by Marla Monroe
Once Tommy had gotten a little older, she’d increased her hours at Rizzoli’s, which helped Taylor spend more time with her men and gave her more money for clothes for Tommy. The little man was outgrowing all his clothes faster than she could wash them the first time. The last two months she’d started working a short shift on Mondays, one of her days off from Rizzoli’s, at a convenience store just outside of town. She was saving that money to go toward college for Tommy and to buy the things he’d need once he was in high school.
It didn’t amount to much, but every little bit added up. A couple of times she’d even worked a few hours more on a different day, but tried not to do it too often since it wore her out. It didn’t help that working there made her nervous, but it was a job, one she didn’t want to quit if she could manage to keep her unease under control.
By the time her shift was over, Darla had nearly forgotten about Chester and his friend. At six, her relief, Daisy Peters, counted out her drawer while Darla counted hers to give to Taylor. Daisy had only been in Perkins City for about six months. She was quiet but good at the eatery. Her personality was like night and day when there were customers around. Daisy was probably about thirty or so years old, but sometimes she seemed years older.
“How are you doing tonight, Daisy?” she asked as she finished sorting out her drawer.
“Good. What about you? How is little Tommy doing?” the other woman asked with a smile. “Got a girlfriend yet?”
“I’m fine, and Tommy is a handful. He’s got two girlfriends, if you believe him. These days if they talk to each other then they’re girlfriend-boyfriend.”
“He’s got the prettiest eyes and eyelashes. Boys and men shouldn’t have better eyelashes than a woman. He’s going to break some hearts when he starts dating. You mark my words,” Daisy said with a broad smile.
“I hope he doesn’t start dating until he’s a senior in high school. I’ll go gray worrying about him,” she said, smiling back.
“He’s going to be a good boy, Darla. You’ve raised him well. I don’t know how you’ve managed to do it all on your own like you have. I’ve barely been able to keep a roof over my head, and I don’t even have a child to worry about.”
Darla shook her head. “I had a lot of help when my parents were alive. Then my sister helped until she got married and moved to Houston. You’ve had no one, from what you’ve said. You’re the one who’s amazing. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Daisy just shrugged and, grabbing a wet cloth, proceeded to clean all the tables that Darla had cleaned moments before she’d arrived.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Daisy. If you get really busy, call me and I’ll come back with Tommy.”
“Don’t worry about me. Get some rest. You’re working too hard with a son to care for. Bye now.” Daisy dismissed her and returned to wiping down the tables.
Darla gathered her things and walked outside into the blistering heat, despite the later hour. It hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d been outside, at nearly noon. She walked down to where she parked her car and climbed in. She was tired, but when she leaned her head back against the seat, instead of relaxing, the memory of Scope and his friend popped up to torment her all over again. Darla knew she didn’t have a chance with the man but her hormones were bubbling with what if. Those always got her into trouble. She needed to squelch that what-if syndrome she’d had all her life and concentrate of ignoring the attraction she felt for both Scope and his buddy, Gunner.
Right.
Chapter Two
“Fucking hell, Scope! Get your head back in the game here, man. You’re going to end up losing your damn hand if you’re not careful.” Gunner jerked Scope by the back of his shirt to keep him from cutting himself on the saw.
“Hell! I need a break. Want a beer?” Scope asked, glaring at the saw and what had nearly happened.
“You need something, all right. What is wrong with you? I’ve seen you concentrate for hours straight when we were on a mission.” Gunner wiped his forehead on his shirt sleeve.
“I don’t know. It’s different out here, you know? No orders to follow or men to supervise. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and be lying in a sand dune with just my head and shoulders out while I watch some asshole piss before he goes back to beating the crap out of someone.” Scope looked off into the trees that surrounded the house they’d bought. His hands dangled between his legs with his elbows resting on his knees.
“Here.” Gunner handed him a beer then sat on a chair across from his friend. “Guess I thought it would be easier for you.”
Scope’s head jerked up, a frown drawing his brows into one sharp line. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Figured that with you having a home to come back to and friends to see, it would be easier to leave it all behind. I guess it doesn’t matter what or who you have waiting on you.”
“I keep thinking it will all settle back in place, but it hasn’t. I don’t feel the same. I still check everyone I see for weapons or potential dangers. I second guess myself when I hear a plane go overhead. I know I’m not there anymore, but sometimes…” Scope took a long pull on his beer.
“Sometimes, you feel like it followed you here,” Gunner finished for him.
The other man sighed. “Yeah.”
There wasn’t much Gunner could do about that. He had the same issues, but his were a little different. It didn’t make them harder to deal with, just different. Where he had no one around where he had to pretend that everything was okay. He did worry about everyone they came into contact with. He also checked them for weapons or booby-traps just like Scope, but Scope knew them from his past and could reconcile them with home, and therefore they were not a threat. Gunner didn’t know them, so they remained a potential enemy in his mind. He was surrounded by them, which made him jumpy as hell inside.
