Battle It Out

by Reese Knightley

  Battle It Out—(Code of Honor book Six)

  Copyright © 2021 Reese Knightley

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Warnings

  Please be advised that this book is intended for adult readers age eighteen and older due to sexually explicit content, language, and violence. Trigger warning: graphic violence, off the page mention and flashbacks of domestic and child abuse trauma.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This is a work of fiction and should be treated as such.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Art: Reese Dante reesedante.com

  Disclaimer—Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  Editing provided by Heidi Ryan of Amour the Line Editing

  Interior Design and Formatting provided by

  Stacey Ryan Blake of Champagne Book Design

  Copyright and Trademark Acknowledgments: All products/brand names/Trademarks mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  CODE OF HONOR EPIGRAPH

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  OTHER BOOKS BY REESE

  SNEAK PEAK of Ricochet

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Worse than telling a lie is spending your whole life living true to that lie.

  —Robert Brault

  Infinity—A US Army Special Forces, Black Ops, top secret military unit that provides help, domestic and foreign, and answers only to the Secretary of Defense.

  Fury—US Army, Black Ops, specialty unit that provides assistance when ordered by the Secretary of Defense.

  Training facility, California.

  Exact location unknown

  Zane

  “Call it!” the captain ordered over the mic.

  Nothing but the slight crackle of silence followed the command and Zane wiggled the small bit of plastic tucked into his ear to check if he had mic failure.

  “Brewster!” Captain Stone snarled into the continued silence.

  “Clear,” Brewster finally hissed with a touch of irritation.

  Zane pushed Miller into the training facility’s stairwell with a hand on his shoulder. Gun oil and metal failed to mask the man’s nervous sweat.

  “You’ll be fine.” Zane pulled Miller around, repositioned his vest, and tightened the Velcro straps before pointing him toward the stairs. “Up we go.”

  Miller shifted beneath the tactical training gear, clutched the high-tech laser rifle to his chest, and took the stairs upward.

  “Now?” Miller whispered when they reached the door at the top level.

  Zane cracked his neck where a kink had been growing and gave Miller the okay with a quick nod. The brown-haired, brown-eyed, twenty-seven year old gave him a cheeky grin.

  “Don’t get cocky,” he warned before gesturing at the door. Miller may have aced his tests, but his tactical abilities had yet to be assessed.

  Miller eased open the door and went through it in a crouch. Zane followed, doing a quick perimeter check. The dimly lit obstacle course overflowed with empty wooden boxes, black rubber tires big enough to carry a semi-truck across the country, and stacks of empty pallets reaching to the ceiling.

  Several dark, gaping doorways lined the far wall and Zane automatically stepped behind a stack of pallets.

  When Brewster had given the all clear, it provided him and Miller time to come up with a game plan to take out the opposite team.

  Two seconds later, the sensor over Miller’s heart lit up with a bright yellow light. The activated sensor on his vest detected a direct hit.

  “Son of a bitch!” Miller gaped, gazing down in disgust and then across the room where Sergeant Holden Wreck pointed a training weapon at him.

  Holden gave Miller a smirk. It wasn’t a pleased smirk, but more of a what the fuck? Shaking his head, Holden pulled up his weapon and disappeared back the way he’d come.

  “Call it,” Zane ground the words out. Mother fucking fiasco. All clear my fucking ass!

  “Group up, now,” Maddox snapped.

  “I fucked up,” Miller whispered with a grimace.

  “No, you didn’t,” he said from between his teeth, his gaze a laser focus on the door.

  The second Brewster entered, Zane went for blood. He clutched Brewster’s throat and slammed the fuck-up against the wall. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, covering them both.

  Fingers clawed at his wrist. Hands yanked at his own, but Zane felt nothing beyond the throat in his grip and the hot rush of his blood thundering in his ears.

  The yellow light flashing over Miller’s heart mocked him. Miller would be dead if this had been a mission and all because Brewster had been distracted with fuck knows what. That pissed him off further and he squeezed, power lifting the asshole up the wall.

  “Help,” Brewster gasped, clawing and kicking when his feet left the concrete floor. It wouldn’t do any good to struggle, he had about three inches and a good twenty-five pounds on the fucker.

  “I’m okay,” Miller said on a rush of words and clutched both hands around his bicep, but Zane wasn’t done choking the fuck out of Brewster.

  Through a hazy red fog, Captain Maddox Stone’s “Oh shit!” came through the mic.

  He didn’t fucking care. All he pictured was that flashing light where Miller’s heart was.

