Kid Chaos (SEAL Team Alpha Book 2)

  KID CHAOS

  SEAL Team Alpha

  Zoe Dawson

  Kid Chaos

  Copyright © 2017 by Karen Alarie

  Cover Art © Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9971967-4-0

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  OTHER TITLES BY ZOE DAWSON

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my beta readers and editor for helping with this book. As always, you guys are the best.

  To all the unsung souls out there. This one is for you.

  The thing about chaos is that while it disturbs us, it too forces us to roar in a way we secretly find magnificent.

  Christopher Poindexter

  1

  Somewhere in the Darién Gap

  Water, water everywhere—normally for a Navy SEAL that was heaven on earth, but in this situation, in this part of the Darién Gap it was hampering their movements.

  The only other good thing about the incessant rain was that it also screwed with the slew of Clan Los Piratas or CLP who were on their tails.

  Son of a bitch! Kid Chaos, aka Ashe Wilder shifted his gaze from the deluge outside the cantina’s door to the other patrons in the smoke-filled bar: no one here was going to stop them. Not some old whore that had seen better days or the two small kids—in a bar, no less. The only thing they would do was challenge him to a coloring contest, and he could win that hands down. His nieces could attest to his coloring prowess, not to mention how proficient he was at pairing up Barbie’s rad miniskirts with tiny heels. Yeah, he loved the ladies, even eleven and half inch ones with plastic bodies.

  Of course, he would never admit to playing with dolls, and he much preferred the real ones to any child’s toy or blow up for that matter.

  He moved over a seat and reached out. Cowboy was slumped in his chair, and Kid was getting real worried. He’d been going in and out for the last hour. Still dazed. They had ditched all their gear for these civilian clothes to better hide out from the CLP bastards that weren’t too happy they had just nabbed their second in command.

  Just a few months back, Hector Salazar, who’d been bagged by Kid’s team, had given up Angel Nunez, his second in command. Angel had planned the murders of DEA agents who had gotten too close to their operation and even pulled the trigger on one of them. Hector was trying to save his own ass, and now they had both of the bastards by the short hairs.

  That op had been fun, and it had brought together his LT, Lieutenant Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper with his fiancée, Dana Sorenson, a reporter and videographer who wrote and filmed on the human condition. She was doing a migrant piece in the Darién Gap, got herself kidnapped and held hostage in Hector’s stronghold until the team had rescued her and her crew.

  Cowboy jerked when Kid touched his forehead. He’d slapped a makeshift bandage over the bullet graze, but Cowboy’s brain might have sloshed around in his noggin’ a bit from the RPG explosion that knocked him out.

  He needed medical attention but first they had to get the hell out of here. Kid wouldn’t rest until he was out of danger and safe aboard the USS Annenberg.

  “Where are we?” Cowboy asked, his voice low and strained. He blinked a couple of times.

  “Hey, man. Welcome back.” Kid gave him a smile. “We’re in a bar in the middle of nowhere Panama.”

  “Where?” Cowboy asked, looking around.

  Kid realized that Cowboy had some memory loss. “We’re in the Darién Gap. We were giving Angel Nunez a one-way trip to prison.”

  “Right. The mission. Did we get it done?”

  “Yeah, man. Tagged and bagged. He’s outside tied up. But we got separated from the team, and you got hit by a graze to the head.”

  Cowboy blinked some more, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard Kid right. “Outside?”

  “Yeah, he carried you for miles with my weapon in his back, then we found a Jeep and it was smooth sailing all the way here. Except the Jeep was full of coke, and the drug runners were pretty pissed off.”

  “Kid, you are fucking crazy.”

  “Have we met?” Cowboy just glared at him. “All I know is this ain’t no damn garden party. Not a finger sandwich in sight.”

  In spite of Cowboy’s condition, he laughed. “Dammit! When I have my head on straight, remind me to kick your dang ass.”

  “Get in line, partner,” Kid said with a smirk.

  “How about you?” Cowboy asked, his dazed whiskey brown eyes going over Kid’s midriff just above the tech vest’s waist strap where a red stain had spread.

  “Yeah, we got friends on our tail, and they nailed me.” The blood on his “borrowed” T-shirt was nothing but a little nick. “Had to ditch the body armor for speed.” It had bled some, would need stitches to close, but it wasn’t going to slow him down one iota.

  Cowboy swallowed, his movements slow. “Man, I ain’t going to be no help. I got my bell rung dang good. Maybe you should cut Nunez loose.”

  “Don’t worry about him. We’re all getting out of here.”

  With a strong gaze, Cowboy murmured, “I have no doubt about that.”

  “Damn straight,” Kid agreed. They had their orders. Two SEALs caught in Panama adding insult to injury by snatching another one of Panama’s uglies was something the brass wanted under wraps. Not that Panama would cry a river over losing both Salazar and Nunez, but they would have to make some response and the SEALs didn’t like broadcasting their missions.

