His Hart's Command (Nothing Special 6)

“Or else what?” Vasquez snapped back, squaring off with Hart. “You think everyone is scared of you, Hart?”

Shit, shit, shit. Free didn’t want to be trapped in the small box if the two huge men lost their tempers and fists started flying. Hart’s jaw ticked and his bald head began to turn a frightening shade of red.

“Ivan.” Free tried to rein Hart in, but those frigid eyes were lasered on Vasquez.

“Your boy’s calling you, Ivan,” Vasquez mocked. “Better chase him. That’s all y’all care about nowadays. Catching ass. Instead of doing police work. Fucking cabrón.”

Free stared in shock. This guy had a death wish. First, he’d gotten up in God’s face, now he was taunting Hart. Vasquez was suddenly yanked backwards by the strap of his duffle bag so hard he stumbled over his own feet and hit the floor. After he righted himself, he jerked toward the man who’d appeared out of nowhere.

“Fox! What the fuck!” Vasquez barked.

“You heard him. This one’s full. Take the next one.” Fox stepped forward, and Hart moved backwards until he was practically standing on top of Free, while still facing Vasquez. Like true best friends, Fox took Hart’s place. “You said you were leaving. So leave.”

“All right. That’s enough, fellas,” The desk sergeant in the lobby called over, but he hadn’t moved to intervene. Sometimes cops had arguments amongst their brothers. It happened. But this was getting heated and out of control fast. And Vasquez was no brother of theirs.

“You guys don’t run everything. Who the fuck do you think you are to screw with my career?” Vasquez glared at Hart over Fox’s shoulder and lowered his voice to a venomous whisper, “You’re not with him twenty-four seven. You can’t protect him—”

Free sucked in a startled breath when Fox shot his arms out and shoved Vasquez so hard he slammed into the wall on the other side. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you.”

“Hey!” the sergeant barked.

Vasquez was pumped. Even though he was getting shoved down he kept getting right back up and charging, again. His tan skin was darkened with angry red splotches and his eyes blazed with retribution. “I’m not the only one with a boss. So you better call off your guard dog, Hart, before I slap a muzzle on his rabid ass.”

Fox was in his SWAT uniform, his corded forearms showing beneath his sleeves as he pressed the flats of his palms against the elevator doors to keep them from closing. His handsome face had transformed into something Free didn’t want to stare at—rage. “You wanna feel this dog’s bite, you spineless, backstabbing, son-of-a-bit—”

Vasquez erupted with laughter.

“Enough, Fox,” Hart commanded when the desk sergeant started walking over with an angry scowl for having to put down his Outdoor Life magazine.

Vasquez took a couple of steps back, keeping his eyes on them. “Me and you, Fox. Soon.”

“And you better have plenty of lube and protection, bitch. Because your traitorous ass is mine.”

“You all disgust me.” Vasquez scowled.

Fox smirked cunningly then dropped his arms, letting the doors close.

Even though he’d been guarded by two very powerful men, Free still wished he hadn’t been so anxious around Vasquez. The way he had looked at him made him shudder. Like he just had to get his hands on him…just once. Free knew that look. He was accustomed to running from that kind of threat.

Fox pressed the buttons for their floor, then leaned against the side paneling. “Well, that was fun. I’ve been wanting a piece of that asshole for years.”

“I appreciate your help, bro. But, this one has to be done by the books. I want that motherfucker out of here, so that means official reports and write-ups,” Hart grumbled. When he turned to Free, concern had replaced the fury in his eyes. Free wanted to lean in and wrap his arms around him and tell him thank you for being his wall. Hart’s gaze dropped to Free’s mouth and they naturally began to gravitate toward each other.

“Iiiiiiivan,” Fox dragged out. “I’m not the only one watching you two.”

“I know there’s cameras in here, dipshit, we weren’t gonna do anything. And stop saying my name like I’m that annoying ass chipmunk. I told you about that.” Hart pointed at Fox.

Free used his fist to cover his bark of laughter. He remembered that cartoon.

“Traitor.”

“It was funny.” Free shrugged. The elevator stopped at the second floor. “I’ll see you later.”

“You most certainly will.”

Free stood there until the doors closed.

Free

“Free, we’re going to lunch at the place on Peachtree you love, you wanna come? It’s dead in here.” Tech asked, standing over him at his station.

“Oh, Alma Cocina, with the good pork belly. Count me in.” Free checked his watch. It was almost two and he couldn’t wait until closing time. He wasn’t hesitating to get his home over to Hart’s this evening.