“I keep remembering the kids, Gunner. They were just little kids who hadn’t done anything to anyone.”
“We couldn’t save them from their own people—their own families. We did what we could and when it was time to come home, we stepped down and left it to someone else,” he said.
“If we hadn’t tried to help them, they might have…” Scope began to say.
“Stop it. Just shut the fuck up, Scope. It wasn’t our fault. Stop torturing yourself over it, man.” Gunner turned up the bottle of beer and downed the rest of it in one swallow. “We need to get back to work and make some progress or we’ll still be trying to finish the place this time next year.”
He tossed the empty bottle into the trash and stomped back to the saw. He’d finish cutting the rest of the lumber for his own piece of mind. Scope was still having nightmares despite the sleeping pills and the four weeks of mandatory psych de-comp they put them through. Anyone would have nightmares after what most of the armed forces overseas went through. It weighed heavily on their souls and stayed with them all the time.
Gunner didn’t have the nightmares. He slept like a baby. For some odd reason, nothing ever upset him. For a while he’d thought he might be a psychopath because he had little or no feelings, but his theory on that got shut down the minute he and Scope had been paired up. Scope had been selected to be his spotter for missions where he’d be sent to eliminate dangerous people or “clean up” messes that others started. He was one of the best shots they had and could remain still and unmoving for days if necessary. Scope was his eyes and ears providing important intel, orders, and keeping him safe while he maintained total concentration on the target.
All it had taken to break through the wall that surrounded him was for Scope to speak.
“Good to meet you. I’m only going to tell you this once. When I give you the coordinates and the all clear, you do not miss. I don’t make mistakes, so if you miss, it’s all on you.”
One side of Gunner’s mouth lifted in a grin as he remembered his shock at the man’s audacity. They’d never even seen each other before that moment, and he’d quickly been inf
ormed that any mistakes or misses were Gunner’s fault. The man had balls. He liked him from then on.
Over the course of their stint together, they became close. When Scope had found out that Gunner had control issues, as in losing it when he least expected it, he showed him a way to get himself in line and stay that way. Dominance, as in BDSM—or bondage and discipline, domination and submission, and sadism and masochism. He was instantly hooked. He worked with subs, slaves, bottoms, and even some switches, be they male or female. It wasn’t about the sex, though he did occasionally have it with some of the women who interested him for that. It was about control, in the fact that he craved it, needed it in his life.
“Okay. Is that the last of the boards we needed cut today?” Scope asked, picking up the ones Gunner had just finished.
“Yeah. We can finish framing up the wall with these and that will be it for the day. I’ll lock up the tools out here,” he said as he approached the saw stand and started disassembling it.
“Were you serious when you said you kind of liked Darla?” Scope asked out of the blue.
Gunner nearly dropped the handful of screwdrivers he’d picked up. Where the hell had that come from?
“Um, yeah. She was cute, but she’s married. I don’t do married women, and neither did you the last time we talked,” he said, his lips tightening into a straight line.
“I don’t, but I’ve been thinking. Darla was always very proper. It was how she was raised. Her parents were much older when she was born and they raised her with a lot of love, but they were very strict with her,” his friend said, as he helped Gunner put away the hand tools.
“What has that got to do with her being married or not?”
“She would have been wearing a wedding band, or at least had it on a neckless around her neck. She of all people would wear one. If not because that is what a married woman does then because she would feel safer that way. It tells everyone that can see it that she’s already in a relationship so not available,” Scope said.
“Lots of people don’t wear wedding bands, Scope. You haven’t seen her in a very long time. She might have changed, become more open or less conservative since then.”
Scope shook his head. “I don’t believe that. You saw how shy she was. Hell, she’s got a child, but she still blushed when she talked to us. Nope. Either she’s divorced, or she’s never gotten married in the first place.”
Gunner sighed. There was no reasoning with Scope when he had something in his head. With it being about a woman, he doubted anything except asking her point blank would settle him down.
“Look. Let’s just finish this wall and have an early night of it. You need some sleep so you can concentrate better tomorrow.” Gunner picked up one of the hammers next.
“I’m doing just fine, asshole,” Scope said before stubbing his toe on a saw horse and dropping the tools he’d picked up.
Gunner just shook his head. “Forget finishing the wall. You’re going to kill yourself before the night is up if you don’t settle down and get that woman off your mind.”
“I can’t. She’s under my skin now. Hell. I think she’s been there since I left.”
* * * *
Scope stepped out of the shower, grabbing the towel off the hook on the wall. He dried off with quick strokes before tossing the towel back on the hook. He swiped condensation off the mirror in one spot with his hand and stared at the face looking back at him. He knew it was his, but sometimes he felt as if he were looking at a stranger.
Strangely enough, not much about his features had changed since he’d joined up and gone overseas. His skin tended to be slightly darker than it had been, and there were lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. But other than that, he looked pretty much the same as he had in his senior picture eleven years ago. But his eyes, they were different. They’d seen too much to ever look the same as they had back then.
