Hard (Raw Heroes Book 2)

by S. R. Jones

  She points one long, silver ringed finger at me. “She’s one of the tutors on the course. You will be split into two groups. One group will be with me, the other with Cara. However, on occasion, we carry out joint lectures and tutorials, such as this. And, of course, you’ll all get to know one another a little better at the social next week.”

  Laura grins and I hide a grimace. The social is nothing more than the whole group taking to the pub for week two’s lesson, getting to know one another over a pint, or three. Normally, I love it. These days I can’t stand bars and pubs. Can’t stand being around people drinking. Although I do enough of it home, alone, at night.

  “If you’ll all please fill in your details on the front page of the welcome pack. Thank you,” Laura says.

  The group begins writing, heads down. Peaceful silence fills the room, punctuated only by the odd shuffle of paper or quiet cough. Moments later the door opens and a young man walks in. I take one look, and a big part of me–the freaky, easily spooked, post-attack part–hopes the guy has the wrong room. He’s the man from the lift. Not one of the idiots, but my sort-of savior. The pretty one.

  He doesn’t fit our usual cohort, so could easily be in the wrong place. He’s younger than most of our students, for a start.

  Tall, broad, and dark haired, he’s wearing faded jeans and a fleece. And for the first time, I get a proper, lingering look at him. My first impression of him being stupidly good looking holds up, and then some. His hair and skin still sparkle with drops of rain, which only serve to highlight his striking features.

  “This the class for work place trainers?” His voice sounds as if he’s smoked a pack of twenty and chased them down with a tumbler of whisky.

  “Yes.” Laura runs a finger down her sheet. “Are you…Luka Anders?”

  “Yep, that’s me. Sorry I’m late.”

  He doesn’t sound sorry. My heart sinks further as I realize this brawny, confident male does indeed seem to belong in our cozy group.

  “Take a seat, Luka. I’ll get you a welcome pack. I need you to fill in your details on the first page, and then tell us a bit about yourself on page two. You’re from a security firm, I read on your application?” Laura bustles about, grabbing the things she needs.

  “Yeah. We’re taking on trainees for a course we’re going to run, and I got stuck with being the one to train them.” Luka sits behind an empty desk, near to the front, and I can’t help but notice how much room he takes up in the cheap plastic chair. What sort of security does he do? I’m itching to know, and stop my fingers from snatching his welcome pack back from him to read his application.

  I glance down at the tutor lists, and give a silent sigh of relief when I see Luka’s name underneath Laura’s. I won’t have to deal with the man much after today. These days, I like my life simple, and easy. Calm. I like things seriously calm. I don’t need scary-but-sort-of- hot men messing up my zen.

  Five minutes later the forms are filled, and Laura asks the group to stand up and tell everyone a little about themselves. One woman is so nervous her face flushes and her voice shakes. Some are confident, others a touch unsure. But they all manage to talk about their current work roles and give us their brief work biographies. We’ve the usual mix, some librarians, a couple of adult education teachers, a young, glamorous beautician, two social works, and a solicitor. Then it comes to Luka’s turn.

  He stands, back ramrod straight, and begins to speak in his husky voice. “My name’s Luka Anders. I work for a security firm here, we do close protection work and high-end surveillance and security, but we’re also expanding into training people to do more mundane security work. We aim to give them top class skills, so they are working to a high standard. That’s where this class comes in.”

  He doesn’t sound happy about any of it.

  “And what did you do before, Luka?” Laura asks.

  “I served in the military–the Royal Marines, and then the Special Boat Service.” His chin juts a touch in pride.

  I’m not surprised taking his build, stance, and the quiet air of confidence. Not that I’m impressed. I dislike war, all wars. I’ve been an anti-war protestor for years. Proper peacenik, me.

  “You were in the army?” Sue, the lady who’d gone bright red, looks at Luka with a strange expression on her face.

  “Yes, ma’am. Although the SBS are part of the Navy.” Luka smiles down at her, dimples appearing either side of his mouth, transforming his face and stealing a little of my breath.

