Operation SEAL: Book Two Trident Brotherhood Series

by Cayce Poponea

  “Leu-Logan Forbes.”

  “Then you have the right number, but really bad timing.” She mutters as she slips the shirt over her head, the Navy logo now covering her naked chest.

  “He’s in the shower, cleaning up.” Her bottom lip slides over as her top teeth capture the edge of her lip, keeping it in place. She doesn’t need to clarify what he is cleaning; her wearing his shirt says it all.

  “You want me to take a message?”

  I don’t know who this girl is, and frankly, I don’t care. This is a sign I was about to make the wrong choice, placing my trust in someone who doesn’t deserve it.

  “No, thank you. I ran into a friend of his and wanted to say hello, I can do that anytime.”

  “So you and Forbes are friends from back in the States?” Her interest is transparent, and I can see right through it. I’ve listened to enough conversations between bitchy women who are clawing their way into someone else’s bed to know when feigned concern is involved.

  “Friends, no. We have a mutual business interest.” Not allowing this conversation to go any deeper. “I’m sorry I interrupted, hopefully you can finish what you started. Have a good evening.”

  Ending the call before she can open her mouth to rebut or add to the web she is weaving, I lean against the back of the couch and shake my head. Josh was right, the Forbes do get what they want, and by what I just witnessed, it clearly isn’t me.

  Pulling the bracelet from around my wrist and tossing it to the table, the charms left leaning against the remote. I'd found a quiet moment a few days after Ross left the box with me. A single rose, the note included read, this one won't wilt and die. Too bad the sender collected women, a life like keepsake to use at his disposal. I’ve never fancied myself as a possession, I’m not about to start now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Logan

  Being in the military has taught me a myriad of things: how to shoot an assault rifle, slit a man's throat in a single swipe, and how to masturbate in silence. I’ve used the latter of the three more times in the last few weeks than in my entire career. Tonight is no different. After the CO found his tongue, spewing some bullshit about our latest mission being a career changing win, I excused myself and ducked into the privacy of the showers.

  Harper's face fills my mind, the roundness of her cheeks, her haunting eyes and lips, which beg to be kissed. Wrapping my hand around my cock, I close my eyes and imagine for a moment it is her delicate hands instead of my massive ones sliding up and down my shaft. Using the oil of my soap to make the journey easier and allowing myself to believe it is her mouth. My fantasy Harper knows how to bring me to the edge, where to place her tongue and when to tug at my balls, humming around the head as she begins her circuit all over again.

  Hot water doesn’t last long around here, and as the last of it takes the evidence of my activities down the drain, I reach over and cut off the water. Running my hands over my tired face, I can taste the sweetness the endorphins bring, calming me and making me crave any sleep I can steal. Havoc, Reaper, and Ghost are leaving later tonight, back to the States and a normal life. I’m jealous as fuck, wishing like hell I could have a seat beside them on the transport back, but my sense of honor won't allow me to make a call, putting an end to this existence I have here in the desert.

  Wrapping a towel around my waist, I open the door before any of the other guys waiting for the showers start pounding, demanding their turn at the sad imitation of a shower. Rounding the corner I notice my door is open, something I know I closed before I left. Edging the door open slowly, the groaning of old metal lets anyone inside know I’m here.

  Everything looks just as I left it, clothes I wore for the past week on the foot of the bed, and my desk chair still turned slightly outward, fresh clothes draped over the back. Sliding my eyes over, I notice the screensaver for my laptop is still on, something that should have faded to black some time ago. Pulling my pants from the chair and sliding them up my legs, I notice my t-shirt is nowhere to be found.

  Kneeling down, I check under the bed and desk, but find nothing. Unease fills my chest, as I know I pulled the shirt from my trunk, my last clean shirt to be specific. Jumping back to my feet, I flip open the trunk at the end of my bunk, finding the empty bottom looking back at me. With hands on my bare hips, I scan the room around me. Someone has been in here, taken my shirt and possibly looked at my computer.

