Bolo

by Mariska Hutchence

  MARISKA HUTCHENCE

  BOLO

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Bolo

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Reed –

  Prologue – Des

  One - Des

  Sunday Night – Reed

  Monday Morning – Des

  Monday Afternoon – Reed

  About Mariska Hutchence

  Connect with Mariska Hutchence

  ___

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  ___

  Acknowledgements

  Grateful thanks and appreciation to all those who offered nothing but encouragement, in words, deeds, and thought, driving me to cross that imaginary line between aspiring writer and simply writer.

  ___

  Copyright 2016 by Mariska Hutchence, All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be distributed, transmitted, or reproduced in any form or means, including photocopy, facsimile, recording or other electronic and mechanical methods without the express written permission of the publisher. Brief quotations in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by the copyright laws governing this work. For permission requests, email: editor@avppublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction and any name, characters, incidents or settings are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or decease, or to business, companies, events, institutions, or places is completely coincidental.

  Bolo

  By Mariska Hutchence

  Avery Boles was stuck with his former military nickname, but the last thing he wanted to be stuck with was the life he was currently living as a civilian. Working part-time as a bouncer at Club Raza while doing less legal work on the side more suited to his talents, Bolo is just biding his time until he can retire…but he didn’t count on The Goddess.

  Suzanne Claremont is in the same position, existing paycheck-to-paycheck as a Real Estate Agent, constantly frustrated by her former-model roommate’s earnings as a Sugar Baby. She dreams that her life can be more than being dragged to the club, where she can’t escape being a wallflower.

  Suddenly, the oddly shy yet muscle-bound and bearded bouncer, Bolo, turns her world upside down. Is it a cruel joke, or can his veritable obsession for her actually be real?

  Just as she’s starting to trust the intentions of her gorgeous new admirer, something happens that will change both of their lives forever.

  Author’s Note: Bolo is the epitome of ‘all-in’ regarding his passion for Suzanne, his ‘Goddess’, and his fondest desire is to sweep her away from her dull existence, to be not only his true love, but the mother of his children as well. Hot, steamy romance, passion, and a healthy dose of man-muscles and a beard to die-for will make this a favorite. I promise to give you fire, lust, and a healthy dose of HEA with no cheating. - Mariska

  Prologue: Suzanne

  “Fuck you, Suzanne.” David says as he’s reaching for the front door. We’ve been fighting for an hour and for once I’ve got my roommate Anjelica trapped in her room, not wanting to come out. Usually it’s the other way around, when she’s got one of her guys in the apartment. David’s the only guy I have ever brought over, and it seems like that’s going to be coming to an end anyway. “It’s not that I haven’t tried. We just don’t work together.”

  Full disclosure, we’re arguing over sex, but as with any other argument, there are other issues in the background that are contributing factors. For me, it’s mostly about sex, but I have to admit from all of his rationalizations and points, he’s convinced me. Unfortunately for him, the point that he’s won is that we’re just not right for each other. There’s a fundamental difference between us, an incompatibility, and he’s just broken down my last resistance. I have always believed that just about any issue could be worked out, but what do I know? I’ve apparently just become single again. The door slams and the footsteps outside the door in the hallway sound the last dying heartbeat of our relationship, because I don’t have the heart to go after him. That’s not fair. Not fair to me. I don’t want to go after him because I’ve finally admitted that he’s right.

  The revelation stuns me, though, as I slump into the couch. We weren’t right for each other. On paper, everything looked good. He was kind, thoughtful and responsible. Our dates were fun and sometimes even rose to the level of interesting, but things started falling down in the bedroom after I realized that it just wasn’t going to get any better. It sounds cliché that the failure on his part was his sweetness and the ‘he’s too nice’ refrain from high school girls everywhere echoes in my mind; a bitter pill to swallow. Yes, I’ve matured enough to want the sweet and the nice, but I’ve started to notice as well that the cravings that have always been lurking in the back of my mind are getting stronger and harder to suppress.

  I had loved the tender touch, the sweet embraces and the gentle passion when we had first started to be together, but I was foolish to think that they would ever evolve into what I was looking for in a lover. Passion, power, and hunger. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be abused; but sometimes I want to feel abused, if you know what I mean. Feel owned. David wasn’t able to do that. His fledgling attempts to give me what I needed fell flat, and I fully understand what he said about the way he was raised. He just couldn’t disrespect his lover, despite my arguments that what I wanted wouldn’t be disrespectful, since it was exactly what I desired.

  “It’s safe now, Jelica.” I say, remembering the blonde likely listening with perked-up ears from her own bedroom in the apartment we share.

  “Sounds like you need a hookup, Suze.” She replies, coming out of her room, her short silk robe coming down to just below that tight and almost non-existent ass of hers. Anjelica is everything I’m not. Petite, fashionably skinny, and willing to buy the things she wants in life with her body.

