Masters at Arms (20 page)

“You didn’t upset me, Mama. I’m glad you’re
both here. But I’m afraid I won’t be much company. It’s all I can
do to keep my eyes open.”

Mama pressed her warm fingers against his
forehead and drew them down over his face to close his eyelids.
“Just sleep, my son. We’ll be here if you need us.”

The next thing Marc remembered was opening
his eyes and seeing that Papa had found himself a chair and he and
Mama were huddled together, their sleeping heads leaning on one
another, hands clasped together.

Sweet. He couldn’t picture himself growing
old with a woman. He liked women too much to settle for one.
Besides, you had to let your guard down if you were going to let
someone that close. He didn’t want to be that vulnerable to a woman
ever again.

He turned away. For now, he’d like to get
stronger so he could see if the blonde nurse was all talk and no
action. Somehow, though, he pictured she might be the one into
wielding the whip.

Still, he held onto the dream of finding that
perfect little subbie to work with. Maybe he’d find her at the top
sergeant’s BDSM club.

* * *

Five months later, June 2005, Naval Medical
Center, San Diego, California

Adam rubbed the back of his neck, trying to
ease the crick he’d gotten on the flight from Denver, as he walked
down the hallway beside Doc. “Any change?”

Doc gave him a sidelong glance and shook his
head. “None. He’s got no fight left. Won’t let anyone visit. Not
even his sister. Does the bare minimum with the therapy staff.
Won’t wear his prosthesis.”

They walked slowly down the hallway toward
Orlando’s room. He didn’t want to walk too fast, in case Doc had
any lingering effects from his collapsed lung. “Sounds like he
needs a swift kick in the ass.”

Marc smiled and glanced at him. “That’s why I
called you, sir.”

Adam grinned. “Cut the sir crap. I’m retired.
Besides, when I was off duty, the only person who needed to call me
sir was Joni, my wife.”

Marc smiled, but Adam could tell it was a
pity smile. He’d opened up to Doc more than anyone else about
Joni.

“I’ve tried to get through to him for the
last couple weeks. He’s fucking stubborn. But next week I start
classes to train with the search-and-rescue squad. I have to get
back to Denver tomorrow.”

When they reached the room number they were
looking for, Adam stopped and glanced over at him. “Good choice, by
the way.” Adam was proud of how far the kid had come from the cocky
SOB who had joined his recon unit as their corpsman to someone who
could lay his life on the line for someone else. “You’ll make a
fine SAR worker.”

The younger man looked down at the floor. For
a once-arrogant man, he sure didn’t take compliments well. Maybe he
wasn’t arrogant at all, just hiding some past hurts. “Anyway, I’m
glad you called me out here. Hate to see the kid discharged just to
go do some damn fool thing because he hasn’t gotten his head on
straight yet.”

“You and me both.” Marc reached for the door
handle to Orlando’s room, and then paused. “I’ll wait out here.
He’s sick of seeing me. Good luck.”

Adam nodded, and then entered the room to
find the blinds closed and the room in near darkness. No wonder the
kid was depressed. He marched to the window and opened the blinds
full force.

“What the fuck? I’ve told you to keep them
closed!”

Adam turned and came around the bedside
curtain to see Orlando lying there, the white sheets bunched around
his waist. Shirtless. His dog tags hung against his brown chest,
buried in a diamond-shaped tuft of black hair.

“You talking to me, grunt?” Adam tried not to
smile as the kid practically came to attention while lying flat on
his back. God, he missed having that kind of power over people.
Couldn’t wait to get his club started. At least, he’d have
submissive women responding to him like that again. Even
better.

“Master Sergeant Montague!

“What’s this I hear about you refusing to
follow orders?”

Regaining his composure, the kid slumped back
against the pillows. “The orders make no sense.”

“Come again?”

“There’s no point fixing me up.”

“Since when does a grunt decide which orders
to follow and which to ignore?”

