Bound to Break: Men of Honor, Book 6 (2 page)

“It’s a nickname—we gave it to him when we rescued him.”

Dash crossed his arms and waited for the story. “Okay, not so much rescued him, because he was fine, but he’d been swimming and he’d fallen asleep on the beach and he was freezing.”

“And so you and Mom and Dad decided to add him to the family tree?”

“We took him to hospital when we couldn’t wake him up. He didn’t have any ID on him and he looked like…” She shook her head, stopped her train of thought. “Anyway, he’s a good guy. Helps with stuff around the bar and the house too. Never missed work. He’s honest and the customers love him.”

Dash could see that. Lucky was a tall, good-looking guy. His dark hair was done in a messy fashion—not too long, not too short. Good hair. Serious dark-brown eyes.

Dash had seen Lucky struggling with his anger when Nate questioned him, had watched him flex his hands as though unconsciously preparing for hand-to-hand combat.

He’d had the right stance for it. Even if he hadn’t known who Lucky really was, Dash would’ve said he was no goddamned bartender…not until he’d backed off and acted like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

It was like he’d been fighting a part of himself.

“He’s using the apartment,” Emme continued.

“My apartment?”

“You haven’t been home in six years.”

“But I’m here now.” He blew out a frustrated breath.

There was definitely something going on with Lucky, but the guy had been here for four years and he’d done nothing. He was staying in Dash’s apartment—he knew who Dash was. Four years and he hadn’t made his move. It didn’t make sense.

Dash’s family had to pay Lucky in cash, unless he’d had the means to get a fake ID and start a bank account. But if he had an ID, why stay in one place for four years? Why not hide?

Unless he’d decided on hiding in plain sight.

Dash had been in these circles too long not to notice when something wasn’t right. Obviously, his family hadn’t inherited any of his situational awareness, but they were used to
him
being suspicious. Emme always attributed it to him working in some of the world’s most dangerous places, and she was right. But she only knew half his truth. His photography was a convenient cover story for his other work, the kind you could never tell family about without putting them at risk.

He’d stayed away so he wouldn’t do that. And now, he discovered that his family had invited a risk to live and work with them. A man Dash had been searching for.

You’ve got the wrong guy.

He’d never thought this moment would actually come, not like this, with a man who appeared to have no memory of who he was. Dash had been the only one to believe Josh Kent might be alive. Sometimes, being right wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“You can stay at the house,” Emme told him.

No way.
“I’ll talk to Lucky. Maybe he’ll let me crash in the extra room for a few nights.”

Emme’s face was unreadable, but all she said was, “It’s closing time—I’ve got to do last call. Then we’ll talk more.”

Yes, they would.

He watched Lucky and Emme interact. Lucky was still shaken—he couldn’t hide that—but there was an easy chemistry between him and Emme that was plain as day. Lucky was protective of her, and in turn, she made him smile. There was a rhythm between the two of them behind the bar that spoke of long nights working together, a closeness that Dash himself didn’t have with his sister any longer.

Unable to shake off the melancholy that mixed in with the unease, he tore his eyes away from Lucky and looked around the old place. He guessed it was true that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. The bar was in a perfect spot to attract all the locals but just upscale enough to keep the tourists pouring in. Most were dressed casually, some still in cover-ups over their bathing suits.

Last call was more raucous than usual. Dash was glad. It allowed him to slip out again and wait in the parking lot for Nate.

Nate, whom he’d been tracking for the past four years, because he traveled the most out of the three SEALs who’d returned home after the capture. He wasn’t disappointed. He’d been outside maybe five minutes when the guy was back, storming across the dusty parking area. When he saw Dash, he stopped short, then motioned for Dash to come with him around the side of the bar.

This was the first time Dash had actually gotten on a plane and followed him. That was because he’d made plans to come to Dash’s hometown, his family.

Yes, Nate surfed all over the world, and this beach was a well-known surfing spot. But for Dash, he couldn’t risk it simply being a coincidence—not with his family involved.

“How well do you know Lucky?” Nate asked without preamble.

“I don’t.”

“I do.” Nate handed him his phone and Dash paged through several photos. Lucky, standing next to Nate, in jungle BDUs. Lucky, hugging a guy with a shaved head, looking happy. “That’s Rex. He and Josh lived together.”

“Did you tell him anything?”

Nate’s expression tightened. “It would kill him if I’m wrong. It’ll kill him anyway.”

“Unless Josh Kent has a twin…” Dash trailed off.

“I worked with him for years. I know who that is—I’d know him anywhere.” Nate paused. “We thought we lost him on a mission four years ago.”

“Torture?”

Nate nodded. “I saw him die.”

“Scars?”

Nate lifted his chin. “We were captured. Tortured. He was killed. Burned.”

“Guessing it wasn’t him.”

“Obviously. We never looked for a body because we all saw it burn.”

“So he might’ve been tortured for as long as you guys. Maybe longer. Escaped. Lost his memory along the way.”

“Check him for scars—lots of them. Like this.” Nate turned, lifted his shirt and showed broad stripes that would never heal. “They’d be on the backs of his thighs too. And he’s burned. His lower back, below the waistline. Plus a scar on his calf.” He lowered his shirt and turned back.

“You’re retired?”

“Yes.”

Nate had retired willingly. Whether he passed psych evals or not wasn’t disclosed. Uncle was another SEAL on that team who’d been forced into retirement after a long medical leave because his arms hadn’t healed right from the torture he’d been put through. Rex was still active duty with an impeccable record.

“How’d you end up here?”

“I end up in a lot of places,” was all Nate said. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m just a photographer.”

“Right.” Nate drew out the word. “Look, I know you’re going to check me and my story out. Not sure why the hell you’re here, if it’s dumb luck or if you know about Josh. Either way, our kind recognizes our kind. Don’t fuck with me.”