  “I’m not going to do the Sugar Baby thing.” I say, wanting to roll my eyes but resisting the temptation. It’s strong tonight because my temper is already riled.

  She laughs, because we’ve had this discussion about a thousand times. “I know, I know. You’d be good at it, though. Hey. At least go to the club with me tonight. There are a lot of hot guys there.”

  Anjelica throws the last words in like some sort of lure on the end of a fishing line. The club scene has never been my thing and she knows it.

 
“I don’t think so, Jelica.” I say. “I’m just going to sulk here for a little bit.” I smile as I say it, realizing just how little broken up over losing David I am. It’s not really a pleasant realization for me.

  “Just this once.” She says, her eyes lighting up. “I know the owner of the club and it’s a pretty cool place. What do you have to lose?”

  Exactly the question. My dignity, my self-esteem, my soul? I smile inside at the last unspoken answer to her rhetorical question. The last thing I want to do as I feel rejected as a lover is to get gussied up and try to advertise my body to potential suitors. David and I had been in the middle of his version of lovemaking when the spat had started. My gentle urgings had apparently become too much for him.

  “Please.”

  She has an annoying habit of wheeling to get her way, but apparently her body allows her to get away with that with the guys she dates. The word drags out and I want to smack her, but I end up acquiescing instead.

  “Fine.” It’s just one word, but I can see the victory in her eyes. I love her in that way a person can still love their kid even when that kid is being a brat. That in itself was another fundamental difference. I want kids and it seems like the farthest thing from David’s mind at this point in his life. I can’t really blame him for that, though, and shame on me for thinking I might be able to change that.

  Standing in the line waiting to get into Club Raza is a vindication of every reason I didn’t want to be here. I can feel the eyes on Anjelica in her short skirt and heels, everything that society currently thinks of as ‘hot’, which sucks when you’re everything that’s ‘not.’ I’m just feeling like a beached whale in comparison, though I try to keep with my affirmations that I’m not. Not really working.

  Finally, we’re standing in front of the ropes and she drops a name to the guy at the door. Cute, muscular, and way out of my league. I can see where his eyes are, anyway. He pulls out a phone and I can see him texting someone as we sit and wait, the line growing behind us. Unfortunately, a line in front of a club is a status symbol, and as long as people are buying drinks inside, they don’t really have any motivation to keep things moving. He ducks inside and the big steel door closes. I can hear a few isolated sighs from the crowd behind us.

  “It’ll just be a minute. He’s probably got to check with Chase.”

  She’s been talking about Chase for weeks, though she really hasn’t spoken much about the nature of their relationship. Probably a Sugar Daddy, though. Most of them are.

  I’m giving a little consideration to just packing it in when the doors open once again, and the previous doorman is replaced with a guy that just makes my jaw drop to the floor. Six foot something, massive arms being choked off by a tight t-shirt. I’m normally not into beards, but it admittedly works extremely well on him. I can sense Anjelica posing for him as he checks his own phone before looking up at us and despite everything I’ve ever felt like I stand for, I think I might be doing it myself. All thoughts of David and our fight flit away in my mind’s desire to create a picture of this guy in my head that will survive, not just leaving me saying there was this incredibly hot guy. He glances down at his phone again, then shoves it in the back pocket of the tight blue jeans I wish I could see the back of to add to my mental inventory; a three-sixty view of that gorgeous mountain of a man.

  That’s it. About a minute. He nods wordlessly and opens the ropes to let us walk in. I see his head turn out of the corner of my eyes, knowing full well he’s checking out Anjelica’s assets.

  “He’s new, and oh my God!” Anjelica shouts to me as the music reaches full volume inside. “What I wouldn’t do…”

  Her words trail off, leaving me to try to imagine anything my roommate wouldn’t do. Unfortunately, I’m in full agreement with her. I survey the scene and it’s everything that I hoped it wouldn’t be. Skinny little bitches, all edging to pick up the shallowest guy possible. She leads me to a table and I look to the dance floor. Hardly anyone looks like me, and the ones that do are dancing alone. Of course.

  Prologue - Avery

  It’s a subtle difference, but if you’ve ever had rounds from both the M4 Carbine and an AK-47 fired over your head, you’ll know the difference. These were from the latter, so definitely not of the friendly variety. Lieutenant Fiorina and I had been heading out of the Green Zone in order to quietly pick up some of our platoon, but apparently we weren’t quiet enough. The ratty GMC pickup I was driving was supposed to have been inconspicuous, but you never really know why shit will go bad; though maybe it was because we weren’t as on top of our game as we should have been. Fiorina was my Platoon leader, at least since Detweiler had gone AWOL and I’ll admit we’d been playing a little grab-ass here and there and today was no exception. Not only was it a bad idea in the middle of a counter-insurgency operation; officers and NCOs weren’t supposed to mix, even in the ‘integrated’ Army. Nothing had really come of it, though, so it was all good in my book. Just harmless flirting between a man and a woman without a lot of other options.

