Roar (Military Bad Boy Billionaire Romance) (Soldiers of Fortune Book 4) (21 page)

“Oh it always is, darling; it always is. Welcome to the world.”

I snort a laugh and blush as I look away. I don’t “open up” like this even with people I know, let alone relative strangers like Sasha. But it feels good; it feels good to let the guard down.

“So does this mean you’re willing to hear me out and maybe throw a little trust my way?”

I laugh, and even though the two most important people in my life are currently missing and locked up, there’s a feeling almost like a weight being lifted from my shoulders as I look at her and realize there’s someone else to share all this with; “Alright, let’s do this.”

She smiles, and for once, it’s not that needling smirk; “Excellent. Think we can work together to figure out a  way to get your boys out of there now?”

I grin; “I believe we can.”

“Good, let’s get to work then, because I haven’t the
slightest
idea how to get us in there, especially now that my cover is blown.”
 

I frown as I look down and smooth out the map of the area strewn across the table between us. My eyes narrow on the monastery where everything I hold dear in this world is locked away, and I can feel the heat rising inside. But suddenly, my eyes move over the faded paper, down to a familiar looking name on the map not far away.
 

The idea that hits me suddenly is
insane
, but this woman sitting across from me
just
might be crazy enough to get on board with it.

“What?” She says, furrowing her brow at the wild look in my eyes.

“What do you know about driving a diesel stick shift?”

She grins, clasping her hands together; “Ooo, I
knew
I was going to like you.”

“Take a hit.”

“I’m clean now.”

The laugh, the same laugh that’s in every dream; “The fuck you are. Take the fucking hit, Connors.”

The laughing skull holds up a disembodied hand, the needle primed and ready. A single drop of cloudy-white bliss bleeds from the tip, and I can feel every single atom in my body craving it at the same time, like this screaming chorus of NOW.

“I’m clean.”

The skull starts to laugh; louder and louder, it’s mouth opening wider and wider until the fracture lines start to etch their way across it’s jaw; “Take the hit, Connors!”

The skull is screaming now, cracking and fissuring under the strain of it’s own demonic laugh.

I’m scared now, my mouth dry and my head pounding as I try and move away. But of course, I can’t; same as every night. My feet won’t move, or won’t let me move, and the skull gets bigger, it’s jaw wider as the screaming laughter hits a fever note ringing in my ears.

“TAKE THE HIT, CONNORS!”

I’m screaming then as the skull’s cracking jaw roars wide and just fucking explodes into a million stinging white, bone-dust pieces.

I’m awake with a start. The skull is gone, but the pounding in my head is still there, along with the grimy dryness in my mouth.

Fuck, and here I was thinking it’d been awhile since I had that dream.

I blink awake, moving to stand before realizing I’m stuck to the chair I’m currently sitting in; my arms and legs bound to it. And then it all comes rushing back to me in this sickening wave. Peyton, Benson, the needle, the threat; all of it.

“Hell of rescue, bud.”

I freeze at the sudden voice in the darkness of the room, not quite trusting that I’m not still dreaming; “
Logan?
”

The room is barely lighter than pure darkness, but I’m peering into it, turning my head and trying to decipher where his voice came from.

“Behind you; don’t worry, I can’t turn either.”

“Jesus, Logan, are you-“

“I’m fine, man.” He laughs; “I think one of the dudes broke a hand trying to ‘work me over’ the other day.” I can hear his deep laugh, and then a clearing of his throat before he spits; “Fuck ‘em. Anyways, hey, tell me you smuggled a gun or a key or a something up your ass before you got tossed in here so we can get ourselves out.”

I wrinkle my nose in the darkness; “Jesus, Logan-”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He starts to chuckle; “But c’mon, you've done that right?”

“Dude,
what?
”

“Smuggling, you know, up your-“

“Are we seriously going to talk about this right now?”

Logan snorts; “Just making conversation.”

“That bored in here, huh?”

He laughs; “You’re the first person I’ve talked to since my jaw broke that guy’s hand like four days ago. What took you so long, by the way?”

I grin, shaking my head. We might be stuck in this hopeless situation, but damn did I miss this guy.

“And tell me the plan was more than just you; I mean, no offense.”

“Yeah, none taken. They got me, but Peyton-“

“
What
about Peyton?” His voice is very quickly utterly devoid of his joking tone from before.

Fuck
.

I freeze for a moment; “I mean she got away.”

I can practically
hear
him frowning in the darkness; “Well what the fuck was she doing here in the
first
fucking pl-“

“Trying to save your ass.”

He lets his breath out in a stream; “Jesus, that fucking girl.”

“Tell me about it.”

I should tell him.
I mean I’ve been to war for fuck’s sake. I’ve fought addiction, and I’ve been to the brink of hell and back. Why the fuck am I scared to tell the truth about the girl I- I- fuck it, the girl I love to the guy that’s been my brother through it all?

