Bound to Break: Men of Honor, Book 6

by SE Jakes

  Chapter Three

  Several hours later, after Lucky had passed out, Dash stared at the clock and wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. Never thought he’d be this close to anyone from this SEAL team. Now that he was, his entire mission seemed to have taken a hard shift to the right, and he was barely holding on.

  He slid out of bed, dragged on his jeans and shirt and left the apartment barefoot. Nate was waiting outside the closed bar. The retired SEAL was smoking a cigarette, held the pack out to Dash, who took one, lit it and watched the smoke float around them.

  Since he only allowed himself to smoke after sex, he’d practically quit. And, since he couldn’t count using his hand for sex. If he did that, he’d have a hell of a habit.

  “You checked me out?” Nate asked finally. “Because if you have that kind of clearance, you’re CIA.”

  Dash didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Didn’t have to.

  It didn’t matter. “I came here for vacation. Can’t fucking believe I stumbled on this shit. I’ve got enough to do,” Dash told him instead.

  Whether Nate believed that or not wasn’t Dash’s concern.

  “I came here to surf,” Nate said. “My other former teammate—Uncle—he’s meeting me here in the morning. Was supposed to come to surf too but…”

  Dash recalled reading that the two men—Uncle especially—were excellent surfers. Uncle’s injuries to his arms had made it difficult but not impossible to continue doing so. And there was a surfing competition happening here in the next week, so it was either a brilliant cover story or the truth. Dash knew from experience that sometimes those things were one and the same. “Guess this throws a wrench into those plans.”

  “Little bit,” Nate agreed. “You think Josh really has amnesia?”

  “I can’t be sure of anything except for the fact that he’s definitely Josh Kent.”

  “I already told you that.” Nate sounded sad and disgruntled at once.

  Dash also had Lucky’s fingerprints that matched those of Josh Kent—he’d sent those to his supervisor an hour before—but he didn’t tell Nate that.

  He wanted to shake Lucky, to pin him to the car and ask him why the hell he’d come here, near Dash’s family. Wanted to torture the shit out of him to get him to admit what Dash wanted to hear.

  Except he didn’t know what the hell it was that he wanted Lucky to say anymore, because somehow, in the space of mere hours, he’d started feeling like Lucky was innocent. And at this point, Dash’s gut feelings wouldn’t be taken into account by the Navy, so instead of blowing his mission, he simply told Nate, “Josh’s freaked out. He didn’t come out and say it, but if he can’t remember anything…”

  “Yeah, I mean, if he knows enough to realize that he’s missing memories, missing everything, that’s got to be scary as hell,” Nate said.

  Dash flashed to Lucky’s face and how panicked he’d gotten when Nate had confronted him. By all accounts, including Emme’s, he wasn’t violent but rather a consistently calm guy. “Time’ll tell. If he’s playing us, he’ll reveal himself sooner or later. No one’s that good.”

  “Not even you?” Nate asked.

  Dash pressed his lips together, then told him, “Might want to let the Navy know you’re bringing him in. Up to them if they charge him with UA or Desertion.”

  “Fuck.” Nate took another drag of his cigarette. “I’ll report it now. Unless you already did.”

  “You gave me the time. Figured I’d let you do the honors.”

  Nate stared at him. “Why’re you doing this?”

  Dash thought about lying. About giving some blithe answer and walking away. But his body reacted fiercely and he lunged at Nate, grabbed his collar. Told him, “Because you’re all too close to my family for goddamned comfort. And if you’ve got any plans, I’ve got your teammate.”

  Nate stared at him, his expression pained. “You’re definitely CIA.”

  Nate’s words didn’t require an answer, and Dash wouldn’t have given one anyway.

  Nate shook his head slowly, said, “It’s you. You’re the agent who escaped before we infiltrated and got captured ourselves.”

  Dash let go of him and continued to keep his mouth shut. He’d said what he needed to.

  But Nate hadn’t. “Touch Josh and I’ll kill you. Because his capture came when he was rescuing your ass. And that’s all you need to know. Other than that, I get it. I get it all too well.” Nate turned and walked away without looking back, and yes, of course he’d understand. Lucky—Josh—would be considered a criminal until he could prove he wasn’t.

