women in this unit when the time came. Dio, he didn’t want to screw up. They would count on him to be there when they needed him.
Oh, shit. What had ever possessed him to enlist? He’d never carried responsibility like this before in his entire fucking life.
* * *
Two months later, July 2004, Camp Pendleton, California
Iraq. Marc knew it was coming, but knowing they’d be shipping out to a duty station in Fallujah in a week sure made him want to do a few things before he left. The no-porn, no-sex, no-alcohol rules were going to kill him. He needed to blow off some steam while he still could.
Orlando walked into the barracks and dropped Marc’s mail on the rack at Marc’s feet. Looked like he’d taken the fetish magazine Marc’s little brother, Sandro, had subscribed him to out of the wrapper for a peek.
Marc smiled. “Get into a Tee and khakis. We’re going out.”
“Where to?”
“Little place up the coast. You’re going to love it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I do. You need an education.”
“More training?”
“Something like that.”
Twenty minutes later, they were on the 5 in Marc’s vintage cherry-red Porsche 911 Carrera, top down, and heading for Los Angeles. He figured that would be far enough off base for them not to run into anyone who would report them up the chain of command. At least he knew they wouldn’t find by-the-book Master Sergeant Montague there. The man had to be about the grimmest, meanest hard-ass Marc had ever met.
He’d never found an opportunity to ask his top sergeant about Gino. He knew Montague was involved in the firefight that killed his brother, though. Montague had written a letter to Marc’s parents soon after telling them of his regret about Gino’s death.
Marc had read the short letter many times after his brother’s death, trying to glean some clue as to what had happened. But there weren’t many details there. Mostly he’d just shared how honorably Gino had served his unit. Probably just a form letter he sent to all families of the fallen. Maybe someday the two of them would talk about that fatal day in Afghanistan. But it wouldn’t be anytime soon.
As the sports car’s engine purred, his thumb stroked the underside of the steering wheel. He realized how much he was going to miss his baby. Sandro had agreed to fly out to San Diego later this week to drive her home—agreed a little too enthusiastically for Marc’s taste. He hoped he’d get back from Fallujah before the kid blew the engine.
“Nice ride!” Orlando shouted over the wind blowing around them.
“Thanks. What do you drive?”
“Harley.”
Shit! This kid has chick-magnet potential, after all.
“Had to sell it to make rent last year, though.”
“Crap. That had to suck.”
“Yeah. I’m currently a man without wheels—but I guess it won’t matter much after next week.”
Marc hoped there would be at least one woman with a military fetish at the club tonight. With their “Marines” emblazoned camo T-shirts and their high-and-tight haircuts, it was obvious. Marc wore his Navy uniform and insignia on formal occasions, but damn it, he’d earned the title of Marine, as well, during his Recon Marine training and was proud to proclaim it.
He also hoped they had Dom gear available. He’d left his toy bag in Aspen. Wouldn’t be surprised if Sandro was trying out his gear, too, the way he’d become so fascinated by the whole Master Marco fiasco. He shook his head.
“So, where we going again?”
“A little club I heard about.”
“What kind of club?”
“Fetish.”
“Man, I told you I’m not into inflicting pain on chicas.”
“No problem. I’ll take care of that part. We’re tag-teaming. You’ll be the master in charge of pleasure. You do know how to please a woman, don’t you, Orlando?” Marc grinned over at him.
The kid sat up straighter in the leather seat. “Well, hell, yeah.”
Marc’s smile widened. He’d known bringing Orlando’s machismo into question would rile him up. Being Italian, Marc knew all about machismo. He’d been weaned on it.
“This place is fairly strict—no penetration except oral, no alcohol other than beer and wine. I know the owner, though. A Navy vet. Jerry served in Vietnam. He’ll make sure we deploy with enough carnal memories to last us for eight months of lonely nights in Iraq. I called and he said he’d find us a fem-sub interested in a threesome.” Marc’s only hard limit over the phone was that she not be Italian.
“I’ve never…”
“Hell, Orlando, we’re headed to a fucking war zone. What better time to try