Roar (Military Bad Boy Billionaire Romance) (Soldiers of Fortune Book 4)

by Irons, Aubrey

  He looks back at the other men in the room, paying their respects to a now quieter, grieving Rafe before he looks back at me; “You talk to that recruiter again?” He says quietly.

  I nod.

  “Shit, man; the Marines, huh?” He shakes his head; “Rafe’s gonna fuckin hate that.”

  “The code makes provisions for active duty, even voluntarily joining.”

  “The code was written during Viet-fucking-nam, Bryce.”

  I look at him grimly; “If I leave the cloth for any other reason, my life is forfeit; I know that. But I gotta get out, Rory; I gotta-”

  “Long as you come the fuck home afterwards, I’ll back you.” Rory shoots me a hard look; “Just come home, brother; after you see the world and clear your head.”

  Right, after I clear my head fighting a war of ideals in the Goddamn desert on the other side of the world.

  And of course, that Bryce never does come home. That Bryce dies out there in the desert along with that other Hudson, and that other Logan. Because the men who come out the other side of that? Yeah, no one knows who they are.

  Least of all them.

  *****

  P R E S E N T

  "I don't want you doing this."

  I'm leaning against the doorframe of the hotel bathroom watching her finish putting makeup under her eyes, batting her lashes at her own reflection as she puts the finishing touches on. She looks fucking incredible, of course, which is putting me on edge; on edge because she's looking like this ready to go out with another man.

  And not just any guy. I mean I know about Hugh back home, but that's different; sort of. That's mostly out of sight and out of mind, and Hugh isn't some thuggish psychopath working for Blackriver. I don't know shit about this Anderson guy, but I know enough to know he’s a predator, and her wearing that fucking sexy little evening dress she's wearing has her looking every inch like prey.

  Peyton turns and shoots me a look; that blazing fucking defiance every step of the way.

  "It's dangerous and it's risky."

  "I'm a big girl," She says patronizingly, patting my shoulder and pushing past me out out of the bathroom.

  We seriously need a new hotel room, even if they did fix the door after some strange looks and muttered questions from the front desk.

  "I'm going to be right there, if anything happens, just-"

  "Bryce,” She levels her gaze at me; "I'm a big girl and I can handle myself. It's going to be fine."

  Yeah, it's all fine watching you flirt with another guy, even if it is for the mission.

  I can already feel my blood boiling.

  *****

  Anderson is every inch as piggish and thuggish looking as I expected, being one of Benson's guys. Jesus, does that guy hire a type or what.

  He's red-faced and sweaty, bulky in that meathead way as he steps into the restaurant. I keep my head facing forward but my eyes are glued with a vengeance to the man as he scans the room, locks onto Peyton, and grins before he elbows his way through the crowd to the table next to mine.

  "Hey, babe."

  "Hello," She says in a sultry voice that has me gritting my teeth and making a fist under the table; all charm and temptation.

  It's for the mission; it's for getting Logan back.

  "So you must be Sasha's friend. Damn girl, you're way hotter than she said you'd be!"

  Jesus Christ is this guy for real? I can feel my hands clenching in my lap.

  "Oh, well, thank you!" Peyton gushes, like that was some sort of charming fucking compliment.

  "Hey! Waiter!" Anderson barks, making me cringe again. This guy is the fucking worst; “Let's get two drinks over here."

  "Oh, I- I don't drink," Peyton says with a smile.

  He laughs; "What! Who the heck doesn't drink?"

  People who lived through the worst parts of addiction or have seen the devil that comes out of the bottom of a bottle, that's who, you fucking prick.

  Anderson laughs again; "Fuck that, ‘course you do!"

  "No, I really don-"

  "Waiter!" The older waiter comes over, his face neutral but cloudy as he smiles thinly at Anderson; "Two whiskies. Whiskey OK with you, babe?"

  "I don't drink,” She says quietly, her voice on edge. I can feel my teeth grinding.

  "Yeah two whiskies should do it, pal," Anderson says, shooing the waiter away. He turns back to Peyton, this woman he has no business even looking at, and he doesn't even seem to realize that; "So, here we are, huh?“

  "Yeah, here we are!" She says, smiling at him as best she can.

  This plan is shit. If I thought it before, I'm sure of it now. We're never going to make this work, because this guy is a fucking moron, and there's no way I'm going to let her do this. Using a honeypot to get access is one thing, but this is fucking ridiculous. This guy is way off and way out of line already. He's a loose cannon, and it's putting me on every edge I've got.