  Finding him alive was only the first step, and the rest of the flight could be a steep drop down for all of them.

  He went back into the house. Lucky still slept, curled around the pillows, and the spot Dash had vacated was still there. He swallowed hard and parked himself in the chair under the window instead. Flicked through the TV since he was too worked up to sleep… and was proven wrong when he woke with Lucky standing over him, talking to him quietly and calmly.

  The screams he’d thought were coming from the TV had been his.

  “Fuck. Fuck,” he ground out and pushed a trembling hand through his hair. The nightmare came rushing back to him in seconds, the road, the jungles, seconds before he and Jim had been grabbed.

  He’d woken up just after they’d shot Jim. And he hadn’t had this—or any nightmare—in years. He always slept without issue, could only blame the proximity of the man who may or may not be threatening his family.

  If he closed his eyes, he could see the writing inside the file.

  Josh Kent is an excellent liar.

  He also had no firearms or weapons, at least none Dash could find. And even though Lucky himself was a deadly weapon, and he seemed to know it on some level, he also seemed not to like it.

  So if Josh Kent was still an excellent liar, Dash would be better. He’d slept with men and women for the job, never had qualms, never worried about them. And he certainly never got attached.

  With Lucky, he was four for four, and he couldn’t do anything about it except let Lucky feed him sips of water, wipe him down while he was sweating and putting blankets on him when his skin got clammy.

  “If you didn’t want me to stay in here with you, could’ve just told me,” Lucky said. “You shouldn’t have to sleep in a chair in your own room.”

  “Wasn’t that. Wasn’t you,” Dash said and realized he wasn’t lying.

  Lucky was staring at him in the partial darkness, his head tilted like he was trying to get a read on Dash. “I’m trying not to take it personally, but it’s not easy.”

  “You don’t have nightmares?”

  “I don’t dream,” Lucky admitted. He pursed his lips together for a second, like he was worried about what he’d said.

  “Never?”

  “No, never. What’s it like?” he asked.

  “Well, obviously, that one I just had wasn’t good.”

  “Yeah, right. Sorry. Look, I’ll just go back into my room and…”

  My room. Not the other room, but my room. Like he belonged there. Because he so obviously did.

  “You can stay here,” he said. Lucky hesitated and Dash stood, pointed to the bed. “I want you to stay here.”

  Lucky nodded, climbed back under the covers and Dash followed. Knew he’d never go back to sleep tonight, no matter how tired he was.

  Lucky put his arms around Dash and pulled him to his chest. Rubbed a hand through his hair.

  “Dreams are like…they’re tough for anyone who doesn’t like to lose control. Because even if it’s a good dream, you want to live it, and you can’t. You’re you in the dream, but it’s like watching yourself as you hover above.”

  “Like Ebenezer Scrooge, when the ghosts of Christmas let him look at different times in his life, and he’s yelling at himself but no one can hear him?” Lucky asked.

  “Yeah, exactly like that.”

  Scrooge had always been Emme’s favorite Christmas
movie. The family had to endure it a million times during every holiday season, and there was a fondness in Lucky’s voice as he’d talked about it.

  How good did you have to be to fake that kind of shit?

  Because telling Dash he didn’t dream wasn’t exactly a slip—not really. It happened sometimes with head injuries, for sure. But telling Dash was a slip—it let him know Lucky realized he was missing things, that Lucky was just waiting for this moment to happen, for his past to catch up with him.

  In a few hours, it would be time to deal with all sorts of consequences. For now, Dash buried his head against Lucky’s chest and pushed a hand between the man’s legs. Maybe sex didn’t always make everything better and maybe it did, but it had been too good before not to chance it.

  “Your pictures became my dreams,” Lucky told him in the dark. “Jesus, I sound stupid. Blame it on the drinks.”

  “That’s a hell of a compliment, Lucky.”

  “How is it possible to feel close to someone you’ve never met?”

