SCAR_A Dark Military Romance

by Loki Renard

  She’s staring daggers at me now. “If you say a word of what you know about what happened to me…”

  I snort as she threatens me. “What?”

  “I’ll make your life a living hell.”

  “Uh huh.”

  She’s not so cute now that she’s trying to intimidate me - ah what the hell am I thinking, of course she’s cute. She’s damn well adorable. I’d enjoy this if we were somewhere safe, where a mortar couldn’t come flying through the air at any minute.

  This is a war zone. And a dangerous one. And not just because of ISIS and the other big names people stateside recognize, the ones with the bold flags and the catchy acronyms and the surprising social media presence. This war has opened up a place for every brutal wannabe warlord in the region, and they’re in a competition to see just who can be the most vicious. Nothing is off limits in this war. I’d accuse her of being naive, but something tells me that she’s not.

  Innocence is usually appealing in a woman. This one has had every bit of innocence stripped away from her but it doesn’t diminish her beauty. It’s easy to be brave when you’re innocent. We see it all the time, rookies come in at eighteen and throw themselves into action without fear - until the first time they take a real hit and see the true face of war. Then it’s not so easy.

  This place breaks people. But I’m not sure it’s possible to break this woman. She stayed brave in the face of death. That doesn’t make her immune to it. If anything, it makes her a likely candidate. And bravery doesn’t mean shit without training, which I’m sure she doesn’t have.

  “If I take you with me, you’re going to do as I say when I say. I’m not going to argue with you. I’m not going to tolerate backtalk.”

  “Sure,” she says. “When we’re out, I’ll listen.”

  “Not when we’re out. From this second. And you’ll be bunking with me.”

  “Why?” The look she gives me is more curious than anything.

  “Because I want to keep an eye on you.”

  It’s the truth, but it’s not the whole truth. Because I’ve wondered what happened to you every day since you were choppered out would be closer, but I don’t know how she’d take to that, and I don’t even know if I should say it. Odds are she barely remembers me, and what she does remember, she probably doesn’t want to.

  She gives a shrug. “Okay.”

  I have a private CHU, which is basically a shipping container fitted out with the basics you need to not live like an animal. They stack rows and rows of these things together. Mine’s a little more private than most, but hardly luxurious. It’s going to be a little cramped with two of us in it, but aside from that we should be good.

  Mission wise, we should be okay too. I’m doing reconnaissance, mostly. We’re looking for some ways in, ways around. Informants. That sort of thing. The work I do can’t be done without local knowledge. There’s even a very remote possibility that she could help in that regard. A woman can achieve some things a man can’t, even out here in the ass end of nowhere.

  “Get your kit and come with me.”

  She does as she’s told, grabs her stuff from the barracks where they put her up. She really doesn’t have much. A single pack. That tells me she’s capable of living light. I like that about her. Hell, I like almost everything about her, not that I can express that right now.

  Mary follows me to my CHU. There’s already a spare bed in there. Most of the time these hold two soldiers. It’s not luxurious accommodation, not by a long way. Just a simple cot bed at right angles to another one, a toilet and shower at the end. I took the bed nearest the door, so she’s got the one closest to the shower by default. The only difference between them is that mine has a pair of boots beneath the bed. All my things are stashed and stacked away as per regulations.

  She sets her pack by the bed and looks at me with a well, what now sort of expression. It’s a good unspoken question. An hour ago, I figured I’d never see her again in my life. Now she’s standing in my quarters, looking healthier and happier than I could have hoped for.

  I have to restrain the impulse to hug her. Something about the threatened scowl which is hanging just beyond her expression warns me that will not be appreciated. She has a don’t touch me vibe about her which I can understand all too well.

  MARY

  He’s just… looking at me. It’s hard to read his expression, but suddenly it’s much harder for me to breathe and this little box that counts as shelter, sort of.

  I don’t know what to do with myself. Other men I just give a nasty attitude, but he’s the reason I’m alive. I owe him something. Hell. I owe him my life. He’s literally my hero. And we’re just standing here, staring at one another in a way that’s more awkward than two tweens at a dance.

  “I, uh…”

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he says at basically the same time.

  “That’s going to be a challenge,” I say. This is not a comfortable place. It’s not meant to be, I guess. It’s meant to be sufficient. And it is.

  I sink down on the bed and look at him as he stands there for a second, then sits on his too. Our knees are almost touching. He clears his throat.

  “I’m really glad to see you again, Mary,” he says. “I, er… wondered how you were getting on.”

  “Fine,” I say. “I mean, good even.”

  “Good.” He nods and slides his hands over his thighs. He has long legs, and though the motion is probably just to get the sweat and sand basically everybody is coated in out here off his palms, something about it draws my attention and makes me tingle between my thighs.

  “So I know how I got here. How did you get here? Didn’t get the impression you were in the military last time we met?”

  “Special forces,” he says.

  “Green berets?”

  “Different special forces,” he says in a tone which strongly conveys he doesn’t intend on telling me a damn thing.

  “And your last name is Ares?”

  That’s what’s written on his shirt, at least.

