Brewer's Mark

  Brewer’s Mark (Devil’s Outlaws MC 4)

  Lynn Burke

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2019 Lynn Burke

  BIN: 009001-02912

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  Publisher:

  Changeling Press LLC

  315 N. Centre St.

  Martinsburg, WV 25404

  www.ChangelingPress.com

  Editor: Treva Harte

  Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

  Adult Sexual Content

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  Table of Contents

  Brewer’s Mark (Devil’s Outlaws MC 4)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Lynn Burke

  Brewer’s Mark (Devil’s Outlaws MC 4)

  Lynn Burke

  Reagan “Brewer” de Jager might look soft as a teddy bear, but his stint as a sniper in the SEALs hardened him into a lethal killer. The fact his wife cheated on him while he’d been deployed makes him unable to trust. Cold hearted and empty, he sets his sights on his next mark -- and one look into her eyes slays him.

  Nova Smego wasn’t nicknamed Black Widow by her CIA superiors without reason. Underestimated for her petite form, she’s quick with her fists and lethal with a blade or a bullet. Tossed out of the CIA with a scarred reputation, she joins a hitmen-for-hire team in the hopes of exacting revenge on the one who ruined her career.

  When the Outlaws eliminate her team in order to rescue one of their own, Nova is kept alive -- tied to her captor. A winter storm kills the electricity, but not the heat building between her and Brewer. There was a reason he couldn’t end her, and while she plans her escape, she fears losing her heart to the chemistry sizzling between them.

  But when Nova’s desire for vengeance shakes the tentative bond between them, the Outlaws issue Brewer an ultimatum. Pull the trigger, or find common ground to trust one another and avoid the Outlaws’ demand for her life.

  Chapter One

  Nova

  My heart pounded in my ears, but the heightened sound of gunshots from downstairs broke through the muffled thumps of my rushing blood. I yanked open the roof’s trap door and peered into the attic below, my night vision goggles making the cold evening seem like a spring morning teeming with vibrant green.

  No life stirred below from what I could see -- unlike the unexpected team of three men who had stormed our safe house, it was quiet as mice in a cupboard.

  I slid down the ladder, the flesh wound on my arm aching. Adjusting my grip on my rifle, I pointed the barrel at the door and breathed slowly through parted lips.

  Shots sounded again, but quieter as though they were in the basement where we kept the girl we’d been hired to hold. The senator who had dished out the cash for us to take care of his “little problem” had arrived a few moments earlier than the man who’d shot me. Another two must have slipped in the front door.

  Teeth clenched against the pain in my arm, I wondered again why I hadn’t aimed for the face of the man who had shot at me after taking out our two northern sentries. The bastard had gotten one shot off -- enough to make my arm mostly useless.

  I eased the attic door open and peered into the farmhouse’s hallway. Light shone from the stairwell around the corner to my right, so I flipped my goggles off and let them slip to the carpeted floor.

  Adrenaline coursed through me as I crept forward, and even though I hadn’t gotten off more than a single shot or moved more than twenty feet from my sentry position on the roof, my lungs fought for oxygen.

  As an ex-CIA operative, I should have had more control over my nerves. As a battle-hardened bitch, I certainly shouldn’t have allowed my shot at the man slinking up on the house to fly wayward.

  Weak.

  Lips pursed against disappointment in myself and the stinging pain, I approached the corner. A body whipped around in front of me, a meaty paw grasping my rifle’s barrel before I could swing it up.

  Tall -- wide shoulders --

  I threw a punch to the kidney of the back lit man, putting all my strength behind me, but my fist merely earned a grunt.

  The rifle flew from my grasp, and I shot out a combination punch, the third getting caught in the other damn paw of the huge man.

  He dropped my gun and I blocked his grab for my injured arm, landing a half assed blow to rock hard abs that bounced my hand back at me.

  I dipped as he reached for my free hand, trying like fuck to smash into his sternum with my injured arm.

  The fucker snickered. “Got anything else, little girl?”

  I growled and punched again, the beast’s body a solid wall of rock I had no chance of conquering.

  He grabbed my wrist. “Enough.”

  My world flipped, and I found myself face down on the floor, the carpet burning along my cheek as he wrenched my arms behind me. I kicked. Attempted to pull from his grasp -- and he sat on my thighs, trapping them between his own. Fuck, he was big.

  “Enough,” he snarled again, and zip ties tightened around my wrists. “Second floor clear,” he said, and I closed my eyes, finally stilling at the professionalism his words indicated about the team with him.

  Fuck.

  Heaving for breath I clenched my eyes shut.

  They must have come for the woman locked in the basement. Men with earpieces, men who knew how to use their guns.

  Another muffled shot sounded below us, and the man yanked me up, his hold loosening a bit on my good arm as I stood beside him. My back to the light, I peered up at my captor.