  “And now that you’ve met me?” Dash asked, didn’t expect the answer he got from a soft-spoken Lucky.

  “As good as I thought it’d be.”

  Even as the warning bells rang in Dash’s head, he ignored them. Pushed them aside because he didn’t want to admit what the hell he was feeling.

  Maybe it’s only because you know what he’s been through.

  “You’re going to leave soon.” It wasn’t a question.

  “My job doesn’t let me stay in one place for long,” Dash said.

  “I love it here.”

  That was obvious. So much so, it made Dash ache. “It’s hard to leave.”

  “So you don’t visit often because of that?”

  “I think that’s probably it.”

  “Your parents come back the day after tomorrow,” Lucky told him. “I’m betting Emme’s already sounded the horn that you’re here.”

  Dash smiled. He was sure of that too. The fact that Dad was traveling meant he was in better health than he’d been last year. “Were you around when Dad had the heart attack?”

  Lucky’s face darkened. “I heard your mom yelling. I was in the storeroom. He was on the floor of the bar. He wasn’t breathing.”

  Dash stared at him. “You saved him.”

  “I did what anyone would’ve done.”

  That wasn’t true, but Dash’s throat was too tight to get the words out. He lay there in silence until he could tell Lucky, “I didn’t even know Dad had a heart attack until he was through surgery. They called but I was unreachable.”

  “They know the opportunities you get are once in a lifetime. They’re so proud of you. Sometimes, I think they might be more excited than you about your jobs.”

  “You took care of my family. I was supposed to be there.”

  “You couldn’t be. So I was.”

  “I can’t ever thank you enough for that.”

  Lucky stared up at the light patterns on the ceiling. “I’ve been thinking about how there’s a reason for everything. How we ultimately end up exactly where we need to be.”

  “How’d you end up here?”

  “You want to see if my story’s different from Emme’s?”

  Dash laughed. “Touché.”

  Lucky stroked a hand down Dash’s bare arm. “No tattoos. Pretty rare.”

  No one had fucking touched him like this in forever. Goddammit, it felt good. He’d forgotten how much he’d needed a touch—a kind response from someone who gave a shit. “You don’t have any either.”

  Lucky frowned. “Yeah. Just didn’t seem like my thing.”

  Dash swallowed hard, because he knew why there wouldn’t be. Most operators didn’t like to have any distinguishing marks, anything that would make them recognizable. They needed to be masters of disguise, able to blend in anywhere and everywhere.

  Knowing more about Lucky than Lucky himself did about his life made Dash melancholy. Made him rethink his whole plan, especially when Lucky rubbed his shoulders.

  Dash stretched gratefully onto his belly, not expecting Lucky to answer his questions. When Lucky said, “I don’t remember anything before washing up on the beach and Emme finding me,” Dash fought not to turn around and study his face.

  Instead, he asked, “Did you talk to the police?”

  “No. I went to the hospital—Emme insisted I go to be checked out—and I convinced the doctors that I got disoriented on a night swim, that I was new to the area. That I’d been in an accident days before, and when I wouldn’t talk about the marks on my back, they stopped asking.”

  “But you really have no memory.” Dash turned. Lucky was still half straddling his hip. “That must suck.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Must be scary.”

  Lucky smiled a little. “Don’t know why I’m telling you. Maybe because I want you to know I’m not here to hurt your family. I’m not some crazy drifter. Then again, I might be. Or maybe this is the first steady job I’ve ever had. I think about that sometimes. I could’ve been anyone.” He didn’t mention Nate or the Navy, but that had to be weighing on his mind.

  It was never an official mission for Dash to keep an eye on the three SEALs. But to Dash, it couldn’t have been more personal. Because they were set free three days after Josh “died”. And that had never made any sense to Dash. From the transcripts he’d read, it hadn’t made any sense to Nate, Uncle or Rex either.

  But Dash couldn’t not believe Lucky. “Sometimes it’s easier to tell a stranger.”

  “Sometimes you didn’t feel like a stranger.”

  Lucky leaned down and put his mouth on Dash’s then, as his hand slid in between Dash’s ass cheeks and the other in between their bodies to circle Dash’s cock.