  Anderson leans forward suddenly, grabbing both her hands, and I see her flinch; "What say we just skip the drinks and get outta here, huh?"

  I expect her to freeze, to seize up at the sudden grip on her hands. With her background, that's gotta be triggering something, especially from a big drunk asshole like this prick.

  But she's smooth; Goddamn is she smooth.

  Peyton just laughs; "My my, now that wouldn't be very lady-like of me or very gentlemanly of you!" She slaps his hand playfully; "And I do like myself a gentleman!" I find myself flinching and my hand gripping onto the edge of the table like I want to break it off. I know first hand how much Peyton does not "like herself a gentleman." Because I can be a lot of things, but "gentlemanly" is not one of them.

  And I don't remember any complaints.

  Anderson chuckles; "Well, shit, yeah I can be all the gent you need, babe."

  She giggles, her hand tracing up his arm. Every single cell in my body roars, every alarm goes off in my head, and I'm hardly aware that I'm gripping the tablecloth tight enough to practically tear it in two.

  Their drinks come, and she doesn't touch hers, but that’s not what I’m watching; I'm watching her flirt with him. She's giggly, and smiley, and friendly in a way, well, in a way I haven't seen in more than a year.

  And it's enraging to watch.

  I know it's for the mission; I know this isn't "real", but Jesus Christ, I'm going to explode in a second if he puts his fucking hands on her one more fucking time.

  They're leaning close, and he's blabbing about hunting or something, and she's at least making a very good show of hanging onto his words; giggling at stupid lines. I can feel the rage and the fury building and bubbling inside of me, barely able to stop myself from outright glaring right at them, or worse.

  And then he leans in to kiss her cheek, and I lose it; I'm done.

  I shove my chair back loudly, loud enough that she breaks just for half a second and jerks her head my way. I need to get the fuck out of here; need to get away from this before I detonate.

  I'm shoving my way through the restaurant, and I'm just barely able to hear her laugh once more at something that douchebag says; "I need to go use the ladies room; don't go far, handsome!"

  Fuck that, I'm out of here.

  *****

  "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

  I ignore her voice outside the restaurant, a scowl on my face as I continue on into the shadows by the side of the building.

  "Hey! Will you fucking stop?"

  I stop and whirl around to Peyton; "What."

  "Excuse me? 'What'? How about what the fuck was that back in there?"

  I can feel the rage roaring inside but I force it down as I narrow my eyes at her; "That? That was fucking bullshit is what that was. I wasn't going to just sit there watching you flirt with that piece of shit."

  She rolls her eyes, which has the simultaneous effect of getting right under my skin but also perking my arousal with the sexy way she pushes her long blonde hair back from her face; "Oh, right, because I want to hav
e dinner and get hit on by dipshits like Anderson. This isn’t about you or me, Bryce. It's about me getting my brother back."

  "We can't do this, not like this and not with that fucking guy."

  She narrows her eyes and smirks; "Oh, and why is that, Bryce?"

  I snarl; "Because! Because he's- he's-"

  "He's what, flirting with me?" I grit my teeth and say nothing, and she rolls her eyes again; "I should get back in there.”

  "Fine." I turn and storm down the dark and deserted side street next to the restaurant, heading back towards the hotel.

  "Jesus, Bryce! Jealous much?"

  I whirl; "You're Goddamn right!" It's bubbling over, and I can't stop it now. The lid of me keeping my cool is popping off and I can't get it back down even if I wanted to.

  Peyton freezes, her lips just parted enough, her eyes blinking wide in the soft light as she looks up at me. Her tongue darts out over those soft lips, and I think of every laugh that I miss; every smile, every kiss, every touch.

  And then I think of his hand on hers, and it's a ubiquitous "his”. It’s Anderson, or Hugh, or any other fucking guy that puts their hands on her.

  And it's more than I can fucking stand to even think about.

  I do it before I can even stop myself. My arms slide around her, I'm pulling her close before she can even process it, and I'm kissing her.

  Jesus fuck did I miss those lips.

  She whimpers as I crush my lips to hers, like they're medicine I so desperately need to survive. I kiss her like I'll drown without her lips on mine; like she's my last breath of air.

  Break it. Break the kiss and slap me, or push me away or something to stop this before we both lose control.

  But she doesn't do any of those things. Instead, she moans, and that's fucking it for me.