Dash shrugged, and for Nate, he guessed that was enough of an answer. The guy might’ve thought he was a merc too, or retired military or something along those lines, and he’d be damned close to the truth. “Let me feel him out. If he’s a lost POW, he needs to deal with it.”

Nate nodded. “I’ve got to report this to the Navy. This is a big goddamned deal. He has classified intel.”

Not if he doesn’t have a memory
. “Give me twenty-four hours.”

“What are you going to do?”

“See if I can figure out if he’s for real or if he’s a deserter. He’s been living and working with my family.”

“The Josh I knew was a good guy.”

“People change,” Dash said.

Chapter Two

Dash wasn’t anywhere in sight when Lucky left the bar and headed to the apartment he rented from Emme’s family. It was above the bar, and the bar was about twenty feet from the main house. It was all circled by private gates and twenty-four-hour security.

It was Emme’s night to close and Lucky didn’t hang around to help, like he did sometimes. Instead, he locked himself in the apartment, the music she kept on loud still making the floor under him shake.

He poured himself a tall drink and downed half of it in a single gulp. His hands trembled when he thought about what Nate had told him in the parking lot.

Four years, Josh. We all thought you died… If you don’t remember…

Four years ago next week, he’d washed up on the beach. Four years, and the scars had barely faded.

“I don’t remember,” he said out loud, the frustration in his voice surprising him.

The knock on the door didn’t startle him, but it came sooner than he’d thought. When he opened it, he wasn’t surprised to see Dash there, but he was grateful it wasn’t Nate.

“This is your place,” he said as a greeting, and Dash nodded and asked, “Mind if I stay in the second bedroom?”

“That’s where I stay. Didn’t touch your room.” He moved aside to let Dash in and locked the door tight behind them.

“You could’ve.” Dash had a single bag with him and he dropped it on the floor next to the couch.

“Wasn’t right.” He’d left the place exactly as he’d found it, all Dash’s pictures on the walls. Closed the door to his room. Emme’s mom sent someone in to clean weekly and Lucky supposed she dusted and such in there, but he never checked. He already felt like he’d invaded the guy’s privacy by looking through the books of photographs Dash had left, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt like they were helping him, even if he didn’t understand why.

“You okay?” Dash asked.

“Not really.” He finished the rest of the drink and poured more whiskey into the glass. “Want some?”

“Shouldn’t drink if you’re coming down with the flu.”

“Drowns all the bad shit out of you,” Lucky offered.

“Not all of it.” Dash’s expression had gone hard. Lucky touched his face before he could stop himself, then slid a hand around to his neck.

“Then what does?”

“If I’d figured that out…” Dash paused, and then brought his mouth down on Lucky’s. Lucky responded immediately, his hands on Dash’s shoulders as Dash put his arm around Lucky’s waist, pulling him close.

Lucky’s entire body jackknifed under the contact, Dash’s arms the only thing holding him up. He could blame the drink or the stress, but really, the rough touch and the handling always did it for him.

Dash pulled back and studied him for a long moment, then rubbed the rough of his cheek against Lucky’s. Lucky shivered and Dash chuckled.

“I like it rough. Can’t seem to find that around here,” Lucky confessed.

“Tonight’s your lucky night.”

Lucky laughed. “Lucky’s lucky.”

“And drunk.”

“Not so bad,” he managed before Dash was kissing him again, hard and fast. Ripping off Lucky’s T-shirt and letting it fall to the floor. The man’s touch was fire on his skin, fingertips digging in, ignoring the scars he had to have felt. He just wanted the pleasure, no background or complications.

“Good?” Dash asked.

“Can’t tell?” he panted back, ground his jean-covered cock against Dash’s leg. “Am I screwed because I’m fucking the boss’s son?”

“Screwed being the operative word,” Dash murmured while unzipping Lucky’s jeans. He gasped when Dash covered his cock with his hand. “I don’t fuck and tell.”

He didn’t care if or what he did as long as Dash kept stroking his cock. His hips jutted forward, his entire body seeking a contact he hadn’t had in forever.

It was familiar, but unlike anything he’d had recently. He couldn’t recall his sexual past any more than he could his name, but he knew he liked cock. And he knew he liked it rough.

Finally, someone
got
him. “Not gonna last.”

“Who said I want you to?” Dash told him, but he stopped stroking and instead ran a finger across the head of his cock, smearing precome over it.

“Don’t tease—not now.”

Dash’s smile was slow and lazy. “Take your jeans off.”

Lucky did, carefully, because he didn’t want to lose any of Dash’s contact on his cock, no matter how light. When he’d finally managed to kick them off, he tried to hold himself steady against the wall, but that was getting harder to do.

It got even more so when Dash let go of him only to put his hands on Lucky’s shoulders and spin him around. His palms hit the wall, Dash kicked his legs apart and ran a hand over his ass. “Perfect. Stay that way until I find some lube.”

“Top dresser drawer.”

He closed his eyes, pressed his cheek against the wall and then remembered that his scars were in full goddamned view. He went to turn but Dash’s hand was back on his shoulder, pressing him into place.

“Relax. I already saw them. They don’t make me want to fuck you any less.” Dash’s lubed finger ran along his crack slowly, traced his hole before pressing inside, fast, to the knuckle.

He opened his mouth to tell Dash that he’d lost the mood, that he didn’t goddamned want to do this anymore, but then two fingers opened him, stroked his gland, and he didn’t want anything other than Dash to fuck him. Hard. Now.

He shuddered as Dash added a third finger, turned his face forward and screwed his eyes shut so he could get totally lost in this. Forget that anything else happened tonight except this.