  He’ll never forgive you for what you’re doing to him.

  And Dash would never forgive himself if he didn’t do his job.

  Chapter Four

  Four months away on a mission with Rex at the helm of the team, and Sawyer hadn’t been able to do more than catch a quick touch with his CO and lover. Things were strictly professional on that front, as professional as anything that was life or death could be.

  But now, that professionalism was driving Sawyer crazy. Had been, ever since the plane landed at 0400 and he’d had to wait through the past ten hours to get his physical and finish debriefing.

  Finally, he’d gone home and dumped his stuff. Headed for Rex’s, and got there before him. He’d pulled his car into the garage, which he’d taken to doing so no one would notice he was at Rex’s more often than not.

  When the man walked in two hours later, Sawyer didn’t hesitate. Jumped him, and Rex grabbed his thighs as he maneuvered Sawyer against the wall, kissing him while he dumped his bag and his keys, the two of them half laughing at how needy they both were.

  It was a good needy, though. After all this time of being focused solely on their work—and the mission had been fucking spectacular on their end—to be able to spend this time getting to know each other again was all Sawyer wanted.

  “Missed you,” he murmured against Rex’s mouth. He realized that sounded ridiculous, as he’d woken up next to the man for the past hundred and twenty-one days. But even though they got to know each other on a totally different level every time they went on a mission together, they also lost the romantic piece of their relationship.

  It was no different than a long-distance relationship. But reestablishing their intimacy definitely had its perks.

  Rex kept kissing him even as he stripped his shirt and tags, did the same for Sawyer before half carrying, half dragging him over to the couch. He must’ve decided he didn’t have the room he needed there, because Sawyer found himself on his hands and knees on the rug, his cargos pulled down roughly, and oh yes, Rex’s tongue inside him, taking him, holding him open and helpless.

  He rocked back and forth, his dick rubbing nothing but air. He went to grab it but Rex pulled his face away long enough to tell him no before going back to
his torture.

  “Fuck, Rex, come on…I need to…”

  Rex pulled his face away again and before Sawyer could finish his statement, Rex was pressing his cock inside Sawyer. He must’ve lubed up while he was licking Sawyer, because the slide in, while tight, was eased by the slickness. And Rex wasn’t being gentle, probably couldn’t be, any more than Sawyer couldn’t help but slam back into him.

  His eyes watered and he cursed. Drew a deep breath. Rex’s hand went to the back of his neck and then rubbed the center of Sawyer’s back, between his shoulder blades, forcing him to relax.

  Soon, Sawyer’s body had adjusted enough for Rex to begin fucking him in earnest. He grabbed Sawyer’s cock—finally—and began to stroke it in tandem with his thrusts.

  He’d been about to yell Rex’s name loud enough to wake the goddamned neighbors—as usual—when the now-familiar ringtone of Rex’s phone began to chime. Rex froze and cursed, then rubbed Sawyer’s back gently before he extricated himself to take the call.

  He always took the calls from his former teammates in another room, but even though the phone stopped ringing while he was on his way to the kitchen, Rex still kept walked away, muttering, “This better be fucking good.” And, no doubt, redialing.

  In the meantime, Sawyer sat back on his heels, ass and dick aching, his skin chilled from the loss of contact. It seemed like hours before Rex came back, and when he did, it was fast. So fast, Sawyer didn’t see him coming, couldn’t ask if everything was okay, because Rex was rocking against him again, but he wasn’t hard anymore.

  Sawyer rose onto his knees again and leaned against the man’s chest. “’S’okay,” he murmured. In response, Rex took his cock in hand again and stroked Sawyer until his balls tightened with the threat of the imminent orgasm. And Sawyer needed it so badly, he didn’t try to pretend that it would’ve been okay if Rex had stopped everything.

  “I’ve got you, Sawyer. Come on, show me how fucking much you missed me,” Rex told him in that low, gruff, commanding voice Sawyer had grown to love. He came all over Rex’s fingers, spurting over his own belly and chest, a short, exhausted laugh shuddering through his body at the same time as the release.