  “Of course. I should know as much.” Sue smiles and doesn’t say anything else.

  Now I’ve got a burning curiosity about her, and a nagging sense of attraction to Luka, despite him representing everything I dislike in a man.

  I don’t do the macho bravado thing. Even before the incident, I didn’t like those sorts of guys. I prefer my men to be intelligent, and kind. Nerdy truthfully. The opposite of the hulking specimen in front of me.

  Except in my deepest darkest recesses where my unspoken desires lurk, and I have a vague lingering fantasy about some big, strong man overpowering me. Not raping me— because I want him—but being forceful. Demanding. It used to be a favorite of mine, but since I experienced real-life male aggression, it’s not somewhere I can go. Not even in my head. And it means my fantasy life has become as dull as dishwater.

  Not that any of it matters, as Luka is a student, so even if I were attracted to him, he’d be totally out of bounds.

  I’m also not the sort of girl most men go for. I’m often the one being teased for my red hair and freckles, while the guy in question tries to impress whatever friend I am with.

  “Thank you, Luka,” Laura says, breaking into my train of thought.

  We get on with the nitty gritty of introduction week, and the time flies, keeping my mind from dwelling too much on anything.

  It’s soon time for a break, and I’m gagging for a coffee. Luka stands before any of the other students, and cracks his neck one side to the other.

  I don’t like the way my gaze seems to constantly land on him. But he keeps catching my attention. There’s something infinitely sad about his face. He’s not handsome, either, as I’d first thought. It’s much worse than that.

  When you look at him properly, he’s beautiful.

  The sort of man who could bring any woman to her knees with one lingering glance from those soulful, strange eyes of his. They looked grey when I glanced at him in the lift. Then, when he came into the room, I realized they must be blue. But as the light in the room changed in response to the sun coming out, they warmed to an oceanic green. Like those tropical seas that can’t decide if they’re blue or green.

  He unzips his hooded top and peels it from his body, revealing a blue t-shirt, cut high on impressive biceps. He waits for Sue and pulls her chair back out of the way once she’s stood, so she can more easily head for the door. Chivalrous.

  I shake my head and look away. Once in the staff room, I make straight for the drinks tray and prepare a coffee. I’m feeling a bit off center, and not in the usual, nervy way, but something different. Something not felt in a long time. Almost a sense of excitement. The sort of feeling I had as a teenager when I crushed on some newly discovered pop sensation.

  I sit and sip at my drink, and remind myself that Luka Anders isn’t some drop dead gorgeous singer. He’s everything I disdain in a person.

  If Luka were in the Royal Marines he’d have seen action, maybe lost friends, but almost certainly killed the enemy. For me, it makes all the pretty on the outside irrelevant—because I could never be impressed with someone who’d taken a life.

  The quiet of the room, and the dull ticking of the clock on the wall, soothe me as I sip at my coffee. If I take Laura up on her offer, I’ll be working in much nicer conditions than at the prison. The staffroom at HMS Wetherborne doesn’t have comfy chairs or plush carpets.

  Part of me wants to stick the prison work out. After all, it used to matter to me. The guys aren’t serious offenders
. Most of them are there for petty crimes. And I firmly believe that if you can catch those in the system for a first offence, and help educate them, you can cut recidivism rates. I have personal reasons for wanting to help. But now, my idealism is coming up against the cold, hard wall of my fear.

  Fear’s a bitch, and she’s winning.

  I head into the hallway and stop still when I see Luka stood by the window, looking out over the city. There’s a look on his face, and it’s one I’ve seen many times recently staring back at me in the mirror. I’d say it’s a look of frightened despair. He turns, sees me, and it’s gone. Wiped away, to be replaced by something like annoyance as his eyes narrow. I nod at him, and with what seems forced nonchalance, he nods back.

