Ricochet (Locked & Loaded #1)

by Heather C. Leigh

  Shit.

  Frustrated, Rick stared down angrily at his traitorous dick, standing tall and erect from his body. He cursed himself for letting Quinn get to him so quickly. His long fingers curled around the hard, smooth shaft, sending shivers down his spine.

  Fuck. I can’t believe I’m doing this at work.

  Knowing he was alone in the showers, Rick reached a hand down to stroke his cock. He got to work right away, alternating between quick pulls of his shaft and swiping his wide thumb over the sensitive head. The now hot water rained down on his slick skin, steaming up the small space quickly. Within minutes, he felt a steady pressure building in his groin, his balls becoming heavy and sensitive. Visions of lush lips and amber eyes flashed behind his closed eyelids.

  Rick dropped his head back, his mouth parted as his breath began to speed up. He pulled harder on his sensitive shaft, his breathing growing heavier and his body more desperate with each stroke.

  Pleasure rocketed through him, causing his fatigued legs to begin to shake. He had to reach out and slap his free hand against the wet tile to keep from collapsing on the shower floor. Rick grit his teeth, picturing the way Quinn’s face looked while looking at his nearly naked body, her eyes hooded and filled with lust. That image pushed Rick right over the edge. With one final thrust of his hips, he shoved his cock through his tight fist and spiraled into an explosive orgasm with a stifled groan. Streams of white jetted out powerfully as he came, hitting the floor before swirling down the drain.

  Jesus.

  Rick took a minute to let his pulse steady. He was spent. First from the intense work out with the heavy bag and then from jerking off to images of Quinn. Now that he had released the pent-up tension, Rick was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He shouldn’t want the beautiful brunette. Mack made it clear he couldn’t have her. It was obvious that Quinn had been though something traumatic, and fixing broken people wasn’t Rick’s expertise. But for some inexplicable reason, Rick was drawn to Quinn. He wanted her to trust him enough to confess all of her secrets, and he knew she damn well had them. He wanted to know what she was so afraid of so he could protect her from it.

  With an annoyed huff, Rick quickly dressed, throwing his dirty clothes into his bag.

  “Hey Rick!”

  Rick became instantly alert at the worried tone of his coworker’s voice, the Recon Marine in him shifting into operational mode. “Tucker?”

  “I need your help. Mack has me working on the Alvarez op. Can you back me up for a few? I could use your advice since you’ve been to the area before and know the layout of the terrain. Pax is in a tight spot.”

  Rick ran a hand over his damp hair. “Sure big man, no problem.”

  He followed Tucker out of the locker room and down the hall to Mission Command. Tucker swiped his badge and punched in his code to open the secure door.

  The smaller man took his seat behind a massive wall of computer screens, each one depicting different information. Three screens were monitoring the perimeter cameras outside the gym. One displayed the view from a government satellite set to monitor South America, specifically a well-known Columbian drug lord’s estate and base of operations. The other screens showed various other images, including one from a small camera strapped to the helmet of Clint Paxton, former-CIA operative and resident kickboxing champ.

  Tucker slipped on a headset and threw a similar one at Rick. “Paxton, I’ve got Ricochet here.”

  “Pax, what’ve you got?” Rick never used his snarky nicknames on the job, only the ones that the men used in their official capacity. He studied the sat map while the mercenary filled him in.

  “Mission completed, on my way back to the helo for extraction. The bridge that’s supposed to be over the river is gone. You’re familiar with this god-forsaken jungle, Rick. Where can I cross this thing?”

  “Okay Pax, hang tight. Give me a minute to check your coordinates.”

  Rick swiped the topographical map that had been pulled up on a secure touchscreen computer on Tucker’s desk, scrolling so he could see the entire area at once. Tucker read off Pax’s coordinates for him.

  “I found your position, Pax.” Rick traced a finger further down the river on the map. “Tucker, where’s the pick up site?”

  The wiry man leaned into Rick’s side so he could point at the spot, a small clearing just north of where Clint was waiting.

