John flexes his arm, watching the previously ruined muscles pull taut under his scarred skin—practically good as new.

  “Do you always admire yourself so much?” Bella rolls her eyes and kicks one leg over a knee, letting her foot bounce in the air with mock impatience as she furthers the display by examining her nails.

  “Only when the situation calls for it.” John pulls his shirt back on, noting Bella’s gaze flick to him for just a moment when she thinks he isn’t looking anymore.

  “The stim technology is really exceptional. It will be the difference between life and death in the field.”

  “Agreed, and I’m all the more keen on living with the knowledge that the devil’s real and in Iraq.”

  Bella nods with a shocking amount of sincerity.

  The truth was the entire event left everyone pretty shaken up, though no one would ever admit that for fear of being the odd pussy out in a team of elite world class operators.

  “Now, let's get out of this place so we can get to sterilizing our souls with a little liquor.” Bella suggests with her feline smile.

  “Casper and Blackbeard sent out the reports and debrief already?”

  “They did, though we are off mission, you do not need to call them that.”

  “Eh, it’s easier for me.”

  “Then why do you call me Bella and Cat?”

  “Because in the field, callsigns are needed, but out here...” John stands up and rolls out his shoulder. “I think Bella is a pretty name.”

  She clicks her tongue and stands with a smile. “Americans...”

  “French women,” John mocks, waiting for her to join him at the door before they make their way to the T1 lounge to drink in silence, away from the prying eyes and ears of the other mercenaries who don’t need to know about the nightmare they narrowly escaped.

  “You saved my ass back there.” John admits once he sits down. He nods to the bartender, holding up two fingers and tapping the counter after Bella joins him.

  He would have normally ignored the woman on the other end of the bar, not because she was a bartender necessarily, but because he had to make sure he gave Bella a proper thanks via his undivided attention, though this particular bartender is hard to ignore.

  She’s the single most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his life, with perfect flowing brown hair that cascades down a bare shoulder like a waterfall of dark chocolate. Her short red dress hugs her ample curves in all the right places and her eyes practically beg John to—

  “Fuck me.” Bella whistles, saying the quiet part out loud as she admires the bartender. “When did Blackwood hire you?”

  “A while ago, only recently got promoted to serve the T1 lounge though.” Her voice is somehow sexier than her body, a rich, husky sort of growl that promises unspeakable things.

  “To think we have been missing out all this time.” Bella winks to John as she nudges him with her elbow, jostling his mind from the truly unreal places it was going.

  “Yea.. missing out.” John coughs. “I’ll have two uh… Fuck—”

  “Okay.” she winks.

  “Nope. Two drinks please. I’ll take an old fashioned...” John coughs again, watching as Bella laughs to herself at his boyish response to this woman.

  “I will take the same,” Bella confirms, turning her attention back to John. “Wow.” she purses her lips.

  “It’s been a while for little ol' me. Call me out of practice.”

  Bella grabs the freshly made drink from the counter and sips it. “I can see that.”

  “You seemed rather impressed as well. I know you French are a promiscuous sort...”

  “Ha! There is a difference between appreciating objective beauty and wanting to take it to bed. John, I am straight, not blind.”

  “Right...”

  “Though I may make an exception...” Bella muses, tapping the rim of her glass with a teasing finger.

  John nearly spits his own drink as he sips from his own, though Bella’s smile breaks and she laughs to herself at his display, dispelling the thought as a joke to rile him up.

  “As you were saying before we were both distracted?” Bella offers an out as she sips.

  “Right... I was saying you really saved my ass back there. I don’t know what would have happened if you and Kane didn’t pull me out of the hall, or if you didn’t keep me awake, or if you didn’t haul me into that building.”

  “I have an idea of what would have happened and it wouldn’t have been very good for anyone.”

  “Well, still. Thank you. And I really mean that.” John makes sure he meets her gaze when he says it.

  All too often in this line of work, people who serve together dismiss sincerity with a joke, or snide comeback.

  If he had to guess, it was a product of appearances. For the same reason no one wants to talk about how fucked up that mission was, no one wanted to risk putting themselves out there for a thank you.

  John has to admit he's much the same way more often than not. There is no room for that mushy shit in the field. Everyone is all smiles and all jokes until a dirty bomb makes your buddies insides, outsides, and the next thing you know you’re staring at a corpse you never got a chance to say ‘thank you’ to.

