Masters at Arms - By Kallypso Masters Page 0,60
Adam would find the kid as many women as he needed to get over her. But obviously, she’d sunk her claws in him pretty deeply. He wouldn’t get over her very easily.
Joni would never have ditched him, no matter what had gotten blown off. That’s what she’d told him—and he believed her.
“Come back to Denver with me. You can help me out with a little business I plan to start.”
Orlando took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Adam could tell he was choosing his words carefully, afraid to disrespect his former top sergeant. “I don’t need your charity, sir. When I leave here tomorrow, I’m just going to hole up in a motel in Solana Beach and get a good drunk-on.”
Memories of his own two-week bender in Minneapolis after Joni died came back to Adam full force. He didn’t want to count the number of times he’d come close to pulling the trigger with his Magnum, rather than go on without her. Would Orlando have access to a weapon? If not already, he’d have little trouble getting one.
No way was he letting this kid leave here alone.
“It’s a BDSM and fetish club.”
* * *
Damián wondered if he’d heard the man right? “Pardon, sir?”
“You heard me. I’m starting a kink club—bondage, domination, discipline, SM, fetish, any kind of kink you want to get on. Doc’s joining me, but we can always use another good Dom.”
Damn. Damián felt his dick going into a full salute just thinking about it. First hard-on since before the grenade blast. “I’m no Dom. I’m not interested.”
“The hell you aren’t.” Montague grinned, and then directed his attention to the tenting of the sheets.
Damián adjusted the sheets to hide his stiffy, and then slid his leg out to reveal his bare grotesque stump. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m missing a foot.”
“Well, last time I checked, most of the ladies at BDSM clubs are more interested in a firm hand and a stiff cock. You still seem to have both of those in your inventory. Sure, there may be some chicks with a foot fetish, but you still have a good one, don’t you?”
Damián was speechless.
How could he get the master sergeant to see he wasn’t good for anything anymore? Still, even though his former Top was out of uniform, wearing his Marine t-shirt and blue jeans, Damián couldn’t just out-and-out tell him no. He’d spent more than a year under the man’s command.
“I’m supposed to continue outpatient therapy for the prosthesis.”
“Denver’s got an amputee center for vets.” The man got more serious. “But I’ll damned well make sure you do as you’re told. You won’t be pissing around the way you’ve been doing out here.”
Damián had only planned as far ahead as tomorrow—with a couple bottles of tequila and a pistol. That’s all he’d thought about for weeks. Months. So, why did the thought of starting over far away from all the memories of Southern California appeal to him so damned much? He sure had nothing to lose, certainly no more than if he stayed here.
“Look, sir…”
“Cut the sir crap. I’m retired. Call me Adam.”
“I appreciate the offer, but…”
“Sure, there’ll be plenty of butts for you to redden once we get you trained and open up the club.”
Damián knew his former Top was being deliberately dense, because the man wasn’t stupid. No way. He threw his arms up in exasperation. “Fine! I’ll go with you!”
The older man smiled. “I knew you would. I’ve booked our flights back with Doc tomorrow afternoon. You just do whatever they tell you between now and tomorrow.”
* * *
Six months later, December 2005, Denver, Colorado
“Madre de Dios! No! No! No!”
Fuck. Another nightmare. Adam tossed back the sheet, jumped up, and ran across the hallway into Damián’s room. The kid had been plagued with these fucking nightmares for months, just about every night. Adam went to the bedside and laid his hand on Damián’s shoulder. He knew from experience any kind of pressure on the kid’s chest would trigger a PTSD response.
“Damián, it’s Adam. You’re dreaming. Wake up!” The boy’s arms thrashed in the air like a rattlesnake on the attack and one blow caught Adam on the cheekbone before he could block the punch. Adam winced. The kid had been working on his upper-body strength. Judging by that blow, he’d say Damián was getting back to his pre-injury conditioning.
“Sarge! Don’t you fucking die on me!”
Adam knew what the kid was reliving, after hearing how Miller had bled out lying on