GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance (10 page)

PART TWO

I love the smell of napalm in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill bombed, for 12 hours. When it was all over, I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' dink body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole hill. Smelled like victory.

FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA, APOCALYPSE NOW

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Gage truly was an asshole, just putting on a show for his boss, not caring about anyone but himself. I felt like shit, sitting there, alone at that table in the middle of a crowded room.

We were hitting it off. At least, I thought we were, before he stood up and left the room without even saying ‘good night.’ I’d never felt so exposed in my whole life, sitting there like an idiot, waiting for desert to come out so I could eat alone like the school’s token unpopular girl.

People took notice, too. Some of the girls were looking at me—some smirking, all with eyes full of pity—and a great deal of the men were looking too, all with the same expression on their face: hopeful excitement. I felt like an injured antelope, generously left for pride by the alpha lion.

Later in the night, after the cafeteria was converted from its fine dining theme to a dimly lit, classy bar theme (complete with plastic folding tables, metal folding chairs, and an old cot that served as an appetizer cart), and the men got heavy into the drinks, things started to look a lot like the previous night. Men floated around the room like starved bottom feeders, looking for sex, and eventually finding me.

And once again, as the night progressed, and the men became drunker, it became increasingly difficult to get away when I needed space. Thankfully, Lyon was nowhere to be seen, probably resting from the beating Gage dished out earlier.

Once their hands started to slither onto my skin, I decided to slip out the backdoor and make my way back to my room. Before I reached the Guest Hall door, one of the men stopped me. He had a skinny, pale face, and big, heavy lips.

“Where you going?” he asked, stepping between me and the door.

“I’m tired. I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Tired? The night’s still so young. Besides, you’re only here for a few more days. Why not make the most of it?”

“I’m still fighting the jet lag,” I said, trying to inch past him, but he didn’t budge.

“Oh, c’mon. It’s the early afternoon back home.” His puffy lips stretched into a long grin and I suddenly felt cold and scared. He had that hungry, horny look in his eyes.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

He moved aside and let me through. A wave of relief washed over me, but it was short lived. He followed me into the Guest Hall, which was empty—everyone still mingling back at the cafeteria.

“Nice place,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking around. “I’ve never actually been in here before. Well—back when I was a recruit, we would have to come in here and clean up.”

“Good night,” I said, ignoring his small talk, heading straight towards my room. Between the echoing clicks of my high heels, I could hear him following.

“Are you okay? You aren’t scared of me, are you?” the scrawny-faced man asked.

“Just tired. I’m not trying to be rude.” My heart beat faster with every empty room that I walked past. I wanted there to be someone in one of those rooms—someone who could hear me scream if I needed help, someone who could make the scrawny man think twice before doing anything.

I tried to calm my racing heart down, telling myself, You’re overreacting. He’s just bored, he’s not going to hurt you.

“You look absolutely gorgeous tonight,” he said, still jogging to keep up with my quickening pace.

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.” I could hear my own voice trembling. Certainly, he could hear it, too. But he didn’t seem to care.

“I saw your Playmate spread online. It went viral, you know.”

“I know.” I reached the end of the hall. The place was totally empty, save for me and the persistent man. I looked around for somewhere to go, somewhere I could keep moving. The last thing I wanted to do was stop, and let the man catch up to me.

“The bedrooms were all back there. Are you lost?” he asked.

I turned around and he was blocking the long, empty hallway. He had that big grin across his face. Panic crawled down my spine and my legs became weak. My body froze. He approached.

“I’m sorry that Gage just left you there, at dinner.”

“It’s okay. He had stuff to do.” I tried to hide my shaking hands behind my back.

The man laughed. “No, he just said that. Gage is an asshole. It’s nothing personal though, he’s like that with everyone. The guy’s got a stick so far up his ass.”

“No offence,” I said. “But I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.”

He laughed and started walking forward. “Don’t worry. I’m not like a killer or anything. I’m not trying to scare you. I’m actually a really nice guy.” He licked his puffy lips. “When Gage told me he wasn’t into you, I told him he was crazy.”

My body became tense, ready to charge at a moment’s notice. He stopped mere inches away and laughed. “Calm down,” he said. “You’re all stressed out. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Look, I’m sure you’re a really nice guy, but I really do just want to go to bed.”

He gently put his hands on my arms, sending a jolt of nausea through my body. His hands were damp and cool, like some sweaty reptile. I tried to force a smile, and act relaxed, despite being anything but.

“Gage really was crazy to turn you down. You’re too good for him anyway.”

It was hard to hold my forced smile with his cheap cologne filtering up through my nostrils. He slid one of his hands down the length of my arm in some pseudo-sensual motion. I couldn’t take it any longer.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I’m not interested.”

“In what?”

“In you. I don’t want to sleep with you. I just want to go to bed. Please.”

His big smirk slouched but his slippery hands remained on my arms. His lips parted to speak but he was speechless, though I could smell the spiced rum radiating out from his mouth. Finally, he closed his mouth and pressed his lips thin, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I was just trying to be nice,” he said quietly.