  Where Isaac’s heart could have been because Miller was a stand-in for Isaac. And Brewster’s fuck up could have cost him Isaac—and that couldn’t be allowed.

  “Sergeant Gannon, stand down!” Maddox snapped, now close to his ear.

  Sucking in a hard, savage breath, he used every ounce of self-discipline to unclench his hand and toss Brewster to the ground. The man hit the concrete with a loud crack
and toppled over onto his side, wheezing for air.

  Something hard and plastic toppled from Brewster’s pocket and landed with a slight crack on the ground.

  Zane stared in disbelief at the cell phone. A dating app winked up at him with some person named Miss Kitty displaying her attributes in a skimpy red bra.

  Maddox saw the app at the same time and blocked him when he started forward.

  “I’ll handle this,” Maddox warned softly.

  Miller, though, turned on Brewster. “You’re fucking surfing the internet during recon training?”

  “It’s not for real,” Brewster spat, getting to his feet, fists clenched.

  Zane could see it in the asshat’s eyes, Brewster wanted a piece of him.

  “Give it your best shot.” Ice dripped from his words. “You’ll only get one.”

  “Brewster, you’re out.” Maddox pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “What?” The guy had a moment to look amazed, as if he hadn’t expected to be removed.

  Apparently, the motherfucker hadn’t thought of anything past getting a hard on for some online date. Did Brewster seriously think he could get away with that during training for a shot at their team? A Special Forces unit that only accepted the best of the best?

  “Christ,” Zane muttered.

  “Are you kidding me?” Brewster gaped up at Infinity’s captain.

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Maddox’s tone changed, dropping low and lethal.

  Nobody moved as Brewster grabbed his cell from the floor, rolled to his feet, and stomped from the training area.

  Sweat soaked Zane’s shirt, the weight of his tactical gear and vest only making the room feel hotter. The whole facility normally ran warm, but today, the massive fans didn’t appear to be doing their job. His back hit the wall with a thud and he tore out his earpiece and unstrapped his vest.

  “You’re dismissed, Sergeant Miller,” Maddox said.

  “Sir,” Miller replied and left the room.

  “I don’t know how Brewster got past the first round of cuts,” he muttered. Swiping a sleeve at the sweat running into his eyes, he followed Maddox down the stairs and out of the gray metal building.

  “He tested high on the physical side.”

  “And low on the brains.” Zane sucked in the crisp morning air, enjoying the slight breeze that swept through the small Army base. The base housed about a hundred soldiers at any given time.

  Maddox chuckled and dropped into step walking across the asphalt to the main building.

  “Oh hey, congratulations on your promotion, Master Sergeant.”

  “Thanks.” Zane gave a rueful smirk.

  Moving from Sergeant First Class to Master Sergeant came with a whole host of new responsibilities.

  Isaac

  One man’s history either defines him or sets him free.

  Well, wasn’t that just poetic, he snorted under his breath and hunched his shoulders beneath his heavy jacket.

  He twisted and then pulled a loose string from the army green material. Shifting in the seat of his SUV, he tried to ease the ache growing in his ass after an hour of sitting.

  A silver sedan lurched into the driveway of the light gray-colored house that sat across the street, one house up from where he’d parked.

  Just in case, he slouched further down into his seat, keeping his gaze locked on the visitor. The medical worker emerged from the car carrying several grocery bags. The nurse wore a brown bun set low on her neck and blue scrubs. She’d been hired by his brother and seemed capable enough.

  The front door opened and an older woman emerged. She carefully shuffled her way to the top of the steps with one hand clutching the railing. She appeared frailer than he’d remembered.

  Impatiently, he pulled his buzzing cell phone from his pocket and tucked it against his ear.

  “Thorne,” he said, keeping his eyes on the older woman.

  The pale pink housedress fluttered in the slight wind before settling at her knees, and matching slippers covered her feet. Good, at least this time, she wore shoes.

  “Meet me at the shooting range,” his brother said.

  “I need to pick up the food for the party,” he answered, eyes still locked on the front porch.

  “That’s not until tomorrow.”

  “I have to get the deli stuff.”

  “Go shooting with me and I’ll help you with the shopping.”

  “Where?” He hitched the phone higher between his chin and shoulder, gripping the wheel.

  “What do you mean where?” Dillon asked, the frown in his brother’s tone coming through clearly over the phone.

  His mother smiled at the woman and reached for the bags, but the nurse waved her away.

  “Sometimes, we meet at the range by the colonel’s place and sometimes at the general’s house,” he responded absently.

  “The general’s house? Don’t you mean my house?”

