Flint’s Battle (Team KOA Bravo #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“If you keep staring at Emery whenever she’s on shift here, Flint, she’s going to arrest your ass.”

Flint O’Connell shrugged Bowie’s hand from his shoulder, giving his best friend a shove as the guy moved in beside him at the bar. Ignoring the fact Bowie was right, the last thing Flint needed was his buddy reminding him how he’d spent the past month dancing around his instant attraction for Emery McClane instead of charming the lady into allowing him to take her out for coffee.

Flint took a pull of his beer, looking everywhere but at Emery. “Shut up. I wasn’t staring.”

“Do you prefer the term ogling?”

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“At least I had the balls to ask Moana out instead of pining away, hoping she’d take pity on me and make the first move.” Bowie shook his head. “It’s sad, bro.”

“What’s sad?”

Carter Nolan snagged the seat on the other side of Flint, thanking the bartender when she placed his usual beer in front of him.

Bowie nodded at Flint. “How lovesick Flint is over the beautiful Detective Sergeant McClane.”

Carter chuckled. “Still haven’t asked her out, huh? Bowie’s right. That’s sad.”

“Like you’re both experts.”

Carter glanced at Mia Ryan when she darted out of the office for a moment, stopping to smile at him before heading back in. They’d been seeing each other for nearly a month, and Flint knew Carter was so in love with the lady, he couldn’t see straight. “Compared to you? We’ve got doctorates.”

“Just shut up and drink your damn beer.”

“I’d ask you three what you’re discussing, but it’s obviously about Flint and his inability to get Emery to notice him.”

Quinn Kennedy ambled up to the bar, smiling far too long at Dahlia, the bartender, when she leaned over and placed his beer on the counter. She lingered for a few moments, absently rubbing a cloth over the surface before finally moving on to another customer at the far end.

Flint shook his head. “You should talk. You’re practically drooling over Dahlia, yet you haven’t done so much as get her number.”

“Who says I don’t have her number?”

“I do. And before you try to bluff your way out of it, you’ve got a tell.” Flint took another swig, thumbing the glass. “Any update from Castle on whether he’s got enough evidence to crucify our asshole teammates, yet?”

Not that he or his buddies considered McCarthy, Hendrick, Jones, or Ferrero teammates. Not after they’d realized the four SEALs they’d been teamed with for the past year were skimming drug money from several seizures they’d been involved in. The fact the other men had actively tried to kill Flint and his crew during the past few missions had been the motivation they’d needed to finally make a move. But knowing they were criminals and actually proving it were distinctly different. And if their commanding officer couldn’t connect them with their internal contact — one Edward Fueller III — Flint’s team would have to decide if they returned to service, fully aware the other men would make more attempts on their lives, or if they called it quits.

Quinn tapped his bottle on the counter, answering the question without saying a word. “He’s still working on it.”

“Which means we remain on mandatory leave until he either figures it out, or we’re forced to make a decision.”

The group fell silent. Though, Flint knew both Carter and Bowie already had one foot out the door. Bowie had gone so far as to confide in Flint that he wanted to stay on the Big Island with Moana — join Hawk’s crew as part of the Brotherhood Protectors. And Flint had to admit, the idea had merit. Especially if it meant he had more time to convince Emery he was worth the risk.

Quinn turned to face them. “We’ve got until the end of the month before our time’s up. Let’s give Castle the benefit of the doubt.”

“It’s not Castle who’s out to kill us. And while I hate the idea of leaving like this, I’m having a hard time convincing myself to spend the next few years watching my own back because one of my fucking teammates might put a knife in it.”

“They’re not teammates.” Quinn sighed at Flint’s raised brow. “But I get your point. And I’ll admit, Hawk’s got a pretty sweet setup here. And with Kian, Waylen and the rest of their crew already established, it’s looking better by the second. I just hate the idea of those bastards getting away with it — possibly hurting the next four guys who are unfortunate enough to get placed on their team. We’ve always had each other’s backs. But it might not be an established crew that gets paired up with them next time. Not to mention, I hate losing and coming across as a liar because there’s no way those radios were the cause of anything.”

Flint merely nodded, nursing his beer as the jukebox played in the distance. They’d already spent a month testing the radios the other men claimed were the cause of all the near misses on Flint’s crew but had come up empty — the reason their CO, Castle, had sent them to the Big Island and Hawk’s branch of the Brotherhood Protectors to begin with. A viable ruse while Castle gathered evidence. But they were running out of time, and they all knew it.

Voices rose above the music, a sudden crash cutting through the din. The men turned, looking toward the far side of the bar just as one of the servers swatted at some guy’s hand before kneeling to pick up a broken glass.