  “I’m going to get us some chow and something to drink. Something really cold if I can manage it.”

  Cowboy was taking a few minutes to process what Kid had said, then he nodded.

  Of course, feeding Cowboy might not be the best course of action. He’d already puked up his guts on the way here. But he had to get something into the big man. He needed the fuel.

  Kid walked up to the bar and said in Spanish, “Four fish plates. Energy drink?”

  “Si, bebida energética.” The toothless bartender nodded. Kid held up his fingers to indicate six and grabbed the cans he set on the bar, flinching when his wound protested the twisting motion of his torso. With thanks to the bartender, he headed back to the table, the cans burning icy, the condensation wetting his palms. He brought one of the cans up to his forehead, the cold soothing. Such a small thing.

  He left the bar, handing one to Nunez and the man he’d paid to watch him.

  Cowboy was drifting when he got back, but still upright in his chair. “How you holding up?”

  “I’m doing great,” Cowboy said with a flash of a grin. The man was tough as nails. Kid knew he’d grown up on a ranch, honed from riding fence
s and muscling ten-ton beef. A branding, riding, roping legend. He set the drinks down in front of Cowboy and popped the tops. “Drink up, bro.”

  Cowboy reached out and set his big hand around the can making it look small and slim. He took a sip, then gulped some. “Don’t drink too fast. You need to keep it down. Are you still dizzy?”

  “Some.” Cowboy wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

  Kid figured it was more than some. But nothing would slow Cowboy down as long as he had breath to move. Kid was the closest to Cowboy on the teams. They often did things together while on R&R. The Texan was as into extreme sports as Kid. With his steady whiskey eyes and his dark, thick hair, he looked to be in his late twenties. He had a wide mouth, high cheekbones and a deep-voiced drawl that made the ladies swoon. Kid was lucky he was cute, or Cowboy would get all the attention.

  Cowboy had obtained his chief rating in three years. The rank was an honor. It was about service and required a peer review of master chief petty officers to achieve. That he had done it so young was nothing short of miraculous.

  Where Kid was quick off the mark, Cowboy tended to be more thoughtful.

  The good news—and there was some—was neither one of them had bullets in them.

  “Do we have transpo?”

  “Working on it. The bartender said there’s a crazy banana boat guy that comes along here. Come rain or shine, he’s working the river. We’ll have to squeeze in among the fruit but he can take us upriver as close to the LZ as we can get. We’ll have to hoof it the rest of the way.”

  “Roger that.” Cowboy chuckled. “I think we can safely say the guy is bananas.”

  Kid threw his head back and laughed for a couple of seconds. “You slay me, Cowboy.”

  “Yeah, I’m good at the jokes,” he said with his deep, radio announcer voice.

  The bartender called that his food was ready, and Kid went back to the bar. The fish still had their heads attached and he pinched them off, dumping them in the trash. It was enough that Cowboy’s gut was churning with nausea, he didn’t need to see a dead fish eye looking up at him.

  He placed the plate in front of Cowboy, and he looked down at the meal. He swallowed hard.

  “Want me to debone it for you?”

  Cowboy gave Kid an amused look and said, “Sure, Mom. Thanks.”

  Kid laughed and reached out for the plate and pulled the fish off the bone with his fingers. “Ewww, cooties,” Cowboy said with a grin.

  He looked like hell and Kid’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t losing him. They’d been traipsing through the jungle for three days, then four hours of running full out. At first, Kid had been carrying Cowboy across his shoulders, and he had five inches on him and thirty pounds. Then, Nunez had taken over.

  This quick rest was warranted, and Cowboy needed better first aid. Then they would put themselves in the hands of a crazy banana boat distributor. Kid liked crazy. He associated with crazy.

  They would take their chances on the river, because it was certain when the CPL caught up to them, they were dead. Sitting in this lighted cantina was a calculated risk. The patrons kept shooting them wary looks. They might have ditched their gear, but no way were they leaving behind the lethal sub automatics they carried. Kid’s was in easy reach. They had both kept their side arms as well, a simplistic, but lethal weapon in their hands.

  Kid was certain that these people were used to seeing armed men in this hole in the wall town. Nothing but a few rundown shacks in a muddy joke of what passed here as a road. They were also no friends to the CPL which really suited them fine.

  When Cowboy started eating, Kid walked out of the bar and handed two plates to the man. Nunez glared daggers at Kid. “Here’s some food for you, Angel buddy. Eat up. We’ve got many more miles to go.”

  The now leader of CLP spat at him. Kid crouched down to get at eye level with him. “Have some respect, you son of a bitch or I’ll carve you up into little pieces, keeping you alive as long as I can. Rules of engagement be damned.”

  Nunez blanched. He tried not to show it, but he was a little spooked by Kid and that suited him just fine.

  “I should feed him?” Nunez’s guard asked.

  “Put the plate on the ground and let him eat like the dog he is for all I care.”

