Whatever It Takes (Code of Honor #5) - Reese Knightley

He who conquers his anger has conquered an enemy.

—German proverb.

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.

He stood still as stone, hands at his sides, eyes forward, gazing at a spot on the wall while his commander verbally ripped him a new asshole.

“Your actions caused a shitstorm!” the commander growled, and then all but shouted, “This is the third altercation you’ve been in, Private Thorne! Your first fucking year and your jacket is a mess!” The file on the Commander’s desk was wrinkled from the man’s fist clenched around it.

“For someone with so much potential, you’ll be court-martialed out of the Army before you’ve even begun.”

Silence rang through the room after the shouting ended.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“No, sir,” Dillon said abruptly, and it was everything he could do not to ball his fists. Fighting his temper was all he’d ever known. Nobody fucking got it and nobody fucking cared.

A brief knock sounded on the door, and then Major Liam Cobalt stepped inside. He’d never met the man, but he’d passed the officer in the hallway enough times to know who he was. He’d heard the major was moving up fast in the ranks and that he was being considered for colonel. The man also trained men for Special Forces. Never before had the major come into one of his commander’s verbal thrashings before.

“Thank God, Liam. Perhaps you can talk some sense into this…” The commander waved his hand at him. “Ingrate.”

Ungrateful? How the fuck was he ungrateful?

Liam stalked to the table and picked up his crinkled file. Several long moments went by while the man browsed the pages.

A trickle of sweat dripped down his back and more popped on his brow. Had he fucked it up so badly that they’d kick him out?

Major Cobalt turned to him. “You have a problem with authority, private?”

“No, sir.”

“You have a problem with your temper?”

Was he supposed to respond to that? Hadn’t the guy just read his fucking file?

He sucked in a quick breath when he was suddenly nose to nose with the major.

“Answer me,” the deep, commanding voice growled.

“Sir! Yes, sir.”

“Where’s the anger come from?”

“I don’t know, sir!”

“Why are you so pissed off?”

“I don’t know, sir!” He bit the words out.

“You don’t know.” Major Cobalt stepped closer and knocked him, chest to chest. He wobbled a step and then snapped back to attention.

“No, sir!”

“Or maybe,” Major Cobalt got right in his face, eye to eye, “you don’t care to share it with me?”

“No, sir!” he said between his teeth.

Major Cobalt stepped back. “Now that, at least, was honest.” After a long moment, the major turned to the commander.

“What do you think?” his commander asked.

“I’ll take him.”

“What?” Dillon blurted.

“Shut your mouth,” his commander snapped.

Dillon shut his mouth.

Roughly 15 years later

Dillon

“Thorne, you copy?”

“Copy.” He moved the toothpick in his mouth to the other side and lined his eye up to the scope. The team would make their move, and he and First Lieutenant River Seeger would provide cover fire.

He shifted his arm from where it lay resting against a broken piece of concrete block tucked into the earth. He could hear River’s toes dig into the earth not far from where he had situated himself. River was in a similar position, lying flat on the ground, under the cover of darkness and foliage, eye to the scope of a military sniper rifle.

The team was below. Last reported, they had retrieved four hostages and were coming out. The perps inside were dead, but there were still three unknown suspects roaming the property.

A shadow materialized from the corner of the house below.

“South side, two hundred yards,” he murmured.

He released his breath and squeezed the trigger. The shadow stumbled into view and the suspect dropped to the ground as the guy’s semi-automatic weapon skidded across the pavement.

“One down, two to go,” River whispered.

“We don’t have time to wait. One of the hostages is bleeding out,” Captain Maddox Stone rasped.

“Copy,” he said. “Go when you’re ready.”

“Dispatch? You got that chopper waiting?” the captain barked into the com.

“Copy that, Alpha team,” Sam’s voice came over the mic. She gave the team a sense of normalcy, reminding them that home was waiting.

His unit came out of the house and turned left. Hunched over, in formation, they had a hostage between each team members’ body, providing what cover they could with the body armor they wore.

The hostages were Embassy workers, civilians. Rumors