Alpha Mountain: Warrior E-Book

Rose Renee

• Herausgeber: Bridger Media
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Mistake #1: Sleeping with a friend
Hooking up with Quincy was a no-brainer.
The sexy hot-shot Navy pilot wasn’t on my SEAL team.
I thought she’d be safe for a one-night stand.

Mistake #2: Letting her walk out the door
I realized too late she wasn’t a one-and-done for me.
But now she thinks I’m a player. Okay, she knows I’m a player.
Which is why she won’t go there with me again.

Mistake #3: Wanting to repeat Mistake #1.
Quincy’s on my team.
We’re friends. I don’t want to screw that up.
Being near her is pure torture. I don’t know how much longer I can last
Before I risk the biggest mistake of all–losing her.

Leseprobe

ALPHA MOUNTAIN: WARRIOR

BOOK 3

VANESSA VALE

RENEE ROSE

Alpha Mountain: Warrior

Copyright © 2022 by Bridger Media and Wilrose Dream Ventures LLC

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

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 both authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover design: Bridger Media

Cover graphic: Deposit Photos: Fourleaflovers, appalachianview

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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

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Also by Renee Rose

Also By Vanessa Vale

About Renee Rose

About Vanessa Vale

ALPHA MOUNTAIN: WARRIOR

A Mountain Man Mercenary Romance

Mistake #1: Sleeping with a friend

Hooking up with Quincy was a no-brainer.

The sexy, hot-shot Navy pilot wasn’t on my SEAL team.

I thought she’d be safe for a one-night stand.

Mistake #2: Letting her walk out the door

I realized too late she wasn’t a one-and-done for me.

But now she thinks I’m a player. Okay, she knows I’m a player.

Which is why she won’t go there with me again.

Mistake #3: Wanting to repeat Mistake #1.

Quincy’s on my team. We live in the same barracks.

We’re friends. I don’t want to screw that up.

Being near her is pure torture. I don’t know how much longer I can last.

Before I risk the biggest mistake of all–losing her.

CHAPTERONE

QUINCY

There was nothing better than the feel of the stick between my thighs. Okay, maybe there was a different kind of stick that felt pretty good in that location. And maybe only one specific stick I preferred at that.

I would never forget the glory of that one. Long and thick, I barely got my fingers around it. Steely hardness beneath heated velvet. And the guy it belonged to?

A mixture of sweet sin and ruthless danger to both my heart and body.

To the enemy? They never knew the cause of their last breath.

But Chase Berghart, call sign Kennedy because he’s the ladies’ man, wasn’t here.

His talented dick wasn’t about to sink into my eager pussy.

No, I had a different kind of thrill I was taking for a ride today.

“Returning to base. Heading zero-six-two.” The comms unit built into my helmet transmitted my message to the guys who were closely following my position.

The helicopter tipped to the right as I pulled on the cyclic control stick.

“Copy that. Everything looking good.”

I glanced at the radar on the display and confirmed because the weather was holding and so was the visibility. For now. Storms blew in with record speed in Montana, and some were expected.

“Watch your six.” It was a different voice than usual. Taft’s casual but focused response was replaced by another. One I was all too familiar with. One who had spoken in my ear before with that deep, dark tone.

Kennedy.

It made me wet then offered all kinds of carnal promises. They had definitely been fulfilled. That first time happened two years ago at the base in Qatar after a SEAL mission. Our adrenaline had been pumping and needed an outlet. We’d found it in each other. I’d known he was a man whore, but I hadn’t minded. We’d fucked. He’d fled. Sent on a mission I hadn’t been privy to.

We were working together again—this time not in the military—but with Alpha Mountain Security. There were no rules, no protocols or laws to stay within.

I glanced at my radar again. “I’m good.”

“Get back to base,” he practically growled.

I rolled my eyes. I’d flown helicopters my entire military career. There were very few women combat fighter jet pilots in the Navy. Starting out, my options had been limited in comparison to my brothers. I chose helicopters because they got me behind enemy lines. I helped my fellow soldiers, including the SEAL teams who needed to be extracted.

I was the best they had. Until I quit. Now I was Alpha Mountain’s best. And only in this small corner of the world. Which meant I was the person who was called on for anything involving a helicopter, including searches and rescues.