  Maybe I’ve got him wrong. Perhaps there’s a lot more to him than meets the eye? Or maybe I’m letting his good looks provide me with the excuse to imbue him with all sorts of false characteristics. And I’m not that girl. Not the silly, giggly girl who loses it over a guy just because he’s pretty. But he is…pretty. Drop dead gorgeous, in fact. And something else, too. Confident in the lift, haunted here in the hallway. I suppose I see something of myself in him.

  “You want a picture?”

  His voice startles me.

  “Sorry?” I’m not sure what he means.

  “You’re staring at me. I can save you the effort, give you a picture if you want?” He smirks, and in a single second the spell is broken.

  What an arrogant wanker. I shake my head, hating that I feel my face warm. “No thank you. I was lost in thought.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I didn’t even realize I was looking at you.”

  “Ok.” He smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  He’s made me feel like an idiot, and it pisses me off.

  I rein in my annoyance, and turn on my heel to head back to the classroom. I vow to not even glance his way for the rest of the day.

  Troubled by the day’s events, and my reaction to Luka, I take a back seat for the lesson. It won’t hurt to let Laura do the heavy lifting today. She loves this sort of stuff.

  I decide to focus on the student packs that have been handed in. Signing off on them as Laura takes the group through a few exercises. The familiar rhythm of the paperwork lulls my overwrought mind, and I soon re-find my equilibrium. Seven o’clock comes around, and Laura finishes the lesson with a request they all write out their future goals in time for next week.

  As everyone files out of the room, I breathe out and crank my neck side to side, wincing at the crunch of tendons.

  “Luka, would you stay behind a moment?” Laura calls out.

  I glance up, wondering what she wants with him. Luka nods, and when he’s finished shoving his pen and notepad into the sporty backpack he’s got, he saunters over to Laura.

  She smiles at him. “I’d like to talk with you. About the placement you need to do for this course. I think you’d be perfect to work with Cara, on the prisoner-education initiative.”

  Oh god! I try desperately to convey what a terribly bad idea this is to Laura, using only my eyes, but she seems willfully determined to ignore me. She rambles on, each word spiking my adrenalin levels. Telling Luka how well suited he’ll be for the class with his background, and how good it will look on his CV. I don’t want him working with me. Although, a small traitorous part of me says it might help my nerves to have a big, capable bloke like him around.

  Capable. Yeah, the word fits. He’s clearly able to take care of himself. No one tells off three men in a lift if they don’t have confidence in their physical ability.

  Perhaps, he’ll make me feel safer. More secure?

  I hate letting my brain even go there, though. I narrow my eyes at Laura and think of ways I can get out of this.

  Chapter Two

  Luka

  The men are ignoring my command to stay against the wall. They are laughing. As if this is fucking funny. The tension in the air is palpable, and Ethan points his gun right at them.

  “Give me a fucking reason. Not in the mood today.”

  I tell them again to stand against the wall and stay still. Once in English. Once in Farsi. They keep laughing.

  I hear light laughter and turn to see a group of girls playing not far from us, and my spine tingles with a horrible awareness of all the ways this situation could go to shit.

  Corporal Richmond turns to look at us, and there’s a split second of weird stillness. A momentary calm before the storm.

  A boom rings out and Richmond goes flying as the wave hits me, taking me to the ground.

  Holy fuck! I sit up in bed, hand at my throat, struggling to breathe. Not again. I’m soaked in sweat, and pissed off beyond belief. I’d kill for a drink, but my therapist said no more getting wrecked. Apparently, it isn’t conducive to getting over mild PTSD. And if this is mild, God help the poor buggers who have it bad. I should be thankful though I don’t have flashbacks in the day, just the never-ending nightmares.

  It’s too fucking early to be awake…again. But I won’t sleep now.

  My jaw cracks as I yawn and shuffle across the room to look out the window.

  There are still boxes of my stuff piled high under the window which I ought to unpack. This had been my childhood room. Luckily, it’s big and can hold a double bed, but talk about fucking depressing. Ending back where you started.

