Desert Exposure

by Zoë Normandie

  “Okay,” she whispered to herself. “What should I do now?”

  Staring at the blank page, she started typing, “Meeting with challenges here. Deployment can be tough. If you have any advice at all…”

  Advice? Jacqueline’s perky-saleswoman voice came to the front of Olivia’s mind. Make the client happy. That’s what she would say. This is a big contract. Do this right, and we are looking at huge contracts. That’s millions and millions for the firm!

  Olivia again looked at her message. Was she looking for advice? She was alone and desperate for support. Desperate to connect with anyone back home. Desperate to feel connected to her old life. To stability.

  Her finger hovered over the save button, but it quickly hit delete instead, and the whole message disappeared. She didn’t want to ask for advice from Jacqueline Hart—because she didn’t want to make the client happy.

  She wanted to make Ryder happy.

  Logging out of everything quickly, she felt her own breath become sharp and uneven. How the fuck was she going to accomplish that? How the fuck was she going to write a scathing report about SEAL criminal acts and have it taken seriously by her firm, when all they wanted to do was make the client happy? Olivia’s anxiety mounted. Her brain was running in circles.

  Then there was a knock at her door. A soft, feminine knock.

  Olivia opened the door to Daphne, the middle-aged civilian cryptographer who had the room next to hers. She was a nice woman, and a welcome sight.

  “Hi, Olivia,” Daphne began. “I’m just heading to the mess for game night. I saw your light on. Did you want to come?”

  Olivia shifted back and forth on her feet. No, I fucking don’t. “I don’t know.” But crawling into a hole wasn’t an option, and she knew staying in her room would give her mind the opportunity to spiral into a full-on panic attack.

  She looked down and saw that her outfit was perhaps too casual. Comfy drawstring pants in a dusty green were topped with a loose, gray, off-the-shoulder top. Olivia flipped her hair over her shoulder. For the first time, she’d worn it down.

  “You look perfect,” Daphne assured her. “Come on, no one cares.”

  “Okay,” Olivia said reluctantly, feeling roped in. “Just for, like, half an hour, and then early bedtime for me.”

  The pair walked together under an umbrella to the mess building, discussing the pros and cons of the SEAL cook on staff. The basic, friendly conversation, along with the calming sound of rain coming down, calmed Olivia’s nerves and settled her emotions.

  But as they approached the main door to the mess, Olivia’s bones tightened again. What if she saw the senior chief again?

  “Deployment isn’t easy.” Daphne turned to her outside the double doors and squeezed her arm in solidarity. “But it helps to let your hair down once in a while. Be human. Make friends. This might help you with your project.”

  Olivia breathed out, nodding in agreement—she hoped to god the kind woman was right. Daphne opened the right door to the mess and ushered her new friend in, over the threshold and into the fire.

  The hall was busy enough. But as she stepped a few more yards in, she felt an odd energy hitting her like an obstacle. What was she sensing? Eyes watched her subtly, not betraying much more. Junior SEALs nodded curtly, but there was a suspicion in their eyes. A doubt.

  She stirred in discomfort with the realization that something had changed. Then she saw him: the senior chief, standing at the bar in the corner of the room. Not allowing herself to or miss a beat, she averted her gaze quickly, pretending like nothing was wrong.

  But something felt really fucking wrong.

  A few civilian cryptologists waved her and Daphne over, and five of them sat together, Zach Ennis included, talking tangentially about their roles on the compound.

  “How do you find the work here?” Olivia asked Zach, trying to get her mind off the tense scene. “How are you treated as a civilian?”

  The young cryptologist took a sip of his drink, considering his words carefully. “There’s a gap, for sure, between operators and civilians. Depending on the guy, you might get treated like part of the team or you might get treated like a second-class citizen. Like the hired help.”

  “I could imagine that’s not fun.” She nodded.

