Full Throttle(101)
Chapter Twenty-four
Black Knights Inc. Headquarters
Chicago, Illinois
2 days later…
“Where’s this firecracker of a wife I’ve been hearin’ so much about, Boss?” Leo Anderson asked, stopping to rub a hand over the leather seat of one of the custom motorcycles parked against the shop’s soaring, brightly painted, three-story brick wall. He hummed his approval of its soft texture.
Lt. Leo Anderson and his team were on their way to their next assignment: something to do with a mounting brouhaha at an American embassy in Pakistan. But as Michael “Mad Dog” Wainwright had said upon their arrival outside the big wrought-iron gates that surrounded the old menthol cigarette factory and various outbuildings that made up BKI’s headquarters, “We had to come see with our own beady eyes what all this super-secret, private government defense firm fuss is about first.”
And so Steady, Dan, and Boss had been showing Leo and his Alpha platoon boys around the warehouse space for the last twenty minutes. After Boss—BKI’s founder, head honcho, and a former SEAL teammate to Leo and the guys—had set them back on their feet following a manly round of back-slapping bear hugs and obligatory jokes told at each other’s expense, that is. Both of the latter being pretty much par for the course between any group of men who had lived and fought together for years.
They had started the tour with the third-floor bedrooms, where those BKI boys still living on site—Steady included—managed to catch some Z’s between missions and when Becky, the all-around superstar bike builder and woman Leo had asked about, didn’t have them down in the shop, grinding metal or installing break lines. Then they had moved to the second floor, the heart of the operation, where the many offices, conference room, and state-of-the-art electronics belied the true nature of their work. And, now, finally, they stood on the shop floor, where all the custom motorcycles were made and where the civilian front for Black Knights Inc. began and ended its domination.
Put together, the place was a sight to behold. Underscored by Leo’s low whistle when he stood at the second-floor railing, taking it all in, including the newly painted UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter with its red BKI logo visible through the windows on the huge garage doors at the opposite end of the shop. The helicopter was ostensibly used to promote the custom bike business—sí, just go ahead and insert an eye roll of disbelief there. But in reality, that logo peeled off in an instant, turning that badass war bird back into…well…a badass war bird.
“She’s out buying a leg of lamb to cook up for Angel’s homecoming tomorrow,” Boss said, motioning them over to the next custom bike and ripping Steady from his thoughts.
“Angel?” Leo asked, squatting to look at the bike.
“You don’t know him.” Boss waved a hand of dismissal. “But the long and short of it is, he joined us a couple of years ago, happens to be Jewish, and for reasons beyond me, my wife has since made it her mission in life to learn how to cook kosher. With varying degrees of success, I can assure you.” He made a face that caused the scar cutting up from the corner of his lip to pucker, and Steady found himself smirking. He loved Becky Knight, née Becky Reichert, to death. And the woman was many things. However, a kosher chef she most definitely was not.
“As for the rest of the crew,” Boss continued, “they’re out on missions or else otherwise occupied with family matters. In fact, I don’t know if you guys have heard, but that asshat Jake ‘The Snake’ Sommers had the gall to up and marry my baby sister and put a bun in her oven. They’re at the doctor’s office right now getting a final ultrasound before she’s due at the end of the month.”
Leo hooted as he pushed to a stand. “I had heard they finally tied the knot. When Snake left the Teams, he was hell bent on gettin’ her back. It was all he talked about. And, don’t kill me for this”—he winced when Boss scowled at him—“but I always kinda thought those two belonged together.”
“Unfortunately”—Boss was unable to hold on to his severe expression. His mouth curved into a lopsided grin—“I did too.”
“Well, as this Angel fellow would probably say”—Leo slapped Boss on the back—“mazel tov. And speaking of glad tidings, what have you heard on your injured man, the one still back with the carrier group? Anything?”
Boss’s smile disappeared. And just like it had the moment Steady laid eyes on that gruesome wound on Ozzie’s thigh, just as it had every time he’d checked on his best friend’s status since, his heart sank like a stone. And if he ever got his hands on Umar Sungkar, he vowed to tear the guy so many new assholes, he wouldn’t be able to remember which one was the original.