  I need to get out of here, so I think I’ll go for a run. Anything to shake off the lingering dream. Christ, my life sucks. I’m horribly tempted to go downstairs, open the cupboard where I know the brandy resides, and drink the whole fucking bottle, but then I’ll be back to square one, and all the work I’ve done will go down the drain. I’m not an alcoholic or anything, and still have the odd pint, but I used to get smashed to stop the nightmares. It worked, too. Pass out cold and you can sleep until dawn. Now I run and lift weights to get the same level of pass-out sleep. Doesn’t work.

  I eye my clothes critically. I decide to wear my black trousers, a white shirt, and the only pair of smart shoes I own. I hate dressing up, but today amounts to the first day at a new job. Sort of.

  I’m helping Cara Toulson at the prison as part of my adult education class. Fuck me, but when I agreed to go and work with my friend and fellow Special Forces comrade, Liam, I hadn’t envisioned doing shit like this.

  “Come and work with me, Luka,” he says. “It pays extremely well. High end security, right up your street.”

  Then he drops a fucking bombshell about training a load of glorified bouncers on the side.

  I’d asked Liam why the hell me? He’d said I had the smarts, and an easy way with people…when I tried.

  Which made me ideal to run this little side show. Part of me is flattered. But part of me can’t stick going back to school for a bit of paper saying I’m qualified to train someone how to defuse a fight safely. I could train someone to kill, never mind stop a drunken dick from punching his mate because they’ve both had a skin full.

  I didn’t argue though. Liam’s done me a massive solid. The job pays a shit load, and although I’ve got plenty of money right now, I need to think about Poppy and Sally. If it were only me, I could fuck around for years and still be well off, but Poppy, she deserves the best after her start in life.

  For the sake of those I love, I need to make a good impression today, especially after giving Ms. Toulson a bit of a mouthful the other day.

  It was weird though, the way she’d stood staring at me, all zoned out. I’d been lost deep in my own thoughts, dark thoughts, and hadn’t appreciated the focus on me. And if I’m honest, part of the reason I didn’t like her watching me while I relived some not too nice memories is because of how beautiful she is. I’d noticed her the first moment I saw her in the lift, looking like the damn thing was going straight down to hell.

  Terrified. Of a lift. Girl’s got issues, but then, who am I to judge?

  She isn’t hot or sexy. She’s way past those base descriptions. I’ve never seen a girl
who looks like her. Long red hair. Natural—I’d put money on it. Pale skin, but not that white skin redheads normally have. She had a hint of a faint tan. Freckles on her nose and cheeks. Then those eyes. Fuck me, her eyes. So blue. The sort of blue poetic types would compare to summer skies or some such shit. All I know is they are the most arresting eyes I’ve ever seen.

  To find them trained on me while I had a bit of a moment pissed me off, and so I ran off my big mouth.

  A short rap on the door makes me jump. Still skittish from the nightmare, I shake my head at the overreaction. Get a grip, Anders, or you’ll make a twat of yourself today.

  I cross the room to pull the door open.

  “No need to knock, sis. As I keep telling you.”

  Sally arches one perfectly shaped brow. “Can I help it if I’m still scarred from that time I found you in here shagging two women? I never want to see anything like that again.”

  I flush. That had been a dick move. I used to fuck around, a lot. When I first got out of the hospital, mostly. I never brought it back here, except for the one night. Just my luck my sis walked in on me. Could have been worse, though. Could have been my niece. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve packed it in, and got a lock on the door.

  Well, that, and my therapist thinks casual sex is a form of avoidance, like the alcohol. I don’t know myself, I don’t go through life analysing each bit of shit I do. But she’s paid to, so I try to listen to her. Now I’m a fucking monk. My only pleasure is working out until I can’t think, and losing myself in a good book.

  Sally crosses the room and blows out a long breath. “I hate you having to live in your old room. You should take Poppy’s room, and let Poppy have this one. Hers is bigger. You need more space.”