  “Working for Ryder, though…” Zach locked knowing eyes with hers. She stirred at the mention of the master chief. Did he know? “He’s always got my back. Always looking out for me. He’s a different breed.” Zach narrowed his eyes in the direction of the bar. “Sometimes we make our special forces feel a little too special, and they stop feeling like the rules apply to them.”

  Olivia followed his line of sight to where Blackshot and Bruce were in the middle of a heated standoff. Chills ran up her spine. What were they arguing about? She suddenly felt nauseated and pushed away the drink that she hadn’t even touched. Alcohol hadn’t appealed to her since that last, fateful night at the mess.

  There was something very wrong with what was happening with the teams, and whatever Blackshot and Bruce were talking about didn’t look right. Had Ryder’s op gone wrong?

  The question lingered in the front of her mind, bringing back memories of his lips on hers. And, like her body sensed it before her mind knew it, Olivia’s heart jumped a thousand feet as she heard the mess door open and saw a familiar dark, protective form entering the room. She hadn’t seen him for so long.

  She’d missed the hell out of him.

  The master chief planted himself in the entranceway, not all that far from her, with his arms crossed. Butterflies began flipping around in her tummy again. Part of her couldn’t believe that she’d slept with him. That he’d wanted her back. He was so unbelievably sexy. The man looked devastating with his half-soaked kaffiyeh wrapped around his neck and his black, low-brimmed baseball hat dusted up from years of abuse. Rainwater dripped down his tanned neck and tattooed arms, which were flexed and angry.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, as she had a habit of doing when she saw a man she wanted nothing more than to devour. His gaze slowly found her, and he nodded.

  But he quickly looked away—he was targeting the bar with a determined expression full of fury.

  The senior chief.

  And suddenly, like a record screeching to a stop, a hush fell over the room. Everyone looked back and forth between Ryder and Blackshot. It was like they all knew something had happened—or was going to happen. Even Olivia felt it. The energy between them grew poisonous and explosive.

  Someone had told Ryder what happened.

  Ryder’s footsteps echoed as he made his way through the room and toward the bar, never lifting his gaze off his senior chief. Olivia knew that look—he moved like a predator ready to fight. She nearly stood up but reminded herself to play it cool. No one had to know there was anything between them. Or that there used to be.

  Or that there always would be.

  Ryder found his way in front of his senior chief and stood squarely, arms crossed again. His face had ‘fuck you’ stamped all over it. He was ready to pummel someone into the ground. And then all hell broke loose. Blackshot uttered something under his breath that no one else in the room could hear. But Ryder clearly could, because he fucking snapped.

  Olivia wasn’t sure who threw the first punch, but in a split second, the master chief and the senior chief were wildly throwing haymakers at each other—right in front of the entire room.

  Half the room jumped up, rushing in, trying to break them up. But the pair were some of the best-trained fighters. Olivia tried to cut into the surrounding crowd, but it was no use. It was fucking pandemonium. As men shouted from the sidelines, Olivia lost her ability to hear the words being exchanged between the two men.

  As she stood on the edge of the group, someone got pushed back and rocked against her. She barely caught her breath before realizing that Daphne had prevented her from falling.

  “Holy fuck,” Olivia breathed, and her eyes snapped back at the man she care
d deeply about.

  He stood a few feet from the senior chief, snarling with disgust, blood trickling down his eye.

  “And you think you deserve a Silver Star?” Ryder bellowed angrily, his voice loud enough to carry through the room. “Yeah, you are a real fucking hero.”

  It had seemed that was the last word, because Blackshot furiously marched away from his boss. The guys in the room exchanged crazed glances—no one knew what the hell was going on. Unease and insecurity plagued the troop. They looked at their leader, but he just looked over at Olivia. His eyes only saw her. She saw that protective need, but wished that no one else did.

  For his own sake.

  Her eyes ripped from Ryder’s to the form approaching her. Blackshot was moving quickly through the group.

