Battle It Out

by Reese Knightley

“We don’t normally meet like this under one roof,” Liam began. “Mostly, because it’s dangerous for us all to be in one spot, but also because keeping the lot of you in line is a full-time fucking job.”

  He laughed along with the rest of the room and when Isaac slipped his hand into his, he linked their fingers and slightly turned his head to run his eyes over the love of his life.

  To say that Isaac was gorgeous was putting it mildly. His heart had just about stopped when Isaac had appeared from the bedroom dressed in a black suit and white shirt with a blue tie that almost matched the color of his eyes. The whole package had his heart kickstarting with a lurch against his fully healed ribs.

  Isaac smiled and quirked a brow in question, but he shook his head. No words could possibly describe his feelings. He was in love and before too much longer, he was going to ask Isaac to marry him. He couldn’t fucking wait. Because he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, Isaac was it for him.

  Isaac

  He lifted Zane’s hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers. His love’s hazel eyes were filled with so much heat, Isaac had to swallow past his growing lump of emotion. Even after six months, his feelings for Zane had never wavered, but instead had grown stronger.

  He’d spent the morning with Zane at the shelter, dishing out breakfast to the needy and helping out. Zane had accompanied him so many times that they’d started taking turns when they couldn’t go together.

  “What?” Zane whispered, feeling his gaze.

  He smiled, shook his head, and lifted Zane’s hand to kiss his fingers.

  “You all know the Secretary of Defense, and Agent Forest Taylor and his task force,” Liam was saying. “We all came together to take down an organized crime ring and stop a few madmen from causing further harm. It’s taken us six months to wrap up all the loose ends of the Chambers’ organization, but we can confidently say we’ve done it along with the help of the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division and local law enforcement. And for that, you all are to be commended.”

  Liam lifted his glass to the room and waited for everyone to do the same before continuing.

  “So, here’s a toast to every person in this room. Good job. Tonight, we eat, drink, and be merry. For tomorrow, we live to fight another day and another enemy.”

  Before taking a sip from his glass, Liam stepped back to his own table and tapped his glass to Spencer’s before tossing back the drink.

  Isaac tapped his glass against Zane’s.

  “Why’d he have to be here?” Greene grunted from his spot at their table. Legs splayed, the guy drained the wine in his glass.

  “Who?” Isaac glanced in the direction Greene was looking. “Forest?”

  Zane snorted and glanced at Greene. “He’s part of this. You’d be lucky to have him in your corner.”

  “He looks like something from the cover of GQ,” Greene sneered.

  “Ease up, Greene,” Zane grumbled. “My boyfriend could be on the cover of GQ.”

  “I could not,” he laughed.

  Greene squinted at him and then gave a rueful smile at Zane. “Point taken.”

  “I’m hungry.” He leaped up and strode toward the buffet table with Zane’s soft chuckle following him.

  It pleased the hell out of him that Zane thought him handsome.

  He stepped up behind Archer and Colin.

  “Get me that burrito,” Colin said, scowling at Archer holding out his plate.

  “Do I look like your servant?” Archer squinted at Colin.

  “Well, now that you mention it, yes.”

  “Dream on. Get your own burrito,” Archer snapped.

  Colin laughed and cut in front of Archer to get the food he wanted. “Don’t forget you told the kids you’d stop by.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Archer grumbled.

  “And bring a Spirograph. They love that shit,” Colin added.

  “What do I look like, a toy store?” Archer tossed up his hands and grabbed an empty plate.

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, you do,” Colin returned and moved along the line.

  “Son of a…” Archer muttered, stalking after the smaller man.

  Greene made a beeline to the bar that sat just to the right of the food table.

  “Pour me a double.” Greene pointed to a bottle of whiskey and tapped one thick finger on the bar.

  The bartender poured the liquid into the glass.

  “Joshua?”

  Forest approached wearing a pair of neon green sneakers with his expensive black designer suit. Talk about defying authority. Isaac lifted a hand to hide a smile. Maybe Forest quit the FBI again and Infinity hadn’t gotten the memo?