“Lay off, Kennedy,” I snapped. “I’ve got this. The guys were dropped off and are on their way to the lost hikers. I’m a few miles off the targeted landing area. But no issues.”

“You’re not out of there yet.”

“I’m well aware of where I fucking am.” I wasn’t behind enemy lines. Or on an Alpha Mountain mission that, on paper, didn’t exist. That never happened.

“It’s not just you at risk this time,” he reminded.

Those words gave me pause and explained his crankiness. Yeah, it wasn’t just me that needed protection on this run. But I wouldn’t be grounded. Not yet and not by him.

And not for a simple Search and Rescue team shuttle.

“You need to–”

Alarms blared, and my dash blinked red.

I cut off my words and focused, not on Kennedy and his possessiveness, his concern for me being up in the air, even this close to base, and being coddled and protected like a child. I had bigger problems than a bossy ex-SEAL who gave me shit.

“Holy fuck. Incoming,” I said. I saw the flare of the missile in my periphery just as it appeared on radar. “Evasive maneuvers.”

“Christ. What the–”

“Two incoming.” Taft’s voice cut off Kennedy’s. Taft was thinking with his head and not his dick.

After a few recent bouts of angry, wild sex with Kennedy, he’d gone commando on my ass. Well, and one other reason.

I banked right. Hard. The ground, which was thickly forested rolling hills, got bigger.

“Who the hell is shooting at me and why?”

The first missile passed, and I banked again to avoid the second.

“What the fuck is going on?” Kennedy shouted.

“Some helo is firing at Quincy,” Taft countered.

I could hear chatter in the background, them bickering, and–

My thoughts ceased, and I focused solely on my training, on getting my ass out of this situation. I’d been shot at before, with soldiers who relied on me to get them home in one piece. No one was in the chopper now, but I still had precious cargo. Cargo I couldn’t allow to be harmed.

I heard Taft’s voice in my ear. Kennedy’s, too. I ignored them and just flew.

The second missile hit my left landing skid, the slight impact jarring the copter off course.

“I’ve been hit.” I checked the gauges, then pressed the button to shut off the alarm as I veered along the ridge of the hillside. I relayed the damage. Damage Ford wasn’t going to be happy about, not to his brand new helicopter. “Not sure about landing, but I’ve had worse.”

“Fucking-A, Quincy!”

“Shut it, Kennedy,” I snapped. “Get your ass off the fucking comms.”

“You’re my woman, and–”

“I’m not your woman,” I countered. “Taft, shut him down. I’m returning to base. I don’t need–”

The alarms blared again.

“Incoming. Someone sure as shit doesn’t like your ass,” Taft said.

This time, it wasn’t missiles, but another chopper. Of course the missiles came from a chopper. Where else would they be coming from around here?

I whipped my head to the left where the radar indicated another bird.

“Fuck.”

I dipped over the ridgeline to be sheltered by the rugged hillside, but the chopper followed.

“It’s a Bell. Friendly.” The whiz of bullets–and the missiles–had me changing my mind and direction. “Shit, not friendly.”

I used every bit of my knowledge to evade the chopper, but I couldn’t outfly it. More bullets came at me in a long barrage.

“Quincy! Get the fuck out of there!” Kennedy shouted. He was still listening in. So probably were all the others back at the command center. This was me on a simple run, shuttling the Search and Rescue guys. Nothing more. Now it was like I was back in the Middle East.

I was fucked. I was a few miles from Alpha Mountain and my helipad. There was no way I could avoid this guy for that long or even long enough for him to run out of bullets.

“They want to shoot me down.” Duh.

“Get back to base!” Taft called.

“I’ll bring them right to you.”

“Oh shit,” Kennedy said, understanding what I was putting down.

I had weapons of my own thanks to Ford’s obsessive need for being prepared. The only way to save myself was to turn on the offensive. I banked left, hard, but that opened my side up to attack. I changed elevation, aiming for the clouds, then banked to the right, bringing the other chopper into my sights.

He knew what I was doing. He was an experienced pilot whose mission was to end me.

“Take this, you fucker,” I muttered. Sweat glistened on my skin as I pressed the fire button. I watched as bullets shot from the fixed mounted minigun. Yeah, Ford had bought an armored, armed tank of a helicopter for Sparks, Montana, and it sure as shit was coming in handy right now.

