Hetch (Men OF S.W.A.T. #1) Read online

  Patience has never been Payton’s strong suit.

  “Focus, Pay.”

  “Sorry. Okay, go ahead.”

  “Well, I was lying there, minding my own business, with my vibrator—”

  “SHUT THE FRONT DOOR.” She shouts loud enough that I’m afraid apartment nine could possibly hear her.

  “Shhh, keep it down. I thought it might help to relieve some of my own pent-up frustration.”

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m shocked. What happened to your sabbatical?”

  “Well, it’s not like it’s penetration, Pay,” I blurt, only to hide my face in my hand. I can’t believe I said that.

  “If you say so.” She laughs, still not understanding my need for a sabbatical. She’s been against it since week one. “So what happened next?”

  “Well, next thing I know I’m coming, and he tells me to wait for him.”

  “OH, MY GOD. THIS IS FUCKING EPIC.” She cackles in hilarity before I hear the sound of a male’s voice.

  “What the hell, Pay? You have company?” I sit up faster than needed.

  She could have told me before I admitted to getting off.

  “Ahhh, yeah. Umm, Jett dropped in to see Arabella.” The way she casually says it, tells me she’s full of shit.

  More like dropped in for a booty call.

  “Jesus, what the hell are you doing, Payton?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice. The last thing Payton needs right now is Jett sniffing around.

  “Well, right now, I’m listening to my best friend tell me about her messed-up life.”

  “Don’t deflect. You and I both know this can’t be good.”

  I love my brother, but I’ll never be okay with what he did. Not only did he cheat on Payton, but he also walked out when she finally confronted him. Left her and Arabella for the skanky little whore.

  “Can we can talk about it later?” she whispers so only I can hear. I decide to leave it be, and not push. If there’s one thing I know about Payton, it’s that there’s a fine line when it comes to getting her to open up. Cross it and she will only close up tighter.

  “Later,” I repeat, knowing my later and Payton’s are so far apart. It will be weeks before I get any more info from her.

  “Thanks, B. Now tell me what happened next.”

  I continue my story, telling her everything from the moment I went to bed, down to the army crawl, to hiding in the shower. I even admitted to the low blow of sleeping out on my sofa. After she spends far too long reliving my horror with too much glee, I come up with a plan to write a note letting him know he needs to keep it down and mind his manners.

  Payton’s not sold on it.

  “Trust me. I guarantee we’ll be laughing about it next week over drinks on our girls' night out. Give it a few days. All will blow over, and your humiliation will fade with it,” she promises.

  I’m not sure if I can see that happening, but wanting to be done with the conversation, I let her words reassure me and tell her I won’t leave it.

  “Yeah, we’ll see. Anyway, I’ll let you go. Give my shithead big brother a hug for me.”

  “Will do. Love you, girl.”

  “You too.” I hang up, dropping my phone back on my coffee table. I don’t bother trying to head back to my bedroom; instead, the rest of my night is filled with lumpy sofa cushions, a small, scratchy pillow, and one sexy, mystery man who follows me into my dreams, telling me to wait for him.

  Hey, douche bag, maybe keep it down.

  I read over the note written in my neat handwriting and cringe at my choice of words.

  “Oh, God, that’s terrible,” I tell myself and tear off the piece of paper, scrunch it up into a ball, and drop it into the trash bin beside my desk.

  It’s been seventy-two hours and I still can’t find the right words.

  Thinking it over for another few minutes, I start again.

  I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I can hear you fuck.

  Ugghh, that’s worse.

  “Ahhh excuse me, Liberty, your mom is here to see you.” My eyes move off the crude note I’m working on to find Renee, the newest member of our team, my mother and my niece at the door of my office at Boys Haven.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” I stand almost instinctively. She knows she can’t just turn up here unannounced. While Boys Haven isn’t as strict as some of the other group homes I have worked in the past, we do have structured visitor rules for privacy reasons.

  “Working on your day off, how shocking.” She steps past Renee, ignoring my panicked question.

