Finding the Fight: A Stealth Ops Novel Read online

  Finding the Fight

  A Stealth Ops Novel

  Brittney Sahin

  EmKo Media

  Finding the Fight

  By: Brittney Sahin

  Published by: EmKo Media, LLC

  Copyright © 2019 EmKo Media, LLC

  This book is an original publication of Brittney Sahin.

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Editor: Carol, WordsRU.com

  Editor: Anja, HourGlass Editing

  Proofreader: Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  Cover Design: LJ, Mayhem Cover Creations

  Photography: Eric Battershell

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ebook ISBN: 9781947717152

  Created with Vellum

  To a very special lady - Velma McCalla Parker.

  This one is for you.

  Contents

  Prologue: Recruitment

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Extract - Finding Her Chance

  Also by Brittney Sahin

  Connect

  Prologue: Recruitment

  New York City

  “Asher Hayes.”

  Asher lowered the bottle from his lips, allowing the rim to hover in front of his face. “The one and only,” he responded without turning to track the voice. He finished off his drink and motioned to the bartender for another.

  Two hands landed on the sticky bar top next to him—a dark spider web on the guy’s left hand and a skull tattooed on the right. “I heard you were here, but I had to come and see for myself.”

  Asher casually scratched his beard and glanced over his shoulder to match the voice to the name—to lay eyes on a man he hadn’t seen in years.

  He’d been waiting for an hour in hopes he’d show.

  Memories had poured through his mind the moment he’d stepped inside the bar. But now, with Angelo next to him, a waterfall of the past obliterated almost every other thought.

  “When did I see you last?” Angelo cupped his jaw and narrowed his dark-green eyes as a grin lifted the corners of his lips. “Was it before or after I banged your sister?”

  Asher lowered his head, fighting a smile. Time apart had done nothing to crush the banter from their teenage years.

  “Nah, man,” Asher said as he caught Angelo’s eyes again. “I’m pretty sure it was me screwing yours.”

  Angelo was quiet for a moment, and his right brow, cut by a fresh scar, twitched ever so slightly. “I see you haven’t changed.”

  Neither had his desire to hit, to pummel flesh, for the sake of nothing other than a good fight. The need burned through his veins and pulsed up into his throat.

  It’d been too long since he’d fought for the hell of it.

  War was different. Too many rules. Barely any hand-to-hand, even as a Tier One operative.

  Asher’s fingers united in front of him, and he cracked his knuckles before shifting off the stool to turn around.

  Angelo stepped back, and a few other guys now stood crowded behind him, as if itching to charge his way, waiting for a command from Angelo. They didn’t know that order would never come.

  “Why are you here?” Angelo stroked his jaw. “Looking for a fight?”

  His heartbeat kicked higher as he entertained the idea of fighting by the end of the night.

  “I heard you’re running the fights now.” Asher’s palm flattened onto the sticky counter at his side.

  “You’re interested?” Angelo swiped a hand down his inked throat before curving it around the back of his neck. “I don’t like easy fights.”

  After reaching into his pocket, Asher produced a wad of cash and held it between them. “Neither do I, which is why you might need the rest of your guys to go up against me.” He edged closer to him, looking down from his height of six feet four. “Unless you only place bets now and no longer get your hands dirty.”

  Angelo opened his mouth to speak, but one of the punks behind him yelled out, “You may be some commando now, but military shit is different from the streets.”

  His words had Asher chuckling and stuffing the bills back into his pocket.

  “Kids these days,” Angelo said with a touch of humor in his voice.

  “Maybe he got kicked out of the military.” A second guy stabbed the air, probably the youngest of the gang. A gang Angelo had been running since the days of Vanilla Ice and Michael Jackson.

  His stomach muscles banded tight at the guy’s words, at the possible truth of what might happen to his career in two days. “I’m just looking for a fight.”

  Angelo studied him for a brief moment, and every sound in the room fell away. “I got a place all set up. There’s a fight already in progress. You and me—like old times.”

  Asher nodded when he found his words stuck in his throat and his sister’s voice whispering in his head to back off.

  Too late. He needed this night. He’d needed it for some time now.

  Angelo angled his head, motioning him toward the exit. “Follow me, then.”

  His booted feet moved slowly through the bar, maneuvering around mostly empty tables before going outside.

  On the sidewalk, Angelo stole a glimpse at Asher from over his shoulder. Their eyes connected as they neared one of the few working streetlights. Asher tipped his head as if to say Yeah, I’m real. Then Angelo looked straight ahead again, walking with his crew. Probably the latest recruits.

