The Hot Sergeant (Second Chance Military Romance) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #2)

by Alexa Davis

  “The high felt good; I'd fucking snort it, shoot it, rub it on my gums. Hell, I'd even snort it off a whore's ass. Then, one night something happened that turned it all around." Tristan's eyes glazed over as he stared back into his memories, seeing the moment as if it were happening today.

  I was astounded. I never would have guessed that Tristan was a drug addict. He always looked so poised and on top of things, but looks could be deceiving. I knew I should kick him out of my apartment; after all, drug addicts were capable of any kind of monstrous act, as the pictures of what he'd done to his ex-wife proved. Still, there was something about the haunted look in his gray eyes that made my heart go out to him. I put my hand gently on his knee and asked, "What was it?"

  Tristan blinked as if he had forgotten I was even there. He shook his head to clear it and continued, "It was really late, about three in the morning. Janice and I had been out partying all night and were both wasted. Still, we wanted more. I called my drug connection and told him to come to my house with more. He showed up in less than an hour with three of his lackeys. Janice grabbed the bag and immediately started taking some. I got a stack of cash from my safe and handed it to the guy, but he asked for double the money. I may have been high, but I wasn't about to be taken advantage of by some fucking drug dealer. I told him that wasn't the agreement we had on price and that he should just take his shit and leave. He said Janice already took some, and that if I wasn't going to pay for it, then he was taking it back from her.

  “That's when the assholes fucking jumped us. The three guys jumped on me and started pounding me in the ribs and face, while their leader went straight for Janice. He punched her in the face and knocked her flat on the ground. Then, he picked up a lamp that was standing in the corner and started beating her on the back with the cord, whipping the shit out of her with it."

  "Oh my God," I gasped at the terrifying image. It explained why the bruises on her back looked so horrible. "What did you do?"

  "What do you think I did? I'd had my ass kicked before, but when I saw what that asshole was doing to my wife, something deep inside me fucking snapped. I took one of the guys who was beating the shit out of me and punched him right in the face, hard enough to feel the bones break in his nose. Blood gushed everywhere and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. I'll never forget the way he fucking looked or how it felt when I hit him. Sometimes it even wakes me up at night. He staggered back and I punched him again as hard as I could just to make sure he was out of my way. I shouldn't have bothered. With the way I broke his nose, the bones splintered into his brain, and he died before his body even smacked on the ground."

  "What did you do when you knew you had killed him?" The idea was horrifying, but I was not afraid of Tristan, just for him. I had been allowed to see past the mask of invulnerability he wore to the heart of the man inside. He wasn't a monster, just a man in trouble who loved his wife.

  When he looked into my eyes, I saw that his were swirling with emotion. He took a long hard drink of the wine my roommates had poured for him. When the glass was completely drained, he set it down and said gravely, "I didn't know he was dead until the coroner told me. I thought I had just knocked the bastard out. As soon as he hit the ground, I kicked the other guy on me in the balls. He fell like a sack of shit, hugging his crotch and moaning. His buddy turned chicken-shit and ran out the fucking door.

  “I was free to finally help Janice. The fucker hurting her was the leader of their gang and a real beast. He was punching the shit out of her with his fists by then. So, I punched him right in the jaw and slammed him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. He hit me back, breaking my nose, but the drugs in my body made me immune to the pain and hatred fuelled my fists as I punched him again and again as hard as I fucking could. It felt good to hurt the bastard who had so brutally attacked my wife. She'd been my first love, and he had tried to kill her. I looked at her bloody body lying prone on the floor and thought how it was my duty to protect her from animals like him. I had failed my husbandly duty and now she might be dead. In my drug fuelled state, I went out of my mind with fear, anger, and grief. I didn't even realize we had fallen to the ground and I was straddled over him, hitting with my fists until his body wasn't even twitching from the impact anymore. Janice must have regained consciousness and called the police because the next thing I knew, they were dragging me off of him. I knew instantly that he was dead, and I told the officer that I wasn't even sorry when I confessed."

