the squad(Lyon#3)

Chapter 2: Narrator

Judge Timothy Bussfield dropped his suit jacket across the foot of his bed and loosened his tie on the way to the shower. He was trying to pace himself, but the coming evening promised to be one of the most pleasurable he's had in a while, and he was having a hard time keeping his excitement in check.

It's been a while since he'd felt this way, a very long time. Maybe he was becoming jaded. Years of doing the same thing day in and day out with hardly any breaks in between could do that, make a thing you once loved seem mundane. He had no plans on stopping anytime soon, though, because even though there were lots of duds to be had, every once in a while, he found a gem.

The image he'd seen earlier flashed across his mind, and his d**k grew hard with renewed anticipation. He dropped the last of his clothes and reached into the shower to turn it on, making the water from the six-headed jets as hot as he could stand it.

Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the steamy cubicle, towel in hand, drying his hair, his d**k still hard as the time drew near for his little nighttime dalliance. He was so preoccupied, his mind already steeped in the remembered illicit pleasure of times past. That's why he didn't notice the room's other occupant until it was too late.

He felt the slight sting in his chest seconds after he saw the hand that reached out to him. His eyes widened when he saw his assailant's face as he fell to his knees. He was dead in less than a minute without a sound. The murderer stood over the fresh kill wiping off the blood from the poisoned stiletto onto the towel before turning and walking away.

...

Mancini

“Hank, where are you?" My eyes had been closed for all of ten seconds when I heard her calling for me. I looked at the monitor where my baby girl was fast asleep seconds before her mother walked into the room. The smile of greeting fell from my face when I saw the look on hers. “What is it? What happened?"

I came out of my seat and walked around the desk to meet her, taking her in my arms to calm her down. “Are you hurt? Tell me." Nothing makes me panic like the thought of something happening to one of my girls. All of my well-earned poise and staunch reserve died a slow death, starting with finding my woman and ended with the birth of our first child.

“No-no, I'm fine, don't worry. I need your help with something, though. I'm sorry, I know you and the others are going to be busy when they get here, but…"

“Don't be silly; nothing is more important than whatever it is you need from me." Plus, I can multitask.

“Have a look at this then. As you know, I've been trying to find the man who killed my family." I started to tell her that I'd already told her to leave that sh*t alone, that I'll handle it, but I knew it would be a waste of time.

“Go on."

“Well, while I was trying to find his trail, I came across this pattern that I think you might be interested in. Somehow I get the feeling that it might have something to do with what you and the guys have been....oops."

“Yeah, oops, how do you know what me and the guys have been working on?" F*ck!

“Um…" She looked guilty as hell as she refused to meet my eyes. “Sierra, I asked you a question."

“That's not important right now; just have a look at this." I took the folder she passed me, still not pleased that she knew anything about what me and the others have been into.

I know she's a profiler and that she deals with some of the worst society has to offer, but I'm in the process of getting her out of that sh*t . Even if I give her grunt work to keep her ass busy, it's better than her working for the f*cking Feds. I just don't know how to broach the subject of her giving up her dream job. As much as I hate her job, I hate the idea of taking something she loves away from her even more.

“What am I looking at?" She'd written down names and made some kind of diagram linking them, but none of them looked familiar to me. “Keep reading; you'll see it. I went over the diagram twice and read the notations she's made, and the picture became clearer.

“Someone's killing off officials."

“Yes, but you've seen the pattern, haven't you?"

“Yes, I have; leave this with me." I did all I could not to tell her to go take care of our daughter and leave this ugly sh*t to me. I could already tell from the little bit she'd given me that we were about to wade through a cesspool of bullshit.

The pattern, as she pointed out, wasn't hard to find if you knew what you were looking for. With her hint that it somehow tied into what I and others were dealing with, it made things that much easier. Someone in the last three months has systematically taken out a top-level social worker, a government official in charge of the foster care system, as well as a few family lawyers.

The last hit, which was just a few short hours ago, had been a judge who presided over most of the cases these lawyers had pled in his district. Knowing what I do about these f*cks and their ilk, it wasn't hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together. The only thing I wasn't sure about was just who the f*ck was taking them out.