  Hair, black as night, eyes blue as the summer’s sky…

  My heart skipped and my adrenaline spiked again. Hot. No, gorgeous. Tall and solid, just how I used to like my men.

  “Let’s go.” He yanked me down the stairs, his hold on my arm keeping me from tumbling down after him.

  One of my team members lay sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, hazel eyes overtaken by dilated pupils that stared into whatever the fuck afterlife he’d believed in. I bit back my whimper, all thoughts of my hot-as-fuck captor erased from my mind.

  “Sit.” He pointed at the wall beyond my friend’s feet, and I fought back tears and choking fear while doing as told, sliding down along the wall onto my ass while holding his stare.

  Footsteps sounded from the kitchen. Another mountain of a man carried the woman from the basement, his hold gentle, his eyes tender while peering down at her. He lifted his gaze to my captor.


  “Sniper from the roof,” my gorgeous attacker all but bit the words out.

  “Why the fuck is she still alive?” the mountain asked while setting the woman onto her feet.

  My captor turned his focus on the windows flanking the front door a few feet away. “Gunner’s here,” he muttered rather than answer his friend.

  Headlights glinted across the entryway’s walls, illuminating the interior briefly, allowing me a quick study of the man looming beside me. Blood dripped from his arm from the bullet I’d put in him, splattering onto the hardwood floor, and I grimaced as my arm sent a shot of pain clear to my fingers, as though wanting to share in his.

  My scowl deepened even though my insides warmed from the round, hard ass mere inches from my face. Perfect for sinking my teeth into. Perfect for grasping with my heels while he buried his length inside me. I craned my neck upward, taking in his broad shoulders, the muscular neck that disappeared into hair my fingers itched to touch.

  Fuck.

  I tore my gaze away, only to snag once more on my team member. Blood pooled beneath his sprawled body, once more erasing the arousal my captor had brought to life.

  The mountain and woman walked out the front door without a word, leaving in a blast of cold winter air. I shivered despite my jacket.

  Another man approached from the kitchen. “The fuck, Brewer?” he asked with a frown, glancing from me to my captor.

  Brewer. The hot bastard who’d shot my arm at the same time I’d hit his.

  “Roof sniper.”

  “Need me to take care of her?” The nonchalance of the second man’s question sent a flash of ice through my body, seizing my breath.

  “No.” Brewer growled the word, easing my spiked fear of having to eat a lead sandwich.

  His companion shook his head while chuckling and made his way outside.

  Brewer squatted in front of me, his gaze flitting over my short dark hair, down the tattoo snaking along my neck to my upper arm. “You okay?”

  I didn’t gift him with an answer. His body heat radiated over me as the cold air continued to pour through the door his friend had left open.

  “What’s your name?”

  Again, I kept my lips tight.

  “What do you know about the woman in the basement?”

  As if I would answer any of his questions.

  Brewer let out a heavy exhale. “I’m the only thing keeping you from a bullet between your eyes, so I suggest you play nice.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  He tipped his head to the side, his scowl lessening as his gaze slid to my lips -- and stalled.

  Tingles woke between my thighs for the first time in years, and I fought the sudden need to shift, to swallow against the dryness attacking my mouth.

  A squirrely, much shorter man walked through the doorway, tearing Brewer’s attention from me. Two others followed on his heels.

  “How many?” the man asked.

  “Too many for an easy clean up,” Brewer said, his voice void of emotion.

  “Shawshank?”

  Brewer nodded toward the kitchen as my brain struggled to keep up with the truth of his words.

  “Fuck,” the man muttered, glancing around. “We ought to just burn it to the ground.”

  “What’d Gunner say?” Brewer asked.

  “To burn it to the fucking ground.”

  Brewer nodded his agreement, and the man strode into the kitchen, disappearing into the laundry room beyond where the basement stairs lay. The other two men following him like dogs on a leash.

  “Who was Shawshank to you?” Brewer asked, squatting in front of me again.

  Was. Oh, fuck.

  I glanced beyond him once more toward the kitchen as my mind finally caught up with my situation. The friends of Brewer walked around liked they owned the place.

  I swallowed against the tightness in my throat as realization over the loss of my entire team hit me with the force of a tank.

  I’m alone. Again.

  ”Hey.”

  I blinked at Brewer, his sky blue eyes coming into focus past the wetness hazing my vision.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  To trust or not to trust? A complete stranger, hot as fuck --

  Another man filled the front doorway, and my breath escaped me as I took in his attire. Atop a black sweatshirt, he wore a cut I’d become well familiar with during my years with the CIA.

  Devil’s Outlaws. And, the patch on his chest claimed him the president.

  The blood drained from my face, leaving me light headed.

  I’m beyond fucked.

  ”Who’s this?” he asked, tipping his chin toward me as he held my gaze, his dark eyes full of flint and confidence.