  He kept his distance behind them, not eager to catch up on the last dozen-plus years. He was honestly surprised Angelo wasn’t behind bars or six feet under.

  He’d been back to New York since joining the military, but never for long, and never to this part of town. Never to his old haunts.

  But this trip was different.

  His mom and sister didn’t know he was home, and he’d keep it that way.

  There was only one mission on his mind tonight: fighting.

  His steps slowed as he thought about what had happened two weeks ago on deployment. A violent flurry of anger slammed thro
ugh his chest, scalding his body beneath the jacket. His hands curled into fists as he seized a breath of the bitterly cold December air.

  He shifted his gaze to the left, where a man was pounding his car horn. The guy parked in front of him at the green light finally rolled through the intersection.

  Asher shook his head.

  New York City was the same as he remembered.

  This side of town was still dead. Unnoticed. A blur of nothingness to anyone who drove through.

  No twinkling lights or Christmas music playing in storefronts. No big tree. No ice-skating rinks. This was where Christmas carols came to die.

  Bars on the windows, graffiti, barbed wire fences, and the stench of two-week-old meat. And death.

  He lifted his chin, searching for the moon in the clear sky as he walked, but it was probably tucked away in the Upper East Side, where his mom and sister lived.

  Angelo abruptly stopped.

  Asher glanced to his right to find a run-down factory. He followed the guys through a side door, surprised to see the inside nothing like the exterior.

  The walls had been stripped down to brick and painted over in a bright blue with matching blue benches and chairs circling a cage at the center of the expansive space.

  “A beauty, ain’t she?” Angelo opened his palms and spun around.

  Asher eyed the crowd already gathered around the octagon.

  There’d never been cages in his day. No protection from outsiders jumping in to join the fight. It could quickly turn into a free-for-all. Chaos and mayhem.

  Of course, that was before soccer moms had started watching UFC and turned it into a household name.

  He removed his jacket and flung it near a bench where two classy-looking women were sitting alongside a guy in a suit. They weren’t from this side of the city. Clearly, they enjoyed the off-the-books fighting. Blood and money. Nothing new.

  “You ready?” Angelo peeled off his shirt, revealing a hell of a lot more ink than he’d had in their youth. Nearly every inch of his skin had been used as a canvas.

  Asher tossed his long-sleeved shirt, and Angelo’s gaze darted to the tatt on Asher’s forearm—the same tatt Angelo had. They’d once been like brothers, and now . . .

  Two different directions in life had taken them on vastly different journeys.

  Only, here Asher was again. Drawn back to the dark side. To the fight.

  He’d kept his shit together in the SEALs. He’d had to, for the sake of his country and his team.

  But here he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

  He shook out his arms as he gathered a breath and then removed his boots.

  “You’re going to be the underdog; just an FYI.” Angelo smoothed his hand over his jet-black hair, looking more like his Italian father than ever before.

  Angelo’s dad was upstate . . . in the penitentiary.

  “I’m ready,” Asher bit out, knowing his old friend was dying to fight him, to unleash on him for abandoning the crew, for putting on a uniform instead of staying on the streets. “Let’s do this.”

  Maybe Angelo was right to hate him for leaving. But it’d been the Navy or prison.

  He coughed into a closed fist as he shoved the past from his mind to focus on the present, on the fight.

  A girl, probably just out of high school, stood at the center of the octagon with a sign that read Round One; she started walking the perimeter of the cage.

  Hopefully, he’d go all five rounds tonight and draw this thing out. The night had to last before shit got real. Before he found out if his days on Charlie Team were over.

  He entered the cage in jeans and bare feet a few minutes later. At least some things hadn’t changed; at least he didn’t need to wear ass-hugging short shorts.

  He’d learned to fight weighted down with combat gear. Denim wouldn’t hold him back.

  “Welcome home.” Angelo raised his fists into the air then came in hard for a direct attack.

  Jab.

  Knee kick.

  Elbow.

  None of which landed.

  It was Asher’s fists that connected. He executed three hard uppercuts to Angelo’s core, hitting different tattoos with precision.

  The crowd hollered. Screamed. Then booed as Asher began pummeling Angelo even more.

  Round one blurred by.

  He circled his opponent, the race of his heart intensifying with each satisfying swing.

  A thrill darted up his spine, and a rush of adrenaline bolted through him.