  “You didn’t have to get fucked to fuck us over,” he snapped as he passed, looking her up and down in disgust.

  Her mouth dropped, and though it seemed that no one else had heard it, it validated every worry she had. People had started guessing. Ryder was vulnerable. And she had to protect him—especially when he wasn’t willing to protect himself.

  24

  Ryder watched Olivia slip from the mess—out the door and into the night. The place was so chaotic and loud that no one noticed.

  But he did. She was making a break for it. Alone. Ryder quickly made for the door after her. Hadn’t she fucking learned anything about walking outside alone?

  Outside, he felt the rain again. Northern Mali had received more rain in the past few days than it had all year. He had no idea which direction she’d gone, but he took a wild guess. He had tracking instincts second only to Jake Wilder, a top-notch SEAL who’d been under his command before Blackshot fucked him over.

  Around a corner, the wild guess proved accurate. He found her lurking in the darkness in a covered, dry enclave, the same dark enclave he’d pulled her into, her first day on the compound.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded as he slipped inside the crack between buildings.

  “I knew you’d follow me,” she said desperately. “We need to talk.”

  “And you need to listen.” He reached up and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Stop putting yourself in danger. I won’t always be here to protect you.”

  Her head cocked. “What does that mean?”

  Shaking the admission off, his eyes narrowed. “Olivia, stop.”

  She moved on fast, making her point, “Ryder, I’m fucking things up here for you… People know.”

  Before she could get out anything further, he reached out and tilted up her chin. He wanted to kiss her more than anything. “I don’t give a fuck. Why do I need to keep telling you this?”

  Olivia’s eyes darted back and forth as she tried to find words. Anxiety rolled off her in waves, and Ryder wanted nothing more than to quell her worries.

  She breathed out, her voice growing small, tears blinking in her eyes. “When you were gone, Blackshot questioned me about… sleeping with you.”

  “I know,” he growled, barely able to contain the viscerally furious response. “I heard.”

  “You can’t fight everyone for me,” Olivia pushed back, letting a tear fall from her eye.

  She didn’t know the half of it, Ryder thought, as he reached out and wiped the tear from her cheek. But she was right—and he didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

  “You promised me,” he reminded her. “Run with my words and take it public. Tell the world.”

  “And you said we wouldn’t do this again,” she said, her eyelashes beating up and down as she looked at him.

  “Make me one more promise, Olivia,” he said as his face came even lower, their lips just a breath apart. He could feel her want, her heat—her need. It felt incredible. Electric.

  “What?” she gasped.

  “Promise me that you won’t trust anyone, won’t talk to anyone, without me.” He ran his tongue gently over his bottom lip, assessing her plump, berry-red lips. “The fucking thought of Blackshot trying to fucking talk to you… These assholes are snakes. Promise me you won’t engage.”

  As he tried to wrap his arms around her tighter, she pushed him back, shaking her head. “Ryder, we can’t. I can’t continue to put you in this position.”

  The caring, concerned look in her eyes struck him again. Her desperate need to protect him. It was something he never felt, but he felt it from her. She made him feel like someone was on his side. Like she had his back. But she had no idea. He wasn’t going to be around much longer—he’d be lucky to outlive the deployment.

  They didn’t have much time left.

  Knowing what was coming, Ryder’s mouth hovered lower. “What if I like the position you put me in?”

  She didn’t say anything, just let him breathe down on her, her lips ready to receive his. And as his eyes bore into hers, he saw it: she doubted her own resolve. She doubted that she could follow through.

  “Ryder,” she breathed, blinking faster through her tears. “Don’t you understand? After everything you are sacrificing… I’m going to ruin it all for you. It will all be for naught.”

  Ryder felt her pain. He knew that pain. Why couldn’t they keep their promises?

  As her frustration rose and her dewy eyes locked on his, her troubled mouth was angled just right for him to take it. He needed to know it, feel it: that she was his and always would be. Maybe that made him selfish, knowing what he did, but if she was his, then she wouldn’t be anyone else’s—and that alone would protect her from what he knew lurked in the darkness, ready to attack.