  “Fuck, Bolo.” She said. “They’ve gotta know.” She pushed a long strand of black hair behind her ear and it caught my eyes. Usually, she’s prepped to regulations, hair tucked up under her cover, but today we’re supposed to not look quite so military, as if that is even possible.

  By ‘gotta know’, she meant they probably already knew who we were there to pick up and what those people had been doing. The details of that aren’t important. It had only taken the first few rounds and a busted windshield to get the pair of us out of the car and behind the low rock wall where I had led us. Any other time, she probably would have been pissed that I grabbed her hand and yanked her in the opposite direction, but either she hadn’t been paying enough attention, or she had simply misread where the rounds were coming from. She seemed to be waiting for my leadership, despite the disparity in our ranks.

  “They’re fucking burned. Unfortunately, this is just about us right now.” I said, checking my carbine for the third time in the minute since we had taken cover. I hadn’t fired a round yet. Nothing to shoot at.

  “What about Rodriguez?” She asked, frantically.

  Fiorina was a tough one, honestly, but no one knows how they’ll react the first time they’re in a firefight. Words are one thing; actions are something entirely different. A little bit of panic, but not too bad for a green Second Lieutenant on her first deployment.

  “Forget about them.” I said, shifting my weight a little as the firing ceased. “The mission is scrapped. This is just you and me getting out of here and they know that as much as I do, if they’re still alive.”

  I pointed to the abandoned building behind us. It would provide a longer-term cover for us while I figured out how many there were and what possible chances we had of slipping into the more populated streets; unfortunately, two blocks in the wrong direction. Fiorina nodded, and I didn’t give her a chance to doubt me. I moved, nudging her ahead of me, trying to keep more or less below the level of the wall. The reports hit my ears before the chips of the stone wall hit my cheek, drawing blood and making me wince. I saw her cross the threshold to safety a moment before I did as well. I won’t swear to it, but I’ve always believed one of the rounds took a chunk out of the tread of my right boot, sending me sprawling face-first onto the floor. I rolled to the left, clearing the doorway.

  Fiorina was on the opposite side of the opening, crouched; her nine-millimeter clutched in both hands between her legs. It was actually the first day I had seen her in civilian clothes and she seemed out of place. Don’t get me wrong, a woman in ACUs can be sexy, but something about a woman in regular clothes while you’re on deployment has added value; even if it’s just jeans and a t-shirt. Her face, though, was a mask of fear, but even then I marveled at its beauty.

  The rounds stopped and I realized these guys weren’t your run-of-the-mill insurgents. They knew better than to waste ammunition in a futile show of firepower. The only sound for a minute was the sound of Fio
rina’s breathing, in tune with my own, but mine was starting to calm down, the adrenalin and the situation putting me into that fight mode that’s programmed into all of us.

  “They’ll come closer in a minute.” I said, softly. “Clear the house and let me know if there are other exits.”

  Normally, it would be the Platoon leader giving orders but Fiorina, like our aggressors, was smart as well as attractive. I remembered Detweiler’s line: “I can either be in charge, or I can stay alive until I know what the fuck I’m doing.” Wise man. To this day I’ll give him an MIA flag rather than the AWOL one they hung over his head. I just didn’t think he’d be the type to slip off and run away from his responsibilities. We all have stress on deployment and to a man we all just want to go home, but the vast majority of us take the oath seriously.

  I took the chance and popped my head out the door just to see the last clear look at a figure ducking down behind the wall that kept us alive a few minutes back. A round cracked the doorframe, sending more chips of cement and dust into my eyes. Definitely closing in. Probably three, I figured. The others would be trying to flank. It was a guess, I’ll give you that, but up to that point, my guesses had kept me alive. The best move, in my opinion, was to not let them get good positions. Fiorina wasn’t back yet, but I didn’t figure I had time to wait.

  Darting out the door, it only took me three steps and even fewer seconds by my internal count to cross the distance. I threw my arms up and jumped the last few feet, hitting the top of the wall right at my waist. It was kind of an asinine move, but I only saw the startled eyes before I pulled the trigger, hearing that slightly different sound. Let’s face it. These things are messy.

  I rolled over the wall, landing on the insurgent. Not even a grunt. I immediately took off to the left, keeping low and estimating how long it would take me to reach the corner. Eight steps, four seconds. The second guy was almost all the way down to the other corner looking towards the house, his rifle sadly covering the wrong field of fire. He went down as well. I made the call to go back the way that I came, but when I reached the opposite corner, my line of sight was clear.