  Greene turned on Forest, and the height difference between the two men was comical. Forest’s eyes moved over Greene’s face as if drinking him in.

  Greene squinted down at Forest and then his eyes snapped further downward, blinking at the green shoes before sweeping upward to lock on the man’s face.

  “Nobody calls me Joshua,” Greene grunted.

  “I just did.” Forest jerked his head to the glass of liquid. “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “You think you can mind your own damn business?” Greene growled and tossed back the drink before slamming the glass on the counter. Of course, with the noise from the room, the exchange went unnoticed by all except him.

  Something flashed in Forest’s eyes before the FBI agent tipped his head and strode confidently away. Greene stared at Forest’s ass a little too long before shaking himself.

  “Another, Sir?” the bartender asked.

  “No,” Greene snarled and stalked away.

  “Hey, bro,” Dillon said from his side and pulled his attention from the now empty bar.

  “How’s the patio coming along?”

  “Zane is a master at remodeling. He should have it done in another three weeks.”

  He and Zane had finally moved a few months ago into a home that was not too far from here. He loved being close to his brother and Luke, but what he loved most was the home he’d created with Zane.

  “Nice.” Dillon smiled and reached for an empty plate. “You two all set for tomorrow?”

  Isaac plucked up a roll, took a bite, and then forked up several slices of steak onto his plate.

  “Zane and I plan on bringing the sides,” he replied.

  “Cool, Luke and I will bring the main dish.”

  “Better bring beef. You know how Zane likes his steak,” he said around a bite of warm bread.

  “Yeah, I thought he was going to kill me when he found out there was only chicken breasts last time.” Dillon laughed and slapped a hand on his back.

  His brother was worried about things between him and mom, but he didn’t need to be. He’d been over to their mother’s house several times over the past six months and other than a few awkward times, everything was going well. Her health had further declined, but she insisted on staying in her house and behaving like normal, and he and Dillon were doing everything in their power to make that happen.

  Even his nightmares had eased up. Doc was pleased by his progress, but better than that, he was pleased by his own recovery. His past wasn’t as painful. Sure, bringing it up still had its fucked up moments, but now he had the good times to remember. Zane helped with that. Just being with him went a long way in creating new memories, making life so much sweeter.

  Spotting Zane in the buffet line a few people back, he squinted at Oliver and Pia until they grinned and ushered Zane up front beside him.

  “Hungry?” he whispered when Zane slipped in line behind him.

  “Hell yeah, I’m starving.”

  “Me too. Chicken?” He teasingly pointed.

  Zane scowled, reached over his shoulder, and plucked up a piece of steak from his plate.

  Isaac grinned when Zane plopped it into his mouth and chewed loudly. In a room full of suits and officers, Zane didn’t give a rat’s ass about decorum. Fuck, he loved his man so hard.

  “I want a dance la
ter,” Zane said, sliding an arm around his waist.

  “You’re on, soldier,” he whispered.

  When the meal was over, the lights turned low, and the melody of music filled the room, they danced in each other’s arms there among their friends.

  And at least for this night, Infinity, Fury, and the people they loved were safe.

  The End

  Out for Justice Series

  Ricochet

  Collide

  Rampage

  Destruction

  Bulletproof

  A Phoenix Christmas

  Code of Honor Series

  Cutting It Close

  Risking It All

  Bringing It Home

  Taking It Slow

  Whatever It Takes

  Cobalt Security Series

  Without Warning

  Without Fear

  Pacific Northwest Shifter Series

  Hunted

  Bonded

  Marked

  SNEAK PEAK of Ricochet

  Shoved beneath the bed by his mother, he pressed his hands over his ears to muffle her screams. Through a sliver of light beneath the bed skirt, he could see the side of his mother’s blue blouse. Her chest jerked and heaved. Dusty brown work boots cut off his view.