He banked. Aimed. Fired.

This time, I had nowhere to go, no chance to evade. I only angled my chopper, so it protected me. But the bullets tore through the tail boom.

I lost control of the steering. Then everything else. “Fuck. Come on…. Come onnnnnnnn.”

“Get an extraction team on the horn,” Kennedy yelled.

“Extraction team? Quincy is that team.”

“Give me something,” Kennedy snapped back.

“Coordinates are–” Taft stated.

Kennedy and Taft were talking in my ear, but I was tugging on the stick, using the pedals to try and level, to try to keep from going into a tailspin. The ground rushed up fast. Too fast, even as I tilted the rotors forward to get as much lift as I could.

“Mayday. Mayday,” I called, but Taft already knew the deal. I might be close to home but not close enough.

“Stay alive, Quincy. Stay fucking alive.” Kennedy’s frantic voice was the last I heard before the crash.

CHAPTERTWO

KENNEDY

Four weeks earlier

She was in the shower.

Naked. Just a few feet away from me.

But I wasn’t thinking about that. I wasn’t thinking about what she looked like unclothed. Dripping wet. That long hair unbound and streaming down her back.

Nope. Not at all. Living with Quincy was not a daily torture for me. Not in the slightest.

After the shit show with Indi, or Indigo Buchanan, Ford’s girlfriend, being stalked and then kidnapped on top of a mountain by Tully, the psycho involved in her brother’s–and our SEAL team member’s–murder, we all agreed that a helicopter would come in handy.

I’d been all for it. Taft and Hayes had been in as well. Even Mrs. L had been eager for the alternate mode of transpo although a helicopter was a big step up.

Except I hadn’t thought about who would fly the bird.

Until it was too late. After we built a landing pad. After we built a hangar.

Because not only did the brand new chopper arrive, but so did the pilot.

Melissa Mason, aka Quincy.

The best damned pilot I knew in the Navy. She should’ve been a TopGun, but the barriers to female pilots were still too significant.

She was also the best damned lay I ever had.

Which posed really big fucking problems. We weren’t in the Middle East any longer. We weren’t on gripping, hellish missions where a sweaty bout of sex released all the excess adrenaline.

She’d avoided me like the plague while I sniffed around her for months when I saw her around missions. Then she finally gave in to what we both knew was between us, and it was beyond spectacular. It had been the heat of post-mission that made her cave–that sexual affirmation of life that was so damned necessary after coming close to dying. It probably stemmed from some deep biological survival instinct–reproduce before it was too late that ensured the survival of the species.

Whatever the reason, after that night, I wanted to survive just to get between those sweet thighs again.

Our chemistry had been off the charts.

Still was. And that was the issue.

Now we were out of the Navy, living in close quarters in Sparks, Montana. Population… less than what filled a major league ball stadium. Hell, half that. We’d worked together before but only in passing, and that sure as shit hadn’t been long enough.

Her job had been to shuttle whomever and whatever. Wherever. That included SEAL teams in and out of tricky and dangerous situations. She’d done it with precision, focus and integrity. And full of threats.

Now the most dangerous situation the two of us faced was bumping into each other in the bunkhouse in the middle of the night. Me seeing her in skimpy sleep shorts and a tank top that did nothing to hide her perfect body, those lush tits that were topped with pert nipples I remembered licking and sucking on and went hard every time I was around.

I knew this because I couldn’t help but look.

Every fucking time.

Which was all the time. Because this new team we were on was small. So far, besides Ford, it was me, Hayes, Taft, and now Quincy.

Which meant it was nearly fucking impossible to keep from grabbing her from her bed and tossing her over my shoulder, carrying her back to my room and giving her round two. Or tossing her over my shoulder after she finished the obstacle course, her skin slick with sweat.

Yeah, I wanted to toss her over my shoulder 24/7.

Because she might be a badass in the pilot’s seat of a helicopter, but I wanted to be in charge when it came to her orgasms.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening. She’d set a clear boundary after the first time we had sex and reaffirmed it when she got here.

“Not. Happening,” were her exact words, each delivered with an index finger poke to my chest. “Find another hookup. I’m not your FWB.”

My forehead had scrunched up at that, and she had to explain, “Friend with benefits. Find someone else.”