  I push her back against the wall behind us, mashing my body to hers and feeling her warmth radiating under my skin as she presses her body against mine. I'm rock hard and growling into our kiss as my hands slide down her sides, down to the edge of that sexy dress she put on tonight for someone else.

  She's panting, whimpering into the kiss as I slide my hand up her thigh; not going right in, but letting my fingers remember the skin there that they missed for so long. We're moving like a whirlwind, right here in the shadowed dark of the side-street, but I don't even care. It's been entirely too fucking long, and my lips need to remember hers; my hands need to remember the warmth of her skin. Her breath catches as I get higher; higher up the outside of her leg until I growl as I feel the lace edge of her panties.

  And then suddenly, I can feel her freeze beneath me, and I know before another second passes that it's over just like that. I know the moment is broken, even before I feel her pull away from my lips with a gasp and feel her hand flat against my chest, pushing me away.

  "No-" She says quietly, her hand pushing against my chest.

  I know it's over but I can't let go just like that, and I growl as I lean into her once more.

  "No!" She's shaking her head then, and stepping back and out from under my arms; "Stop it, just-" She shakes her head; "Just stop it."

  "Peyton-"

  "This isn't going to happen, Bryce!" Her eyes are wild as she looks up into mine, that blazing fury of hers that I can't get enough of lingering and bubbling right beneath the surface; "You don't get to just step in like this and-"

  "What, because I can't watch you with that fucking assh-"

  "I'm not yours to watch!" She barks out; "I mean what the fuck was this, marking me as your own or some macho bullshit like that?"

  Yes.

  I'm silent, but she shakes her head, taking deep breaths and smoothing her dress down; "I'm going back in there and-"

  "The hell you are."

  "We need this, Bryce." She hold my eyes with her own, those bright blues of her piercing right into mine; "This isn't about us, remember? It's about Logan, and getting him back."

  I hate that she's right, and I hate that I've let that truth take a second seat to her getting under my skin like this.

  "I'm going back in there," She says evenly, as if daring me to say otherwise again; "I'm going to to go say goodnight to that piggish prick, I’m going to let him arrange another date, and then I'm going back to the hotel, where you're going right now."

  I grit my teeth, but I can see that flame blaze in her eyes; "For Logan, Bryce," She says quietly, pleadingly; "Please."

  I give her one more lingering glare before I shake my head as I turn and stomp down the darkened side street.

  Under normal circumstances, sipping bergamot tea on a rooftop lounge overlooking the Mediterranean ocean would be wonderful.

  Except, being there with your secret ex-boyfriend while trying to espionage your way into a fortress defended by mercenaries who've kidnapped your brother is hardly a normal circumstance.

  Bryce says nothing sitting next to me at the table; basically the same not-talking crap we've been sticking to ever since I got into the hotel last night. There's a tension between us, but it's not just from the Anderson thing.

  It's the lingering memory of that one searing kiss.

  It's the same reason why I could barely walk back in there and say goodnight to Anderson and keep him hooked for another meet. Because after hurricane Bryce outside, I wanted nothing more than to let myself get caught up and swept away.

  I'm furious at him for kissing me like that though, and furious at myself for letting him. I let my guard down and I let my defenses drop, and it was just enough to let him in like that; him and all the conflicted feelings that come with him.

  But we're not doing that; not ever again, and certainly not here with all that's at stake right now.

  "Ahh, there they are."

  I bristle at the sound of Sasha's voice, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of rage that spikes through me when Bryce gets out of his seat and pulls out her chair.

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  This man does not pull out chairs, and the fact that he's smirking at me over her shoulder while he does it has me balling my fists up under the table and ready to launch across the table to push the both of them over the terrace balcony.

  Speaking of jealousy.

  I need to focus, but it's kind of hard when she's laughing at something he says; her hand touching his arm. Forget focusing; it's enough to get my temper rising inside like a roaring blaze.

  I know I've got no right to feel this way, especially after how I acted and reacted to what happened last night. And the past is the past; me of all people should know that. But his past is sitting right there in front of me, flirting with him and making my blood boil in ways I didn't know it could.

  But what makes this even worse is him flirting right back at her. Or at least, it feels like he is; like he's rubbing my face in it. I quickly find myself starting to appreciate the feelings that must have been going through his mind last night, watching me with Anderson.

  I think this is what they call "getting a taste of your own medicine."