He’s also pissed because I’m the only person here who refuses to kowtow to him, Sam thought, noting the deference of the crew that surrounded him, the way everyone automatically conceded to Alejandro like he was some hotshot deity on the rise.
“I’ll have to watch my back,” Sam murmured, looking away to watch the plains streak past them.
“Hey, we watch each other’s backs.” Rita nudged her as the Chinook banked, descending into Ft. Hood, a three-hundred-and-forty-square-mile military installation—one of the largest U.S. bases in the world. The rolling, semi-arid terrain made Ft. Hood perfect for training and testing military units. For years, it had been the Army’s premier stateside military base because it was the only post capable of stationing and training two armored divisions.
As the chopper landed at one of Ft. Hood’s massive airfields, Sam and Rita were among the first to disembark and fall into formation. The fifty-person group organized quickly, lining up by class, rank, and file, postures stiff and straight as Colonel Sasser approached with the other officer instructors. He paced before the front row, examining the line with cool gray eyes and a stern expression.
“Since 1876, Texas A&M University has been a steady source of some of the most important commissioned officers for the United States Armed Services,” Colonel Sasser began. “Few know that during World War II, A&M commissioned more officers than West Point.” He directed a hard and meaningful stare across the cadets. “You want to be the best?” he asked. “You want to be officers in the greatest army the world has ever known?”
The cadets straightened infinitesimally as he passed, postures ramrod, demeanors stern and proud. Though Sam could only see Sasser peripherally, she knew the exact moment his unwavering gaze fell on her. She knew she looked downright diminutive compared to the rows of powerful young men standing in silent, polished succession.
Her chin came up a fraction of an inch under the weight of Sasser’s stare. She was going to kick ass at this. Her plan was to separate from the pack and make a name for herself as someone other than a low-rung freshman like she’d been last year, or worse, her daddy’s daughter. Rich, entitled, and a Wyatt—the path to the future all laid out for her in a neat little row.
Sam knew what her father had in mind for her. Four years Navy, followed by business school, maybe marry one of the guys he would have vetted and approved of, then take over as the head of Wyatt Petroleum. Sam could see it all cascading, like dominoes falling one after another in perfect sync, right according to plan. Well, she wasn’t falling into lockstep just because Robert Wyatt expected her to. She didn’t believe in predestination. She believed in being her own woman, making her own calls. And taking on the Challenge was going to be the first big step toward proving it.
“This marks the beginning of a new year, cadets,” Sasser continued. “Another year in which you will be taught, tested, and refined into leaders prepared to assume the responsibilities of command, citizenship, and government. That requires the highest ideals of duty, the highest ideals of loyalty.”
And unbelievable endurance for physical and mental pressure. Sam felt her resolve harden.
“You will learn how to manage yourselves and your teams under fire, how to solve problems you’ve never encountered before, and prepare yourselves to see the world in all its guts and all its glory.”
Another year. Only this year not as a fish, broken down before they’d begun the process of being rebuilt.
“You are not only responsible for your individual success. You are responsible for the success of your platoon. Your personal development does not happen without the growth of the team. And that is why you are here today,” he told them. “You will learn what it takes to be part of the best team in Ranger Challenge history. You will find out if you have what it takes to be among the best and brightest our young military talent has to offer.
“You will persevere,” Sasser continued. “You will excel. And you will suffer,” he promised. “Beginning today, you will train every day, sometimes twice a day, for the next seven weeks. You will spend your weekends running drills and performing training exercises while your friends go to football games and parties. And at the end of the training, the top nine cadets will be selected to enter the Challenge.”
And I’ll be one of them, Sam promised herself.
“Every cadet here will have a chance to compete, but you must bring your best to the table during each and every field training exercise. And why?” he asked, holding his hand up to his ear.
“Because close is not good enough, sir!!” the cadets shouted back, chanting Sasser’s motto.