  Tapping the spacebar, the screen comes to life and I know for sure someone has been looking around as I’d purposely left Skype and my personal email open so I wouldn’t miss anything from Harper. Both programs are now closed. How they got past the password is beyond me, but I sure as shit am going to find out. Pulling on the cleanest shirt I can find, I make sure the screen goes black before locking my door.

  Blinding sunlight hits me as I push open the exterior door, my eyes squint in reaction as I slide my sunglasses down. The team wanted one last opportunity to say goodbye without the whole camp walking around us, able to allow the truth to flow and keep the emotions a secret.

  I notice Reaper first, the larger than life fucker is hard to miss, sitting with his back against the rocks, his hands dangling between his knees. Ghost paces to his left, cellphone to his ear and pain written all over his face. I don’t have to question what the issue is as it is always the same, Lindsay Jennings. I sure hope this high-profile girlfriend of his is worth the misery she puts him through.

  As I step off the last step, my attention focused on joining my brothers, when the sound of hard and fast boots come up on my right.

  “Doc,” Ramsey calls my name, labored, yet hopeful. He has kept his word and worked like hell to get into shape.

  “Hey, man.” Not stopping my forward progression as he easily catches up to me. I have to hand it to him, in the last few months he has managed to bulk up at least twenty pounds and cut nearly six minutes off his run time. Reaper spent extra time getting his mind right, showing him how to separate himself from the reality the instructors will create and the real one he needs to remain in.

  “Chief sent me to give you a message.” Ramsey’s sweat covered face grows closer, his rhythm somewhat impressive and much improved, able to speak clearly despite his work out.

  “He got a call from Rachel, and will join y’all as soon as he is finished.”

  I wasn’t particularly happy with the way this meeting was turning out, first Harper and the lack of response I was getting from her, and now this shit with Lindsay and Rachel.

  “Thanks, Ramsey. How’s it going, man?”

  His smile is immediate and electric, and I can feel the positive energy beaming out from every pore.

  “Couldn’t be better, I sent in my packet while you guys were out.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” Ramsey nods his head and then checks his watch,“Good talking with you, but I have work to do.”

  “Take it, easy man,” I say to his back as he digs in and continues his run, tossing a blind wave as he picks up his pace and disappears around the corner of the building. If I was smart, I'd dig in and run with him, burn off this edge I feel from not knowing what Harper is thinking.

  Just as I’m about to reach my team, Chief runs up beside me, smacking me on the back of the head and then jumping on a boulder to avoid my retaliation. By the smile on his face, I question my earlier assumption of his phone call not going well, perhaps he has finally convinced her to take some leave and spend some time together.

  “Motherfucker! You better sleep with one eye open tonight.” Chief fakes fear, wiggling his fingers as he backs away from me.

  “We should all sleep with one eye open.” Reaper's voice has an edge of seriousness, enough that everyone picks up on it and all eyes fall on him. His eyes say it all, deep hollows of concern, speckled with suspicion.

  “Wanna share what you know, big guy?”

  Reaper drops his head and allows his hands to relax enough his fingers touch the ground, picking up a
hand full of pebbles and tossing them out into the rock ledge.

  “LT Goodman is on the prowl. I saw her coming out of Oxford’s room, naked as the day she was born. She dipped into your room, Doc, and then back out wearing one of your t-shirts before I could get down there.”

  “Where is the bitch now?”

  “Surgery, according to Oxford.” Reaper leans back on his arms, a satisfied look on his face. “Although he wasn’t too happy I was asking about her.”

  “Looks like she has eyes for more than our pretty boy, Doc.” Chief wraps an arm around my shoulder, playfully slapping my face, and then grabbing my chin and shaking it.

  Shrugging him off and slapping his hand away. “Knock it off, my ass ain’t pretty.” Adjusting my shoulders, trying to save the last ounce of masculinity I need to prove.

