An interlude with Jared Armstrong, one of the Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge Series
Read
his story in Marriage, Mobsters, and the the Marine or check out by box set of all three Westhorpe Ridge Stories the lovely people at Loose id have put together.
Please note, this first appeared on the Loose id Website.
Have Rifle, Will Travel
A young Marine
shook Jared Armstrong’s shoulder. “Master Sergeant, sir, wake up. We’re making
an unscheduled landing in the Caribbean.”
Jared came awake
like a cat, fully alert and ready for anything. “Emergency landing? Or a change
of plans?”
The Private shook
his head. “Sorry, sir. I’ve no idea. The co-pilot just stuck his head around
the cabin door and told us to buckle up for a landing.”
Jared gave a slight
nod, stretched his long legs in front of him, and closed his eyes. His missions
had taught him to snatch any moment of rest he could. “Probably not an
emergency then.”
The engine whined
and the military plane made a steep descent. Jared’s ears popped, but he
swallowed and said nothing. A few moments later, they landed on a Military
airstrip. The pilot dropped the rear ramp and Captain Randall, an officer Jared
had served under in the Middle East, strode inside. “Master Sergeant Armstrong,
front and center.”
Jared uncurled from
the seat, pulled himself up to his full six-feet-six-inches, and saluted. With
his dark hair, more muscles than most people could dream of, and a brown-eyed
gaze cold enough to freeze water, he emanated danger and menace. The long
flight back to Jacksonville had been uneventful, and he’d looked forward to
being back on American soil. Ten years as a military sniper had left him weary.
Captain Randal
returned the salute. “At ease, sergeant. Good to see you again. There’s a
helicopter waiting for you. Don’t worry, your luggage will be delivered to your
quarters in Jacksonville.”
Jared followed the
Captain in silence, waiting for an explanation of why the military
powers-that-be had pulled him off the transport. The driver revved the engine
as Jared swung into the rear passenger seat. Captain Randal jumped in beside
him. ”No time to brief you. The co-pilot will tell you everything once you’re
airborne. Sorry to delay your demob, but it’s only for a few hours.”
The driver raced
over the tarmac toward a waiting chopper. Jared guessed they needed someone to
take a killer shot. His comrades on active duty had nicknamed “the man who
never missed.”
After serving ten
years in the Marines, Jared was ready to return to civilian life. He’d studied
for a Business Administration degree in his downtime, and now he planned to use
his knowledge to start his own business. For the last two years, he’d saved
every nickel he could, only buying the occasional beer and renewing his
membership of his BDSM club. He’d scraped together enough cash to buy some
top-of-the-range carpentry tools and put down the deposit on a workshop.
Soon Armstrong’s Bespoke Kitchens would
be a reality, not a distant dream. He’d be his own boss and create one-off
high-end kitchens. Money would be tight at first, but he’d still manage the
occasional visit to Masked Night’s BDSM club. Last time he’d been home, about
two years ago, he’d spotted a sassy sub in in pale blue catsuit and mask. He’d
fantasized about spanking her bare ass ever since.
The jeep jerked to
a halt alongside a Cobra Attack Helicopter. It already had its rotors running.
Jared nodded toward it. “My transport, sir?”
Captain Randal
climbed out the jeep. “Get aboard, soldier.”
Jared jumped to the
tarmac, saluted, and swung easily into the chopper’s backseat. An M27 assault
rifle lay on the seat. Once he’d put on headphones, the pilot took the chopper
airborne.
The co-pilot
twisted in his seat and gave Jared a thumbs up. His voice came loud and clear
through the headphones. “Welcome aboard. We’ve been tracking a couple of drug
runners on a speedboat for about four hours now. We have a four Coastguard
vessels in pursuit, but Captain Randal thought some overhead firepower might
make boarding easier. It’s lucky you were passing by since the local barracks
are down with the squits. Right now, their sharpshooters couldn’t take a shot
to save their lives right now.”
Jared grinned.
“Good job I’m here then.”
He took the rifle
apart, checked over the pieces, and put it back together. “Everything looks in
order here. How long until we engage the target?”
The pilot answered
this time. “Half an hour, tops.”
Jared stared down at
the Caribbean. After a tour in the Iraqi desert, the sun shimmering on the
water was the most welcome sight he’d seen in ages. It made him think of the
sub in the bright blue catsuit. Recently, everything reminded him of her. Rifle
across his knee, he dozed with his eyes half shut.
When the chopper
hovered over a speedboat, he sat up—all stillness and intense concentration.
“Do you want me to put some warning shots across their bow?”
The co-pilot gave
him the thumbs up. Jared unleashed a string of shots in a straight line, making
water jump up and ripple in white-topped whirlpools in the speedboat’s path. As
he reloaded the boat swung around and raced away. “Hold the chopper steady, I’m
going to condition one.”
He locked and
loaded. Staring down the sight, he targeted the boat’s engine. His breathing
deepened. His eyes narrowed. Time stilled. He waited until his pulse slowed
then exhaled and held his breath. Gently, as if caressing a lover, he squeezed
the trigger.
A plume of fuel
bust from the speedboat’s engine. It flew into the air like steam escaping a
geyser. The boat engine stuttered and stopped. Two US Coastguard vessels
approached it, but one of the drug dealers opened fire. Jared aimed again, but
the shooter had ducked into the cabin.
Calm and still, his
body on a hair trigger, Jared waited.
Gun in hand, the
shooter raced from the cabin toward the rear. Jared fired again. The shooter
clutched his shoulder as he tumbled from the deck. He fell in slow motion,
hitting the sea with a splash. The boat slowed, gradually coming to a
standstill. Its driver stepped on deck, his hands high in the air.
Jared settled back
in his seat. “I thought you might want the shooter alive. The bullet won’t kill
him, but his blood in the water might. Someone better pull him out before those
sharks get him.”
As the pilot turned
back toward base, the co-pilot gave him a thumbs up. “Great shooting.”
Jared unloaded the
M27. “This’ll need a good clean.”
Through the
headphones, the pilot told him, “That was one hell of a shot. Well, they both
were, and they saved lives. It’ll be my honor to clean your gun, Master
Sergeant. Good thing you were passing by.”
Mission complete,
Jared relaxed. As tension flowed from his shoulders, he thought about his new
business venture and that sassy kitty-kat he planned to spank soon.
****
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About Kryssie Fortune
Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae, or BDSM loving dragons.
Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life - or Kryssie - throws at them.
Kryssie's pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.
Her books are all stand alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.
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