by Em Petrova
Chaz spread his hands. As he moved, his mirrored glasses on his head caught the light from above and reflected. “Ben, we’re here to stay. We’re not kids and you can’t boss us around.”
“Except as your fucking captain, I fucking can.”
“But you cannot let go of the men I’ve hand-selected for OFFSUS, Knight. So get over thinking that. You’ve got the best of the best sitting right here, able to handle any threat you come up against, domestic or foreign.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. Boiling inside, he considered what Jackson was saying. His brothers had all the guts, glory and stupid Knight genetics to handle anything. Hell, they were the best shots—Ben had seen them in action and given them pointers himself. They had all the capabilities to be one of the top special operatives team in the world.
“Hell.”
“Maman would wash your mouth out with soap,” Rhoades drawled.
Their mother had no place in this conversation. Ben narrowed his eyes at him and then turned to Jackson. “Who’s our six?”
“Rockingham. Seal Team 4.”
“A squid?”
“A highly-trained professional who’s proven himself in unspeakable situations. And the perfect man for OFFSUS, Knight.”
All five of the brothers stared at the colonel at the use of their names. Ben resisted running a hand over his face and hoping it woke him from whatever fucking nightmare he was living through right now.
Because he didn’t want to live through the reality of training these idiots he called family as the men who’d have his back—and each other’s. Suddenly, the weight of that duty fell like a yoke over his shoulders.
How was he going to keep them all safe for his maman and pére while combating terrorism on US soil?
He dropped against the back of his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “All I wanted to do was fish, golf and fuck.”
Jackson got up and slapped him on the shoulder on his way out of the room. “You’ll find a way to do those things and still save the country, Captain.”
* * * * *
“9-1-1, what’s your call?”
“I have to cancel a date with a friend and she’s not going to be very happy with me.”
Dahlia glanced at her coworkers, hoping to hell her supervisor didn’t overhear this personal call.
Into her mouthpiece, she hissed, “Serena, you know you can’t call here!”
“Well, you weren’t answering your cell and I didn’t know how to reach you to break our plans for drinks.”
Dahlia pushed out a sigh. This was the third time with Serena and the second this week alone one of her girlfriends had cancelled plans with her, and it was only Wednesday. It looked like her social life was well and truly over since every single one of her group of friends was now married. Dahlia had just dropped her last bridesmaid dress into Goodwill, thankful the bridezillas would calm down and they could have fun again. Or talk about something besides menus and seating plans.
Now it didn’t look as if they’d ever talk at all.
“All right, that’s fine. I’ll take a raincheck.” Dahlia stared at her fingernails. Maybe she could get another manicure tonight, but her nails didn’t really need pampering. She needed some one-on-one time, talking to a human who wasn’t in distress on the phone line.
She wanted to whine to Serena that her job was high-stress and she couldn’t just go home and plop in front of the TV to unwind. She needed some way to de-stress, and that had always been with the help of her friends.
“I’m really sorry, Dahlia. But Mike wants to catch that new movie and since it’s matinee price night and dollar Cokes, we can save some cash. You know we’re saving for a down-payment for a house.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, yes.” She had to get her friend off the line in case someone really needed her. “I’ll text later. Bye!”
She hurriedly disconnected the call and glanced around again. Her supervisor was not walking between operators per usual.
He was standing beside her desk. “What were you helping that woman with, Dahlia? The decision about the Coke she’s getting at the movies?”
Dahlia gulped. “I’m really sorry about that, Kyle. I’ve told my friends never to call here.”
He stared down at her until she squirmed. He was a hard-ass on the best of days, but it was people’s lives they were dealing with. Somebody had to keep them from screwing off.
Dahlia reached under her desk into her big bag that held her knitting. She fucking hated knitting, but it was a pastime most of the operators, even the male ones, took up because they could drop it fast when a call came in. A mindless task they could switch gears from in a blink. And in this business, a blink could mean a life.
She set the needles at angles and took off on her knit and purl. The soft cream-colored wool slid through her fingers. With a final glower, Kyle moved off and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Though she was still upset at Serena dropping their girl-date, what could she do about it? The only answer was to find a new group of friends. She glanced at her coworkers. One was retired military, happily married. And Joanie had been sitting in that chair since before Moses was written into the Bible, Dahlia was sure of it.
No—drinks with coworkers was out of the question. She’d just have to go home and sit there trying not to think of the two-car accident or fire calls she’d already received tonight. Or the hysterical caller Dahlia had walked through delivering CPR to her aging dad. This call had ended well—she’d gotten the man breathing before the ambulance had arrived. But so many didn’t end well.
Which was why Dahlia needed her down-time.
She clacked her needles together so hard that Joanie looked up from her own knitting. “Everything okay, Dahlia?”
She nodded and bit her lip. If she went out tonight, where would she go? A club where she could sit at a bar and blend in, maybe talk to a few people next to her. Or dance.
At the thought of getting on a crowded dance floor, a shiver ran through her, warm and slippery. God, the dance floor… last time she’d gone clubbing alone, she’d landed in the arms—and bed—of a man who’d rocked her world.
