News Boy - Susan Hawke

Chapter One

Brody

"Look what the cat dragged in. If it isn't Private First Class Brody Johnson. Damn, but it is good to see you."

"Sergeant Mack Anderson. It’s even better to see you on the other side. And I’m Corporal Johnson now, thank you very much. At least, my discharge papers say so."

We both chuckled. Only people who had survived the shit we had and lived to sign said discharge papers could understand the sense of relief accompanying it. Especially the ones fortunate enough to walk away with mind and body close to intact.

I went to shake his hand but got yanked in for a bro hug, complete with the obligatory back slaps. When we stepped apart, we braced our hands on each other's shoulders as we shook our heads and grinned.

Once Mack finally dropped his hand, he stepped back and tipped his chin toward his shoulder, gesturing for me to come inside. "Get in here and have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I can't promise my coffee is strong enough to peel paint, but it's hot and wet."

"So what you're saying is civilian life is making you weak? Because that's what I'm hearing." I walked into his office and took a seat in one of the guest chairs.

"If liking my coffee a little more liquid than the sludge we used to drink makes me weak, then yes. Abso-fucking-lutely." Mack closed his office door and came over to join me. He sat down in his fancy executive-style chair and gestured toward the coffee pot set up on a small table behind him.

I shook my head. "None for me, thanks. Believe it or not, I've discovered an affinity for tea. But either way, I'm good."

Mack snorted. "You become a tea drinker and accuse me of going weak? Take a glance in the mirror, buddy." We grinned at each other the way nobody but true friends who knew how to bust each other's chops could pull off.

Blowing out a soft whistle, I glanced around the office. "This is quite the business you built up, Mack. I wasn't expecting a shoestring operation, but I hadn't pictured so much either." His private security company took up an entire floor of an expensive ZIP Code here in downtown San Diego.

"Thank you. Catering to elite clientele pays. I have over a dozen full-time bodyguards and more part-timers who work on an as-needed basis. And every single one of them are former military." His statement held a lot of pride, and he had every right to. As he studied me, Mack fell silent.

Shifting in my seat, I was well aware I hadn’t lost my military posture in my four months of civilian life. I leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "Impressive job offer you sent me. I wasn't aware you were in town or you'd even opened this agency. Imagine my surprise opening the email from Out of the Limelight Security and finding your name on the signature line."

"I'm just sorry I didn't find you sooner. My contacts at the base are slipping. Usually, they give me a heads-up when someone of your caliber gets out. I'd ask if you were in touch with any of our old friends, but I haven't seen you at Master Ryan's club, so I'm guessing you're not active in the community either?"

Wondering how much I wanted to share, I stared past him. Mack and I had been close in a previous life, but we'd fallen out of touch. Obviously. My eyes shifted back to Mack. "I'm guessing you saw my file?" He gave a noncommittal shrug, but his expression told me one of his contacts on base had filled him in. "Being a guest of those monsters in Afghanistan was the impetus I needed to get out while I could. Since I've been home, I've spent time reacclimating and was lucky enough to have the savings to do it. I've only recently thought about my next step, so your timing was impeccable."

Mack slowly nodded. "I hear you. Six months held by the rebels would have any sane man reevaluating his future. Same reason I haven't seen you at Master Ryan's?"

I wasn't quite ready to talk about why I'd walked away from our BDSM community. As a Dom, I knew damn well the big difference between consensual play and the bondage and torture I'd experienced. Too bad my lizard brain couldn't make the same connection. Swallowing, I held my palms up. "Let's just say I don't have the same