  “I’m sorry, Liberty. She said it was urgent. I thought ‘cause you’re on your day off….” Renee offers in explanation.

  “Thanks, Renee, I’ll sort it out.” I step forward, motioning my mother and niece into my office before closing the door behind me.

  “Seriously, Mom. You can’t show up here unannounced.” While my office here at Boys Haven is not part of the main residential quarters, I still don’t like to receive visitors. As program director, I take my job seriously, but I’m also very hands on. I don’t like to mix my personal life with my work life.

  “Well, maybe if you answered your phone and stopped ignoring me, I wouldn’t have to drop in to see my only daughter.” She takes a seat across from my desk, making herself comfortable.

  “I’m not ignoring—” I start to argue, but abandon that route when her eyes roll back at me the same way my younger self did to her fifteen years ago.

  Deciding I need to rush this impromptu visit along, I take a seat back at my desk and motion for Arabella to come to me.

  “Hey, sweet girl, how are you today?” I lean forward and kiss her milky white forehead. The amber curls, which match her mother’s, sit on top of her head, sticking out in all directions.

  “Good. Nana said bad word.” Arabella turns and points her cute chubby finger at my mom.

  “Did she now? Well, isn’t she a naughty nana.” I throw a smirk Mom’s way.

  “Uh huh. She called Daddy a bad word.”

  “Okay, that’s enough kid. Don’t go telling all my secrets.” Mom cuts her off before she can spill anything else.

  “What bad words have you been saying about your only son?” I wonder if she knows Jett and Payton have been seeing each other. Both Mom and Dad have been vocal about their opinions on Jett and his bad decisions. It doesn’t mean they don’t love him anymore. One phone call to Mom and she would be there for him, but there is no denying if ever it was broken down to sides, they’d stand by Payton.

  “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.” I hold her eyes, the same green as mine, and wait to see if she elaborates. She doesn’t, so I put a pin in the conversation for later and move on.

  “So what are you guys doing here?” I let Arabella climb off my lap, and walk over to the corner where I keep a small box of coloring books and pencils.

  “Well, Arabella and I are heading out to lunch. We tried calling you, seeing as it’s your day off, but then I remembered how much of a workaholic my only daughter is and I thought we’d drop in to drag you away.” She leans forward, her eyes gliding over my desk to see what I’ve been working on.

  “Ha ha, and where is Payton in all this?” I pick up the notebook I was writing in and place it in the top drawer of my desk. I’m a little annoyed with Payton. I haven’t heard from her all week. I know she’s avoiding me, but I still have issues to go over with her.

  One being I’m tempted to do the most stupid thing I’ve ever done and tape the crude, mean note I told her I wouldn’t write on apartment nine’s door.

  Not that she wouldn’t be all for it.

  “She had some errands to run,” Mom answers, unaware of the impending drama or my near future meltdown.

  “Well, as much as I’d love to come to lunch with my favorite niece and mom, I already have something plan–”

  “I’m serious, darling. You work too much.” She cuts me off, probably not believing I really do have plans.

&nb
sp; “Please, I work a normal eleven-hour day like most people, Mom.”

  “Statistics show people who work eleven hours a day or more have a 67 percent greater chance of suffering from coronary heart disease.” She folds her thin arms across the front of her, her cute little self being swallowed up by the chair.

  Why couldn’t I have gotten my mom's genes? She’s so petite and angelic. At fifty-six, she’s all class and style. Blonde hair, fair skin and a fashion sense to rival the best of the best.

  “I’m thirty years old, Mom. I’m not going to have heart disease. Relax.”

  “I’m just saying.” She unfolds her arms and offers me an unapologetic shrug.

  “What’s heart dibeebs?” Arabella’s sweet, high-pitched voice asks.

  “It’s what happens when you work way too much,” Mom replies, a smug smile on her face.

  “Do you have heart dibeebs?” Her head tilts to the side, giving me a once over, searching for this elusive heart disease.

  “No, sweetie. Nana was being silly,” I assure her before Mom puts any crazy ideas in her head. I already get it from my friends and family; I don’t want it from my sweet Arabella.

