Marked Man
Auteur
Ophelia Bell
Lezers
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Hoofdstukken
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My familyâs ties to a certain set of crime lords are more tangled and volatile than the wires in an IED. Theyâve called on me to disarm a situation ready to explode, but in spite of all my training, Iâm not sure any of us are getting out of this unscathed.
Thatâs especially true when I find out the black-ops mission Iâve signed up for is commanded by none other than Sadie Watts, the girl who left me in the dust so many years ago I should be over it. But Iâm not, and seeing her again, especially in such close quarters, is a distraction I canât afford.
I know what Iâm out here fighting forâmy brothers; my sister; the USAâbut as we close in on our target, I start to wonder if itâs not her Iâm fighting for too.
1: Chapter 1
SADIE
MAY 2016
Destin, Florida
Near Eglin Air Force Base
âFire in the hole, boys and girls!â I saunter back from the bar to the tables of hooting EOD techs, carrying a fresh bottle of tequila. Our group of two women, counting me, and four men are all in various states of celebratory oblivion. Weâre the last patrons in this cozy Florida strip club, and the remaining dancers have begun to gravitate toward us, looking for all the world like theyâre stalking prey.
I make a circuit around the table, refilling shot glasses. Sinner shakes his head, tilting his chin at his Diet Coke. Heâs being a good boy for once, letting his buddy purge some demons, so I give him a pass.
âCome on, Saint Marco, that means you too. Bottoms up, Sasquatch.â
Few men ever surprise me, but in the span of twenty-four hours, Iâve had a big enough share of surprises from men to last the rest of my life. Maybe itâs better that I prefer women. This is the first time Iâve ever seen Marco Santos in a mood, for one thing. Something crawled up his ass, and heâs not his usual sunny self; he just sits there nursing a drink and glaring at the flatscreen over the bar.
The other surprise came from my dad seconds after I exited the plane from Afghanistan. His news couldnât have come with better timing, but my friends donât know Iâm celebrating for a different reason than they are.
Weâve all completed our most recent tour as Navy Explosive Ordnance Disposal techniciansâEOD for short. Everyoneâs thoughts are on what happens next, since weâre all at the end of our current contracts.
Saint Marcoâs large frame dwarfs the lounge chair he sits in, looking like he lives in that black cotton T-shirt and comfortable-looking jeans that fit like a glove around his hard, thick thighs. Yeah, I prefer women, but that doesnât mean I canât appreciate a man built like that. I just wish I could figure out how to get through to him tonight.
Santos ignores me when I prod him with the tequila bottle, and not even the pole-dancing beauties can tear his attention from whateverâs on that TV. Down time affects us all differently, so maybe heâs just tuning us out, dwelling on his own âwhat nextâ, but I have a feeling itâs more than that.
Iâm pretty sure most of my friends will stick with EOD in some fashion. Weâre all adrenaline junkies, and there are few better options out there for us to get our fix. My dream has always been to follow in my dadâs footsteps and join the SEALs, but until this year, it wasnât an option for women. Now that it is, nothingâs going to stop me.
Iâll let the others know sooner or later, but right now I just want to bask in all the joy. And the tequila.
Theyâre none the worse for wear, as long as you ignore their rapid decline into inebriation, no thanks to me. The drunker the men are, the easier they are to tease. My methods arenât like the other womenâs. Iâm like one of the boys, but being five-foot-nothing, I like to take every opportunity to assert the upper hand, just in case they ever forget.
I love this part of being with my fellow techs. The part where we get to stop being warriors and become human again. Mace, the other woman on the team, is in her best club attire, but only a couple of the men have put much effort into their appearance. I love how I can never guess who might show up in Dockers and a Polo and who might come out dressed in ripped jeans and an Ed Hardy shirt. Santos is the only one who didnât surprise me on that count.
âHey, SinnerâŠâ I nudge the only slightly smaller blond man sitting beside Santos, looking sleek in a striped button-down and slacks. âWhat gives with Santos?â
Jake Hearn laughs, white teeth shining. Boys shouldnât be allowed to be as pretty as these twoâSantos with his all-seeing eyes and the scars that give him exactly the right patina of dangerous, and Hearn with that boy-next-door, clean-cut look, despite a mouth that can do and say very dirty things.
Iâve only been privy to his verbal skills, but Mace has had firsthand experience with the other part, as have enough women to earn him that nickname. When Hearn and I compared notes on technique, it became clear he knows his way around a pussy as well as I do.
Hearn gestures at the flatscreen. âHis ex is on TV. Maybe we should buy him a lap dance to help him forget.â His eyes twinkle.
âNo thanks. And sheâs not my ex. Sheâs just a girl I used to know in LA,â Santos says.
âAh, so it speaks,â I tease. âI wasnât sure if gorillas could put together sentences.â I glance at the TV, which is focused on a celebrity whoâs evidently gotten herself into some sex tape scandal. I do a double-take when I recognize her.
âWow, thatâs Tasha Jennings, the pinup from that hot little sketch you had the day I joined the squad. You used to date her for real?â I ask, ribbing Santos with my elbow. âI always thought she was just your personal spank fantasy.â
âOur paths crossed when we were teens, thatâs all. I made that sketch to remind myself ofâŠyou know what? That partâs none of your business, Watts. All you need to know is that sheâs nothing like how the media portrays her. It pisses me off how they think they can get away with that. That some asshole probably exploited her privacy for money.â
Hearn eyes our friend skeptically. âDude, you need to blow off some steam. She probably has lawyers who are going to rip whoever did that a new asshole.â
Santos scowls back. âThat doesnât excuse what he did.â
My, my, this is out of the ordinary. Mr. Perpetual Sunshine actually has a moody side, and itâs over a womanâs honor no less. And here I thought I knew everything about him after three years of missions together. We all know each other just a little too well by this point, so itâs always fun to learn something new.