I’d expected that stance to change once she realized how slim the pickings were around Sparks, but it hadn’t.

Yet. Besides, my dick seemed to only want one woman. The one who didn’t want anything to do with me. Quincy.

“Dude, you having a stroke?”

I stirred and blinked at Taft, who’d come into the industrial kitchen in the bunk house. I had been Ford’s first hire, and we’d designed this space together. Eight bedrooms, each with its own full bath. A common family room and kitchen combo with a dining area that seated twelve.

Mrs. L, Ford’s grandmother, always cooked in her kitchen in the house, enjoying feeding us all. But at five in the morning when I got up–not something I could break after years in the service–no one expected her to have a full breakfast spread. She got up early but not this early.

I’d made the coffee and had been pouring a mugfull when I heard Quincy’s shower kick on. Which meant she was naked and wet and soapy.

And I was staring at the steaming brew without doing shit.

I gave Taft my signature grin as he went to the mega-fridge and pulled out a carton of OJ. “Debating adding sugar or if I’m sweet enough.”

Who was I kidding? I liked sugar with everything.

He chugged directly from the carton, which had a sticky note on the side that had his name on it. Now that he’d just contaminated the whole thing, I didn’t need the reminder.

“It’s those lollipops.”

I didn’t reply because he was right. I had an oral fixation that was constant–and not only for Quincy’s pussy… fuck, I was mental–that I’d had since I was a teen.

I’d gotten into drinking and smoking in ninth grade. A rebellion against my parents’ stiff rules and proper etiquette required of a rich, social climbing DC family.

When I realized they weren’t going to change from the fake fucks they were, I had to. I’d stopped my self-destructive ways and enlisted. That got my ass in gear.

I heard the shower shut off, but Taft didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

Which was good because I didn’t want to punch his face in for even thinking about Quincy as anything but a teammate and pilot.

Not that I was supposed to, either.

He set the carton back in the fridge, the door slapping shut behind him. “You coming? We got PT to push through.”

I gave him a middle finger salute, then worked my way through my coffee. “I’ll be there in ten.” Before Quincy came, I was always the first out the door in the mornings, but now I found myself lingering, unwilling to leave any building in which Quincy was naked.

I doubted Hayes was in his room. He usually spent his nights at his girl’s place in town. Megan was one of the sheriff’s deputies and had a sweet little house near the station. I didn’t blame him for wanting to stay there. There was no question they were hitting it hot and heavy and didn’t want an audience.

I was thrilled with that. No reason to listen to others getting off when I wasn’t getting any.

Leaning against the counter, I worked through my brew.

A few minutes later, Quincy’s door opened. She came out in a pair of leggings which did nothing to hide her toned legs. Or tight ass.

She stopped short at the sight of me.

“Morning,” I said.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” she replied. She was braiding her hair into a long tail even though it was wet.

I arched a brow. “Oh?”

“Figured you’d be in the redhead’s bed.”

She was referring to the waitress who’d come onto me last night. We’d gone to dinner in town as a group for Indi’s birthday. While she was pretty and eager, I didn’t touch the woman, only flirted. Not that Quincy needed to know that. She didn’t want me, my sex life, or lack thereof, and it was none of her business. Besides, the last thing I wanted her to know was that I was pining for her like a teenage boy with his first crush and first hard-on. It was better for her to think I wasn’t affected. “I don’t linger, sweets.”

She rolled her eyes at the name, one I started calling her after I got a taste of her that long ago afternoon.

“Not your sweets. And I’m all too familiar with your fuck ‘em and leave ‘em routine.”

A routine? Yeah, well… I was known as a player. A man whore. Whatever.

The reputation meant I was safe from any woman wanting seconds.

That meant attachment, and I didn’t do strings. Except I wanted strings and seconds with her. But since she didn’t want it in return, I had my pride.

I only shrugged, which made her huff.

She turned and her long braid whipped over her shoulder.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want repeats,” I reminded.

She glared. “I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

“See you out there,” I called, gritting my teeth. She didn’t want me, that was fine. But I wasn’t going to have her think I was pining for her. Even though I fucking was.

She bent down, her ass in the air for a brief moment, as she grabbed her flip flops which were on the shoe rack by the door. We all agreed the bunkhouse was a no-shoe zone.

“Nah. I’m headed with Mrs. L to yoga. We’re meeting the others for the class at six.”