  While he’s ashamed to admit it took him a while to be comfortable enough in his own skin to let his emotions out like that, it was better late than never, and he wants to make sure that even if Bella want to hit him back with some sassy remark. At the very least he got to be honest with himself and her and say what needs saying.

  “Of course John. of course.” She smiles, her sly, cat-like grin giving way to something different...

  For a brief moment, looking into her eyes, he feels seen. Truly and genuinely and fully seen. She isn’t just saying this to dismiss him, she wasn't going to quip back. For as much sincerity as John lays bare in his thank you, she reciprocates in her response.

  It’s the most seen John has felt in a while now... but with that, comes a familiar lance of guilt—that gnawing, angry hand that claws at his heart whenever he is with this woman for too long.

  John turns away, bringing his attention back to his drink to escape the feeling that makes his leg bounce and his chest curl up in on itself.

  “So, any idea what the plan is now?”

  “Eager to get back into work already? Does my company bore you so?” Bella teases, the predator-like glimmer in her eye returning, indicating the moment of sincerity is over.

  “No, just don’t know what else to talk about.” John admits with a shrug. “Never been a big conversationalist, and it’s not like I have a lot to talk about either outside of work.”

  “Surely there is something. You haven’t been working your entire life.”

  “You'd be surprised.”

  “Then surprise me.”

  “I forged my papers to sign up for the Marine Corp. I’ve been in since I was 16. I’m thirty five years old in actuality, but all my documents say thirty seven.”

  "You are a remarkably old thirty five."

  "The water in Oasis will do that to you. How the fuck do you think I got into the Marines at 16? I've always looked a good five years older than I am."

  "And somehow act a good ten years younger."

  "Fuck off."

  “Only after you tell me more. What did you do before you were a Marine?”

  John lets the next sip linger on his tongue for a moment, desperate to find a way to dodge the question.

  With a sigh, and no prospects, he decides on settling for something close to a half truth.

  “I worked for my father in Oasis, he ran a mechanics shop near the edge of the suburbs. Before the Marine Corp I was doing that, from around age 8 to the time I got out at 16.”

  “You really have been working all your life.” She leans back.

  “Yea well, my father was a... traditionalist in many ways. At 6 years old I was in engine bays because my hands were small enough to get to the hard to reach places, it wasn’t until 8 that I was getting a little pay, 10 cents a day, before then it was all free of charge.”

  “Let me guess, by the time you could walk on your own your father gave you the leash to the family dog?”

  “Close, by the time I could talk and count to ten I was working the books in the back, adding up all the numbers.”

  “So no dog?”

  “We had a few over the years, sure,” John chuckles. “What about you, hmm? Fresh out of the womb a femme fatale?”

  “Ha! That’s what you think of me?”

  “You’re French, a badass, and not too bad to look at... checks all the boxes.”

  “Being French is a box for that?” she cocks an eyebrow

  “It helps.”

  “It helps, he says!” Bella laughs, tossing her head back and using the opportunity to brush her short hair from her forehead. “No John, I was not always like this, believe it or not I was a rather chubby child.”

  “Rich parents I see.”

  “In a sense, yes. We came from money. I wanted for nothing, received private tutors, the works.”

  John whistles. “You and I are on opposite sides of the world.”

  She holds up a finger and waves it in front of him. “No no, I am not done, I didn't interrupt your story.”

  “You did.”

  “Bah, let me finish.” She sips her drink again, unable to hide her smile.

  Setting the drink down, she once again folds one leg over her knee and leans forward to a conspiratorial distance.

  “When I was 12 years old, my sister was with a man. He was wealthy as well, much more than my family was. But the man was a bastard...not... a literal bastard, just a jackass.”

  “Thank you for the clarification.” John nods sagely.

  “Shut up.” she giggles and presses her finger to his lips, prompting John to raise both hands defensively.

  Pulling her finger away, her expression drops to something far more serious. “He would beat on her, you see. She would come home with these awful bruises. My father did nothing because he was a coward, my mother was... how do you say, lobotomized? The thing with the needle under the eye...”

  “Yeah, lobotomized, shit seriously?”