Scope shook his head and finished up in the bathroom, pulling on a pair of shorts before opening the door and walking out into the hall. He grabbed a pair of flip flops and headed toward the kitchen for a beer and whatever Gunner had decided to fix for dinner. Neither of them were very good cooks, but between them they did okay and weren’t in any danger of starving.
“Smells like breakfast,” he said as he walked in.
“I had a taste for eggs, bacon, and toast. Hadn’t had that in a while,” Gunner said.
Scope opened the fridge and started to grab a beer, but thought about it. Nah, wouldn’t be very good with what they were eating. He wasn’t an alcoholic who could drink anytime with anything. He grabbed a bottle of water instead and leaned back against the counter to watch Gunner finish up.
“I’m sure going to be glad when we finish getting that bathroom set up for the crew to come in and finish things off. That tiny thing we’re using right now is worse than the tent showers we had in Iraq,” Scope said.
“Yeah, I’m tired of having to bend down to wash my hair. I swear whoever put that shower in had to be less than 5’ 5”.” Gunner pulled two plates out of a cabinet and handed one to Scope.
“At least we aren’t having to rehab the kitchen. That would have been more than I’d have wanted to tackle.” Scope liked the marble counter tops and warm oak cabinets. The black appliances looked fresh out of a box and the distressed wood floor made him feel at home.
“Kitchen doesn’t much matter to me. I can cook anywhere, but I want a bathroom that’s big, comfortable, and up to date. Tired of digging latrines then filling them up again.” Gunner shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m not complaining one bit. I like nice bathrooms, too. I’m only a couple of inches shorter than you, so you’re not the only one bending over to wash his hair.”
They were silent while they filled up their plates. They each took a seat at the large country kitchen table and started eating. Scope realized that this was how it would always be as long as it was just him and Gunner. Neither of them talked a whole lot and normally that was fine, but something felt like it was missing.
“I’ve got the dishes,” he told Gunner when they’d both finished. He scooped up both plates and carried them over to the sink.
Gunner grunted and disappeared into the living room, leaving Scope alone with his thoughts, wondering what Darla was doing. Was she sitting down to eat with her son, or were they already finished eating and she was washing up just like he was? Her dark brown hair was just as curly and shiny as he’d remembered it. Her hazel eyes still looked like they were almost too big for her delicately round face. And good Lord, her body was made for sin, all curvy and soft looking.
I sure would like to tie her to our bed and drive her insane with pleasure.
Hell, he had to find out once and for all if she was married or not. If she was, he needed to forget her and move on. Like his friend had said, he didn’t screw around with married women.
What he needed to do was talk to Tag or Steve to find out if the club was still active. He’d never been there when he lived in Perkins City, but he’d known about it. Most of the guys his age had, and most of them had played around a little with it while in high school. After joining up, he’d gone with one of the others to a club in Florida and hadn’t looked back since. It was freeing to watch a woman come apart because of what you could do for her. The heady experience of coaxing pleasure from someone so that they could fly into a different head space just flat did it for him.
He was sure that Gunner would enjoy getting back into the saddle again as well. He was more about the control factor than anything else. Being able to control and manipulate someone’s pleasure to his bidding satisfied something inside of him that Scope had never tried to figure out. He knew what made him tick. He had no desire to dig into Gunner’s psyche.
When he walked into the living room, Gunner had a documentary about mars on the TV. He’d stretched out in the recliner and was completely engrossed.
“I’m going to make some phone calls then turn in. See you in t
he morning, man.”
“’Night.”
Scope jogged down the hall to the room he was using while they finished making updates. He kicked off his flip flops and grabbed his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found the one for Tag. He hit “select” then listened to it ring.
“Yeah?” Tag’s voice had deepened, but he still had that arrogant attitude he’d had since high school.
“It’s Scope—um, Chester Nettles.”
“Ches? How’re you doing, man? Heard you were back. Why haven’t you called or come by?” Tag asked.
“Sorry. I’m planning on doing that soon. Been working on my house. Needed to get it going and needed some space to get back into civilian life. How are you doing? I heard you got married to Zander. Have to say, I didn’t see that one coming.” He winced when Tag cursed a blue streak over the phone.
“Just kidding, man. So who’s the lucky lady? Do I know her?” he asked.
“No. She’s new here. Her name is Tessa. She’s fucking amazing, Ches,” the other man said.
“Everyone pretty much calls me Scope now. Well, except Mom. Look, the reason I called is to find out what ever happened to the club they had here back when we were in high school. Is it still there?” Scope asked.
“Yeah. It’s still open and was completely redone a year ago. It has new owners and managers who see after the place. Zander and I are members,” Tag told him.
“What is the process for joining?” Scope asked him.
“You do know what kind of club it is, right?” Tag’s voice had dropped a little in volume.
“Yeah. BDSM. My partner and I are both Doms and have been for over eight years now.”
“There’s an application process and you have to be sponsored by a member. If you really are serious, we’d be glad to take you by to meet the managers and fill out the paperwork.”