  He went back into the cantina, pulling the first aid kit out of his pared down pack. He shoveled in fish and rice. Then he leaned forward, and Cowboy looked like the fish and rice weren’t sitting quite right. “Keep it together, compadre.”

  Cowboy sat back, and Kid pulled off the bandage to his forehead. The graze was long and deep. Definitely would need stitches. He closed it with four butterflies, then pressed a waterproof bandage over it. Pulling out his knife, he cut the self-adhesive bandage in half and wrapped it around his head, pressing it to seal it closed. Cowboy moaned and his head dropped to his chest. “Come on, buddy. You can’t sleep on the job.” He smacked Cowboy’s face until he roused.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  “I need you to stay with me. I know it’s hard and your brain is hamburger right now. But when that boat gets here, we’ve got to be on it. We’re running out of time.”

  “Boy howdy. I can barely see straight.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to cover me, so do the best you can.” As he argued with Cowboy, he was tending to his own wound, swallowing down his own hurried meal as he cleaned the graze the best he could, then slapped a bandage on it. Grunting and clenching his teeth as he curled the other half of the self-adhesive bandage around his torso. He wiped the blood on his hands with the napkins. He downed the last energy drink.

  “What? I’m sure there are some guys on the teams who want to shoot you, but I don’t happen to be one of them. What if I kill you?”

  “Then I’ll come back as a pissed off ghost and haunt your ass.”

  “Kid!”

  The bartender called out the boat was here. “Go time, big man.” He muscled his shoulder under Cowboy’s armpit and helped him to stand. Shoving his weapon into his hands, they left the bar.

  And, it was go time. Men were coming out of the trees. He dropped with Cowboy, murmuring, “They’re at twelve o’clock. Spray your cover from ten to two.”

  “Talk about shooting blind,” Cowboy mumbled, then said louder, “Where are you going?”

  Kid pulled out his knife and said, “To even the odds.”

  Kid was in full out commando mode. He was the only thing standing between Cowboy and his maker. Kid was determined the maker would have to wait just a bit longer for Cowboy’s soul. Currently, it belonged to the SEALs. When he was done with paring down the threat, he returned to Cowboy.

  “You’re still alive.”

  “You sound surprised. Never bet on the house,” Kid said. “Get up, Nunez.” His tone brooking no back talk. The CLP bastard rose, the makeshift rope around his ankles only allowing him to take normal strides. There would be no running for him.

  Kid saw the boat pull up to the dock. Shoving his gun into Nunez’s back, he said, “Keep moving.”

  When the banana boat guy saw them coming, he continued to unload his bananas in spite of the rain and the armed conflict happening right in front of him. Nerves of steel this guy.

  More CLP burst out of the trees or they might have been the pissed off drug runners coming for the men who had taken their Jeep. It was a tossup. Didn’t matter, their bullets would kill them just as easily.

  When Nunez hesitated, Kid put his boot into the middle of his back and kicked his sorry ass into the boat. He landed on the bananas. Gunfire ripped up the dock and without hesitation, Cowboy returned fire. He helped him into the boat and propped him against the dock. “You’re taking us upriver.”

  The man calmly nodded. Geez, he was really starting to like this guy. “Let’s go, amigo!” As Nunez tried to fight his way out of the yellow fruit and Cowboy reclined in the bow, the banana boat guy motored them into the center of the river, in a downpour, sheets of heavy rain obscuring them fro
m view as the darkness swallowed them up.

  An hour later, he dropped them three miles from the LZ. Unfortunately, Nunez was hit in the leg which Kid had bandaged on their trip here. But he’d lost a lot of blood and was very weak. On shore, Kid dropped his pack as he shouldered both men. He heard the chopper before he stumbled into the clearing, weapons immediately trained on him by the steely-eyed men of his team: Ruckus, Scarecrow, Blue, Tank, Wicked, and Hollywood.

  “Son of a bitch!” Ruckus said. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it, LT. Chaos reigns!” Wicked said.

  “Geez, Kid what took you so long?” Hollywood needled.

  “Screw you, bro,” Kid replied, his breathing labored.

  “Fuck, Kid. You are my hero.” Scarecrow laughed and radioed the USS Annenberg.

  Blue climbed into the helicopter. Tank, Wicked, and Hollywood rushed to him and a set of hands took Nunez and another set tried to take Cowboy. But Kid shouldered them aside, and he walked the last few paces, his legs burning and his body about to give out, to the waiting chopper and laid his team member and friend down. Blue slipped his hands under Cowboy’s shoulders and took his head onto his lap.

  “Bullet graze. Concussion. Dizziness, vomiting, blurred and double vision, short episodes of unconsciousness, badass to the bone. His team members all chuckled. As Blue shined a light into Cowboy’s eyes, Kid sank slowly to the ground, but he didn’t make it all the way, his team caught him.

  ONE MONTH LATER

  Kid opened his apartment door and froze. Cowboy who was just behind him slammed into him. The place was empty except for a folding chair in the middle of the room.