“The 10K ruck march race is one of the requirements for the Ranger Challenge,” Sasser told them. “But I like to make sure you understand what you’re getting into beforehand.” His slow smile bordered on evil. “We start with a twelve miler today. Anybody over two hours automatically disqualifies.” He lifted his service weapon and fired into the sky. “GO! GO! GO!”
Sam shifted her heavy pack and gripped her rifle, taking off in tight formation with her squad. Alejandro’s squad pulled up in front almost immediately, just in front of hers. He glanced at her as he passed, his lips pulled up in a sneer. Sam kept her head down as they raced down the road, Rita close behind.
As they broke through a clearing, Sam forged ahead, staying close behind Alejandro, keeping him sharp. She smiled grimly as he glanced over his shoulder at her—clearly pissed as she continued to keep up the pace.
Nothing will get in my way, De Soto. Sam smiled. Nothing and no one.
Chapter 3
End of August—Friday Night, Two Weeks Later
Sam’s Apartment, College Station, Texas
S A M A N T H A
Sam’s front door was practically shaking from the force of Rita’s insistent rapping.
“Open the damn door, jaina!54 I know you’re in there! Mira, I can see the light on!”
“All right, all right—I’m coming!” Sam called out, toweling her wet hair as she approached the door.
“You’d better be getting ready like I told you to,” Rita announced as she trounced into Sam’s apartment, wearing the tightest dress Sam had ever seen, complete with spiked platform heels even a porn star would have balked at. Rita looked lush and gorgeous, with cinnamon skin and roundabout curves, the exact opposite of Sam’s lithe, almost gamine frame.
She made a beeline for Sam’s kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Cuervo from her massive handbag.
“I brought lube,” Rita told her with a saucy little wink.
“I can see that,” Sam replied dryly. “I’d like to point out you’re the only chick I know who rolls with her own bottle of tequila at all times.”
“Hey, you can never be too safe at these parties, chica,” Rita replied smartly as she poured them both shots. “Have you tasted the shit these frat boys serve? Lukewarm, flat beer from God only knows where?” Rita handed Sam a glass, toasting her with a clink before knocking back the shot.
Sam eyed the glass with trepidation. She wasn’t particularly fond of tequila, but she knew better than to argue with Rita, especially when she was about to mount a much larger battle and try to wiggle out of going out with her tonight. Sam threw the shot back quickly, struggling not to wince as the liquor burned down her throat.
“Sooo, about tonight…” Sam began carefully.
Rita’s smile slipped off her carefully made-up face as she realized what was coming. “NO!” she exclaimed. “No, no, no—Samantha Wyatt, you are not standing me up for the first big party weekend of the year! ¡No mames!,55 Sam! No way!”
“Rita, think rationally,” Sam reasoned. “We’ve spent the last two weeks slogging our guts out with training, and classes have just started. We’ve both got to be up at 0500 tomorrow—”
Rita refilled their tequila shots before shoving the glass back into Sam’s hand. “Put this in your mouth and stop thinking. I don’t want to hear any of your serious, wet-blanket bullshit tonight, Sam—I mean it. I l
ove you like a sister—like my own blood,” Rita told her seriously. “But I will cut you if you leave me hanging. You do not bail on your best friend the first good party weekend of our sophomore year. You’re my wing woman for God’s sake—”
“You mean, ‘sober companion,’” Sam replied wryly. “Saving you from bumping uglies with some Sigma Tau jackass when you’ve had too much of this shit,” she said, gesturing toward the shots.
“YES! Yes. It is your job to help a sister out here!” Rita rounded the counter, grabbing Sam’s hand as she tried to drag her back to her bedroom. “You are going out with me tonight, or I will kill you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Sam drawled.
“I will go straight up hood on your ass, Sammy,” Rita threatened, working her neck and her finger. She pointed at Sam’s bedroom. “Go put a dress on—now!”