  "So, why weren't you arrested for murder?" I couldn't believe it. My heart was pounding, and I realized I wasn't afraid because I had just found out he had killed two men with his bare hands, but because he was reckless enough to confess without even talking to a lawyer first.

  Tristan held my hand and said, "The police said it was an obvious case of self defense, not murder or even manslaughter. The two men found at the scene were both well-known drug dealers and gang members that the cops were glad to see off the streets. I was practically hailed as a fucking hero by them, but when I heard that both men were dead, I went numb inside. Police were everywhere, my wife and I were both high on drugs, and I had just killed two men with my bare hands. Even though the police weren't pressing any charges against me, I knew that if anyone ever found out what I had done, the scandal would ruin me. Drugs, gangs, murder – it was all too much for the public to accept in a man who was hosting a game show. So, I paid the cops all the cash I had in my safe to leave our names out of the report. They gave me the pictures they had taken of us for evidence, and I gave them to Janice to destroy. She told me they had been burned, but I should have known better."

  "So, how much drugs do you take now?" I breathed, spellbound by his powerful tale.

  "None," Tristan told me. I wasn't sure if I believed him until he said, "The incident scared us both straight and neither one of us has touched a speck of coke or heroin ever since. It took a long time for us to heal from the wounds of that night. I'm not about to put myself in that kind of situation ever again. It was a terrifying and powerless feeling when I thought that asshole had killed Janice, and it was no better when I was fucking giving away my self control to being high, either. I never want to give away my power to anyone or anything ever again. I want to be the one in control of what happens at all times – it's why I like to play the way I do."

  His words made me blush, and I picked up my drink with shaky hands and drained it. Tristan leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, exhausted by the emotional experience of telling his story. I knew without a doubt that it was all true and I felt guilty for having ever thought that he had brutalized his wife. Stumbling over my own tongue, I tried to find the words to apologize. "Tristan, look... I just want to say... I want you to know that I'm..."

  "Don't fucking worry about it," he interrupted in the same old callous tone he was famous for. The mask was back up, and I was suddenly disappointed. I wanted more of the other guy he'd given me a glimpse of, the real Tristan Porter hidden deep inside. He scooped up the photographs and shoved them back into his pocket, saying to me, "So, will you be at work again on Friday night?"

  "Maybe," I said with a smile. I followed him to the door and watched as he left. I locked the door firmly behind him and leaned against it, overwhelmed by everything I had just heard and trying to find a way to process it. Before I could, Clara and Suzanne came bursting out of the back bedroom.

  "How do you know him? What did he say to you? What's going on? Are you dating Tristan Porter?" They attacked me with overlapping questions and it was impossible to think or speak.

  Holding up my hands in a position of surrender, I said, "We work together."

  "So he's the one?" Suzanne asked with a knowing look that made me blush.

  “No, he just came to check up on me since the shoot got cancelled. He wants to make sure I come back to work next week," I said, hoping she believed me. I hated to lie to her, but I couldn't let her know Tristan was the one I was sleeping with at work.


  "So, is the job back on?" Clara asked innocently, still completely naive to everything.

  "I guess it is," I said, realizing that I had no real choice. Tristan Porter had trusted me with his most intimate secret just so I would go back to the club. He wanted me to go back to him, and I realized it's what I wanted, too, now more than ever.

  Chapter Two: Tristan

  "Just try and stay calm," Avery said to me.

  "I am fucking calm," I said, but the edge in my voice was clear even to me. I couldn't help it. How the hell was I supposed to stay calm when the whole goddamned world was talking shit about me?

  The story of Janice being assaulted was on every Goddamn newspaper, magazine, and television show. The late night talk show hosts were making me the butt of every joke in their monologues and the hard news anchors were making domestic abuse the subject of their commentaries. It was bullshit, and I was sick of it. It was time to set the record straight and clear my name.

