No Way In Hell: A Steel Corps/Trident Security Crossover Novel Read online

  Praise for No Way in Hell

  WOW! I love these two authors and to have them collaborate on not one, but two books is heaven for all of the fans and a wonderful way for new readers to find new favorite authors.

  Rosemary Mclain

  What do you get when you cross badass Seals, Army intelligence and a spy with one name? You get magic that's what. JB Havens' Steel Corps and Samantha Cole's Trident Security team up to give us a great read.

  Allena H.

  I feel like I’m so dumbstruck I can’t even leave a proper review, so I’m outta here and off to start book 2.

  Kindle Reader

  No Way in Hell

  A Steel Corps/Trident Security Crossover Novel: Part One

  JB Havens

  Samantha A. Cole

  To our readers and loyal fans.

  Without you, this book would never have been a thought in our minds.

  Contents

  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

  Other Books by J.B. Havens

  Other Books By Samantha A. Cole

  Acknowledgments

  Authors’ Note

  About the Authors

  1

  The room stank of vomit and piss. Seriously? The police department couldn’t pay someone to clean their fucking interrogation room? Carter sat in silence, his knee jiggling like crazy almost on its own accord. He’d fucked up—big time. At eighteen, just when he thought he could turn his life around, his past had come back to bite him in the ass. And now his life was over. Kaput.

  The only reason he’d gone back to his foster father’s house after completing his boot camp training in the Marine Corps was because of Vicki Sanders, another foster child Roland and Marion Osbourne had taken in. While some kids came and went, Carter and Vicki had been with the Osbourne’s for three and two years, respectively. They’d both learned over the years not to get too attached to anyone because it was only a matter of time before they’d be shipped off to another foster home. Carter had been in the system since his birth mother had abandoned him at a Walmart when he was six. Vicki’s parents had been killed in a car accident when she was ten and no relatives stepped forward to take her in.

  Despite his resistance to the younger girl’s charm, Carter had come to love her like the sister he’d never had. When he’d reached his eighteenth birthday, he’d enlisted—not just for a better life for himself, but a better life for her. She was sweet, pretty, and smart as a whip. While it wasn’t for him, he wanted to help pay for her college when she graduated high school in two years. The Osbourne’s were more interested in gambling away the stipends they got from the state for fostering than helping the kids. Once the fosters reached eighteen and were no longer moneymakers, the couple kicked them out, not giving a crap where they went or what happened to them after that.

  After the boot camp graduation ceremony, Carter had been given three days leave before he was supposed to ship out to Hawaii, so he’d hitchhiked from San Diego to Temecula, an hour’s drive away. He’d wanted to show off his uniform and new muscles to his foster sister. She’d always teased him that about his skinny arms and legs, but in a loving way. It was far from the teasing and bullying he’d been subject to over the years, constantly being the “new kid” at school after bouncing from one district to the next.

  The Osbournes lived on a street that bordered both the low and middle class areas of the city. But one look at its peeling paint, curling roof tiles, and brown grass and shrubs, you knew exactly what income level it favored.

  When he’d arrived at the house, the first thing he’d noticed was the Osbourne’s old Ford was in the driveway. That was nothing new. Neither of them worked, relying on their combined disability and the foster checks. But on Thursdays, Marion took the bus to go visit her mother in a nursing home. She couldn’t care less about the woman other than the small inheritance she was supposed to get whenever her mother finally croaked.

  The next thing Carter had become aware of when he entered the house was Roland wasn’t sitting in his recliner, chain smoking, and burping up lunch. The TV was blasting and Carter had grabbed the remote, lowering the volume. That was when he’d heard it. A soft cry of pain, followed by begging. “P-Please. Stop.”

  And then another voice. Harsher. Deeper. “Shut up, you little bitch. You fucking owe me.”

  Cold ice had run through his veins. No. No way was that bastard doing what Carter thought he was doing. He didn’t even remember taking the steps down the hall. Finding Vicki’s door locked, he’d kicked it in. The scene before him had had him seeing red. Fury had pulsed through him, as Roland jumped from the bed he’d just been raping Vicki in and tried to stuff his dick back in his pants.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, boy? You don’t live here no more!”

  Vicki stared at Carter in horror. Her clothes were torn, her face red, swollen, and wet with tears. She’d grabbed a blanket to cover herself up, but he was no longer looking at her. His focus had been all on the man he was about to kill.

  Carter had very little recollection of what had happened after that. All he knew was his fists were now raw and bloody, he was under arrest, and Vicki and Roland had been transported to the hospital in different ambulances. He had no idea if the bastard was dead or alive, and didn’t care. All he cared about was finding out if Vicki was okay, but no one would answer his questions.

  He’d been placed in this interrogation room almost two hours ago. The door was locked with a police officer standing guard outside. Carter knew this because the cop had escorted him to the bathroom and back about a half hour ago. No one had come to interview him, to get his side of the story. He wondered if anyone was behind what had to be a two-way mirror watching him, waiting for him to break down and confess. Not that it mattered, they had him dead to rights. The patrol officers had needed to physically haul him off Roland’s unconscious body. No matter what happened, his life in the military was over before it had barely begun.