  “Pax, there’s a small rope bridge two klicks west of your position. Head there and you can cross.” Rick showed Tucker the exact location so he could put the coordinates into the nav system that would guide the field operative to the bridge.

  “You sure about that bridge Rick? Cuz I gotta tell you, there ain’t shit out here in this sweaty, malaria-filled hellhole.” Rick could hear the man’s steady breathing as he cut his way through the dense jungle.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I helped build it.”

  “Well… Okay then. We’re on our way.”

  “I’m tracking you and Xavier, Pax,” Tucker said. “No hostiles in sight.”

  “Gotcha Tucker. Going silent. We’ll radio if we need you. Just make sure the helo is where it’s supposed to be.”

  “Not a problem, helo to arrive at ten hundred hours. That gives you sixteen minutes to rendezvous,” Tucker explained. He flipped a switch and the loud noise of helicopter rotors filled their headsets. “Eagle One, be on the ground at pre-designated location at ten hundred hours.”

  “Roger, Mission Command.” The pilot’s voice crackled through the speaker.

  Rick and Tucker held their breath as they watched Clint’s camera jostle and bounce through the thick Columbian jungle.

  “There!” Rick said, pointing at the screen. “That’s the rope bridge. Shit, I’m glad it’s still intact.”

  Tucker turned to Rick, his face a mask of incredulity. “You weren’t sure if it was still there?”

  Rick shrugged. “It’s been a few years. It is rope you know. Not exactly long lasting material.”

  “Jesus, you’re such an asshole,” Tucker huffed.

  “I’m over the bridge. Xav is behind me,” Pax said. “I can hear the helo approaching. By the way Ricochet, when I get back I’m going to kick the shit outta you. Rope bridge my ass! What bullshit. That thing was fucking falling apart. We’re lucky we didn’t fall into the fucking river.”

  “Be good, Pax. See ya next week.”

  “Deuces.” The communication clicked off.

  Rick grinned as he pulled off the headset and dropped it onto the desk. “Another successful mission.”

  Tucker gaped at him. “You better hope he’s not in Mission Control on your next op. He’ll send your ass over a cliff or some shit just to get revenge.”

  “Nah, he loves me.” Rick’s laugh could be heard all the way down the hall, even once the thick security door closed behind him.

  Rick strode into the break room to get some coffee, his smile fading as he once again thought about Quinn’s bizarre reaction in the gym. He was in the middle of pouring himself a mugful from a fresh pot when Dane’s loud voice surprised him.

  “Ricochet! How’s it going man?”

  Rick jerked, spilling hot coffee all over his hand. “Fuck! You asshole!”

  Dane laughed, walking around Rick to grab a chair, turning it around to straddle it backwards. “You’re supposed to be aware of your surroundings at all times, Marine. It’s on you if you were daydreaming, not me.”

  After cleaning up the spill, Rick turned around to face his friend, who was grinning. “I want to punch that smile right off your face, killer.” Rick smirked as he sipped his drink, praying the caffeine would help him focus on work instead of a certain brunette.

  “So, you go out last night?”

  Rick rolled his eyes. They frequently played wingman for each other and when they did, they both got laid pretty much every time. Of course he picked today to ask about sex.

  “Yes.”

  “So? Did you score?” Dane waggled his eyebrows at Rick.
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  “If you’re so interested in my sex life, why didn’t you just come with me?”

  Dane threw his head back and laughed. “I told you I had to be here at six to train Sloane. That kid is going to win a belt someday. He’s a beast. Besides, I’ve helped you score with more girls than you could possibly count. Now stop stalling and let me live vicariously.”

  Rich grunted. “I helped you score you mean, and as a matter of fact I did get laid last night. Are you happy?” Rick’s gaze dropped to his coffee. He couldn’t watch his friend’s face light up with delight when the thought of last night made Rick sick to his stomach. Him and Dane always traded stories of their conquests, it was their thing. This morning, however, Rick just wasn’t in the mood.

  “Niiiice. Let me guess, you vanished before the smell of sex had even cleared the room.”