Sam sighed, running a hand through her still-damp hair. “Rita, I have to take shit seriously. This year is a game changer, and you know I want to make it onto the Challenge—”
“Goddamn, jaina, you’re the most serious bitch I know. You’re serious all the damn time! Mirar, Jesus partied more than you with the wine and shit. I will not endure another year where it’s all books and ROTC and drills all the time. I know te crees muy muy,56 but girl, you gotta lighten up—live a little,” Rita told her, eyes pleading. “Besides, what are you going to do? Leave me hanging to go to these parties by myself? If you don’t go, I can’t go. You know that.”
Sam chewed her lip. Rita wouldn’t back down. And Sam really didn’t want her going to any of the frat parties on her own. That was just an invitation for trouble, especially the first big party weekend of the year. She and Rita had made a pact freshman year they would never got to parties alone. Too many opportunities for mishaps, too much potential for danger. She was in between a rock and a hard place, and Rita knew it.
Sam crossed her arms. “I will go with you to one party—”
“Three,” Rita rebutted.
“Two,” Sam replied firmly. “And we are out of there by no later than eleven.”
“Two a.m.”
“Midnight,” Sam countered. “And that’s my final offer.”
“You’ll wear a dress?” Rita asked hopefully.
“Simmer down, hot sauce.” Sam rolled her eyes. “I’ll wear what I usually wear—jeans.”
“Then I get to do your makeup.”
“Dear God, fine,” Sam sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
*
August—Friday Night, a Few Hours Later
Sigma Tau Fraternity House, College Station, Texas
S A M A N T H A
The Sig Chapter House was a massive brick structure with gaudy neoclassical touches that would have horrified the true Greeks. It was jam-packed full of sweaty, writhing, beer-soaked underclassmen scented with body spray, patchouli, and several layers of smoke—some layers pure nicotine, and others, well, not. Sam wondered briefly if she’d be getting a contact high.
Music blared from big, black speakers stacked on top of each other like robotic towers, and the house was covered in enough strobe and blinking Christmas lights to induce a seizure. People flowed in and out of the building, spilling drinks, pawing at each other, laughing, and shouting greetings as they squeezed passed people dancing inside or mingling on the deck outside.
Sam never understood the appeal of frat parties. She’d rather drink good shit under the stars any day of the week than have some jackass rub up against her like a frisky dog. But she loved Rita, and there was no way in hell she was leaving her alone in this frenetic, pheromone-induced debauchery. She glanced down at her watch. First party down; this one was the last to go. She’d give Rita maybe another twenty minutes before dragging her out.
“Dance with me.”
Sam suppressed an eye-roll before turning around to shut down whatever drunken idiot was propositioning her now. But the tall blonde grinning at her wasn’t drunk. Plus, she recognized him.
“Chris Fields,” he introduced, blue eyes hopeful. Chris had the even-featured good looks of a farm boy and the adorable aw-shucks grin to match. Even his blonde hair stuck up adorably, like he had a couple of cowlicks he couldn’t quite tame.
Sam tilted her head back as she considered him. She had to. He was a big beast of a boy. Easily 6’5” with broad shoulders and hands the size of dinner plates. Made sense for a guy who could be drafted into the NFL one day. A linebacker, for sure.
“We’ve got Criminal Psychology together,” she said by way of introduction, surprising him. “You’re a football player, right?”
His smile moved from damn-you-make-me-nervous to yeah-right-baby-that’s-me. Chris stood a little taller, reflecting his pride at being recognized off the field. “You’re Samantha Wyatt, right?”
“Got it in one,” she nodded, a little surprised he recognized her. She wasn’t exactly known for being social. “You a member of this house?”
“Nah,” Chris shook his head, moving closer. “Just know a bunch of them. We can’t party hard in season, but I like to show my face once in a while.”
Sam glanced out at the dance floor. Rita was grinding one out with a drunken frat boy who looked like he had multiple sets of hands.