The asshole smoothed his palm along the woman’s hip, grinning at her when she glared at him over her shoulder. “Since you’re on your knees, sugar, why don’t you put that smart mouth of yours to good use.”

That’s all Flint needed to hear before he stood, taking a step toward the table, only to have Emery appear in front of the jerk, arms crossed, feet braced apart.

Bowie grabbed Flint’s arm, motioning toward the woman. “Easy buddy. Let Emery try to diffuse the situation before we go charging in.”

Flint snorted. “Have you seen how she handles men like that? She’s more likely to throat punch the guy than escort him calmly to the door. But you have a point. She’s more than capable of handling herself.”

Though, if the asshole tried to get physical, Flint wouldn’t stay on the sidelines.

Emery stopped and said something to the waitress, holding her ground once the server had returned to the bar. She glanced at the door, then back over to the creep. “I’ll give you one chance to get your ass out of that chair and out the door before I do it for you.”

The bastard gave her a thorough once-over then stood, towering over Emery at what had to be six-foot five. “You? You’re gonna make me leave?”

Emery shrugged. “I’d prefer it didn’t come to that, but if it’s the only option…”

He took a step, his sheer size dwarfing her. “Now that I’d like to see, baby girl.”

He reached for her, but Emery was already moving. Dodging the asshole’s massive hand then grabbing his wrist. A pivot and a twist, and she had him in an arm bar, back tipped forward, barely keeping his balance. A step and a swipe of her foot and he was down, arm locked off to one side, his body splayed out between the tables.

She leaned over him, applying enough pressure on his shoulder joint he shouted for her to stop. “I’m not your baby girl, asshole. Consider yourself banned.”

She released him, taking a step back. “Leave.”

The creep rolled to his side, cradling his arm as he stumbled to his feet, glaring at her. He didn’t move, obviously still challenging her when the four men sitting at the table behind Emery jumped up. She turned, blocking the swing the first guy aimed at her torso, only to reel back when the second caught her in the cheek.

And just like that, all of Flint’s team surged forward. Two seconds flat, and Flint was vaulting over the table, grabbing the asshole who’d hit Emery by the shirt and dropping him with a firm strike to the jaw. Someone grabbed Flint’s neck from behind, tugging him back. He managed to twist — break the guy’s hold — but Emery was already on her feet.

Two steps later, she tackled the creep to the ground, getting in an elbow to his jaw before flipping him over andpinning him with her knee. A couple chaotic seconds of him trying to roll her off, and she had a set of zap straps cinched around his wrists — was scanning the room for her next target.

But it was over, the third guy unconscious at Bowie’s feet, while the asshole who’d started it and his fourth buddy were pinned to tables in front of Quinn and Carter. Kian, Waylen, Raider and Lane were fanned out around the scene. Arms crossed, looking less than impressed at the assholes who’d started the fight in their bar.

Emery yanked the guy beneath her to his feet, planting his ass in a chair before turning to the man who’d struck her — the one still struggling to get up from Flint’s initial strike. Flint wasn’t sure if she was going to kick the other man while he was still down or pull out her badge and read him his rights, despite the fact he was likely seeing double.

Instead, she walked over the creep who’d refused to leave — the reason the brawl had broken out — and lowered her head level to where Carter had him face down on the table, slapping her detective’s badge on the surface. “I swear to god, if I ever see you remotely close to this place, again, I’ll arrest you for assaulting an officer. All your friends, too. Now, get the hell out of here before I change my mind and toss your asses in jail.”

The guy stared at the ID, doing his best to look at her with Carter still holding him down. “You’re a cop?”

“That’s a detective’s shield, Einstein. So, just give me a reason.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Smart.” She nodded at Carter, standing there as Carter released the guy. He stood, still favoring that one arm as he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair then made a beeline for the door, a couple of his buddies who hadn’t joined in trailing behind. The guy with the zap straps rose to his feet only to have Emery knock him back on his ass.

She moved in close. “Not you. You and your friends get the extra penalty for joining in uninvited then hitting me. So, get comfortable. You’ll be here a while.”

She pocketed her badge, dabbing at her cheek where the asshole’s strike had lacerated her skin. Not badly, but there was a line of blood across her face, the edges starting to smear down her jaw.

Flint nodded at Quinn, silently thanking the man when he cupped one hand over the creep’s shoulder, keeping his ass in the seat as Flint hooked Emery’s arm. He smiled down at her, wondering if he’d ever seen eyes that color green before. “You okay?”

She snorted, calmly brushing off her shirt. Some of her hair had pulled free from her ponytail, the ends curling around her shoulder. Gleaming like warm honey in the overhead lights. “I’ve been shot and stabbed. Trust me, I’m fine.”