  The clock on the wall continued to tick off the minutes until, finally, the door opened and a man in his forties walked in, wearing a navy blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. He was about six feet tall and two hundred pounds. His dark brown eyes matched his dark hair which was a little longer than a crewcut. Without saying a word, he tossed a thick folder on the table and sat down across from Carter.

  They stared at each other for several minutes. Carter felt like a lab rat being analyzed, and he fought the urge to squirm. Soon, the younger man couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Who are you? A detective? Can you at least tell me if Vicki is okay before you send me to county?” The local lockup was probably his first stop on the way to state prison.

  Instead of answering the questions, the man sat forward and opened the manila folder. Carter was shocked to see the photo that’d been taken of him for his military ID weeks earlier. He really had changed since then, adding at least thirty pounds of muscle to his formerly lank frame. Even his face appeared different.

  “Private First Class Carter, my name is Gene McDaniel, and I work for the United States government. I’m here to offer you the choice of two options. Number one—I walk back out that door, you never see me again and probably spend the next few years in prison for attempted murder.” Carter mouth gaped. Well
, that told him the bastard was still alive. “Option number two—you come work for me. Now, before you answer that, let me explain a few things. If you come work for me, it means as far as everyone who knows you is concerned, you’re dead—killed in a prison fight. Your Marine Corps record, as short as it is, will disappear. You will become a ghost in the world of black ops. You will belong to Uncle Sam and defend this country until your dying breath. So what’s it going to be? Door number 1 or door number 2? You have ten seconds to decide.”

  Carter continued to stare open-mouthed at the man, certain this was all a dream or he was being punked. He blinked several times, unable to formulate an answer. His hands ached as he stretched his fingers out. What the hell is going on? Without warning, the other man stood and strode to the door.

  “Wait!” Carter yelled.

  McDaniel turned on his heel to face him, but remained silent.

  “Wh-What about Vicki?”

  “What about Ms. Sanders? She’s being treated for her injuries at the emergency room. Roland Osbourne will go to trial for raping and assaulting a minor, if and when he wakes up from the beating you gave him.”

  Carter stood, his mind racing. He knew a little about black ops. Ever since he’d made the decision to enlist about two years ago, he’d been reading everything he could get his hands on to decide which branch of the military to choose. It had been a tossup between the Navy, and their SEAL program, and the Marines’ Special Forces. “If I take option two and go with you, I want two things.”

  “You’re hardly in the position—”

  Carter slammed his hand on the table, the sound echoing in the small room. “This is not negotiable—two things and I sign my fucking life over to you.”

  With one eyebrow raised, McDaniel gestured with his hand for him to continue.

  Licking his lips, he prayed to God he was doing the right thing. “Vicki is taken care of . . . for the rest of her life. The Witness Protection Program or whatever—I don’t care if she doesn’t qualify. She gets whatever she needs to get through this, a shrink, counselor. And her college is paid for when she’s ready. If you’re who you say you are, then you can get all of that done.”

  The older man paused and then nodded. “And the second thing?”

  “Osbourne never steps one foot out of prison for the rest of his life. If he does, I will come back and kill him.”

  Seconds ticked by, and Carter wondered if he’d asked for too much. His gut clenched when McDaniel turned, reached for the knob, and pulled the door open. But instead of walking out, he let another man, dressed in a police uniform, enter. McDaniel stared intently at Carter as he spoke. “Captain, any photos and papers you have concerning Mr. Carter here are now classified by the United States government. He’s coming with me.”

  Eight years later . . .

  I sat in the heat, pulling at the stupid, maroon, nylon gown. The hard wooden chair beneath me was uncomfortable, to put it mildly. It was sticking to my sweaty skin, but as soon as I pulled it one way, it stuck fast somewhere else. The only thing I liked about it was it covered the bruises. Like a dumb ass, I’d gone to my father’s house last night. I’d left some stuff behind and thought I could sneak in and out without him noticing me.

  Usually, he was passed out cold by two a.m. I should have known better . . .

  I waited impatiently for my name to be called. I was smashed between a jock whose name I could never remember and a peppy cheerleader with bows in her hair.

  Ugh . . . kill me now. Was this day ever going to be fucking over?

  The jock next to me was announced, and I stood, waiting my turn to get this empty ceremony over with. I was only here today because Aunt Beatrice made me come. She was a few rows back, wiping her eyes with a tissue, camera in hand, ready to snap some pictures.

  “Bea Michaels . . .”

  That was me. I walked up a few stairs, then across the small stage. After shaking hands with a few teachers and the principal, I finally accepted my diploma from the superintendent. I looked out into the audience and saw Aunt Beatrice clapping, and when I caught her eye, she put her fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly.

  I smiled despite myself. As much as I hated being here today, I knew it meant a lot to her. I hadn’t told her yet that I’d gone to my father’s house last night. She would see the bruises on my arms, legs, and back soon enough. This day was more for her than for me; I didn’t want to ruin it.