  I’m home. He delivered the final blow in the second round, knocking Angelo out.

  “Shit.” He knelt by Angelo’s side and lightly swatted his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to annihilate the guy so early, and in Angelo’s territory, no less.

  The crowd surged closer to the octagon, and other fighters hungry to throw down with him leaped onto the sides of the cage. Asher ignored them and assisted Angelo to his feet.

  “Guess you’re still the better fighter.” Angelo raised his palms in surrender. “Motherfucker,” he said with a laugh, limping toward the cage wall. “You’d better get out of here before you get jumped, though.” He pushed open the cage door.

  “Sorry it’s been so long.” What else was there to say? “I, uh—” Asher cut himself off at the sight of a blonde in the crowd.

  It couldn’t be Jessica, could it?

  His heart picked up as he tried to catch her eyes to verify if it was, in fact, her. When he spotted the tall blond man alongside her, he let out a hard sigh. “Yeah, I should go.” He left the cage and grabbed his belongings. He needed to get out of there. Now.

  “Take the money. You earned it.” Angelo held out a wad of cash double the size of the one Asher had offered back at the bar.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  Angelo smiled and tossed the roll of money to one of the guys behind him.

  Asher surveyed the next set of fighters entering the cage. The itch to get back in there surprised him. Maybe something was wrong with him. Could the Navy be right?

  “Well, guess I’ll see you in another ten or so years.” Angelo folded his arms. “Unless you’re thinking of staying. It’s been a long damn time since you’ve come to our part of town.”

  “I can’t stay.” His throat thickened as more memories from his past, from the streets, blew through his mind.

  Angelo wrapped a hand over his shoulder. “You really came all this way to knock me out?”

  Asher stepped out of his reach and shrugged on his jacket, noticing Angelo was blinking a little as the blood near an open cut spattered his lashes.

  “I guess I did.” But maybe he was also there to remind himself why he left. To understand why he needed the military. “I, uh, better—”

  “Go.” Angelo nodded. “Do you want me to say hello to your pops when I visit next?”

  He hung his head. It’d been even longer since he’d seen his old man. “Nah, but you can tell your dad I said hi.” He started for the exit. Time to leave the past behind. For good.

  Outside, the dark night grabbed hold of him and absorbed some of his thoughts. He glanced around, expecting to find Luke Scott waiting for him.

  “Hey,” he said when he saw Luke come out a different exit, Jessica striding behind him.

  Luke stepped forward and extended his hand. “How’s it going?”

  Asher shook his hand but kept his eyes glued to Jessica standing quietly off to Luke’s side.

  The guy had retired three years ago, so this couldn’t be a work visit. But then, why was a spook with him?

  Asher dropped his arm to his side. His breath visibly sailed from his lips in the cool air. “This isn’t the best place for a woman.”

  Jessica’s lip caught between her teeth, and even beneath her coat, he knew her chest was slowly rising from the deep breath she was trying to hide.

  “We need to talk,” Luke was quick to say.

  “I, uh, figured.” Asher’s focus journeyed to the parked Escalade at the curb. “You
r ride?”

  “Yeah.” Luke gestured toward the vehicle and led the way.

  “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call,” Asher said once in the back seat and Luke started to drive.

  “Not exactly.” Luke shifted his rearview mirror to catch a quick look at Asher.

  Asher remembered Luke being hard around the edges, but there was a grim darkness shadowing his eyes now.

  Someone must have died. Someone close to him.

  He hadn’t heard mention of any recent SEAL deaths, though.

  “Marcus Vasquez,” Luke offered, reading Asher’s thoughts. “He died three weeks ago on an op.”

  Asher squeezed his eyes closed as his heart worked harder in his chest at the idea Marcus was gone. He hadn’t known him well, but he’d been a Teamguy. A loss was a loss.

  “I didn’t hear about that.” He’d been cut off from the world on a mission for over a month, though. “But I thought Marcus was retired.” He opened his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed a hand to the top of Jessica’s seat.

  “To the world he was.” Luke stopped at a red light and shifted to the side to catch his eyes. “He worked with me.”

  Damn. “Sorry, man.” Asher settled back in his seat. “You run that security company now?”

  “Yeah, I do, but there’s more to it,” Luke replied.

  “I still don’t get how you found me.”

  “Finding people is what I’m good at.” Jessica spoke for the first time, and her voice had the hair on his arms standing at attention. “Why were you fighting?” she asked without turning to face him.