Because THAT truth might get every limb in your body broken by him, that’s why.

But more than that, and more realistically, it’ll lose me one of the only brothers I have.

“So what’s the plan now?” Logan’s voice is even, and I’m trying to calm the thudding of my pulse; the anxiety welling up inside.

“They- well, hopefully they come.”

“We might die in here, you know.” His voice is dark; measured.
 

Well, let’s lay the cards on the table then.

“Logan-“

“I’m just telling it like it is, man. They're not fucking around this time. Benson want’s something.”

I take a deep breath; “He wants what I found out in the jungle in Angola; what I’ve never told you about.”

He freezes; “
What?
”

I nod somberly; “It was right before we left, right before the Old Man got us out of there, when we were on contract to that Warlord.”

Logan makes a low growling noise, and I have to agree. Being a gun for hire is one thing, but doing it for the worst, most inhumane, corrupt, vile pieces of shit on the planet takes a chunk out of your soul. Pieces of shit like “General Rambo” in Angola; the one that had us on patrol near an archeological dig he’d “liberated” from actual scientists in the name of “freedom for Angola”, also known as “looting it for his own pockets.”

I rarely associated with Benson back then. He was just one of those over-the-top macho guys; loud, boisterous, aggressive, and all sorts of traits that really don’t mesh well
at all
with someone on heroin. But, I was on patrol with him that night; the night we found the car wreck.

I tell Logan about the military case stashed in the back, covered with tarp and handcuffed to a dead-man’s hand. He’s silent when I tell him about cracking it open with Benson and practically dropping to my knees at the sight of the absolute
fortune
in large, sparkling, uncut diamonds filling the case. Papers stashed with them have them coming from China, which is absolute bullshit, and pretty much the surest sign of them being conflict diamonds from the region.
 

My voice is icy as I tell about making the pact with Benson, as loathsome a person he is, to split it. This is pre-William, pre-sobriety, pre-new-life, and pre becoming the man I am today. I had two things on my mind back then: junk, and how to get money to buy
more
junk, and that case was my mother-load.

It’s barely a week later when William Archer shows up and changes fucking everything. Yeah, I’ve heard the story from Hudson and Logan a million times about how the Old Man “saw things” in people, but I’ll still never understand it. I don’t care how good a person is inside; a junky is first and foremost a junky, and by proxy,
not
a good person. Heroin exposes the worst parts of your soul and makes them your everyday, and what the
fuck
William saw in a cracked-out, strung-out, lying, broken, and abject waste of life like myself back then is Goddamn
beyond
me.

And then I tell Logan what I’ve never told anyone. I tell him about the night before we leave with William; the night before we just say fuck it and get the hell out of that hellish existence. I tell him about trudging out to the cave where Benson and I buried the case, half out of my mind with withdrawal already and somehow driving the case back to camp in the jeep; the case that’s under my feet when we leave the next day.
 

Logan swears; “Jesus fuck. Well let’s call them in here and just fuckin tell them! We’re literally billionaires, Bryce; we don’t exactly need the mone-“

“They’re gone.”

And now we come to the crux of it all.

There’s a beat; “What?

And then I tell him about the other shoe dropping. I’m clenching my fists tight as I tell him about detoxing, about screaming and sweating out my demons in order to come out on the other side, and how the case I’ve stashed under my bed at the Old Man’s estate is just one more thing to drag me back; one more thing that ties me to the worst parts of myself. Of course, the money comes later, when William puts us in charge of his company, but it’s before that, when I’m still a shadow of a person, when I go to see him with a request; a request for him to help me me make what’s probably the largest anonymous donation Doctors without Borders and the World Health Organization has ever even heard of.
 

And all he does is nod and smile, as if he was just waiting for me to come to this eventuality on my own, which, knowing William, he probably was.

“They were blood diamonds, Logan, and I had to make sure they were used to heal the damage they caused in the first place.”

He’s silent in the aftermath of my admission, as if mulling it over; “Well, fuck Benson then, huh?”

I smile, hearing the grin in his voice; “Yeah, but he’s not gonna like it.”

Logan laughs grimly; “Nope. Hey, Bryce?”

I arch an eyebrow.

“You did the right thing, you know, and I’m proud of you,” He chuckles; “Even if Benson’s probably going to kill us both for it.”

Fuck this, it’s now or never.

I can feel my pulse spike as I let the words stew in my throat, letting the words form that may actually destroy us both before Benson even has a chance to; “Hey, Logan?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“There’s something else I need to tell you.”

There’s a breath of silence; “Shoot.”

It’s weird, talking to a wall like this with him behind me, but it’s now or never; “You know I love you like a brother, man. You’re my best friend, and-“