“She’s your fiancée you swishy tool—although why she puts up with a Sharpie-drawn ring when you can afford the Hope Diamond is beyond me.”
“It’s my charm and sparkling wit.”
“Yeah,” she sniggered. “I know all about your charm and sparkling wit. Got the marks to prove it.”
Oh, Jesus. He nearly swallowed his tongue at the reminder of the time they’d established what complete idiots they could be.
“Sorry. A thousand times sorry. Whiskey and whips do not play nice together.”
She leaned forward, planted her feet firmly on the floor and punched his arm. Fucking hard.
“Hey,” he grumbled. We agreed you wouldn’t cause me bodily harm and I won’t ask you to wear a dress.”
She snickered, gave him the eye and jeered, “My dick is available for sucking.”
Shooting the shit with Domineau transported him right back to stranger days when conversations like this were completely normal. He didn’t miss the fucked-up-ness of the war, but sometimes he did miss the unique camaraderie.
“Again, Rivera. Is that how you talk around my kid? And fiancée?” he smirked with emphasis. “I may have to adjust your compensation. Maybe an out clause for unmitigated verbal impropriety.”
“Impropriety?” she snorted. “Dusting off the big words, I see.”
Roman grinned.
“And as for your fiancée—may I suggest that you avoid being in her cross-hairs?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Domineau pushed stuff around on the table and rearranged on her chair. The smile options she had at the ready were limited, stiff, and when directed at you—sometimes scary. When she leaned on her elbows and canted forward slightly, he caught the devilish glint in her eyes and steeled himself for whatever grenade she was gearing up to lob.
“It means that your woman can shoot the eyebrows off a squirrel at a hundred yards.”
“And you’d know this how?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
Domineau figuratively dropped the mic and sneered at him when she said, “We went to the range together. Snow White is actually Annie Oakley.”
“What range? The shooting range?” His voice was well on the way to being unpleasant. “You took Kelly to a shooting range? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Bishop? You’re treating that poor girl like a butterfly with pinned wings. I get keeping her for your personal enjoyment but do you have to break her spirit too?”
Roman growled and shook his head to clear the sudden surge of anger running riot inside. “You do not know what you’re talking about,” he raged. Standing quickly, he gave the table a shove in her direction and knocked her back a bit. She glared at him.
When he stood, so did she. Just like that, they squared off for a confrontation.
“You’ve gotten soft, Roman,” she jeered loudly. “I bet your fucking expense account is loaded with Starbucks and dude-spa receipts.”
Their increasing and overt aggression caught the attention of a table crammed with a bunch of millennials. One of the snot-bags nonchalantly picked up a phone and started filming. In five minutes this whole thing would be on YouTube. Jesus fucking Christ.
The muscle that kept an eye on things quickly appeared at their table.
“We got a problem here?” The threat in the question was evident.
He and Domineau—separated by the table between them—threw incendiary devices with their eyes.
The bouncer asked, “Do you need to take this outside?”
Domineau looked at him with an arched brow so sharp he felt the implied face-slap.
Her tone was downright glacial when she said, “If we do, he’ll be needing a medic.”
The bouncer stuttered to a halt and gawked at her. Roman watched as the beefy black guy studied Domineau and noted the moment he spied the shoulder holster under her jacket.
Goddammit. He let out a harsh sigh and took immediate steps to diffuse the situation. He knew Domineau well enough to understand that she’d happily eviscerate this guy for no other reason than because he dared to challenge her.
“Disagreement,” he said with brisk authority. “Sit down, Rivera,” Roman barked in a voice that suggested she behave.
He must have forgotten for a second who the hell he was dealing with because in the next instant she put on an act so innocent and pleasant that he swore the committee awarding Tonys for outstanding bullshit performance took notice.
With a wave of her hands, she laughed and sat back down. “Just messing around. Sorry. Brothers, ya’ know?”
“He’s your brother?” The bouncer looked back and forth at them. In Roman’s opinion, they looked about as related as a dog and cat.
“Older brother,” she said with snark-filled emphasis.
He took his seat and offered a lame smile. The bouncer left them with a final admonishment to keep their sibling shit together and then walked away.
There were easily a hundred things he wanted to say starting with—well, there was so much to defend from her deliberate put-down that he wasn’t sure where to start.
“Let’s get out of here.”
She didn’t react or move a muscle. She just sat across the table and smirked.
“We know better than to be alone—without back-up.” She tugged at her earlobe as she spoke. It was their Team Justice hand signal for all hands on deck.
She spoke the truth. Stroking his beard, he contemplated the tense situation and searched for a way out. “Why do you have to be such a bitch?”
“Because busting balls is listed on my Cabbage Patch birth certificate.”
“They make female warrior dolls?”
Well, they should,” she answered with a pithy snort. “Wouldn’t hurt society to back away from make-up tips and which moisturizer lends a rosy glow.”
Something about her tone reminded him of Kelly. A truth dawned on him, and he muttered a harsh, “Jesus.”
“Ah. Finally sink in?”
The point she was making in her typical asshole way hit him like a football aimed straight at his head and thrown from ten feet away.