“Social—?” she drawled. “That what they call this?”
“Is she your friend?” Chris asked, watching Rita as she threw her head back and laughed hard, arm looped around the frat boy’s shoulders. There was no way that guy was that funny, so Sam figured all the tequila had finally caught up to her.
“Unfortunately,” Sam admitted, sheepish. “I’m not sure if she’s dancing or trying to get laid.”
“Probably a bit of both?” Chris replied. “Either way, it’s not a bad way to start the year, is it?” he added with a grin, that hopeful look back in his eyes.
Sam considered him with a wry smile. “I’ll give you points for boldness and optimism, Chris. But that’s about it.”
“So you won’t dance with me?”
“I don’t make a habit of dating classmates, sorry.”
“Word is you don’t make a habit of dating anybody,” he replied. “And it’s just a dance besides.”
Sam’s brows rose. “Been checking up on me, Chris?”
“You’re the one who knew I was a football player.”
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror?” she taunted. “What the hell else would you be?”
“Stereotype much?” he replied, though he looked more amused than put off.
“Is it a stereotype if it’s true?” she countered. “Besides, you’re not the only one I’ve paid attention to in that class.”
Chris’s brow lifted. “So I do have competition.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged, smiling.
“Tell me the name of this other guy, and I’ll tackle him so hard, he’ll never get up again,” Chris joked, playfully smashing his fist into his other hand.
“No one in particular—I’ve just been paying attention,” she shrugged. “Are you aware that most of our projects this year will be in groups? I figure I might as well know who’s who if my classmates are going to have a hand in determining my grade.”
“And you don’t want to partner with me because you think I’m a dumb jock?” he guessed.
“No,” Sam shook her head. “That would be an unfair stereotype. You have a high GPA from what I’ve heard. It’s just that if I do decide to partner with you on a project, I don’t want you focused on my chest instead of my mind.”
He grinned. “Now I definitely want to dance with you.”
Sam smiled at his boldness.
Chris scratched his chin as he considered her. “I never met a girl who’d reconned a room of over fifty students for the sole purpose of engineering a better grade.”
“What did you think I was doing when the TA was droning on and on about the syllabus?” she asked, brows raised.
“Guess I was kind of hoping you were drawing those little hearts and curli
cues around my name.” He drew a heart in the air with a blunt fingertip. “Chris and Samantha—forever.”
Sam smiled, enjoying the flirty banter. She liked Chris. He had a laid-back, easy-going way about him. He was clearly bright. Looking at the heavy slabs of muscles clearly visible on his broad frame, she could see he worked hard to maintain his shape and physique, so he had discipline too—a trait she admired.
“I’ve got a proposal for you,” she said after a moment.
Chris leaned closer, eyes twinkling. “Shoot.”
“You and me team up on this upcoming project.”
“Okay….?” Chris replied quizzically. “And?” he prompted.
Sam sipped her water. “We get an A, and you just might get that dance.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Samantha.”
“Call me Sam,” she replied casually. “And I prefer to think of it as a win-win.”
Chris extended his giant paw of a hand. “You got a deal, Sam.”
“Perfect.” She smiled as they shook on it. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” he protested, glancing at his watch. “It’s barely midnight.”
Sam looked over at Rita. Her friend was clearly two sheets to the wind as the frat boy groped her, both of them sloppy. “I’ve gotta rescue my friend before she wakes up with a hangover and VD.”
Chris followed her line of sight. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he agreed begrudgingly. “I can’t tell if that guy’s trying to feel your friend up or if he’s looking for loose change.”
“Probably a bit of both.”
“Can I help?” Chris offered as she stepped forward.
“Nah, I’ve got it covered. It was nice meeting you, Chris,” she called over her shoulder.
“Likewise, Sam,” he called back, grinning. “Good luck with your friend.”
“I’ll need it,” she muttered, squeezing through the crowd.
Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three Page 54