  “Ken Ares,” he says, extending a hand across the awkwardly small space. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Mary Brown,” I reply.

  “Uh huh,” he raises a brow and shakes his head at me. “You expect me to believe your name is Mary Brown?”

  “Well it is, so…”

  “Not your birth name though, is it?”

  “Not quite,” I allow with a small smile. I’ve changed my name several times in my life for several reasons. I like Mary Brown. It’s unassuming and sort of classical in a way. It doesn’t come with any expectations - unlike Ares. Jesus. What a name. If you married him, your name would be Mary Ares. The school girl thought runs through my head, and I banish it immediately. Women like me don’t get married. Especially not to men like him.

  Ken is a very, very handsome man. Genetics account for about half of his appeal. You can’t get that frame he has without good breeding, those long legs and broad shoulders can’t be earned. But the rest of him, that’s pure hard work and hard living. He’s worked for his muscularity, and for each of the scars he has, one running down the length of his jaw to his neck. Is that new? I don’t know.

  I have strange memories of him rescuing me. Some are so clear, little snapshots in time. Others are vague. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t in imminent danger of death. The feeling I had with him has stayed with me. I conjure it up when I can’t sleep at night, when the memories threaten to overwhelm me, I remember how it was to be held in his arms… I felt safe.

  But I was just a job to him. A job he did very, very well, but still a job. And I’m a job now, so I can’t let him see how much I feel for him. It would probably scare him away, make him hand me over to someone else.

  “You hungry?”

  “No, I was just in the mess, remember?”

  “Right,” he nods and gives me a crooked little smile. “Of course. Well, you should try to get some rest. I’ll put the AC on for you. Best to
sleep now. Morning comes quick here.”

  When we were talking outside the mess, there was that flash of dominant arrogance. It was brief and he stuffed it away, but I saw it for a second and it’s made me curious. What is this man really like?

  “I…” I take a breath “I need to thank you. For what you did for me. In Chile.”

  He inclines his head a little. “It was my job, Mary. Pleased to do it.”

  His job. Just like I thought. He’s not interested in me. Why would he be? He’s probably married to some pretty woman back in the States, with a gaggle of kids. These guys are never single, even if they pretend to be sometimes when the loneliness creeps in.

  “Well, thanks,” I mumble. I’m embarrassed, suddenly shy. I thought maybe it might have meant something to him, but now I see that’s just crazy. A man like him, he’s a perfect specimen. He deserves a perfect woman, not a broken shell of one.

  “No problem.” He flickers a wink at me, the double colored eye flashing beneath long dark lashes.

  I smile and turn my head away. It’s hard to look at him. He reminds me of everything I’ve tried so hard to forget, and everything I will never have.

  “I’ll leave you to rest.”

  “I’m not really tired. I’ll just get some work done.”

  I sit back on the bed, resting my back on the wall, and pull my laptop out. I have plenty more to write, deadlines to hit. Traveling through Afghanistan has been a hell of a journey, being handed from unit to unit. I’ve seen more than most people would want to see, and most of what I’ve written so far has been redacted heavily by command, but it doesn’t stop me from writing it in the first place.

  “I want you in bed by nineteen hundred,” he says. “You’ve got an hour.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s eighteen hundred now, more or less, so you have an hour.”

  “I won’t be sent to bed,” I say, my temper rising. “I’ll sleep when I’m tired.”

  His brows draw down. His jaw hardens. Military types are more controlling than most. They get used to being told when to shit, when to sleep, when to shower, and they have no qualms about telling anyone who they think ranks below them the same. I’m going to set him straight before he gets into the habit of bossing me around.

  “I told you that you’d do as you were told,” he says, a masculine growl in his voice.

  “Well, I’m not. You can order your soldiers around because they agreed to the chain of command…”

  “So did you. You would have signed up to it when you came as an embed. I can send your sweet little ass back stateside before you can close that laptop if you’re not careful.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I would. And I’d spank your butt before you went, too.”

  “What?” My face flushes red all the way to my ears. Did he just threaten to spank me? What the hell?

  "That’s ridiculous,” I say, my voice hoarse. Why is my throat so damn dry all of a sudden?

  “It isn’t. I’m pretty sure it would be necessary in your case.”

  Is he teasing me? I can’t tell. There’s warmth in his voice and his eyes, but I don’t know if that means he’s joking. Something tells me he isn’t.

  “Listen,” I say, drawing myself up as erect as I can while sitting on a cot bed. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but…”

  “I’m not playing at a thing,” he interrupts. “I’m giving you fair warning, letting you know how this is going to go.”

  “B… but… that’s…”

  I wish I wasn’t blushing. I wish I didn’t feel as though I was shrinking right before his eyes.

  “Never been spanked, have you.”

  He says it like it’s a fact, which it is, but I don’t see the point of it. So what if I haven’t been spanked? Is he trying to say I’m weak or something?

  “I’ve had a lot worse.”