When the nonsense and preconceived bullshit was stripped away, Kelly and Domineau were eerily alike. The only real difference was their height. But while one was tall and the other short, they were each uniquely weaponized.
Domineau Rivera took no shit and gave zero fucks.
Same for Kelly.
“I need a drink,” he growled. “Come on.”
He didn’t wait for her to react—he simply dropped a large tip on the table as he signaled to the waiter. Roman was halfway to the door when she caught up to him. It wasn’t until they were standing outside on the sidewalk that he remembered they were flying uncharted tonight—meaning no car and driver.
Scraping a hand through his hair, he gave a frustrated grunt.
Domineau casually walked to his side and laughed. “Dude. What the fuck?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and then reached for his phone, but she waved him off.
“Relax. I’ve got this.”
Less than an uncomfortable silent minute later, an Uber pulled up.
“Templeman’s,” she told the driver. “Need an address?”
“No. Got you!” the driver said a bit too cheerfully.
He retreated inside his head because every little thing was rubbing him the wrong way. They drove in silence—because Domineau wasn’t the type to be motivated by someone else’s comfort level.
Shit. What the fuck did she mean about Kelly being pinned down? Plus, he did not like the implication that he was using her for his enjoyment. He knew damn fucking well what Domineau was implying, and it pissed him off. And hurt his feelings.
But—she had a point. And a unique way of presenting an argument.
They made their way into Templeman’s and sat at the far end of the bar. She downed two filthy martinis in quick succession and said absolutely nothing as he sulke
d and nursed a whiskey.
The nursing turned to surgical precision as two more rounds of drinks slid across the bar. It took that much alcohol to tamp down his careening emotions and push him toward being drunk.
Out of nowhere, Domineau started talking.
“What the fuck with you Justice guys and kids? Never would have pegged the lot of you as wannabe baby daddies.”
There was too much innuendo in her snotty statement for his inebriated brain to handle. He was sure she referred specifically to something but now was not the time to address that particular mongoose in the room, so he kept his response close to home.
“Yeah, well when life snuffs out your pregnant wife you see things differently.”
She didn’t react because she knew not to. Domineau was one of the few who understood what sort of demons occupied his memory.
“That kid’s your second chance, huh?”
“Matty? Yeah. I guess.” He shrugged. “He completes me in some weird way.”
She laughed in his face. “Seriously? Movie quotes? Oh my god, Bishop. You’ve got it bad.”
It took a second for his alcohol befuddled brain to pick up the thread and then he joined her snickers.
“Maybe you should give it a try.”
“Give what a try?” She sporked two olives from the side glass full of the salty green things and pulled them off with her teeth. “Bad movie quotes?”
“No. I mean give being human a try. You know. Live and shit like that.”
She drummed her fingers on the bar and growled. “Yeah, well you know me. I fucking hate people, so it’s probably better that I’m a solo act.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
“Whatever. I didn’t come out tonight so that you can convert me to selfies and china patterns.”
“You’re a fucking piece of work Rivera, but I wouldn’t have anyone but you on the job.”
She snorted a harsh laugh. “I bet you say that to all those Justice butt fuckers.”
“Yes, well—be that as it may. Thanks. And I mean that. Matty thinks you’re the shit and then some, and despite being up to no good with my woman you’re probably the only female she wouldn’t automatically try to best.”
“She asked if we were fuck buddies.”
The swallow of whiskey got lodged in his throat, and he started to choke. She pounded him on the back with more glee than necessary.
Through watery eyes, he barked, “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
She smirked, pressed a finger to her mouth as if she was thinking, and then chuckled. “Okay—so maybe she didn’t ask directly, but the question was out there, so I shot it down.”
He blinked a couple of times and frowned. “Domineau…” He felt the start of a whiskey slur numbing his tongue and zipped his mouth shut.
“Relax. I’m used to it.”
He winced. Shit. Roman hated when people assumed that because she was one of the guys that meant they passed her around like a sex toy. As far as he knew none of team Justice had ever dared to cross that line. Oh, wait. That wasn’t entirely accurate, but he wasn’t the one with the death wish, so there was that.
“Look, if Kelly didn’t have suspicions that’d make her an idiot, and believe me Roman, that girl is no fool. And I respect that she was more than ready to throw down if it turned out we had a prior. I like that. You need a territorial woman. And for fuck’s sake Roman, for the amount of effete snobbery she has to endure from you and Ashforth, I’d say she earned the right to demand a full picture of the lay of the land. That’s my way of asking how much she knows.”
Thwap! The sound of that damn whip exploded in his head once again when she dropped the innocent query into the mix.
“It’s a process—she has a clue if that’s the real question.”
“But not the whole picture?”
Knowing what she was getting at didn’t make the question go down easy. Snarling, he replied, “You should talk.”
“Yeah, well I’m not the one picking out a dress and tux.”
Roman rubbed his chin and then stared into the amber liquid in his glass. She wasn’t prying, and she’d more than earned the right to comment, but how could he explain without sounding like a dolt?
“Bet it toasts your nuts that Snow White is a natural alpha, huh?”
He sneered. Okay, so clearly no explanation was necessary.
