intent. But then the CIA woman came back, American Marine in hand. She quietly stuffed him into the back of her SUV and drove away without a word.

Sierra lowered her weapon, and we stepped into line, quietly walking to our vehicles.

“You’ll fucking pay for this bullshit!” Matthews called.

I stopped in my tracks, and turned to look at him as Sierra got behind the wheel, and Oscar put his hand on the passenger side door.

“We patriots aren’t going to put up with this. Not from you, and not from that scumbag, Lau!” I was surprised when the MP chimed in, adding fuel to the fire. I still had no idea why he was here.

Matthews’ green eyes, the color of pond slime, hardened like clay. It was the look of resolve. Cold, calculated, killing resolve.

It was the look we all got when we were ready to set a plan in motion that would only end when our target was dead.

I was starting to feeling that we were the ones in the crosshairs.

Chapter 2

Travel Plans

Griff

Present Day

Transnistria, Moldova

My leg throbbed. The bullet wound I had received last Christmas while on a fun little vacation in Mourningkill told me it was about to rain. The ache was sharp, and constant, radiating up my hip.

I needed a fucking vacation.

At the very least, I had to quit getting shot. I was pushing my luck.

I pulled the black bag off of his head and finally studied the eyes of the mad man who had wrongfully thought that he could take us on.

Royce Matthews blinked his slime green eyes and stared up at me.

“You don’t even know what you’re fucking doing.” He fought his restraints. “You think you’re the good guys, don’t you, Captain America?”

I fought the inclination to laugh.

I always found it interesting as hell what people did in their final moments. Did they scream? Cry for their mom? Did they piss themselves? Only a few stood with dignity and died with their pride intact. I respected that. Those guys thought life was a game and saw getting caught by us as a last move. A checkmate, and now they had to do the sportsmanly thing and tip their King, and admit defeat.

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