She could nearly feel those big, callused hands sliding down her bare arms, knuckles boldly skimming the outer curves of her breasts and his stare pinning her in place. “What do you say we get outta here?” His drawl had been all Louisiana, his pillow-talk the stuff of erotic stories and what was between his legs—
Her earpiece buzzed. She dropped her knitting into the bag and took the call.
“9-1-1, what’s your call?”
“I-I wrecked my parents’ car. I-I…”
“All right, calm down. I’m here with you. Can you tell me your name?”
“Alexis.”
“Okay, Alexis, I’m Dahlia. I’m right here with you. Are you injured? Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t know. I think so. The airbag blew up and my nose hurts.”
“Okay, are you still in the car? Or did you get out?”
“I-I’m standing beside the road.”
“Does your car look all right? Not smoking or on fire?”
“No, but it’s wrecked so bad. My mom’s gonna kill me!” Wails sounded for several seconds before Dahlia got the poor teen calmed down and to a safe place along the road where she wouldn’t get hit by oncoming vehicles.
“I’ve got the paramedics on the way as well as the police, who will assist you with getting the car to safety.”
“The police! Oh, man, this is really bad.”
“No, it’s not bad, Alexis. These people are here to help you and your mother will just be happy that you’re safe. Stay on the line with me until help arrives.”
She spoke to her for several more minutes, discussing after-school activities the girl was involved in like volleyball and that she had a job dog-walking during weekdays and babysitting on weekends. When she ended the call, Dahlia blew out a breath.
She could probably do this job a wh
ole lot better if she wasn’t such an empath. Each caller she listened to, Dahlia identified with, felt for. She couldn’t put those feelings aside easily.
But she had with Ben, the hot guy who’d taken her home that night months ago. Everything about that man, from the way he danced to the flip of his tongue against hers had ignited her.
After a night like never before, she’d woken to find nothing more than a note, scribbled on the back of a piece of junk mail, thanking her for the night. No phone number, no let’s hook up for drinks.
She’d never returned to the club again, for fear she’d see him leaving with some other victim of his sex appeal. But maybe it was time to go back. If she’d found one gem in the crowd, she could again, and this one might be worth more than a one-night stand.
She glanced at her watch. Two hours before her shift ended, and then she’d slip down to the club and look for another Ben.
Chapter Two
“Jesus Christ,” Sean said for the third time.
“You haven’t done anything but take the Lord’s name in vain since we left that place,” Dylan said from the back seat.
Ben kept his eyes glued to the road leading out of Mississippi, but he wasn’t seeing the landscape. His mind was back on that compound he and his brothers had just raided, just like Sean’s was.
He threw his kid brother a look. It was bad enough he felt responsible for the well-being—and that included mental health—of his team, but he didn’t want to fuck up his brother for life. And the shit they’d just seen and done was the stuff of nightmares.
“Can we stop for food?” Chaz asked.
Ben glanced in the rearview mirror at the wall of flesh taking up every corner of the SUV. At least the colonel had given them a vehicle big enough for all of the Knights to fit in, which was no small feat. They were all huge, except the youngest, Rhoades, who wasn’t even a fucking man. Though he was rivaling even Ben for height, leaving him thinking Rhoades just may be the biggest Knight by the time he filled out in the shoulders.
“Guys, I gotta take a piss. This ride’s smooth, but the shocks aren’t that great way back here,” Chaz said.
“This is just like a fucking family road trip,” Ben grumbled. “Where would you like me to stop? We’re in butt-fuck M’ss’ssippi.” Slurring the word, he waved at the windshield, which was nothing but road and scrubby trees on either side.
“I can take a leak anywhere, but I’m willin’ to wait on the food.” Chaz’s teeth flashed white through the fading evening light filtering through the tinted windows.
“Fine, I’ll stop. Any of you other motherfuckers have to take a piss, now’s your time, because I’m not stopping again until I get out of this godforsaken state.” Ben veered off the highway near a cluster of trees and threw the SUV into park. As his brothers climbed out and lined up along the road to take a whiz, Ben and Sean remained.
“That was fucking insane back there,” Sean said quietly.
“No shit.”
“Did you know what we were walking into?”
“Hell no. I knew the same as you—that we were raiding a compound with some couyon homegrown terrorist who had too much explosive on site and a lot of people following his gospel.”
Sean nodded at the reference to the guy being crazy as Chaz bounced into the back seat again. “What are we talkin’ about?”
Neither answered.
“Now c’mon, guys. No secrets in Knight Ops.” How the hell Chaz managed to smile after seeing what they had and doing what they’d done, Ben had no fucking clue. He must be a better Marine than him.
But he straightened at what he’d said. “Knight Ops?”
“Yeah, fits, don’t ya think?”
The rest of the brothers piled in. Ben got on the road.
This wasn’t the first time he’d led men to do unspeakable acts, and following those moments, he’d debriefed each one, letting them tell their side of the story. There was a healing in the speaking of things.
“All right, guys, I need to know everything you did, said and thought. Starting with Chaz.”
Silence descended.
“You want us to tell you what happened back there, Ben? I’m pretty sure it was you picking up those dead bodies too,” Rhoades said.