  “I guess.”

  He shifted higher in his seat for one last look as the nurse entered the house. His mother would follow and lock the door.

  “So?” Dillon was growing impatient.

  “K.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Nowhere.” He sat up fully, turned the key in the ignition, and the engine purred to life.

  At the noise, she glanced his way, doing a double take and eyes widened when they locked with his.

  He slammed the SUV into drive and peeled out.

  His only fuck up was that he had to drive past her house to get out of the cul-de-sac.

  With her hands covering her mouth, her gaze never wavered from his. He snarled past the lump growing in his throat.

  “Isaac?” Dillon’s voice came from a distance since the phone had slipped. “What’s going on?”

  He floored it, racing past his mother in the pale dress until she was nothing but a small speck in his rearview mirror. He juggled the phone back to his ear.

  “Nothing. I’ll see you at the range.”

  He ended the call and dropped the phone. It cracked against the plastic cup holder and bounced to the passenger side floorboard.

  Unclenching his aching fingers from the wheel, he sucked in several deep breaths and swallowed until the knot lodged in his throat eased.

  Although frail, she appeared well. He should have said something, anything. He should have stopped and at least gotten out of the car to say hello.

  Nah, he couldn’t do that. Just picturing the blackened hallways and cracked floor tile inside the normal looking house made the breakfast he’d eaten that morning threaten to come up. The phantom odor of mold and Old Spice permeated the cab and he pulled over.

  Jumping from the SUV, he hunched over and heaved up the contents of his breakfast into the gutter.

  Zane

  Isaac Thorne’s home was under siege and the gothic looking guy barring him from entry was seconds away from a beat down.

  “Who are you?” Goth guy said with his hand on the door, keeping it from opening farther.

  Music blared, head banging loud, matching the punk’s attitude. With suspicious, dark eyes, the guy kept his skinny ass in the doorway.

  “Fucking Christ,” he muttered, feeling the headache starting behind his eyes.

  “We come with gifts.” Dillon held up a six pack of beer.

  Zane slapped a hand flat against the open door with a loud crack and the annoying twerp jumped, but didn’t budge. It was laughable that the guy thought he could keep two Special Forces soldiers from entering the house, and he resisted the impulse to punch the punk in the nose.

  “Bart, let them through.” Isaac’s voice drew his gaze like a magnet.

  “God damned right you’re going to let us through.” He scowled through the quick rush of relief at Isaac’s appearance and pushed his chest into Goth guy’s face, causing him to stumble back and scramble out of the way.

  With cool blue eyes and light blond hair, Isaac attracted attention whenever he entered a room. Or may
be it’s just my attention.

  Three years ago almost to the day, Isaac Thorne had walked into his life, but it was one year ago that his life had been permanently altered when Colonel Liam Cobalt had gotten the insane idea to pair him with Isaac in the field.

  During missions so long it’d make a man forget what sleep felt like, Isaac had kept him awake with one snarky comment after another. Right now, though, the snark was missing and so was the light teasing he’d become used to and even looked forward to hearing.

  Dillon handed him the six pack of beer, breaking him out of his fixation, before stalking the few steps into the living room. Once there, Dillon snapped off the head banging music, pretty much oblivious to the complaints from the party.

  “Peace?”

  Zane stepped forward holding out the beer, and the normally talkative soldier seemed to be at a loss for words.

  “It’s your favorite, remember?” He quirked one eyebrow.

  “Yes,” Isaac said. A smirk curled the corner of his mouth before his lips pressed tightly into a flat line. Damn it, there went the light from the room.

  “Dillon.” Isaac threw up his hands, turning on his brother. “This is my party. Don’t turn off the music, just pick something else if you don’t like it.”

  “Who’s he?” The gamers in the room glared at Dillon.

  “Dillon, meet the room.” Isaac raised a hand and swept it around. “Room, meet my older brother.”

  A collection of ooh’s and ah’s ran around through the group of gamers crowded in the den.

  “And this is Zane.” Isaac waved a hand at him.

  He scowled at the group of gamers, silently daring them to ooh and ah at him. They hastily glanced away.

  “Be nice,” Isaac scolded him, that teasing lilt like a blast of sunshine.

  “I am nice,” he grumbled, thrusting the bottles at Bart. “Make yourself useful.”

  Glaring, Bart clutched the rattling six pack and made for the kitchen.

  Zane slowly scanned the rooms closest to him; first the den and then the hallway. No signs of the boyfriend, and one of the reasons Isaac remained mad at him. There had to be more reasons, but fuck if he knew what they all were.