Xtreme Affairs (Xtreme Ops Book 4) Read online

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  Xtreme Affairs

  Xtreme Ops

  Book 4

  Copyright Em Petrova 2021

  Ebook Edition

  Electronic book publication 2021

  Cover Art by Bookin’ It Designs

  All rights reserved. Any violation of this will be prosecuted by the law.

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  More in this series:

  HITTING XTREMES

  TO THE XTREME

  XTREME BEHAVIOR

  XTREME AFFAIRS

  XTREME MEASURES

  A scarred special operative meets his match with the woman determined to save him from himself.

  It was just a little accident—but it changed his life.

  Special Xtreme Ops team, River Hepburn wakes in the hospital to the sight of Sacha—his best friend’s little sister—watching over him. Their emotional bond over her brother’s death is undeniable, but he isn’t prepared to feel more. All he wants to do is return to the line of duty.

  Accident and injuries are words Sascha Lacey understands, but the name connected with them take her by surprise. Agreeing to nurse River’s injuries is the easy part—dealing with his brand of stubbornness is far from it. Nor is she prepared for his fiery kisses—or the emotions that blossom from the heat. Except River is different…a changed man from the boy who left a small town in Texas.

  Guilt and ghosts of the past can’t stop River’s raw urges when it comes to keeping his hands off Sascha, but what are a few scorching nights of passion? Sascha may find his stubborn streak irritating, but can she trust the changed man with her heart?

  Xtreme AFFAIRS

  by

  Em Petrova

  Prologue

  “Covering fire!”

  At his captain’s order, River Hepburn trained the rotating barrel minigun on the target and sent a hundred rounds of ammo out through the valley. Their mission? Reach the other side and collect the two women taken hostage by a fucking lunatic who thought himself a weapons specialist.

  As far as the Xtreme Ops team knew, he had a barn filled with M4s, mortars and grenades, all of which he’d turned on them in order to keep them from taking those women.

  His teammates fighting to reach the house made it all of twenty yards before heavy fire fell like rain. The team hit the deck, and Hepburn twisted right and left, soldier-crawling across—of all things—a fucking ground thick with flowers.

  During this season in Alaska? The valley must be sheltered from the weather enough for the freak bloom.

  His nose clogged with the stupid allergies that plagued him since he was a kid in Athens, Texas. He dug his elbows and knees into the earth, and the scent of crushed flowers rose up.

  In Texas, a warm streak in the weather meant guys put on their barbecue aprons and grabbed a twelve-ounce ribeye. When it got warm in Alaska, the crazy people came out to play with their heavy artillery.

  “Hold steady, goddammit!” From Hepburn’s two o’clock, his captain called more orders for their team to remain in position.

  The bright glow from the tail of the F2M2 streaked across the cloudy evening sky as the small missile launched through the air, arcing in their direction.

  “Incoming!” Broshears bellowed from somewhere to the right.

  “The bastard’s got a Navy spike! Jesus, where do these motherfuckers get these things?” One of the other guys sounded from Hepburn’s left.

  He saw an opening.

  Scrambling to his feet, he laid on the speed, hoping the explosion of the Navy spike covered his advance.

  As he skidded to a stop next to the old Army truck sitting on the edge of the property, he looked up as the missile hit the ground in a fiery blast. When it hit, his teammates hooted as if the Fourth of July had come early.

  Fucking crazies. We all are.

  He grinned at the volley of hollers that echoed across the valley as well as vibrated the comms device in his ear.

  “Get in there—now!” His captain’s order reverberated through Hepburn. His team was closing the gap.

  He rolled under the rusting truck, flattening himself, weapon in position to shoot anything that moved on the other side. After they completed this mission, he was officially on leave, and if this dragged on, it would cut into this much-needed break.

  Especially not some asshole holed up in the house with two women and a bunch of military arms.

  “I’m getting damn sick of these homegrown terrorists,” Broshears grunted in their ears.

  “Ya gotta admit that was a pretty fireworks display,” another teammate added.

  “Here comes another!”

  Hepburn peeked under the truck to see another golden arc flying through the sky. If one hit the truck, he’d be dead, but the guy wouldn’t blow up his own truck, would he?

  The spike hit with a blast that shook the ground beneath him.

  “Someone’s coming out of the house!” The announcement filled his ear at the same moment he saw a man emerge from the house armed to the teeth with a military-issue semi-auto.

  Not your standard hunting rifle, though he kept his eye on that hunting tree-stand just beyond the trees just in case the lunatic had a buddy.

  Hepburn’s autopilot kicked on. Every second of his training fired all cylinders and he moved without hesitation and rolled out from under the truck. He glided to his feet, swinging his weapon up in the same move, his finger locked to the trigger.

  As he took aim and fingered the trigger, any inner battle about taking a life ceased to matter. Before he squeezed off the first shot, he crossed his Ts, dotted his Is and did it right.

  He had a single shot. That would be enough.