  A violent bang cracked through the room, sending his heart racing and a warm stream of urine beneath him. Two men argued and he held his breath, biting one fist. The boots moved on. He kept his eyes riveted on his mother. He couldn’t remember when she stopped jerking. Wiggling backwards, eyes squeezed shut, he panted quietly.

  Harsh, cruel hands reached for him and he fought them, terrified, screaming. He clawed at the floor for purchase, but it didn’t matter. Brutally yanked from his hiding place, a man with a cruel face looked him over. At eleven years old, he cried for his mother, and learned early on that crying only made it worse.

  Noah

  Six years later

  Noah’s fingers twisted the leather band around his wrist until he felt the comforting burn against the irritated skin. Standing before the mirror, he pulled a brush through his shoulder-length, blond hair and tied it back.

  He fiddled with each of the shirt’s long sleeves, making sure the material laid flat with no wrinkles. He smoothed a hand down the front. God fucking forbid if anything looked out of place; everything had to be perfect, no scars showing. He adjusted the chunky leather band covering his raw wrist. Being considered a prized possession, he had to look flawless.

  A fist hit the door and he jumped.

  “Five minutes!” One of the guards yelled.

  “I’ll be right there.” The monthly meeting held a special kind of hell. It was where he sat at the right side of Terrance Manning, the man who ran this compound. The man who was grooming him to become his second-in-command.

  Fingers squeezing the edges of the sink, he took several quick breaths before turning toward the door. He schooled his features. All he needed to do was avoid that fucker Stevenson and he’d be in the clear.

  Ricky Stevenson was becoming a big problem. Two weeks ago, the man had changed the orders behind Manning’s back and had dragged him into the fucking mess. His stepfather had plans for the drugs Manning knew nothing about. Their boss would be enraged if he ever found out what Stevenson had planned. Even though it had never worked before, Noah tried reasoning with the guy.

  “Does Manning know about this?” he asked, looking doubtfully at Stevenson.

  “What the fuck did you just say? You’re my fucking kid, not his. You’re only breathing because I say, not him!” His beefy stepfather advanced on him.

  Ricky Stevenson, was in his mid-thirties. For a drug dealer, the guy was fit and muscled from years of working construction. His weathered face was deeply sunburned from the many hours spent outside. Sharply cut sideburns that almost reached his chin gave him a menacing look, which matched an equally volatile disposition. Sliced deep into the skin of his forehead ran a thin scar that trailed through one black eyebrow; the result of a knife fight.

  No match for the guy’s size and rage, Noah lifted his hands to protect his face. He tried to fight back, but was pummeled. He couldn’t remember much of the beating after a punch to the head, but later, he’d woken up dizzy, in pain, and nauseated. He had kept his mouth shut from then on.

  Mac

  Half-asleep, Mac reached out and patted the bed, searching for the ringing phone.

  “Hello?” Groggy from only a few hours’ sleep, the word came out in a low rumble.

  “Mac Mackenzie?”

  “Yes,” Mac rasped. Putting the cell phone on speaker, he rolled to his side.

  “I’m Harlo Miller, the owner of Miller’s Bar in San Diego,” the man said.

  Well, that was random. “What can I do for you, Mr. Miller?”

  “Sir, we have a situation. There’s a Ben Heins here. I found your contact information in his phone. He’s drunk and has hurt himself. Also tore up my bar somethin’ fierce.”

  Mac pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

  “I don’t want to call the cops, but he’s caused some damage to my place. Can you come pick him up?”

  “How bad is he hurt?” Mac sat up.

  “Bruised ribs, and he has a cut over one eye that I taped.”

  Okay, not badly then. “I’m not in San Diego at the moment.”

  Too far away to go down there and drag Ben’s ass out of the place, Mac clenched his jaw. He was tired of letting himself get dragged into Ben’s messes. The man had destroyed Mac’s trust, yet never failed to reach out when he wanted something. And the fucked up part was Mac always helped. Next time, he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t leave Ben in a bar when he was injured.