  “Mhm, quite serious. My father had it done to her when she was younger, 16 I believe.”

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Shit...”

  “Shit is correct.” Bella nods along. “Well, my sister came home with bruises around her neck, she was sobbing. He had choked her badly, but still she wished to stay with him for some ungodly reason.... So I took matters into my own hands.”

  Bella leans backwards, and grabs the straw from her drink, twirling it around in her fingers until she holds it like a knife.

  “The next time he was in our home. I killed him.”

  John blinks. “You killed him?”

  “I did, I put a knife through his eye until his body stopped moving.”

  “And that's how this story ends?”

  “Oui.”

  “Rather anticlimactic don’t you think?”

  “It is? I killed him no, that is the climax. Very exciting business.”

  “I suppose, but the delivery could use some work...”

  “Would you rather I say I stabbed him over and over until his body stopped twitching, which took a while because I was young and did not know that it was my stabbing that made him twitch?”

  “That makes it sound like you enjoyed it a little too much.”

  “Ah, no no, I did not enjoy killing the man, but I did find relief in knowing my sister would be safe.”

  “Right...”

  “This story is not to your liking?” Bella flutters her eyelashes.

  “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Maybe a little,” She smiles.

  John lets out a sigh and takes another drink, downing the contents and quickly ordering another. “Wait, so was any of that the truth?”

  “Of course it was! I am no liar John.” Bella huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Though, I was curious to see your reaction. I mean no offense but you do not take me as a mercenary.”

  “We have literally gone on a mission together for money. I'm as much of a mercenary as you are.”

  “Hmmm, on paper yes, but to kill for money, to do what we do is not for everyone. Not every soldier makes a good mercenary. The morality of it all is very gray, you do not take me as gray.”

  “I’m glad to hear I present as such a good upstanding citizen,” John chuckles. “But you’re partially right. This isn’t a line of work I ever actively sought.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Uncomplicate it?”

  “Perhaps another time...” John nurses his next drink, not wanting to get shit faced in front of her. “As for not looking like a merc...”

  “Yes yes, do tell.”

  “Casper said it best, I think... I’m a dead man. I have nothing, and no one. I’m a corpse floating through the ocean waiting to wash ashore. Why am I doing this? Because it's the first sense of direction anyone's given me in a while.”

  “What killed you?”

  John hesitates... why did he hesitate? He had told Casper so easily the reason he was the way he was but for some reason when Bella asks, his throat closes up and his chest starts to hurt.

  “Oh do not get shy with me now, it was a woman, yes?”

  Somehow her saying it makes it hurt worse, but he can’t ignore or deny it. It’s already written all over his face, so instead John nods.

  “My wife...”

  “Tell me about her?”

  “It feels a little weird to tell you about her, I'll be honest.”

  “Weird how? We are teammates, no?”

  “Yeah, but it’s personal. We aren’t that close yet.”

  “Ah, I understand.” Bella nods her head and finishes up her drink.

  “Sorry, but maybe some other time?”

  “Of course. I would love to hear about a woman who managed to deal with a man like you,” she teases with that same feline grin of hers.

  Bella takes a final sip of her drink, stands, and stretches in that familiar feline way.

  “Leaving already?”

  “I am exhausted... and...” she pauses, dismissing the next words.

  “Oh come on, what's gotten into you? My wife get you that riled up?”

  “Goodnight John,” Bella says back with a softer smile, offering him a wave as she disappears.

  John lets out a long, even breath and throws down another drink, putting in an order for another.

  “You shouldn’t tell the woman you’re interested in about your wife, you know.” The bartender purrs, catching John's eye as she delivers yet another drink.

  “She’s dead...” John argues.

  “She doesn’t know that, not that it matters. It’s easy to tell your wife still has your heart.” The bartender offers a sympathetic frown.

  “It’s only been a year.”

  The bartender nods her head and rests her hands on the edge of the bar. “Not long at all really.”

  “No... fuck, most days I wake up and it feels like it’s only been a week.”

  “How long were you two married?”

  “Trying to pry the information out of me when my own teammate couldn’t?” John challenges.

  “No no, didn’t mean to pry... sometimes it's easier to share with a third party. Less personal. You don’t know me, and I get all my tips by listening.” she winks.