  The man fell, and his team was already storming the place. Two from the right, two from the left. One group would take the back door.

  Broshears skidded to a stop next to him. His teeth flashed in a grin. “Nice job, Hep. None of us even knew your position. You’ll catch hell from the captain.”

  “Damn straight he will,” Captain Penn Sullivan’s voice rang into their ears. “But good job—you were like a shadow.”

  With Broshears at his side, they rushed to man the front door of the house, backing up their team about to blast in.

  He came up against a concrete block wall with chipping paint, suddenly transported far from Alaska across continents to Afghanistan.

  No, Hepburn wasn’t smelling the field of wildflowers behind them—he smelled the reek of the men he’d been fighting alongside for a solid week as they took blast after blast but continued to hold their ground.

  He didn’t feel the cool mountain breeze washing down through the valley. He swore the scorching Middle Eastern sun blazed down on him.

  And rather than Broshears at his side, he saw Private First Class Ethan Lacey.

  He shook his head and the mirage vanished, leaving behind chipped paint on concrete, the scent of Alaska on the wind and a hell of a vendetta against the person trying to take out him and his brothers.

  Exchanging a glance with Broshears, they sprinted forward just as the other teams of two burst into the house.

  It only required him a single sweep of the place to realize they were in ove
r their heads. He’d shot one man, which left another inside, along with the women reported as hostages. But they were staring at a dozen men, their firepower matching if not outweighing his team’s.

  Hepburn’s captain squeezed off the first shot, directly between the eyes of one criminal. Hell broke loose, an eruption of bullets spraying across the room. He and Broshears hit the floor again, aiming for the twelve men as they did.

  His ears rang, and he got that odd, misplaced feeling for the second time in as many minutes. A sensation of being in another place at another time, fighting with other men. He’d lost several friends in the war, but one death weighed on him more than others.

  Grinding his teeth with determination, he popped up and took out two men in a row. In the corner of the room, his teammate engaged in hand-to-hand combat. He couldn’t get in a good shot to put a stop to it, but his teammate did. The attacker was thrown by the shot to the forehead.

  With three or more of their guys down, the Xtreme Ops team made quick work of subduing the rest. Broshears bound a criminal and sat him in the corner to interrogate him.

  The captain moved in and glared down at the man. “Which one’s your leader?”

  He nodded toward the first man shot. Bodies lay across a blood-smeared floor, some fallen on top of others in a tangle of lifeless limbs.

  “Jesus.” Hepburn twisted away from the scene.

  Broshears caught his eye, and they shared a moment of understanding that Hepburn had experienced years ago, with other men.

  This was the shit that bonded a team. They’d carry this moment with them for the rest of their lives. Pride sliced through his chest, replacing every other emotion.

  He cared for these guys the same if not more than the ones he watched die in the sand.

  What would Ethan Lacey be doing right now if he were alive? He might have been recruited by the division of Homeland Security known as Operation Freedom Flag like Hepburn had. If he hadn’t blown up, he might be part of the Xtreme Ops team.

  Hepburn stepped over a dead body on his way to the exit. When he stepped outside into the fresh air, his gaze landed on the valley of wildflowers, stretching in a sea of white just like snow.

  Despite the cool air, sweat beaded on his scalp under his helmet and trickled down his temples. A second later, a couple of his brothers joined him. Lipton and Gasper doffed their helmets and leaned against the side of the building to enjoy a moment of relief.

  Lipton caught his gaze. “You good?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “You were great back there. We didn’t see you hide under that truck, but taking out that guy was exactly the distraction we needed.” Lipton rubbed his palm over his head.

  Hepburn shrugged. He never liked the spotlight, then or now. He might have dragged six men in his platoon to safety, and he’d do the same for any of the Xtreme Ops team. But he didn’t want praise for actions they’d all perform as duty.

  Two hours later they were loaded up in the chopper with their own personal pilot Cora at the controls. After any fight, big or small, adrenaline ran high and containing the Xtreme Ops team in one place meant either trouble or a party.

  Hepburn sat back, laughing at his buddies’ banter.

  “Lip, you good?” Gasper asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Been a while since you had a fistfight. I wanted to make sure you don’t need your knuckles kissed after punching that guy in the face.”

  Lipton shook out his hand, the knuckles slightly swollen. “He was too close and I didn’t have time to get my weapon up. I was waitin’ for one of you assholes to shoot him for me. Thanks for helping me out.” He grinned with his sarcasm.

  Gasper looked up at Hepburn. “Who said you were like a shadow? Was that Penn?” Gasper asked.

  “Yeah, it was me.” The captain nodded to Hepburn.

  “Dude, I didn’t even know you were there until I heard the shot and saw that guy drop. Shadow…” Gasper rolled the name on his tongue as if testing it out.

  “It’s a fitting name for Hep. He’s stealthy AF.” Penn gave Hep another nod. “’Bout time you earned a nickname. Well done, Shadow.”

  Lipton lifted a bottle of water in the air. “To Shadow! MVP of the day.”