“I know. I’m sorry. Could you please let go of me.”

He didn’t. “I’m not desperate. You think I’m desperate? I’m not. I was just trying to be nice to you. You don’t have to be a bitch.” His grip tightened.

“You’re hurting me.” I tried to pull my arms free, but he wouldn’t allow it. He was a thin man—possibly the thinnest man on the compound—but he was still a trained US Marine, and he had that liquor fuelled strength in him.

“You’re just a bitch. It’s no wonder Gage turned you down.” He took a few deep breaths. “But you still fucked him, didn’t you? But not me, right? I’m not good enough—not good enough for precious Miss April.”

“Please let go,” I said. My vision began to blur as tears formed in my eyes.

Finally, he let go. But before he left, he slapped me across the face, knocking me to the ground. “Fuck you,” he said as he walked down the hall, back towards the front door.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The next morning, I found myself sitting in Major Richards’s office once again, after I beat Hastings halfway into a coma. I knew that I was in trouble because Richards wouldn’t sit down. Instead, he paced around the room in silence, occasionally grumbling under his breath while he formed the best possible opening sentence.

But once again, I knew he wasn’t angry with me—at least, not entirely angry with me. I wasn’t the one who broke his orders. Hastings broke orders when he claimed he slept with Ashley.

It was hard to believe, and I didn’t believe it, which is one of the reasons I beat his ass into the ground. The other reason was because it made me sick, the way he went into detail about it, describing every thrust of his tiny cock.

As I suspected, he was fully of shit, and he admitted it while I held his face to the pavement. It made me wonder if the desperate fuck had ever been laid before, or if all of his stories were made up fantasies.

“You broke his arm, Daniels,” Major Richards said. “You broke it bad. He’ll be in a cast for the next two months.”

“Sorry, sir.” Until that moment, I thought I’d just roughed him up a bit. I had no idea I roughed him up
that
much. I laughed.

“It’s not funny. Our reporter friend got plenty of photos—photos he’s very fond of, that he doesn’t want to give up.”

“To be fair, sir, he’s fond of all his photos. And if you ask me, they aren’t very good photos.”

“Don’t be a smartass. You’re going on ground duty.”

I’d already assumed as much. There weren’t too many more punishments he could have given me.

“Tomorrow, ten hours in Shamiya. It’ll be you, Darby, and Miller.”

“What did Darby and Miller do?” I asked.

“Nothing. But HQ won’t let me send you out alone. Rules say minimum is three guys.”

I’d gotten off easy. Major Richards could have given me a month’s worth of ground duty. Instead, he was giving me a single day. Though I still wasn’t excited about it. Spending one day around IEDs and Hajjis in suicide vests was one day too many, as far as I was concerned.

“And I want you to apologize to Hastings.”

That was the real punishment—apologizing to Hastings. The bastard didn’t deserve an apology. Had I broken both of his arms, his legs, and half of his ribs, he still wouldn’t have deserved an apology.

I got up to leave.

“And Corporal,” Richards said, stopping me before I reached the door. He was frowning, and I could tell that he was biting down on his tongue. “You can skip target practice, today.”

“That’s fine. I like target practice.”

“Let me rephrase that—you
will
skip target practice today. You’ve got a photo-shoot scheduled for 0900. And consider anything the reporter tells you to do, an order from me. Understand?”

Apparently, the reporter wasn’t the only one who loved his photos. After seeing the first batch of photos, Playboy decided they loved the photos too—so much so that they wanted to do a full, three page spread in their upcoming March issue—and in their upcoming Playgirl issue as well.

I was going to be a Playgirl model.

I cringed at the thought, and tried to fight it with Major Richards, but it was hopeless. I suddenly understood why I’d only been given a single day of ground duty.

“Don’t worry, Corporal. They’re a non-nude magazine now,” Major Richards said, laughing as I left his office.

I went out to the pavement at 0900, but the reporter wasn’t there. Instead, one of the girls was there waiting for me. She was older than the Playmates, but not nearly as old as the manager woman with the wrinkly lips. She introduced herself as “Vanessa, the makeup girl,” and told me to follow her into the Guest Hall.

The place was quiet seeing as all the Playmates were still asleep, hungover from another long night of partying and fucking. Vanessa led me across the building to an empty room where there were rows of mirrors set up. “Have a seat. Take off your shirt.”

I took off my shirt and Vanessa’s eyes lit up. She bit her lip and then spun away, digging through her makeup box.

I figured she needed me to take off my shirt so she wouldn’t ruin it with makeup. I realized I was wrong when she started applying some sort of alcohol rub directly to my chest and abs.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m just cleaning you up a bit. The oil sticks better to clean skin.” She showed me the bottle of oil, which was labelled:

Hot Bod Photogenic Oil

I considered telling her to fuck right off, but I knew it was pointless, that in the end, they would get what they wanted, and the quicker it was over with, the better.