He shook himself. “Yeah, I remember and likely will for a long time. Which is why we’re discussing it. Then we’re going to cross the Louisiana border, get us some grits and crawfish. After that, we’re going to find a way to decompress. I don’t give a shit if you find a hooker. Just get this out of your system, starting now.”
His tone laid down the law, and Chaz started talking. Each of them added on to the story, one by one, until it all came out. Crazy homegrown terrorist with two hundred followers locked in his compound, “testing” his new street drug and listening to his word about the world being against them. Chaz and Dylan had taken the back door and located enough explosives to wipe the small town off the Mississippi map and leave a crater the size of the Grand Canyon.
Then Ben and the rest had stormed the front and walked in on what seemed at first to be a party. Except all the guests were twitching like zombies, jaws slack and eyes vacant. Within seconds of entering the compound, the crazy leader had stepped out with an automatic and explosives strapped to him like a vest.
Ben and his brothers had taken the man and disarmed the bomb he wore in seconds, but the dancers kept dancing, oblivious to their surroundings. Until they all fell down and croaked, that was.
He swiped a hand over his face, unable to stop seeing the unnatural movements of those people even in the throes of death.
Suddenly, he knew how he was going to unwind. The only way to erase the memory was to see people dance to real music and not whatever they heard in their heads after taking a shitload of poison.
And maybe find a woman or five to fuck. Yeah, an orgy sounded real good right about now. After those grits, of course.
Telling their story had the exact effect Ben had hoped for. The guys were laughing and joking. Dylan had ripped a fart and they were all diving for their windows to get fresh air.
Sean was even sporting a crooked grin. “You’re right, Ben. It’s just like a family road trip. Maman would be proud.”
“I’m sure,” Ben said dryly as they stuck their heads out their windows again. Dylan sat there grinning at his accomplishment, all of them much lighter than they’d been ten minutes before.
“Look at all Rocko missed. When is our sixth man joining us anyway?” Roades asked about Rockingham.
Ben glanced in the rearview mirror at him. “Soon. He was delayed getting out of the country.”
Sean twisted in his seat. “So what’s the plan, guys? The cabin’s not far over the state line. I say we stop for supplies and hole up there for a few days. Fish, catch some gators. Drink beer.”
“You guys can. But I’m going back to New Orleans,” Ben drawled, not taking his gaze off the highway.
“What’s in New Orleans? You got some pussy?”
“A lot of pussy in New Orleans for the Knights,” Ben said, his own lips quirking slightly at one corner. “But no. Just gotta see something. I’ll drop you guys off and take that old motorcycle in, leave you the Knight bus to get back home.”
They all laughed at his referral to the vehicle. When they passed the sign for the state line, a cheer went up, and Ben pulled into the first roadside food joint he saw.
They drew a lot of stares as they packed away enough rations for a whole platoon of Marines and then piled back into the SUV and headed to the cabin. The sight and smell of the swamp conjured good feelings of homecoming, and Ben was feeling slightly lighter by the time he dropped off his brothers and kickstarted the old bike.
He took the roads at top speed, leaning hard into the curves, letting the cool air wash over his face and hoping it erased more of the crap collected in his brain after the day’s events.
Somehow, his thoughts revolved back to Dahlia. The woman had gotten in his blood after just one
night, and he wanted a second night just to see if he was entertaining a fantasy rather than reality. She couldn’t be that good.
His mind wandered all over those curves. Ripe breasts and hips a man could grab onto, ankles that had made a good starting point for kissing and movie-star plump lips to end at. Everything between was délicieux.
By the time he rolled into the parking lot of the club, his cock was already hard. He swung his leg over the bike and crossed the gravel to the door, the bass of the music greeting him. It was only Wednesday, but Cajuns knew how to get their party on. They’d invented the fais do-do.
He paused with his fingers on the handle, the bass vibrating into his hand. All of a sudden, he wasn’t sure if seeing people dancing was what he needed, after all. After that brisk drive home, he was feeling half-human again. He didn’t need to blur the lines between what he’d seen with the zombie dancers back in the compound and the real-life ones here in the club where he’d found Dahlia months ago.
Dahlia.
He yanked open the door and stepped into the packed house. People bumped into him from every side as he strode straight to the bar, not looking around. He needed to wrap his fingers around a glass of whiskey—fast.
When he reached the bar, the bartender lifted his jaw in greeting. “What can I get ya?”
“Dewars.”
The guy dropped him a wink and grabbed the bottle and a glass.
Ben didn’t know what to think about the wink, but right now all he wanted was the slow burn of alcohol sliding down his gullet.
He knocked back the whiskey and asked for another. This request didn’t earn him another wink, but he wasn’t looking for friendship. Cradling the glass, he turned to face the room.
For a second, he feared staring at the dancers on the crowded floor would conjure visions of the zombie dancers falling over and convulsing as the poison claimed them. But to his immeasurable relief, he only saw happy people getting their party on.
The alcohol was working its way into his system and he felt the tense pull of the muscles in his shoulders begin to relax. The Cajun hillbilly music had some odd techno infusion, but Ben didn’t give a damn what was playing, as long as it wasn’t silent.