  Ratings for my show had plummeted and I'd lost most of my advertisers. The only ones that had stayed were the ones were owned by subsidiaries of my corporation. The network was threatening to drop me, and there was a line of Goddamned picketers outside my fucking building where we taped the show and at my fucking home. I had no choice but to tell my staff to take a one week vacation, but I knew this shit storm wouldn't be resolved by then if I didn't proactively do something to neutralize it.

  "What are my best options?" I asked Avery this time in a softer voice.

  "You need to speak out against the rumors against you," my longtime advisor and friend said with a heavy sigh. "Your stocks are in the toilet and you're losing credibility every day you stay silent. With nothing else to believe, the media is making you out to be a bigger and bigger monster. You need to contradict the rumors with a story the public can embrace. Give the media something else to say. Give the people a reason to love you and trust you again."

  "I've never been one to suck anyone's cock, especially the media's," I fumed, but I knew he had a valid point. I needed to stop the rumors Janice had started and the media had spread. Only, I couldn't do it by telling the truth – drug addiction and murder were just as bad. If I confessed to the truth, the public would eviscerate me. The only way out of this lie was with another lie, but if Janice fucking contradicted my story, no one would ever fucking believe me. We needed to present a united front and that meant having to talk to the bitch face to face. Shit.

  I turned to Avery and said unhappily, "Call Eddie, tell him to set up a meeting with Janice."

  We agreed to meet in my lawyer’s office on Thursday. When I got there, Janice and her lawyer already seated and I could see the glaring hatred she had for me burning from her eyes.

  "Hello, Janice, thank you for coming," I said, attempting to be cordial.

  "It's Miss VanMurren now. I believe you know my lawyer, Aaron Fitch," she said with an icy handshake. So, she'd gone back to her maiden name. Well fine, if she wanted to play hardball, I could play it better.

  "Okay, Miss VanMurren. I suppose you think you can extort more money out of me now that this story has blown up in the press?" I leaned back casually in my chair and asked her directly. I didn't believe in pussyfooting around; I liked getting right to the point.

  Janice looked taken aback, but only for a second. The startled expression fled her face just as quickly as it had appeared and was replaced by a venomous anger.

  "The story shouldn't have ever been leaked to the press in the first place. Those pictures should have been burned," the cunt said coolly, as if I were the fucking one to blame. If that's how she wanted to play it, it was fucking fine with me.

  "Yeah, they should have been. So, where have they been hidden all these years?"

  "You tell me," she said, not breaking her ruse.

  I was quickly growing impatient with her stupid game. It was time to get to the fucking point. "It doesn't matter where the hell the pictures have been hiding. They're out now and there's nothing we do to change that. My lawyer has presented yours with a lawsuit that is quite damaging."

  "I've seen it, and I assure you we will fight it. I didn't release those pictures or violate our confidentiality agreement. This case will drag out for years and in the end, you will lose."

  "I assure you, you will be the one to lose that lawsuit, sweetheart, but in the meantime, both our reputations are being dragged through the mud and my show is suffering as a result. What we need to do now is work together to contain the damage. Then, I'll drop the lawsuit, you'll restore my image so my show can thrive, and we both win."

  "I agree," she responded simply. Good, at least she was going to be reasonable.

  "We need to come up with a unified story to tell the press that allows us both to save face, but one the public will actually believe."

  "What do you have in mind?"

  "I'd like it if you could stand by my side and together we could both avow that the pictures were faked and that nothing violent ever happened between us."

  "Is there a price for this service?" The greedy little cunt arched her eyebrow at me questioningly.

  "I knew you wanted more of my fucking money. Listen, bitch, you already got a hundred million dollars in the divorce settlement. That should be enough for anybody to live on, even you."