He held back the growl rumbling through his chest. He didn’t like to think about her getting hurt. “You’re a hundred percent badass. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. Come on. Kian’ll clean it up. God only knows where that asshole’s hands have been.”

Emery scrunched up her face. “Thanks for somehow making it worse.”

“I’m a giver.”

“You’re something.”

Flint grinned, palming the small of her back as he followed her to the main office. Kian appeared a few minutes later, medic bag in one hand, a bag of ice in the other.

He handed her the ice, placing his bag on the desk. “Put that on your cheek or it’s going to swell like a damn grapefruit.”

Emery pressed the ice against her skin, a muted hiss escaping her clenched teeth. While Flint knew she’d never admit it, the wound obviously hurt. The way her lips pursed together, forming little lines around the corners or how her eyelids fluttered a few times before she seemed to get the pain under control — push it down like he’d done a thousand times in the field. The girl was pure grit.

Kian sighed, removing the ice for a moment as he surveyed the wound. “It’s not bad, and I doubt it’ll scar, but facial injuries have a nasty habit of bruising. I hope your captain doesn’t give you a hard time when you show up at the station with a shiner.”

Emery snorted. “With how thin we’re spread? I barely see the man. Regardless, he knows I moonlight, so…”

“Which still amazes me. You’re far too skilled to be doing security for us. Not that I’m complaining. We never have to worry when you’re on shift.”

“I like the social aspect of it.”

“Only you would think kicking assholes out of a bar is a social event.”

“We all have to have a hobby.”

Kian chuckled. “You are unique, Emery.” He stepped back, surveying his handiwork. “Those strips are only meant to stay on long enough for the skin adhesive to set, so don’t worry if they fall off by morning. And try to keep the area clean. I also recommend avoiding drunk guys with attitudes, but I’m not one to curtail someone’s hobby.”

“Thanks. I appreciate not having to tape it myself.”

Kian rolled his eyes. “You’re as bad as Blake, always downplaying an injury. Do me a favor, and let someone else drive you home, just to be safe. While you aren’t showing any signs of a concussion, I’d prefer to err on the side of caution. It might be best if you didn’t suddenly become light sensitive while staring into oncoming traffic. And do you have someone who can wake you during the night?”

Emery glanced at Flint, not that it was obvious. More of a slight shift of her eyes in his direction but he noticed. “I live alone.”

“A timer, then.”

“Got it.”

“And thanks. I’m just sorry none of us realized those assholes at the other table were part of the gang.”

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with a thousand times before.”

Kian merely shook his head, giving Flint a knowing glance as he closed the door behind him, leaving the two of them alone in the office.

Flint closed the distance, gently snagging her wrist when she tried to touch the cut Kian had just closed. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to touch that.” He handed her back the ice pack. “But this might help.”

She took it, frowning as she placed it against her cheek. “I can’t believe I didn’t block that punch. I must be losing my edge living in paradise.”

“You’re not losing your edge. It was five against one. And you did quite a number on the other two, so I’d say you won.”

“Winning isn’t supposed to hurt.”

“On the contrary. It’s how you know you won. In my experience, you don’t feel anything when you lose… because you’re dead.”

She snorted, winced, then swatted his chest. “You did that on purpose. You know laughing hurts.”

He grinned. “Speaking of hurting, Kian did say you should have someone else drive you home.”

Emery stared up at him, looking as if she wanted to raise her brow but was worried it would set off some kind of chain reaction of pain. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to volunteer?”

“Because you’re good at your job.” He paused. “Unless you already have a ride home.”

“I could ask Dahlia or Mia, but honestly? I was going to ignore that part and drive myself.”

“And if you do have a concussion?”

“I don’t.” She held up her hand. “Had a few of those, too, and this just hurts where I got hit.”

“Still, Kian isn’t one to baby a patient so… might be best if you humor him and let me drive you home.”

Emery narrowed her eyes. “And how will you get back to your cabin on Hawk’s ranch?”

“I’m extremely resourceful.”

“I bet. Okay.” She walked over to a locker and grabbed her purse, then reached in and retrieved her keys. “Here.” She placed them in his palm. “I hope you can drive a stick.”

“Do I look like the kind of guy who’d buy an automatic?”

That got him a genuine smile. “Definitely not.”

He motioned to the doorway. “Ladies first.”

Emery shook her head then struck off, the sexy sway of her hips making his heart race more than when he’d slugged the guy. Bowie was right. Flint needed to ask Emery out before he lost his one chance at the future he hadn’t realized he’d been looking for.