âHow is having a beautiful, mostly naked woman rubbing on me who Iâm not allowed to touch going to help me do that? Iâm fine with watching. Itâs relaxing enough. Give me that bottle, Rocket.â
âOh, wow, he said my name! Weâre making progress now.â I nudge Hearnâs side. âOkay, fine,â I say to Santos, relinquishing the tequila to him. When he takes his shot, I pull my chair up to the small bistro table the three of us are sharing and stick my elbow in the middle, hand raised, palm open. âSince youâre the hands-on type, I can work with that. Gimme your hand.â
Santosâ sharp, gray gaze goes from my hand to my eyes, his brow furrowing. âWhat for?â
âIâll make you a bet. Arm wrestle me. If I win, I buy you a private dance with the girl of my choosing.â
His eyebrows ease up minutely and his mouth relaxes. And ooh, was that a twitch there at the corner? Is the sunny Marco Santos about to re-emerge? Hell yeah.
He sits forward and his lips twitch again, like his sense of humor was buried alive and is slowly digging its way back to the surface. Iâve come to love that sense of humor over the past three yearsâdry and quick, especially in the face of imminent danger, which describes the majority of our careers. But then experiences like weâve had either require you laugh them off or shoot yourself.
Iâm suddenly a little sad that it might all be ending. This might be the last time we raise hell like this together after the call I got.
âAnd what if I win, sweetheart?â
His rumble of interest makes my own eyebrows shoot up. He doesnât call me Rocket, the nickname everyone uses, and goes one better than simply saying my real name. He doesnât even call me âbaby girlââthe term of endearment he likes to use for Maceâbut sweetheart, said in a low, deep voice that sends a tingle straight between my thighs and briefly makes me question my opinion of men, or at least my opinion of him.
âYour choice.â
âWhat if I want a private dance from you?â
Sinner chokes on his drink. I glance at him, amused at his spluttering before he wipes his mouth with a napkin. âThis is Watts youâre asking, man. No offense, Watts, youâre gorgeous. Iâd do you in a heartbeat, but youâre about as feminine as a hand grenade.â
I narrow my eyes. âFirst, thatâs only if he wins, and second, Iâve got moves you havenât seen.â To Santos, I say, âYou still gotta beat me, Sasquatch.â
Mace, Brett, and Jones shift their attention to our table, and a couple of the strippers come and lean against the cushioned divider behind them. One familiar fair-skinned girl with long, dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail says, âI volunteer when you win, Sadie. On me.â
Thereâs my girl. I texted Katrina that I was home hours ago, but wasnât sure if she was at work today. Itâs a challenge not to divert my entire attention to her, but Iâm determined to pull Santos out of his foul mood.
âWait a sec. For him or for me? Should I be jealous?â
âI could ask you the same question.â The mocking humor in Katâs voice makes me smile. The spark hasnât died, and Katâs familiar languid posture and the lowering of her lashes when our gazes meet confirms it still goes both ways.
âRight. Well, Iâm conflicted now, but I donât think I can let you win, Sasquatch.â
âWeâll see about that.â Santos stands and flexes his shoulders, rolling them back, then forward, then cracking his neck. The fabric of his shirt leaves little to the imagination, and the hints of ink around one of his thick biceps only serve to enhance how seriously the man takes his PT. But when our âworkâ suit weighs close to a hundred pounds, you canât exactly slack off. Once done with the warmup, he cracks his knuckles and sits back down.
âToast first.â I hold out a full shot to him, and we clink glasses and drinkâour final handshake before the standoff.
His palm is dry and very warm against mine, his touch gentle until he grips tighter and winks at me. Katrina stands up and holds her hands over both of ours for the countdown.
âNow itâs on,â I say while he strains against me, the tight muscles of his entire arm flexing. âBig guys donât always get to win, you know.â
I give him a shit-eating grin when his jaw flexes under the strain of his gritted teeth. I draw it out just a little bit longer for his benefit, then smack his fist to the table.
âChrist!â He sits back in his chair, eyes wide with disbelief like someone just stole his last pair of dry socks. His expression clouds and he sits forward again abruptly, pours another shot, and drinks it. âBest two outta three. Come on, Watts.â He plunks his elbow in the center of the table and waggles his fingers.
Katrina laughs. âI should probably feel insulted, but this is too entertaining.â
Santos glances sidelong at Katrina. âItâs nothing personal.â His eyes settle back on me. âIt is personal with you, though. Youâve been riding me for too long with the nicknames. Iâm done with it. Iâm kicking your ass and youâre shutting up with the primate talk, all right?â
I draw back in mock offense. âWell, I guess I hit a nerve. All right, but Iâm not making any promises.â
I donât linger on this round, nailing his knuckles to the table in a matter of seconds. Cheers and groans go up around us, and money changes hands. I sit back with my hands clasped behind my head, staring at him smugly. He glares at me and stands. With an unexpected show of chivalry, he reaches out a hand to Katrina, who takes it and stands while shooting me an impressed glance.
I watch my girlfriend lead Santos away, briefly and irrationally uncertain where my sudden pang of jealousy springs from. Katrinaâs poly so she and I have never been exclusive, and this is part of her job, for Christâs sake. But when Santos rests his large hand against her lower back, my own skin tingles.
âOne for the road?â Hearn asks, holding the bottle of tequila up.
âFuck yes.â