  “Oh I know,” Ken replies. “And that’s the point. You don’t know what a good spanking is. You don’t know what it would do for you, or what the point would be. You think I’m just threatening you with violence.”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  “Not in the way other people have,” he says, his voice gruff, and serious, but also somehow comforting. “I might spank you before bed. Give you a taste of what’s waiting for you if you don’t do as you’re told.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me…” I shut my laptop and stare at him. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  He rubs his hands together and the corner of his mouth lifts in what isn’t exactly a smile.

  “I’m not kidding, Mary, not at all. You don’t want to do as you’re told, I’m going to give you a reason to. Simple.”

  “It’s not simple at all. You can’t spank me!” I truly can’t believe he’s serious. He’s talking about hitting me. I can’t believe it. I lift my laptop up and wrap my arms around it, holding it protectively in front of my body.

  KEN

  She looks scared. And cute. But mostly scared. Funny how she can land in the middle of one of the most brutal war zones in the modern world and not bat an eye, but at one threat to smack her deserving bottom she suddenly finds her fear.

  I’m not trying to scare her. I am trying to make an impression though. There’s a whole lot of ways to get through to a hard-headed brat, but spanking is the most effective by far in my opinion. Doesn’t do any long term harm, but makes a good impression physically and emotionally. Mary has been practically begging for once since we met in the mess.

  A more permissive soldier might be alright with a smart mouthed embed, but I am not that guy. My life depends on being able to assess people in an instant. I need to be able to tell if I’m in the presence of a friend, or a foe. I need to know if someone can be trusted, or if they’re a loose cannon. Over the years, I’ve developed a pretty good radar for reading people.

  Mary is smart mouthed, disobedient, and planning on being a handful for sure. I’m going to get well ahead of that and make sure before she goes to bed tonight, she knows exactly where she stands with me.

  Might seem like I’m coming down on her hard ahead of time, but that’s how discipline works in the military. You don’t wait for a problem to manifest itself. You nail that thing down hard before it gets a chance to get started.

  “Ken,” she says. I like the way my name sounds coming out of her mouth, though in her case, sir would probably be more appropriate. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”

  The back-peddling is in full swing now. She really doesn’t want her butt whacked. All the more reason to do it. Girl like her, with a history of monsters, needs to know that what I have in mind won’t be torture.

  Even though she’s trying to seem composed, her eyes are wide, and her face is pale. She’s genuinely frightened. Maybe I should back off a little.

  Extending a hand across the space between us, I pat her knee gently. “Don’t worry little girl, you’ll survive.”

  She doesn’t like that one bit. Her laptop is cast to the side as she lunges forward, spitting fire.

  “I am not a little girl,” she practically growls. “I am a woman, and you will respect my independence.”

  Nope. No chance of backing down now. Besides, if I hold off on giving her what I know she damn well needs just because I know her past, I’d be doing just what she doesn’t want, and treating her like she’s damaged.

  “You don’t have any independence where I’m concerned,” I inform her calmly. Her face is only inches from mine and she looks more beautiful than ever. Pale fear has given way to a heated flush on her cheeks. The other end of her will be an even brighter color soon. I’m now more determined than ever to give her a good spanking. She needs someone to take her in hand, settle her down. She’s brave, but it’s the kind of bravery looking for direction and a firm hand.

  “You can’t…” she splutters. “You can’t just declare yourself my owner.”

  Her words make me grow hard. Owner. Yes. I want to
be her owner. I want to possess her completely. I want to throw her down and ravage her tight little pussy, but right now she needs a spanking, and it’s a spanking she’s going to get.

  “Over my knee, little girl.”

  “Don’t you call me that,” she growls.

  This is devolving into an argument. I’m not going to tolerate a battle of wills. That completely defeats the purpose of this entirely, so instead of saying another word, I take her arm and give her a quick tug.

  She tumbles over my lap with a little shriek of surprise, her nice full ass presented adorably in the flight suit which is tight over her hips and rear. I’d rather spank her on the bare, but I don’t want to strip her naked right now. She’s frightened enough as it is. Having the padding of her clothing will dull the sting a bit and ease her into the concept of discipline.

  “Settle down,” I soothe, snugging her close to my body, one arm wrapped around her waist.

  “Let me up!”

  “Not until I’m done with you. I’m not going to spend the next month arguing with you. You’re going to learn to do as you’re told right now.”

  “Ken!”

  Oh I really love the sound of her saying my name, especially gasped in that breathy way which sounds almost as excited as it does frantic. I don’t know how she’ll take this. It could make her even angrier. It could make her break down completely. I don’t want either of those outcomes, but I can’t control everything. I just need to control her.

  I rub her bottom once or twice just to calm her down, then swat her. It’s not hard enough to seriously hurt her, but it is more than enough to get her attention. She gives a little yelp which is just damn well adorable. I want to hear it again, so I swat her again, my hard palm finding her sweet, soft bottom.

  She’s perfect. I can’t believe she’s in my arms. Well, over my lap. There’s hardly a day that’s gone by since she was taken away that I haven’t thought about her. This wasn’t what I’d planned to do with her, but turns out she needs it and I’m more than happy to give it. This is a side of me that rarely gets free reign. It’s one thing to command men and women in the field, but to dominate a spirited woman in the bedroom, that’s what really excites me.