  “I see. Well, then I guess I can call the cops, but there’s damages to be paid.”

  “Tell me how much and I can PayPal you the money and call a taxi to come get him. Will that work?”

  “Yes, thank you. That should do it.” Miller rattled off the amount of two thousand dollars and some change. Mac rubbed his chest. He should just tell the guy to have his ex thrown in jail.

  Beautiful fucking Ben. He was not only his ex-lover, but they had served one tour together. Watching each other’s backs on and off the battlefield, they had been close. But that was a long time ago, and Mac wondered how much longer he could keep bailing Ben out.

  Mac sent the money and ordered the car, and then tossed the phone on the mattress. Dropping back on the bed, he pulled a pillow into the curve of his body and hooked one leg over it. Of course, his mind wouldn’t shut up, and after a few minutes, he gave up trying to get more sleep. The pillow lacked the hardness he craved, and its softness became a taunting reminder of how alone he felt. Shoving it aside, Mac flopped onto his back.

  The soft hum of the fan filled the room, sending a cool breeze over his sprawled body. It seemed like he couldn’t go a month without Ben causing some kind of scene and dragging him into it.

  Suddenly irritated and before he could slide further into a funk, he flung off the sheet and sat up on the edge of the bed. The red glow of the bedside clock displayed three a.m. No sense in trying to get more sleep; he had to be up in a few more hours anyway.

  The shower was hot, and the pressure helped ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. Shutting the water off, he towel dried his hair and brushed his teeth. Deciding against a shave, he avoided his reflection in the mirror.

  Dressed in black tactical pants and a black tee, he stood on the balcony sipping the one-serving-sized cup of coffee the hotel provided. Bracing a hip against the railing, Mac looked out over the lights of San Jose. He’d spent his teenage years growing up in the California city. Back then, he had pictured his life turning out very different than it was today.

  The loud knock on the door made him frown. Checking the peep hole, the hallway appeared empty. Easing to the side of the door, Mac pulled his gun.

  “Who is it?” he called out.

  “It’s me!” US Marshal Jake Coleman’s lau
gh came muffled through the door. The man was a natural born prankster pain in his ass, but Mac could think of no better partner to have on the force. Jake had covered his back more than once in the year they’d been together, and Mac considered him a damn good friend.

  Mac yanked open the door and scowled before tucking away his gun. “Not funny, Coleman.”

  Jake grinned wide and slid past him. “I hope you have coffee!”

  Before he could answer, a second knock came on the partially opened door.

  “Well, hell.” Mac smiled. “This is a surprise.” In seconds, his arms were filled with one of his oldest and dearest friends, Becca Johnson. They’d known each other since childhood, and her mother and his aunt still lived next door to each other in a quiet little San Jose neighborhood.

  “You missed me!” Becca squeaked and peppered his cheek with a few kisses.

  “Maybe.” Mac grinned, tugging at her long ponytail before she danced away, laughing. With Becca, he could goof around, have fun, and laugh. With her, Mac didn’t need to pretend. There were very few people who knew the real him, and Becca was one of them. She was his best friend, and no matter how much time passed between phone calls and visits, it was as if they’d never been apart.

  Becca gave Jake a squeeze as she passed.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” another voice called out, shoving at the door when Mac jokingly tried to push it closed. “Don’t forget the best part,” Kane said, pushing his way in, carrying coffee. Mac barked out a laugh before hugging his other best friend, FBI agent Kane Quintana.

  Kane just happened to be Becca’s boyfriend. The pair had met during a Halloween party through mutual friends and had hit it off.

  Injured and staying at his aunt’s house next door, Mac had been at the same party. Just out of the military, he’d been angry at Ben, the war, and the world. It was sometime after that, during the time he was recuperating from his military injury, that Kane had tried to get him a job.

  “The FBI needs a man like you.” Kane always talked about how great the FBI was. The man went on and on about this and that until one day, Mac stopped saying fuck off and had joined the US Marshals office instead.