  “So, what are these plans of yours that are stopping you from lunching with us?” Mom drops the morbid work statistics and moves onto trying to wear me down.

  “I have an outing with one of the boys. He’s been getting into a little trouble at school, so I need some one-on-one time with him. Give him some positive reinforcement.”

  Mitch is our newest resident. He’s only been in care at Boys Haven for the last six months and since he’s been here I’ve grown a little fond of him. I know it’s not smart, getting attached to the kids who come through the doors, but something about Mitch has struck a chord with me.

  He first entered the system with his older brother, Dominic, at nine, when his father murdered his mom. With no other living family, there wasn’t anywhere else for them to go. The first few years they were kept together—bounced around from foster care to group homes—but soon it became apparent Dominic wasn’t interested in playing by the rules. With a bad attitude, some serious anger issues and an opposition to authority, Dominic continued to find himself getting involved with the wrong crowd. The boys’ case workers tried to keep them separated, but Dominic’s hold over Mitch is strong. Always finding a way to drag him down. It’s only since Dominic turned eighteen and left the system that we've seen Mitch slowly come into his own.

  “You get too involved, Liberty. You need to be careful.” Mom’s face takes on the don’t-mess-with-me look that worked so well back when I was a teenager.

  “Mom….” I think I manage the same tone I used to reply with back then—bored with my best I-know-better-than-you attitude.

  “I’m serious, Bertie. I worry about you.”

  “Mom, one, please, for the love of God, don’t call me that. I’m not three years old anymore. And two, I can handle myself. Besides, I think I’m getting through to this one. He’s a good kid. He just needs someone rooting for him.” I offer more than I probably should. My need to prove the good I do here outweighs my responsibility to keep my cases confidential.

  “Darling, it doesn’t matter if you’re three or thirty. Hell, in another thirty years you’ll still be my Bertie.” I shouldn’t give her a hard time about the name. I know she’ll never stop calling me it. It’s been my childhood name since birth when Jett couldn’t pronounce Liberty. The real problem I have is being treated like I don’t know what I’m doing.

  “Well, try to refrain from calling me it here,” I compromise. The last thing I need is someone to catch onto the hideous nickname.

  “Okay, dear.” She too concedes, before standing. “We should probably get out of your hair.” I check the time, cringing when I see I was meant to meet Mitch inside five minutes ago.

  “Yes, I need to head out. We'll rain check for sure.”

  “Okay, I’m holding you to it. Come on, Arabella, Aunt B has to work now, time to say good-bye.” Mom stands and picks up her bag.

  Arabella packs up her book before walking back over to me.

  “You always have to work.” She pouts as I take her in a hug.

  Jesus, she spends too much time with my mother.

  “How about I take you on a picnic next weekend to the park with the big slide you like?” I ask her, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes, please.” She claps her hands, clearly excited at the prospect.

  “Don’t forget you have that girls’ night thingy next Saturday night,” Mom reminds me. The look on my face must convey my forgetfulness because her easy smile sets into worried lines. “You cannot cancel on Payton. She’s looking forward to a night off.” Her tone pushes me to appease her.

  “Of course I won’t. I promise.”

  Shit. I was looking forward to a quiet night in.

  “Good, she needs this, darling, a good night out with some friends.”

  “I agree.” I also think she needs to stop letting my brother use her as a booty call, but I don’t say anything on the matter. Mom probably doesn’t need to know the finer details. “Okay, you guys have a nice lunch.”

  “Would be better if you were coming.” She folds me in her arms, and even though I have a few inches on her, she still embraces me the way only a mother does. Gently and fiercely. Comforting and knowingly. The kind of hug where you physically feel your worries leave your body.

  “Mom–”

  “I’m proud of you, Bertie.” She cuts me off. “What you’re doing here, how passionate you are. I may worry, but never forget how proud your father and I are of you,” she whispers before releasing me.

  “Jesus, Mom. Get out of here before you make me cry.” I wave her off, not needing this kind of moment here at work.