  “I’m fucking ruggedly handsome.” A round of laughter sounds all around me, Chief bends in half, leaning into my side.

  “Keep it up Giggles McGiggleson, glad to see your phone call went so well you can pick on the rest of us.”

  Chief wipes his face, trying to gain his composure. “For your information, my phone call went shit side up. Rachael would rather hang out with her friend Vivian, than spend time alone with me.”

  Chief collapses down on the ledge beside Reaper, his eyes, and the clenching muscles in his jaw, telling the story of his frustration. None of us care for Vivian as she and her bitchy attitude nearly got us killed when we helped her team cross the Korengal Valley.

  “Sorry to hear it, man.”

  “Eh, no big deal.” Shrugging his shoulders, knowing Aiden like I do, he always has a plan in the mix. “Told her we were never solid, no damage done. Got an email from Coach, though. He wants to sell the bar to me.”

  “The one where your ex-works behind the bar?”

  “Not anymore. She’s landed a new man, one who wants her to stay home and cook for him or some shit.”

  “This something you want to do? I mean running a bar when you’ve lived the life you have for so long is a big change.”

  “Pfft, if I don’t like it, I’ll hire someone to run it for me, or sell it to someone else.” Aiden was easy like that, never letting the little things in life complicate it.

  “Speaking of bars,” Ghost pulls a bottle of clear liquid from his boot, twisting off the cap and holding it out in front of him.

  “I’d like to make a toast. A man who sat behind a computer brought this team together, his job to fill empty positions with fresh bodies. We came together by happenstance, but we’ve stayed together because we became more than a group of guys, we became brothers. Later today, each of us will take different paths. Chief will buy a bar and marry the first woman who talks dirty to him.”

  Chief kicks Ghost in the shin, as our laughter swirls together, the ease at which we welcome the jabs is part of our unity.

  “Havoc will sit his broken ass on a Florida beach while his mother parades young girls all around him. Each barely a cunt hair away from being his first cousin.”

  Havoc raises both middle fingers, but his smile and laughter show his true nature.

  “Reaper will go off into hiding, becoming one of those scary stories the young shits tell about the burly man who lives in the woods. Stealing goats and sheep to have a little something warm to slip his tiny dick into every night.”

  Reaper looks over, his face tilted slightly as he lets a handful of rock fall to the dirt.

  “You're half right. I’ll pass on the goats and sheep after what you said the last time you tried them.”

  Eyes flash wide as Reaper’s comeback hits its target; the pink of Ghost’s cheeks has us laughing that much harder.

  “Doc will continue his bedpan duty until he is a hundred years old. Yelling at poor corpsman on how they don’t do anything right, until they get sick of him and try to give him to one of the farmers around here, who won't be fooled by his good looks and require a deposit before they take him away.”

  “What about you, Ghost? What will happen to you?”

  Ghosts looks at his feet and then back to each of us, the eyes of a torn man full of uncertainty and fear. He takes a deep breath before pushing his chest out and shoulders back.

  “You’re looking at Ryan Biggs, Special Agent to the President.”

  Reaper is the first to hop to his feet and congratulate Ghost, pulling him from the ground to offer him a backslapping hug.

  “You got the job, that’s great man.” Ghost nods his head but remains silent and I know this has everything to do with Lindsay. I hate what she has done to him, taking a man like Ghost and twisted his emotions, playing with his heart while she got off with every news producer she ever met.

  “Ghost will save the day when a routine check of Air Force One lands him in the middle of a bunch of secretaries trying to take it for a spin around DC.”

  I watched as the dust whirled in the air, the deserts last goodbye to my brothers. We spent the better part of the afternoon along the ridge, retelling stories of close calls and sticky situations. Ghost shared his appreciation for my dig at his new job, and how once again Lindsay was making his life difficult. He had phoned her when he got the news, assuming she would want him to move in with her and finally be together. She crushed him once again with some bullshit about the rules of her co-op agreement and cohabitation.