  “Hmmmpp” John huffs with a smile, sipping the drink. “Well, you keep serving up drinks and you might get a little detail from me.”

  “Only a little? I was hoping for a lot more.” she licks her lips, and it sends a static shock through John's body.

  “Whoa.” He says audibly, as his nerves come alive with sensation as she eyes him up and down.

  Looking down at his drink, John narrows his vision. “You spike this?”

  “No, absolutely not. The T1 lounge is the best position in the compound, I wouldn't risk that with a spiked drink.” She laughs, and it's the most beautiful laugh he has ever heard come from a person's mouth.

  “Guess the docs were right about mixing stims and alcohol.” he shivers a bit.

  “It just means you need to drink more to feel better. Let loose a little,” The bartender encourages, leaning her ample assets against the bar as she runs her fingers through her hair. “God knows you’ll be doing me a favor. Rumor has it you drank everyone under the table the first night you were here. You keep drinking and the others won’t even dare come up to the bar and I get an easy night of work.”

  “So that's your play huh?” John laughs and throws down a drink, then another.

  “Something like that... I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t in it for the conversation as well. Truth be told John, you fascinate me.”

  “My legend spreads to every bartender around the world. I’m not shocked.”

  “Hah.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “That and all the shit you’ve done over the years. Mercs talk, bartenders talk, everyone talks. Not to mention Kane's been singing your praises for quite some time."

  “So long as it isn’t about my wife, ask and you shall receive,” John mutters with his lips around the rim of another glass.

  Two more drinks, and John is spilling the gritty details of his time in El Salvador, about how the smell of burning bodies still sometimes lingers, and about the “wet rooms” they found, where bodies were hacked into pieces for their organs. At one point he rambles for nearly five full minutes on how they used actual children as meat shields during a number of their operations in an attempt to scare this bartender out of asking for any more stories.

  Credit where it’s due, she listens intently, and doesn’t flinch even as John makes an active effort to try get a rise from her.

  Three more drinks, and John finds himself retelling the story of his first time in Iraq after she asks. One of the benefits of the T1 bartenders is they are all briefed and cleared to hear the details of the operations. Blackwood knows not a single soul to ever step foot in a special warfare unit would talk to a head shrink. A bartender however, was a different matter. They were the best therapist money could buy, so it was important to be able to open up to them.

  “Two years ago? And now all of this is happening again?” She asks, wiping the table and placing another drink in John's hand, her fingers lingering for just a little too long on his own, sending shivers through his body as her nails trace gentle lines.

  “Guess they needed time to cool off.” John pulls his hand away, eager to stop his mind from racing around any more than it already has today.

  Four more drinks and John gives up on that. He can’t stop himself from watching each and every one of her movements, movements he is pretty damn sure she was making specifically to get his attention.

  Fuck—It's working too.

  “Kane was in here earlier with a couple of the others. They all looked pretty shaken up this time. Did something different happen?” She asks, gently nudging his chin up with her forefinger, making his eyes meet hers.

  “This one makes the El Salvador shit look like a children's birthday party.” He scoffs, trying to hide the redness flushing itself through his cheeks.

  Why does this woman make him feel like such a child again? He’s a blooded and battle hardened operator. His blackops unit in the Marines was so dark the Navy fucking Seals and Delta didn’t know about it, yet as this bartender bites her lower lip and lets her fingers linger on his chin, he can’t help but want to sink into his chair and hide away like he's in middle school handing out a valentines.

  “Try me.” she juts her chin out a little more, paired with the biting lip it looked like an invitation, one he was pretty damn keen on taking, until the guilt washes over him again and he finds himself pulling away once more.

  To try and shake the sensation, he quickly downs another drink and shakes his head free of the thoughts that still try to snake their way inside the deepest parts of a once dormant part of his mind.

  A few more drinks, and John recounts all that he saw in Abu Garh with Kane, and what he saw in the town they all just barely escaped today. He lets his words fall on the intently listening ears of this drop dead gorgeous bartender, who takes it all in stride, nodding along and asking questions when she doesn’t understand something.

  “Large bat wings?”

  John nods, his body swaying. “Approximately fifteen feet, each one. He looked like the devil, tail and all.”

  “Any horns?”