I spent nearly an hour in the makeup chair, having my face brushed with a skin-coloured powder. While I wasn’t happy about being oiled up for a Playboy photo-shoot, I didn’t mind the feeling of Vanessa rubbing her hands all over my torso. She wasn’t a bad looking girl. She was only about ten years older than the Playmates, and she claimed she was once a Playmate herself. I had to ask a few times to figure out when. I thought she was just afraid to date herself, but when she finally told me, I realized it was more sensitive than that. Miss September, 2001.

Ashley and the reporter were waiting for me out on the pavement, and so were all of the men stationed at COIQ-UA-14. They whistled, laughed, and cheered as I stepped out from the Guest Hall, half-naked. I tried to ignore them, but I couldn’t hear the reporter over them, which made ignoring the idiots difficult.

“Looking good, Gage! My panties are soaking wet!” Miller called out, eliciting a burst of laughter from the other men.

“Is this what you’ve been working out for?” another called out.

I thought about flipping the bastards off, but I knew that would just get them going even more.

Ashley was sexy. She was wearing a pair of camo booty shorts and the green Marines t-shirt I gave her, which she’d modified into a tank top but cutting the neckline deep, and cutting the arm holes so low that you could see the sides of her perky, braless tits.

The reporter started off by saying, “I want this to be organic. Just let the sexy flow out of you—don’t force it. Just pretend like I’m not here.”

“Let the sexy flow out of you, Gage!” Miller called out from the sidelines.

“Start by holding her. Take her by the hips. That’s it. Open your stance wider. Relax your shoulders.” He didn’t make it easy to pretend he wasn’t there.

I held onto Ashley while she posed for the camera. She would change her position after every burst of photos. I just remained in the same position until he told me to move. I felt like a real asshole.

“Don’t look at me,” the reporter said to Ashley. “Look at him. Look at his chest. What a chest! Now look into his eyes.”

She looked up into my eyes. Her eyes looked sad, hurt. They darted back down after just a few seconds.

“I’m sorry you have to do this,” she said.

“Me too.”

“I appreciate it, though. It means a lot.”

“Don’t mention it. Let’s just get it over with, okay?”

We changed positions as per the photographer’s command. “Great shots! Excellent shots!” he called out.

“You’re a star, Gage!” someone called out, their voice thick with sarcasm.

“I can’t wait to pick up my copy of Playgirl Magazine!” someone else yelled, eliciting another round of laughs.

“Is that Hastings guy okay?” Ashley asked.

“I dunno,” I said. We changed positions again. “Who cares?”

The reporter lowered his camera and waved his arms to get our attention. “Okay, okay!” he said. “Let’s change it up! We’ve got plenty for our first page.”

I counted the seconds in my head as they passed. They weren’t passing nearly fast enough.

“We’re going to do a few topless shots. Miss King, please take off your top.”

Ashley’s expression dropped. “My top?”

“Don’t worry. We won’t see anything. Just keep your chests together.”

She hesitated. The men became silent as they realized they might get to see tits. I just wanted the shoot to be over. Ashley turned her back to the crowd and stepped in close to me. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

A simultaneous awe leaked out from the Joes as they were robbed of their free peep show. I, on the other hand, saw everything. Ashley’s tits were perfect, round, supple, soft. Her tits held onto her shirt as she lifted it over her head, not letting go until the last possible second, bouncing and settling into place.

She stepped forward, pressing her rack against my oiled chest. We spun back towards the photographer, and the shoot continued. We did a few more poses. One pose involved me pretending to kiss her neck.

“You didn’t have to beat him up like that,” she said into my ear. “You don’t have to protect me like that.”

“I wasn’t protecting you. I was just following orders.”

Her grip tightened against my side and her face snuggled up against my shoulder. “Thanks,” she said.

My heart fluttered, but I kept my mouth shut. I beat up Hastings because he was a slimy prick who had it coming. But a small part of me was protecting her. The thought of someone taking advantage of her like that made me sick and angry. Ashley snuggled her body in closer, possibly for the camera, possibly to be closer to me. I wasn’t ready to jump to any conclusions.

“Take off his pants, please,” the photographer called out to Vanessa.

My heart sank into my stomach. Vanessa ran up and reached between Ashley and I. “His legs aren’t oiled.”

“Can you oil them quickly, please?”

The final shred of dignity I had left in my body shrivelled up and blew away. Vanessa pulled down my pants, leaving me standing in just my boxers. Then, she proceeded to rub oil all over my legs.

Ashley looked into my eyes and then laughed. Apparently, my face did a proper job of conveying how unimpressed I was about the whole thing.

The Joes whistled and laughed. Over Ashley’s shoulder, I could see Major Richards standing outside of his office, watching with a grin of his own. A shiver crawled down my spine.

“You’re doing a good job,” Ashley said to me with a big smile on her face.

“I want to die.”

“Now those are legs!” the reporter shouted as he continued snapping photos. We continued posing for what felt like an eternity. “Great stuff! Now let’s end it with a kiss—a nice, passionate one.”

Ashley’s face became white, and I’m sure mine did the same. We kissed. The Joes cheered and the reporter snapped a handful of photos.