  “Fuck you, Nolan.” Rick was starting to get angry at his friend’s line of questioning. It was bad enough that he went back to the bar last night and pictured Quinn the entire time some random girl sucked his dick in the back room. It made him feel like some kind of sick weirdo, like he defiled Quinn or something. But he needed the release. Staying away from Quinn was killing him. He didn’t feel like rehashing how unsatisfying the experience was for Dane’s mid-morning entertainment.

  The big man stood up, staring at Rick through narrowed eyes. “What’s your problem?”

  Refusing to answer, Rick kept his eyes on his drink, willing the man to let it drop and leave him alone with his misplaced sense of guilt. Dane must have gotten the hint, because seconds later he heard the door open. Rick sighed and saw that he was alone. He was thankful to get at least one thing he wanted this morning.

  Chapter 6

  QUINN RAN FOR the front desk, hoping that Dane wouldn’t catch her eavesdropping on his conversation with Rick. She hadn’t meant to listen in. She was only going to grab a bottle of water from the break room when she heard the two men talking about Rick’s conquests as she stood in the hall, frozen in place.

  She blinked back tears as she sat in the chair behind her desk, not quite understanding why they were there. Rick wasn’t her boyfriend, heck, he wasn’t really even her friend. What did it matter who he screwed on his own free time?

  Because, you thought you felt something special with him, that because he brought you shopping it somehow meant he cared.

  Clearly, Quinn was an idiot, because her brain kept telling her over and over again that Rick wasn’t good for her. But the kind, thoughtful man she got a glimpse of last weekend had her heart believing there could be more to him than just a good-looking, conceited ass.

  Guess not.

  The phone rang and Quinn welcomed work today. Anything that would keep her from thinking about Rick and whatever girl he took home last night would be a welcome distraction.

  Quinn wished for a distraction and several hours later she was upset that it had been granted. She wasn’t sure what to do first. Answer the very shrill, very persistent phone, help the intimidating fighter that was standing in front of her desk, or use the bathroom, which she hadn’t done since she got to work and she was two bottled waters and a cup of coffee into the day.

  “If I could just talk to Mack, he’ll know where I need to go,” the pushy young man in an unzipped red hoodie said for the third time.

  “I know.” Quinn held up one finger. “Let me just get this call.”

  Frazzled, she snatched up the receiver. “Sanctum MMA, this is Quinn, can I help you?”

  “Hi, this is Brandi. I need Dane, please.”

  “I’ll transfer you.” Quinn rolled her eyes sky high before pushing a button, sending the caller directly into Dane’s voicemail. Two weeks at the front desk and she was fast becoming tired of being used as Dane’s personal slut secretary. Several times a week a different woman with a ridiculous name called and asked for him. Quinn used to try and track him down, but after a week of that bullshit, she started sending the girls directly into his voicemail.

  “Sorry.” Quinn focused her attention on the young man. “What did you need again?” She swiped a stray lock of hair back behind her ear.

  The tall blonde man smiled, flashing a flawless set of white teeth and two adorable dimples. “Mack. He’s waiting for me. He just took me on as a fighter. He set me up to train with a Muay Thai expert.”

  Quinn couldn’t tear her eyes away from the man’s sculpted chest, which was right at eye level from her chair behind the desk. “Ummmm, sorry.” She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “Who did you say you were?”

  “Chase Hadley.” He further undermined Quinn’s ability to think rationally by removing his sweatshirt, revealing a very tight white tank top underneath, which showcased what could only be called a perfectly sculpted, museum quality torso. Somehow, she felt he was doing it on purpose.

  “Right, sorry. I’ll just, ummmm, get Mack. Okay.”

  Her fumbling made Chase’s eyes light up and his smile broaden. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

  Chase leaned his elbows on Quinn’s desk, putting his face about a foot away from hers. She tried to huff her disapproval at being called cute, but it came out more as a squeak. “I’m not nervous.”

  Quinn shoved her hands under her desk to wipe her damp palms on her jeans. Before Chase could call her out on her lie, the inner door opened and Rick stepped into the lobby. Quinn watched as his brilliant eyes flicked from her to Chase and back. A small furrow formed between his brows and his mouth turned down at the corners.

  Okay, now? Rick looks scary.