No clues were left behind, and all of the kills seemed professionally done. One strike straight to the heart with a sharp object which only showed up in autopsy. A stiletto is my guess. There was only one case where one of the lawyers had a broken arm as well as the wound, which could mean that he'd put up a fight.

Since he'd been the first victim, I'm guessing the killer had changed up their routine and had started taking out their victims when their defenses were down since no one else had any defensive wounds. If these f*cks were into what I suspect they were, it serves their asses right. But I can't leave whoever this is out there in the wind. Not with the FEDs already on their ass.

A sudden thought hit me, and I looked towards the doorway where my wife had just left. Is that why she'd brought it to me? Was she expecting me to save whoever this is? Hmm, food for thought.

...

Lyon

It seems like everyone landed on the island at the same time. There were more people here than I expected, some of whom I'd met only once but had done my own research to make sure they were cleared to be around my wife and kids. “Dafuq, is Mancini planning to put all these people?"

I asked no one in particular since my wife had already run off to talk to her nosy ass friends, leaving me with her kids. Mengele made a beeline for the house like she lived here, and I started to call her back, but she disappeared like her ass was on fire. I wasn't too worried since we were on an island after all, nowhere for her to run.

Mancini had his sh*t together. The staff met us practically at the door and led us inside. Some of the faces looked new, and some were his men in the field, with the staff that had been here the last time. The place looked like he was expecting an invasion.

I thought we'd all head back to the same rooms and the cabins out back that the SEALs had used when we were here last, but instead, Mancini himself came out of hiding and led us downstairs to a place I hadn't seen when we were here before; f*cker has an underground mansion.

Everything that could be found upstairs was down here, except there were more rooms with a large common area, a big as f*ck double kitchen, and enough bathrooms to serve an army. He hadn't squandered on play areas for the kids either, and there were more than enough electronics to choke the Pentagon.

We got the women and kids settled, which wasn't hard since the ladies seemed to have some sh*t going on. Kat tried to convince me that it was about our daughter's wedding, and I let her believe that I was stupid enough to believe her shi. Had I not tagged her ass almost twenty years ago, I'd never know the amount of sh*t her little ass could get up to.

The men headed back upstairs after making sure their individual families were squared away and congregated in Mancini's office. The room was wall-to-wall muscle. “Was that labyrinth downstairs here the last time we came?" I asked the question I'm guessing was on everyone's minds.

“It was yes. Down there is off the radar grid; no one knows it exists. I didn't want to show you all of it while the women and children are around, but later I'll show you the ammunition room as well as the security lab. There are other things around here that I didn't let you in on the last time, but we'll get to that."

“Alright, we're here; what gives?" Good to know I wasn't the only one who was finally catching on to the fact that this was about more than a damn pandemic. Underground specialized bunkers are one thing, but the amount of security detail he has around here spells impending trouble.

“Hold your horses, Blade; we're waiting for one more." Mancini tapped his fingers on the table with a slight grin. Just then, the sound of a smooth engine could be heard sliding into the yard outside. The door to the office opened minutes later, and the last hold-up walked in. Sh*t, I forgot about this one. F*cker makes Mancini look like a pauper. “The f*ck are you wearing Thorpe?"

I can't with these GQ motherfuckers. Asshole looked like he was going out for a night at the MET. Before he could answer Mancini, hit him with a question of his own. “Where's your wife's adopted brother?"

“How do you know about him?" These billionaire types are some touchy f*cks.

Thorpe got his back up real quick at that question, which made every man in the room sit up and take notice. Mancini, with his smooth ass, just smiled. “I know a lot of things. I also know you gave the kid your last name when he was sixteen to separate his identity from his dad's."

Thorpe lifted his watch to his mouth and pressed the stem. “Jason, get in here." He never took his eyes off of Mancini as he spoke, and I didn't know what the f*ck. At least, I was sure that every man in the room was more or less on the same page when it came to trying to save the young and innocent from the assholes of the world.

Whatever else these f*cks had going on, I had no idea about and didn't want to know. I have enough to deal with-with Kat and her f*cking kids. Speaking of which, where the f*ck is Mengele?