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The Hunter
By Gennita Low HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2005 Gennita Low
All right reserved. ISBN: 0060591234
Chapter One
Velesta, Macedonia
Hrana. A zena.
There were two universal truths when it came to man and his manhood. Both had to do with hunger. And when a man was hungry for both food and woman, he tended to expend a lot of energy in search of getting what he needed. Not just any kind of food. Or woman.
Ja sam gladna.
Hawk opened his eyes. Meditation worked. But not when one was hungry.
He had discovered that he enjoyed meditating -- it slowed the heart down and helped to put things into perspective. And allowed him to keep his cool while living against his code of values for two months. Of course, knowing that any slight betrayal of the truth would put a bullet in his head helped the transition.
But still, his lessons in meditation had pulled him through a few tough moments. He had seen his share of horror in his time -- in bloody battles and their aftermath -- but he had always been on the "good" side, if one could call war good. This time, he had to play a part, and he had to watch the horror and filth of crimes being committed in front of him without being able to do anything about them. He couldn't stop them . . . and it sickened him at night when he lay in bed, with images of girls being raped and used like toilet paper.
He couldn't stop them. And so he had used his new training -- meditation. For the first time in his life as a SEAL, he had to start learning a new weapon that had nothing to do with aiming and shooting.
But Hawk was hungry. He wanted real food. A big thick hamburger dripping with juice, everything on top, the kind that squished out in a mess when one had his mouth around it. He didn't want the generic Mickey D's that were in every corner of the world, with their cardboard taste and thin meat patties. He wanted the real thing, down-home cooking, grilled to perfection the way only a man knew how. Good old American hrana.
So far, there was none in Velesta, Macedonia.
And he wanted a real woman. Not these half-pints parading in front of grown men in darkened kafenas -- or "fashion houses" -- as they were called here. Not females with brutalized eyes that looked older than their real age.
He hungered for a real woman who hadn't been shared by a dozen men a night, who hadn't been kidnapped or tricked into slavery, and who wasn't looking for a husband to get out of her situation. So far, in the limited world he had been shuffled through in this, the most notorious crime city in Europe, there were none.
Hawk uncurled from the lotus position. He stretched his legs, scooting forward on the soft featherbed until his feet found the thinly carpeted floor. He got up and strode to the huge antique window, unconcerned that anyone would glance up and see his naked form looking down on them. It was snowing outside. Who would be out there in this weather?
And who would be thinking of hot hamburger meat on a grill? He gave a short bark of laughter. He was used to the harshest of conditions under which to operate. His training had assured him of that. He'd gone from extreme heat to this early winter clime in a space of a few months; he missed the sticky sweaty conditions of jungle warfare, but he'd anticipated the change of venue to Velesta, and he had been mentally prepared.
Tough SEAL. Top covert operative. The local kingpin's newest best friend. Money, drugs, and women handed to him on a platter. And all he really wanted right now was a thick flavorful piece of ground beef between a sesame bun. And a real woman. He laughed again. He was getting a hard-on while thinking about meat. Pathetic.
He looked outside at the first snowstorm of the year. The snow was falling down fast and silently. An early surprise to even the locals. The weather forecasters had made jokes about global warming on the news tonight, saying that God and scientists had forgotten about Macedonia. His lips twisted. They didn't know how close to the truth they were.
If there were different levels of hell, he was in one of the hidden ones. He preferred the war zone to this -- a place where the devils were running the show and appeared to be winning. At least from where he stood.
A whoosh and a thud. Hawk turned quickly, sidestepping the shadowy figure's attack. He swung up, jamming the opponent's hand against the wall. The intruder was wearing black and the material felt cold and damp, indicating that he had come from outside.
Surprisingly nimble, his attacker dodged Hawk's other hand, countering with a kick aimed for his privates. Hawk twisted, but he didn't release the captive hand, even when the kick connected with the side of his thigh. He yanked the arm hard, swung the attacker's body over his shoulder onto the floor, trapping him beneath his own body.
A sharp stabbing pain hit Hawk on the chest. He grunted, reaching up with his free hand to pull the weapon out. It was a hypodermic needle; he could feel the drug's immediate effect even as he grasped the stranger's wrist, bending it back. A pair of legs wrapped around his waist like a steel vise, stopping him from pulling away from the needle. Ignoring the floating sensation rising like thick fog, Hawk tried to press down on the nerve in the wrist, but the other man held on to the needle determinedly, pushing in the plunger. Hawk released the imprisoned hand and reached for the man's throat. Break his neck. That was his . . . only . . . hope. . . .
Continues...
Excerpted from The Hunter by Gennita Low Copyright © 2005 by Gennita Low. Excerpted by permission.
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