  “You don’t believe me?” John cocks an eyebrow

  “No, I believe you, I just always thought the devil had horns, and red skin,” she offers, cleaning a glass with a very select hand motion that has John gulping down a rising excitement.

  “Well, no horns, and he had dark skin, but fuck... he came down in red lighting, what the fuck else would he be?” John's words come out slow now, he never slurred his speech but still, this was slow even for him.

  John tries to get another drink, but the bartender only offers an innocent smile and shrugs “You drank two whole bottles, I think maybe it’s time you get back to bed, mercenary.”

  “I can go for another,” John tries, but his head lulls on his neck and nearly sends him colliding with the table.

  “I think you’re at your limit,” She offers gently.

  “Well... we can, we can always continue our party back in my room,” John struggles to ignore the guilt that crushes through his stomach to grab at his heart.

  He tries to stomp the feeling down, crushing it like a bug under his foot, but it doesn't let up. This isn’t a bug, this is a monster that held tight to every fiber of his being and tore him downwards to collapse in on himself.

  “As much as I would love to do that,” She almost moans the words, sending a shockwave of another kind across John's skin to battle against the guilt that eats him from inside. “You’re far too drunk...”

  She rests a hand atop his, and his breath hitches, mind racing, heart thundering.

  “You’re probably right. But...” John tries, only for her to pull a hand away as she shakes her head.

  “I can call one of your team mates to come help get you.”

  “Yeah... alright.” John lets his head fall against the bar.

  Some amount of time passes with his head down until Kane comes in and helps John out of his seat, grunting under his dead weight as he takes him from the T1 lounge.

  “You’re one large son of a bitch, you know that?” Kane tries to better guide John up to his room, only to end up nearly dropping him in the elevator.

  “You’re just weak.” John chuckles, batting a hand at Kane who slaps it away.

  “By the way, who the hell was that new bartender? What a bombshell.”

  “I know,” John agrees with a feverish head nod.

  “Think I got a chance?”

  “Maybe, give it a shot.”

  “Maybe tomorrow now, I’ll ask Blackwood to give me her file, see what buttons I can push to get her in my bed.”

  John shakes his head. “You are somethin’ else man.”

  “Heh, I am an operator, gotta use every tool at my disposal.”

  “Sure sure,” John grunts as he is hoisted up into his room, and dropped unceremoniously into his bed.

  “Sweet dreams there butter cup.” Kane chuckles with that broken smile of his.

  “Fuck you!” John laughs, letting the waking world melt away.

  ***

  His dreaming mind hunts around in the darkness for a time, finding a hold on something soft and supple, something warm and utterly inviting, as he dreams of the bartender, his sleeping brain free of the guilt that wracks his waking one.

  It's a pleasant, eager, sweaty dream that sends him to someplace he hadn’t been in quite some time. He sees her face, her body, inviting, taking him in. He feels her, smells, her, tastes her in ways he never thought possible, for what feels like hours, until the dream melts away with a tingle on his skin at her incorporeal touch.

  ***

  The next morning, he is beyond hungover and utterly drained, as if every ounce of strength has been sapped from the marrow of his bones.

  John groans, struggling to raise his arms to turn off the alarm that wakes him up far too early, slapping down on the clock to no avail.

  “She was right... I... was too drunk." The guilt of his dream begins to tug at him, though he buries it quickly with rage, a rage that is rising to the surface as the alarm refuses to shut off.

  His muscles ache and strain, the burn of over exertion making him squint his eyes until his arm smashes into the clock, sending pieces scattering against the floor.

  The alarm still refuses to shut off, and that is when John realizes it isn't his clock, it's coming from the room itself.

  Steadying his still half asleep brain, something that's not at all normal, he hears the sound of boots pounding down the halls, of helicopters outside the window flying circles around the compound.

  Something bangs on John's door, something urgent.

  “What!” John calls, smacking himself in the face to try and eject the sleep from his brain. He was never like this. John was a quick riser, he had drunk a hell of a lot more than this before but never was he this tired after. Waking up and being ready in the same second were baked into his body as much as breathing was.

  “Security Breach last night, get the fuck up and in gear, now!” Casper’s voice...

  Whatever the breach was, was serious, but even through the walls, John's hangover and his near unconscious mind, he can feel Casper's fear.