“I’d say I got exactly what I deserved, wouldn’t you?”
“Amen.”
Before the alcohol dulled his senses much more, he had to bring up the reason for this get-together. Licking his lips, he pushed the whiskey away and turned on his bar stool to face her.
“Um, Domineau, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Her wary reaction was what he expected. Domineau lived every minute expecting the worst and who could blame her? She got the lion’s share of a universal butt fucking at an early age. A butt fuck that left emotional scars.
“Justice is calling.”
“Aw, shit,” she murmured. “Really?” For a minute her eyes danced around the room and then she muttered, “I need a fucking cigarette.”
The amusing comment hung in the air. He couldn’t laugh. She needed to know from the outset that he wasn’t fucking around.
“Who’s making the call?” As usual, she went right to the important details.
“Major Marquez.”
Her groan said she got how serious this was. “Balls.”
“It’s the cowboy prince. He fucked up big time. Alex tried to fix things, but now there’s another problem.”
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
He shook his head. “We’ve been compromised.”
Her hand slapped the bar. “Will this shit never be over?”
What she referred to was the blunt reality they all faced. “I do solemnly swear to support and defend…”
“Fuck.” Her voice held a distinct tinge of annoyed resignation.
“Even if you didn’t take the oath,” he told her flatly, “it applies.”
“Who’s involved?”
“The regulars.”
“You mean the Three Arizona Stooges?”
Roman grinned at the bitchy question. “Yeah, and breaking news. Cam? He smiles now. And I gotta tell you it’s a bit creepy.”
Domineau rolled her eyes. “Is that it? Those three and you?”
He took a deep breath. Her asking wasn’t idle curiosity. The can of worms being opened by this situation was going to complicate things—big time.
“Actually, no. This involves the whole team.”
“Jesus Christ. Original Justice? Minus the unforgiven?”
He nodded and watched as what he said sank in.
“Okay, Bishop. Stop with the fuzzy gloves and give it to me straight. And do it fast because I’m feeling a need to smash my fist into something and your ugly mug is looking rather target-like.”
“Last year,” he began. She growled and glared. “I know, I know. Timing is everything.”
She called the bartender over and bit out a series of commands. “Diet Coke. Not Pepsi. You put a Pepsi in front of me, and it’s go time. Understand?”
The guy nodded.
“Cherries, a shitload of ‘em, and extra ice. My friend here will have the same.”
“Sugar, red dye, and caffeine?”
She sneered and rubbed her face with both hands. “Works every time. Now continue.”
“So, last year Al-Awadi got out ahead of himself and an operation he was running went south. And by south, I mean that an encrypted data file was stolen.”
“Stolen? Or hacked?”
“Stolen.” He waited for her angry growl and continued after she was done. “The file had a skull and crossbones failsafe, but it didn’t destruct. Alex has been working with our friends in Washington to contain the matter.”
“But?”
“Sensitive mission details were unmasked as the file was deconstructed.”
“Oh my
fucking god.”
“Yeah,” he agreed solemnly. “Exactly.”
He could hear her brain working as she shifted into overdrive. A warrior’s instincts never fade.
“It’s bad, isn’t it? That’s why you’re telling me.”
“The Major is convening the team. Including you and Sullivan. We’re all fucked if this blows up.”
“Holy shit. Hey, wait. Didn’t Sully just get married? Won’t this put a crimp in his honeymoon?”
“My understanding after speaking with Cameron is that if he isn’t back yet, he will be soon. At which time…”
“I hate Arizona. Too many things that slither and sting.”
“Tough. And we won’t be there long. Someone from the CIA is coming to do the brief. After that? Hope your passport is current.”
“What about Kelly? And the kid? Are you actually going to ditch them in the city while duty calls? She hates being caged in, ya’ know. That’s what I was trying to say before.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m on it. As for Matty, I think he’d enjoy a cowboy vacation.” That’s all he said. It was enough.
“Smart move. Does she know about your sordid military past?”
“What the fuck is it with you and the does she know crap? Cut me a break, would you?”
She reacted fiercely. “Seriously? Cut you a break? How about if you eat shit, Roman! I like Kelly, and she’s no hothouse flower. You have to be straight with her. The truth and nothing less is all she’ll accept. Take it from one who knows.”
“Jesus Domineau. When you meet people do you start off with a kill count?”
“Sometimes,” she sniggered. “Separates the men from the boys pretty quick. But I wasn’t just referring to your war record. Has she met Master Látigo? Does she know what’s in your bank account and the cloak and dagger stuff? You planning on a wedding night reveal?”
“Well fuck-a-luck-a-ding-dong. I didn’t know you signed on to be my conscience. Should I start calling you Jiminy?” He sneered and barked, “Oh, wait! I know what to do.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Should we give Rafe a call? See if he needs help packing? You like all that domestic stuff, right?”
“You motherfucker,” she grated out.
He didn’t know why he taunted her like that—maybe because she kept poking at him about Kelly. Bringing up Rafe was a deliberate provocation and a cringe-worthy low-blow.
Checkmate: A Bishop's Pawn Novella Page 6