  “Promise me,” he whispered. “Promise me, when I’m not around, you will stay away from these people.”

  As his hand slipped behind her head, moving her up and toward his mouth, she said, “I promise.”

  Ryder couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He kissed her. She didn’t fight. The sweetness of the connection quickly devolved into unabashed hunger. She pressed her mouth onto his, holding his jaw and his face. The redness in her eyes betrayed a woman whose emotions were spiraling. He felt it too.

  Quickly losing all control, his lithe brunette pushed him backward onto the concrete ledge behind him. Grabbing her along with him, he brought her down hard into his lap with his strong hands.

  “I can’t see you with these other guys.” He held her jaw in his hard grip, not far from his mouth. “I can’t hear what they are doing to you… It drives me insane.”

  “I know.” She climbed down from his lap and knelt on the ground.

  “Where are you—” His head felt light from all the punishment he’d been taking lately. “Shit…”

  His voice trailed off as she feverishly unbuttoned his fly. With deft hands, she quickly whipped out his hard cock. Before he could say anything, she’d already taken his length in her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. She made a choking sound, which killed him. She was deep-throating him.

  Could she be any hotter?

  “Holy fuck,” he groaned, leaning back.

  She grinned as she took in his length again and again. It felt unreal. Incredible.

  “God.” He barely recognized his own voice.

  She went up and down his dick, sucking and swirling and working every inch, literally pulling his cum to the surface. And the woman didn’t forget his balls. She was right in there. Fondling. Licking. Teasing.

  “Babe, stop,” he groaned. “Shit.”

  “Why?” she demanded with his dick in her mouth.

  “I’m going to come.”

  “Good.”

  Her head bobbed up and down even faster. He couldn’t contain himself. She was damn good at it. Maybe he lasted a few minutes. He had no idea. Whatever it was, she made short work of his orgasm. He exploded into her mouth. Like the champ of champs that he knew she was, she took it all in and drank back every last drop.

  He knew she would. Of course she would. She was no stranger to men, and she clearly enjoyed sex. That was what he loved about her.
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  “Fuck, babe. My god.” He scooped her up and hugged her tightly, burying his face into her hair.

  Bruised, bloodied, broken, Ryder had lost track of when he was due to rotate back home. Olivia was the first person who made him feel like he was going to make it, at a time in his life when he was convinced that he wasn’t. But this was a woman who wanted to take care of him. She wanted to hold him up. He was starting to feel like he could lean on her for that support. His heart warmed to the idea of having a partner in crime. He’d been taking care of everyone else for so long.

  But a glaring conflict raged between them, because she couldn’t accept him sacrificing himself for her. It didn’t matter how much he tried to explain—she never understood it.

  Maybe it was because she hadn’t taken the oath that he had: to die for his country if need be. He’d always known that in protecting others, he would lose himself. He’d accepted the prospect of death a long time ago when he enlisted, when he became a SEAL, and dying to protect the people he cared about seemed natural, inevitable, even preferable.

  He sat there, reflecting deeply into his soul, with a woman he’d once only dreamed about sitting there beside him. Neither he nor she realized just how much they were swaying, exhausted, shivering, unable to balance. It didn’t seem to matter much as long as they were imbalanced together. Holding on for dear life, he was unable to think of a future where the two of them could be together—but he was equally unable to refute the fact that he was falling in love with her.

  25

  Lying in her bunk, not wanting to face the day, Olivia pressed her nose into Ryder’s borrowed shirt. It was the only thing that dulled her incessant nausea and relentless anxiety. In the weeks she’d been in Mali, her increased ache for Ryder was matched only by her increased anxiety at her predicament.

  The only thing worse than breaking her promise to Ryder would be letting him commit suicide. And that’s how Olivia was beginning to see it.