  Making my way back to my bunk, the smell of tonight’s dinner drifts through the air. I’m half tempted to grab something, but the possibility of Harper emailing me is too overwhelming to ignore.

  Lowering my tired body into my desk chair and rubbing my eyes with calloused hands, I pray to whatever God was available to make an email spontaneously appear. Entering my password, sliding myself further into the plastic of my chair, my left leg bounces a mile a minute, running a race against my heart.

  My breath catches as an envelope on my screen now has a single digit on it, and I jump to click on the link. My body sinks, along with my heart, as I see the email is from Ross and not Harper. Tossing my anxiety to the wind, I hover the mouse over the link as I read the subject line.

  TO: Logan. Forbes.LT@ OPS

  FROM: Kincaid, Ross @ Hotmail

  CC:

  SUBJECT: You have serious issues

  Attachment: Crazybitch1

  Logan,

  Something you will learn about me is I hate when people take advantage of situations, using the opportunity for their agenda. Now, before I tell you anything about what I just found out, you have to understand how technologically challenged my sister is. Maybe you should consider investing in one of those voice-operated controls, as this may be the only way she will be able to operate your entertainment system.

  Anyway, earlier I came to my wife's shop with her when she forgot she had to meet with her accountant. I decided to skip over to my sister's shop and take advantage of the television you bought for her. Just as I'm about to sign on to the internet to kill some Zombies, I see she has been using Skype to call you. Being the nice guy I am, I notice she has managed to record the session. Now, Logan, I wasn’t trying to be nosy, but I clicked on the recording and fuck!

  Goodman answered your Skype naked! Now, I know you weren’t with her, as the crazy bitch didn’t try to lie and say you were there. I’ll let you watch the clip, but man, you have to show this to the CO. I've called Harper and told her to get her ass down here as I’m going to bat for you. Watch your six and I'll have Harper give you a call as soon as I straighten this shit out.

  Ross.

  Clicking on the attachment, I waited as the clip loaded. Anger simmers in my blood as my fingers join in with my leg, tapping hard enough my mouse rattles against the desk. Harper's face fills the screen as I stop all the bouncing and push myself up in the chair, leaning as close as I can to get a good look at her.

  Harper’s features are filled with courage, as she doesn’t let Goodman, or her fucking tit, get to her. I want to punch the screen as I hear the crack in Harper's voice as she calls herself my fri
end from back home. Then cheer slightly as she cuts Goodman off, not letting her have the last word.

  Pulling a thumb drive from my bag, I copy the clip and sign out of my computer. I should send Ross an email thanking him, but I don’t want to spare the time getting to CO’s office before he goes to bed for the night.

  Jiggling my doorknob, making sure it's locked, I turn to head down the hall when the skanky bitch pokes her head out of Oxford’s room.

  “You!” I shout at her, dismissing any idea she may have of ducking back into his room.

  “I’m going to hang your fucking ass! Take your career and piss the fuck all over it!”

  Her eyes go wide as I storm toward her, not giving a fuck if I call attention to us or not. Oxford sticks his half naked ass in the doorway beside her, “What is going on out here?” Pulling his blouse over his shoulders, fake concern written all over his face.

  “I've got you on film, on my computer, naked as fuck, making my girlfriend think we are fucking. You broke into my room.” Raising the thumb drive to her eye level.

  “Stole my fucking shirt and now I catch you coming out of this fucks bed.” Oxford opens his mouth to protest, shoving Goodman behind him and I notice she still has the shirt in question on. Several people have come out of their rooms, snickering behind strategically placed hands and whispering to one another. Ignoring anything Oxford is trying to say, I let the anger in my voice get my point across.

  “Don’t try and hide that shirt, cause all these motherfuckers have seen you in it! I’m going to the CO and show him exactly the whore you are. And trust me, when I’m done with you, there won’t be a soul who will hire you!”

  Slamming my body into the door release, I walk with purpose to administration, determined to grab the ear of the CO and make him listen to the bullshit Goodman has been up to.