  “I’m going. I’m going.” She takes Arabella’s hand and leaves me alone to process her words.

  It’s moments like this, in the comfort of my mom’s reassurance, I realize how lucky I truly am and that makes me want to be here, working closely with these boys. Offering the same kind of love and support to them when no one else can.

  Sometimes I might not be able to make them feel a fraction of what my mom gives me in a simple hug and a few words, but I’ll always try.

  Because it’s what her love taught me.

  Three

  Hetch

  “Why don’t you put the gun down and we can talk about it?” I keep my voice low, controlled, and free of any hostility.

  “Don’t fucking play me. You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?” His voice is harsh, panicked, but I don’t relent. I need to stay in control.

  “I have a clear shot,” Fox speaks into my coms, letting me know he’s in position.

  Mason Fox, our go-to weapons and training specialist. Fox has been on Team One for longer than anyone else. The best of the best and one mean son of a bitch.

  I hit the mute button on the phone and speak into my earpiece. “Not until you get the order,” I reply, letting him know I’m still in control here. The air is thick with tension. My team is in place, ready to move at a moment’s notice. We’ve been going at it all day. I’m tired, the team’s tired, but in situations like this, tired doesn’t enter your vocabulary.

  “I’ve given you my demands. I want this now. I'm the one in control. Do you understand?”

  “I understand the situation, Devon, but you need to know what you’re asking for is not what I can give you right now.”

  “Then you leave me no choice. I’m gonna have to start shooting.”

  “You don’t want to do that, Devon. Work with me on this. Give me something more, something I can go back to my bosses with. Then maybe I can give you what you’re asking for.” It’s all bullshit. Devon isn’t getting what he wants. In fact, Devon isn’t real. Devon is being played by Sergeant Kaighn, Team Two’s tactical leader, and while Team One and I are in place ready to eliminate the threat he's posing, it’s all for training and review purposes.

&n
bsp; “I’ve already given you FIVE hostages! What more do you fuckin’ want?” He’s escalating, and for the sake of today’s training session, I’m not going to be able to talk him down.

  “You did, and it worked in your favor, Devon. We sent in food and some drinks. What about the injured guard? How is he holding up?” I press for more information, while Walker, our coms guy, works on getting us a better view inside the warehouse we’re training in.

  “He’s doing good. He’s sleeping right now.”

  Fucking Kaighn is busting my balls here.

  “That’s not good, Devon. I need to get my men to him.”

  “He’s fine!”

  “Let me break it down for you here, Devon. If the guard dies, things are going to get a whole lot messier for you.”

  “Oh, yeah? How much messier?”

  “Well, for one, if he dies, you’ll be looking at murder. You don’t want that, do you?”

  “I didn’t shoot him! It was an accident. He wrestled me. If he sat down as I told him instead of trying being a hero….”

  “I’m in and I have a clear shot.” Tate lets me know his position. Preston Tate, the youngest officer on Trebook’s tactical team, is ex-special ops, five years on the force, and first year tactical. Tate’s fresh, but it doesn’t mean he’s not one hell of a good marksman.

  One of the best I’ve seen.

  Ignoring the coms, I continue to engage with Devon. “I know, and those witnesses in there will be able to vouch for you. We need to get him help now.” I can see him wavering on the video feed. His pacing has slowed as he rubs the palm of his hand down his face.

  “Fine. But only the guard.” He gives me a chance to make my play.

  “Good decision, Devon.” I hit the mute button and switch my coms.

  “Okay, boys, we’re going in. He’s probably expecting a front entry, but we’ll continue as planned. Let’s hit ’em hard and smoke him out.”

  The two teams will breach the building. Team One-alpha, consisting of Hart and Sterling, will go through the air vents. Team Two-bravo, comprising of Fox and Tate, will enter through a window on the fourth floor. Sterling and Hart will release a flash bang, creating enough distraction to get both teams down on the ground. Sterling and Hart will then cover the hostages while Tate will cover Fox, giving him enough time to secure Kaighn before he has a chance to use his weapon.