  I walked back down the rows of chairs to my seat, where I’d been forced to sit and listen to speeches by what seemed like every single person in town. Before I sat, I gave a small wave to the man standing near the last row. His uniform set him apart from the crowd, and he wore it well. The dark green fit him like a glove, complimenting his dark hair and eyes. Clean shaven and handsome, he was getting a lot of stares from the females in the crowd—and a few males, I noticed with amusement. He smiled back and returned my wave.

  His name was Alex Mitchell—Sergeant Alex Mitchell to be exact—and he was a recruiter for the United States Army. I’d signed papers with him yesterday. I ship out for basic in four days.

  I was going to be free. Free from my father and his beatings. Free to choose the life I wanted. I’d scored off the charts on my ASFABs, the entrance exams for the military. The Air Force chased me hard, but I signed up with the Army instead. After my initial training, I will go to work with military intelligence. All I really knew was I would be assisting Special Forces operations on mission’s around the world—and I’d be well beyond my father’s reach. They wouldn’t tell me anything more.

  Before I knew it, the ceremony was over, and I was walking into Aunt Beatrice’s waiting arms. She held me tight, feeling cool and soft even in this heat. Chanel No. 5 surrounded us in a scented cloud. I knew I wouldn’t be seeing her for a while and wanted to hold her close, wrap her scent around me, and carry it with me.

  “Oh, Bea, I’m so proud of you.” She kissed my cheek and squeezed me tighter.

  Her arms bumped and pressed against my sore back. I winced but then pushed the pain aside. There would be time enough for that later.

  Laughing, I tried to pull away, but she held on. “Aunt Beatrice, it’s like a thousand degrees. Hug me again in the air conditioning.”

  She released me, and stepping back I met Sergeant Mitchell’s eyes. He eyed me carefully, noticing I was wearing long sleeves under my gown even though it was pushing ninety degrees. Crossing his arms across his massive chest, he frowned severely.

  “What?” I dared him to say something. I had great respect for him, but this wasn’t something I was going to get into with him. Not here and not now.

  He glared at me. “It’s ‘sir.’ Get used to addressing people by sir right now. In a few days, you won’t be able to speak without it. Try again.”

  “Sir, what you are staring at, sir.”

  “Better, but can the attitude,” he grumbled.

  “No, Sergeant,” Aunt Beatrice said. “She’s not in the army, yet. And have you met her? She’s nothing but attitude.” She put her arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against her side. This time, I couldn’t hold back the wince.

  “Bea? What’s wrong?” Her laser eyes looked me over—I swear she had x-ray vision.

  “Can we go now? I’m hot as hell, and I want to get out of this stupid outfit.” I walked away, heading to the parking lot, not waiting for their either one of them to respond. They were taking me out for an early dinner, and I’d insisted on something low-key. I hadn’t wanted a party—didn’t really have anyone to invite anyhow. I was somewhat confused as to why my recruiter was even coming, I mean, he’d gotten my signature, wasn’t his job done?

  They caught up with me at the car. Aunt Beatrice was giving me the stink-eye all moms seemed to have. Guilt rushed through my gut, tightening my muscles, as she frowned. “You have something you want to tell me, young lady?”

  Instead of answering her, I opened the back door of her little sedan and stripped off my gown. Under it
, I had on a long-sleeved, black shirt and green cargo pants with heavy, black boots. I pulled off the hot shirt, revealing the white tank I wore underneath.

  My arms were covered in finger marks and bruises. A few scratches from his nails were also scattered around. Giving them both my back, I raised the tank up, nearly to my bra so they could see the large, purple marks along my spine and ribs. His boots had been heavy, and I was lucky to have escaped with just bruises and not broken bones this time. Aunt Beatrice gasped.

  “Motherfucker!” Sergeant Mitchell pulled my shirt down and spun me to face him. “What happened, and where is that fucking cocksucker? I know people who can get this done. No one will find the body. Ever.” His face was red with fury, cords stood out on his neck, and he fought to rein himself in.

  “Wow, chill, dude. If you turn green, I’m running the fuck away.” Meeting his eyes my false humor fled. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. Nothing that won’t heal. It’s my own fault.”

  A sob escaped Aunt Beatrice as tears ran down her face. “Bea . . . wh-what happened?” Spinning me toward her, she cradled my face in her hands, staring into my eyes. Her soft, brown ones were full of so much guilt and sorrow. I was the cause of her pain, always. It didn’t matter that my asshole of a sperm donor was the one who dealt the blows. By sharing it with my aunt, I broke her heart a little more. If I could ship out this very second I would—taking myself and my shit storm of a life with me.

  I shrugged, trying to make it seem as if it was no big deal. “I wanted to get the last of my stuff. I forgot some of Mom’s things in the attic and thought he’d be passed out. He was at first, but he woke up when I was trying to leave.” Staring at my boots, I rubbed my left one back and forth in the gravel, making a small hole that I wish would swallow me up any second.