  Rick strode right up into Chase’s personal space, forcing the younger man to back away from Quinn so he could greet Rick.

  “Hey man, I’m Chase. Are you the Muay Thai expert?”

  She noticed that Rick grudgingly accepted Chase’s outstretched hand. He snapped at the young man as he answered. “Yeah, that’s me, kid.” Quinn flinched at Rick’s harsh tone. She’d never heard Rick be anything but polite.

  Realizing that she no longer needed to be part of this conversation, Quinn decided she could sneak away for a bathroom break. Plus, there was way too much testosterone in the lobby and she didn’t want to be in the middle of it.

  Quinn pushed back from her desk, circling around it to reach the locked inner door. Rick and Chase’s position in front of her desk forced her to walk past them, her arm brushing against Rick’s as she went. The contact made her gasp, causing both men to stare at her strangely.

  Quinn tilted her head up to apologize and found Rick glaring at her with cold, harsh eyes. It was such a frightening stare that Quinn forgot what she had been about to say. Her mouth went dry and her skin broke out in prickly goose bumps. Freaked out, she hurried to the door, swiped her card, and ran down the hall to the women’s bathroom.

  Quinn locked herself in a stall and leaned back against the door.

  What just happened?

  Rick seemed abnormally angry, and not just at her but at Chase as well. Quinn swallowed down her nerves and willed her thrumming heart to slow down. Maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. She frowned. It was very likely he woke up in someone else’s bed this morning. Jealousy streaked through her, unwelcome and frankly, very confusing.

  She quickly used the bathroom and washed up. By the time she walked back to her desk, she was even more annoyed by Rick’s hostility. If he wanted to be a jerk, then that was his problem. Quinn was done bending over backwards trying to make unreasonable men happy. She suffered through two years of that with Travis and eighteen years with her dad before that. She was never going back to living that way.

  As she passed by the door to the men’s locker room, she could hear Rick’s voice loud and clear, and he did not sound happy. More eavesdropping— Quinn decided there must be something wrong with her to constantly find herself listening in to Rick’s conversations. Maybe she was a stalker?

  “Like I said kid, Quinn’s off limits, got it? She’s like family to Mack and I’m not going to
let anyone hurt her. So dial back the bullshit and keep it professional. Understand?”

  Shocked and embarrassed, Quinn hurried back to her desk before anyone could catch her spying. She slumped into her chair, worn out from the crazy day.

  Rick seemed to think Chase was flirting with her. Was that why he was angry? She bristled at Rick inserting himself in her personal life. He went out and fucked a stranger last night. What the hell business was it of his who flirted with her? Not that she’d ever take Chase up on it, but Rick doesn’t know that. Quinn knew she was in no shape to date anyone, even a charming blonde cutie with dimples and a perfect body.

  Or a hot, aqua-eyed fighter who gets on my nerves and is a total player.

  Whatever. Quinn’s head was beginning to ache. She refused to worry about Rick. If he wanted to be angry with her for Chase’s flirting, then he could just be angry all by himself. She shut down her computer and retrieved her purse, relieved to be done for the day.

  The remainder of the week went by quickly, Chase came and went every day, acting polite but distant. Rick stayed back in the gym, so Quinn only saw him in passing here and there. They exchanged casual hellos, but that was it. It was better that way, she knew it. She had been getting too close to Rick, and her heart couldn’t sustain another bad relationship.

  By Saturday, Quinn had cabin fever. She needed to get a beat up old car or check the bus schedule at some point. Being confined to the gym or her apartment was too reminiscent of her life back in Texas. Now that she was free to go wherever she wanted, Quinn intended on taking advantage of it. There were a few places she could walk to, but not many. Atlanta was definitely not a walking city.

  Since she couldn’t really leave, she threw on a sports bra and a pair of shorts, figuring she could at least get some exercise. Plus, a workout would help her focus on something other than Rick’s hard muscles and chiseled jawline, not that she hadn’t used every opportunity possible to check him out this past week. For someone who swore to stay away from the sexy, dangerous, heart-breaking Rick Brennan, she was doing a terrible job of it.