  Pride etched itself in Hepburn’s chest as the guys continued to joke and hash through the action that’d bound them closer. Now he had only a few hours left before his leave. It would be hard to tear himself from the team now, but his momma had called to say his younger brother needed help.

  After Kyle tossed out his first attempt at sobriety, he needed an intervention and a rehab facility. The latest problem? He’d tipped so far into his addiction that he believed he could get sober again on his own. His momma knew better but Kyle would put up a fight.

  While she didn’t ask Hepburn to come down to Texas and help her convince Kyle to enter the treatment facility, he knew how stubborn Kyle could be and requested leave.

  He hadn’t taken any leave for a while, so of course Penn granted it immediately.

  “Just think, man. In a few hours, Cora will fly you to the airport so you can catch your flight to the lower forty-eight. You won’t have to be up half the night listening to these assholes,” Broshears quipped from beside him.

  “Aren’t I lucky? At least I’ll get some sleep on the plane.” He smiled after he spoke the words.

  But his gut told him that he should remain right here with his team and not head to Texas.

  Long ago, Hep swore to always trust his gut…and this time he paid for ignoring it.

  Chapter One

  First thing that hit his nose was the burning stench of rubber. Then his own blood filling his nose.

  Hepburn’s ribs and breastbone felt crushed as he attempted to pull himself out of a slump over the steering wheel. He blinked to clear the haze from his vision, but it came right back again.

  Squinting, he made out the splintered glass of the windshield and beyond that, a traffic light swinging in the Texas wind. It glowed red, but it hadn’t been when he started through it.

  Damn, the airbag didn’t even deploy. Fucking junk rental car. No wonder his chest felt as if it’d slammed into a brick wall. It had—the unmoving steering column.

  “Hey, buddy! You okay? He’s awake! Someone get in here and help him!”

  More shouts came from around him, and he realized from a distant vantage point that they were talking about him. An accident. He’d been heading through the small town on a scenic route to Athens. He remembered seeing the traffic light and nothing more.

  The eyes of a firefighter peered at him through the open driver’s door. “What’s your name? I’m going to help you.”

  “Shadow,” he got out.

  When he next opened his eyes, he stared at a white tube. A voice came from far away, and for a minute he thought it projected through his comms device.

  “Where the hell am I?” he asked.

  “You’re in the cat scan, sir. Hold very still. We don’t want to sedate you.”

  The world tilted and spun, and he pressed his fingertips into the hard surface under him to stay rooted to some semblance of reality.

  What did happen to him? His mind couldn’t find any answers within reach, and digging deeper for it made his head ache more than it already did.

  He focused on the whir of the cat scan machine and tried to piece together the scattered puzzle. Flashes of light. The sound of shattering glass. The stench of burnt rubber that must be…what were those things called on a car? He almost had the word but it flew from his grasp.

  Closing his eyes, he drifted. When he opened them again, someone kept saying his name.

  “Mr. Hepburn.”

  Hepburn…that’s me.

  “Mr. Hepburn, wake up. I need to examine you.”

  The voice didn’t belong to either Penn or his former platoon leader, but he’d been trained to take commands, so he obeyed.

  A man’s face came into focus.

  “Welcome
back. I’m Dr. Wells. How are you feeling?”

  “Like…” his mouth was dried out, “hell.”

  The doctor chuckled. “No doubt your head hurts. Your ribs too.”

  He tried to nod but the room spun. If he held very still, the dizziness subsided to a slow revolution, leaving him feeling as if he was a kid on the merry-go-round in Athens, Texas.

  It returned to him all at once—the drive to meet his momma to get Kyle into a treatment center.

  “There was an…” He struggled to find the word, so he chose another. “A wreck.”

  “That’s right. Someone ran the red light and you T-boned them, Mr. Hepburn. You’re very lucky you survived—the airbag never deployed.”

  He rubbed at his sore ribs. “I remember that part.”

  “You have a moderate concussion.”

  “What day is it?” He shot a look to a nurse standing behind the doctor. He’d seen her face a few times when he opened his eyes.

  “It’s Thursday. You’ve been in and out for three days.”

  “Three? Jesus, I missed everything. I gotta get out of here.” He pushed off the hospital bed, but vertigo swept over him until he surrendered to it and dropped back to the thin pillow.

  “Just lie still. We’ll get some information from you after I examine you. Follow this light with your eyes only. Don’t move your head.”

  Pain slashed his skull at the bright light, which flashed in his head like a carnival ride in the dark. Nausea burned in his gut.

  He fought to draw the edges of his thoughts together. He’d say the doctor made the correct diagnosis—a concussion left people feeling sick to their stomach, dizzy and confused.

  It also put special operatives out of commission until they healed, which could be months.

  When he opened his eyes, the fog cleared away more quickly this time. A woman came into focus—the same nurse that’d been with the doctor earlier, only he’d gone and the light in the room revealed that hours had passed and left the glow of afternoon.