  "Is that why you did this? Did you leak those photos to the press as an act of revenge for the divorce settlement? Well, fuck you. I'm not giving you back any of that money; it's mine and I'm entitled to it. You can take your fake lawsuit and intimidation tactics and shove it," Janice spat at me vehemently.

  What the fuck? Why was she acting like I was the one fucking up my own life when clearly she was one trying to extort me?

  We each started screaming at the other across the table, horrible names and accusations. Janice kept insisting that she hadn't leaked the photos to the media and that I was the one trying to ruin her life, instead of the other way around. Stupid fucking cunt. How I hated her.

  "You think I leaked this secret to the fucking press? I've got other secrets I could tell them that are even better! Why don't I tell them about you know what?" Janice was screaming at me bitterly.

  "I know you leaked those pictures, so quit fucking denying it, and if you think you've got something better on me, then fucking go for it. Do your worst, cunt!"

  Finally, our lawyers stepped in and broke us up, with Eddie pulling me away and Aaron Fitch taking Janice into a side office to cool down.

  When Aaron came back into the room, he walked up to Eddie and said, "My client feels it would be in her best interest if all further interactions between herself and Mr. Porter are negotiated by council, with me serving on her behalf. She would like no further direct contact between herself and your client."

  Eddie shot me a look over his shoulder that warned me to shut the fuck up. He was the only person, besides my late father, who could do that and get away with it. He'd pulled my ass out of the fire too many times for me to ignore his advice, so I held my tongue and let him proceed. Eddie, shook hands with Aaron and said, "My client agrees. Where are we on the negotiations?"

  "My client is willing to tell the press the photos were not caused by Mr. Porter beating her in an act of domestic violence. She will appear alone and is not willing to be seen at his side. She will conduct a press conference right away, just as soon as Mr. Porter agrees to drop the lawsuit against her and deposits another one hundred million dollars into a private off-shore account."

  "What? Is she fucking crazy? I already gave her that much in the divorce. Now she fucking wants double?" I was so livid I flipped over the chair I'd been sitting in and broke the legs off of it.

  Eddie made a calming gesture with his hands and spoke to me softly. "Take it easy. We don't want to misconstrue to others that you're violent. You've got billions of dollars. In the grand scheme of things, one hundred million is nothing. It might be worth it just to get rid of her and put your show back on track. You generate more money than she's asking for in
endorsement dollars alone."

  I knew Eddie was right. If I refused, she'd let this mess drag out for fucking months, possibly years, and I was already sick of it. I wanted to get back to the things that were important and that I enjoyed and stop wasting time on this bullshit. I gave a small nod that Eddie saw and he returned to Aaron to hash out the details. I signed the check and left as quickly as I could, grateful to be done with Janice. With any luck, I'd never see that cunt again except on the news, clearing my name.

  Chapter Three: Olivia

  "Olivia, what are you doing here?" Mr. Varner was surprised to see me when arrived to work Friday night, but no more so than I was to be there. I never would have imagined that my life would come to this. My life in Ohio had been so dull and dreary that when I was growing up, I used to daydream constantly of the day when I could come to Los Angeles and become a professional model and possibly even an actress. In those dreams, I was making hundreds of dollars an hour and dating of the handsomest, richest bachelors California. My life would be full of adventure, excitement, and daring.

  Now, here I was and my dreams were as close to being reality as they probably ever would be – only they were far different. I was making hundreds of dollars to be a model/actress, only the difference was I had to agree to be a prostitute in the process. And, I was dating the richest, hottest man in California, only my dates weren't of the romantic nature and the relationship we had was all business. My dreams had turned out to be much darker and less glamorous than I ever would have imagined, and yet, I couldn't say that I was disappointed in them. I was surprised by just how much I was looking forward to seeing Tristan tonight, not for the money (although that was nice), but for the chance to be with him again. I couldn't wait to feel the things he would make my body feel, and hopefully even get a chance to see more of the true feelings of the real man that lay hidden behind his ruthless facade.