  Brewer stood, drawing my focus off his president. Tension rode his hunched shoulders. “One of theirs.” He held up my rifle with his blood soaked arm. “Sniper.”

  Lips pursed, the dark eyed man glanced from my gun to me, and I forced myself to hold his stare again as he seemed to read into my soul, the deepest parts of my mind.

  “I couldn’t do it,” Brewer said, his voice low.

  The man clapped his shoulder and nodded, finally taking his focus off me. His gaze moved to Brewer, and the compassion in his eyes furrowed my brow. “I understand,” he murmured. “We’ll decide what to do with her later.”

  Brewer nodded.

  “Put her in the van then come back and help Comet clean up this mess.”

  Brewer leaned my rifle against the wall and pulled me back to my feet. Without a word, he led me into the cold night, our breath fogging. Two bodies -- two men I’d considered brothers -- sprawled at the base of the porch in the dusting of snow that had fallen earlier in the day, and I clenched my jaw to keep my grief contained.

  My team, my family. Dead, every last damn one of them.

  * * *

  Brewer

  Comet rigged the propane tank for a not-so-little explosion that would cover our asses, and we pulled out. The feisty little female lay bound in the back of his van, Shawshank’s laptops and a box of files beside her. I sat behind the passenger seat, and her glare singed the left side of my face. I didn’t address her since I expected she wouldn’t give me jack shit anyway.

  What the fuck was I going to do with her?

  I scrubbed a hand down over my face and beard, forcing my body to relax one muscle at a time. One of Comet’s helpers had bandaged my shoulder up, but we’d left the woman alone since I hadn’t done more than scrape a bullet along her upper arm.

  We knew better than to discuss Outlaws’ business in front of a non-member, so fewer than a dozen words passed between us while driving south back toward D.C. The silence only intensified my thoughts during the previous couple of hours.

  Sneaking up on Shawshank’s safe house to get the woman he’d kidnapped for the senator had been easier than it should have considering who he was -- or had been. Ex-CIA, a hit man for hire, and a seemingly tight knit team around him.

  A thorough search through the house revealed three of the men had lived there along with him, but there hadn’t been a stitch of evidence the woman had. She’d been able to hide her emotions over the three bodies she’d seen, though, and I wondered at her closeness to the rest of Shawshank’s team.

  We’d gotten Austin’s woman, the one who’d been banging the senator before meeting him. We’d also taken care of the fucker who’d wanted to do her in to hide his indiscretions rather than lose the next election.

  I doubted Austin had taken it easy on his ass. Fuck knows I hadn’t pulled any punches, slicing the throats of the two sentries before allowing the little sniper to catch me in her sights -- long enough to cover Austin and Bowie’s sneaking in the front. I hadn’t known the sniper was a small woman, and I’d barely refrained from knocking her out when I realized he was actually a she.

  A hot one at that. Petite and feisty with a sexy-ass tattoo creeping up her neck. Hair dark enough her blue eyes popped without a smidge of makeu
p. A natural beauty -- and fucking deadly for a man unaccustomed to hand-to-hand combat and SEAL training.

  Her punches, her moves, said military or government agent, but I could also take a beating and push on like a bull. Her fists might have bounced off my abs, but the punch she’d thrown had hurt enough I’d be sporting bruises within twenty-four hours.

  She should have gotten more than a single bullet in my arm, too. I wondered at her hesitancy. Or, had she been distracted? I’d thrown myself into the backyard’s spotlights, knowing it would draw fire, and I’d been willing to take a bullet for Austin and his woman.

  So why a non-life threatening shot to the shoulder? She stood atop the house as sentry -- that meant she had to be a good shot.

  My arm fucking hurt like hell, and I couldn’t wait to suck down some whiskey, but at least I’d survived -- thanks to the woman bound behind me. She’d hesitated, and so did I when given the opportunity to put her down. I’d caused a woman to lose her life while in Afghanistan with Gunner, so he understood my reluctance to deal with the same Goddamn guilt that still bothered me whenever I got inside my head.

  We returned to the compound while darkness still ruled the early morning sky. I pulled the woman from the back of the van and led her toward Gunner who climbed from his truck. I knew what to expect, and I didn’t like it.

  “Put her in the shed,” Gunner said exactly as I’d known he would even though winter made sure it would be cold as fuck in there.

  My body tensed, my jaw tight.

  “I won’t set Austin on her ass,” he assured me, “but she knows too much. She has ammo to take us down.” He retrieved a blanket out of the back of his truck and tossed it to me. “Wrap her up good. She’ll be fine for a day or so until we decide what to do with her.”

  A single nod of appreciation, and I started toward the back of the compound and the shed where the Outlaws tied up assholes who needed to be interrogated or taken care of. She would talk eventually -- they all did when faced with Austin’s fists and Bowie’s knives -- but I trusted Gunner with my life. If he said he wouldn’t harm her, he wouldn’t.