The others were probably Indi and Megan. Maybe even Holly from the coffee shop. The ladies were tight, and I was glad for it.

The thought of Quincy doing yoga, bent over, ass in the air, made my cock stir. It also made me think about how flexible she was and how much fun that could be.

Yeah, I was obsessed with her, which made me cranky. I didn’t obsess about any woman. I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Except I couldn’t stop with her.

“Good thing I already had my workout with the redhead,” I lied.

She stilled at that, glared daggers over her shoulder before she left, slamming the door behind her.

Yeah, I was a dick. While we never mentioned our little fuck-fest overseas, the air was constantly thick with tension about it.

I’d go back for seconds. Thirds. Hell, I was afraid I’d never get enough of her. And that was why I was pissed. And cranky. And a downright asshole to her.

Because the more she hated me ensured that I wouldn’t get her beneath me again. She’d felt too good. Too perfect. And that meant trouble.

CHAPTERTHREE

QUINCY

I walked out of yoga class feeling warm and loose. Not bad for a workout that didn’t involve me pushing limits and proving something to everyone around me.

Yoga wasn’t my thing, but it was a nice break from my usual training. I was a Navy pilot. I preferred running, lifting weights, or Crossfit. But I’d moved to a small town, and my circle of friends was even smaller. So if I got invited to a 6 a.m. yoga class with the only three women I knew in Sparks, I had to go.

It was better than another workout with the guys.

Scratch that. It was better than working out with Kennedy. Because the man was Adonis in gym shorts, and every time I got physically near him it made me want to get physical with him.

Which couldn’t happen again.

I liked Kennedy. Far more than I cared to admit. But he was a player. He had a reputation that went far beyond the Navy SEALs. I swore every female in the Navy knew about Kennedy. Maybe in every port around the world. Ford’s entire team had been quite popular, from what I heard, but Kennedy was known as the charmer.

He had those dimples. That ridiculous habit of sucking on lollipops and winking when he talked to you. Even the redheaded waitress the night before hadn’t been immune.

“You guys coming for coffee?” Holly, the owner of the Feed ‘N Seed, which doubled as Sparks’ local cafe and hangout, asked us as we hit the sidewalk, our yoga mats tucked under our arms. It was summer, but the morning air was still cool coming off the mountain. It felt great after the workout. Besides myself, the morning yoga posse consisted of Holly, Indigo, and Megan.

“Definitely,” Megan said. “I’ve been craving your maple walnut scones since last week. So delicious.”

“I’m totally in,” I said. I could eat about five walnut scones right now.

My phone rang as we walked on the grass-choked sidewalk toward the Feed ‘N Seed. I checked the screen and winced, clearing my throat before I answered. “Hello, Admiral.”

“Melissa.” The speaker’s familiar voice was deep and stern.

I waited for him to say more.

“Your mother said you haven’t called in over two weeks.”

I rolled my eyes. I spoke to my mom more often than I spoke to my dad. I liked her. “Nothing to report, remember? I killed my career when I chose not to reenlist.” Or so he’d told me. Several times, in fact.

My dad let out an exasperated sigh. Yeah, I called my father by his rank. He was an admiral in the navy. My brothers, a rear admiral, a commander, and a captain. Me? A Navy dropout, at least in their eyes. “Melissa, call your mother. She wants to hear from you. We both do.”

“I’ll call her after our briefing.”

“What is the op?”

I had to laugh. He thought because he was such a high rank in the military that he could nose his way into my life. Wasn’t happening.

“You know I can’t discuss that with you, Dad.” Call me silly, but I loved parroting back the same things I grew up hearing from him. “Our clients have a right to their privacy.”

My dad grumbled. “What kind of clients are these, Melissa? Drug cartels and supervillains?”

I snort laughed. “Did you just say supervillain?”

It showed how little he thought of my new job.

“Mercs take on dangerous work. I don’t want you wrapped up in anything illegal.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“I’m serious,” he barked, using his admiral voice. “I looked into your boss, Ford Ledger. I found out he was dishonorably discharged.”

Like this was new. I was surprised it took him this long to bring it up. I’d been at Alpha Mountain Security for over a month now, and it was Ford’s company.

“Then you must’ve already heard about David Buchanan’s murder and name being cleared.”