Orlando turned away. A new maneuver was in
order. He remembered the night he’d seen them at the fetish club in
L.A., getting a screaming redhead off on the St. Andrew’s cross,
right before they’d deployed. Of course, when he’d seen Doc and
Orlando, he’d high-tailed it out as fast as he could. That would
have been a real morale buster if the two could have held it over
his head.

“So, have you ever restrained a woman on a
St. Andrew’s cross?”

Orlando looked back at him. If the man could
blush, he would have. “Say again?”

“I asked if you were into kinky sex—tying
women up, spanking them, that sort of thing.”

Orlando seemed unsure how to answer. “I tried
it once—well, maybe a few times.”

Well, hell.
Adam knew about the one
time, but didn’t know there’d been others. He’d just figured Doc
had dragged him up there. This might be just the therapy the kid
needed.

How the hell many Doms did he have in his
unit, anyway? D’Alessio for sure. And he’d heard rumors Grant was a
Domme, although he’d never been able to speak with her about it.
Sexual harassment regs and all. Serving with a female Marine was
like dancing on eggshells and trying not to break one.

Right now, Orlando was the one needing a
little dominating.

“Well, I can tell you one thing, grunt. I’d
rather be with a sexy redhead right now making her round ass all
nice and pink than to be looking at your ugly face.” He watched as
the kid’s face did flame a bit at the mention of a redhead. Adam
tried not to smile at the look of surprise on the young man’s
face.

Orlando got over the shock of Adam’s words
pretty quickly, though, and the defenses came up yet again.
Stubborn wasn’t the word for this one.

“Guess I didn’t tie mine good enough. She got
away.”

Fuck.
What kind of woman would dump a
man while he was recovering from something like this? If you asked
him, good riddance to her. 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 Damián’s chest. He
couldn’t imagine what the kid had gone through when he’d realized
that. Grant said Damián hadn’t been unconscious at first. He’d seen
Miller’s brains….

Adam needed to bring him back to reality
before the kid hurt himself. Using his former top sergeant’s voice,
he tried again. “Orlando! Wake up! That’s a fucking order,
grunt!”

Damián’s body stiffened. He stopped thrashing
and Adam finally was able to grab and hold Damián’s wrists still
against the pillow at the sides of his head. He opened his eyes,
his gaze darting around as if waiting for more incoming. His
breathing was shallow and rapid as if he’d just climbed Mt. Evans
on foot.

“You’re okay, Damián. You’re safe. You’re in
your own bed…in Denver.” Adam kept up a litany of calming
statements, waiting for the crazed look to leave the kid’s eyes.
Damián looked around as his pupils adjusted to the darkness. “It
was just a bad dream.”

The young man’s eyes cleared. “Fucking
nightmare.” He continued to breathe rapidly.

“Yeah, it was.”

“You can let me go. I won’t punch you.”

“Again, you mean?”

“Aw, shit. I did it again?”

Adam smiled. “Barely stung me. I’d like to
see the day when a young pup like you can get the better of
me.”

“Why do you keep putting up with my shit? You
haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in six months.”

“Sleep’s overrated. I’ve been a Marine for
more than twenty years. My body doesn’t need much sleep to
function.”

“You’ve had to put your club opening on hold,
too. I’m costing you money.”

Adam stood up to assume his maximum
intimidation stance. He placed his fists on his hips, his elbows at
a ninety-degree angle, and tightened the muscles of his bare chest.
“Now hear this. We’re Marines. We look out for each other—on and
off the battlefield. Until you’re ready, the fucking club can
wait.”

Damián closed his eyes, crooked his arm, and
draped it over his eyes.

“You aren’t going to get rid of me just
because you can’t see me.” Adam sat on the edge of the bed. “Now,
tell me about the dream.”

Damián’s therapist said the more he talked
about the experirence, the less power it would have over him. Joni
had done that with him while he was on his medical leave recovering
from the Afghan ambush. She’d held him, cried for him, and just let
him talk until he was all talked out.

If Damián kept talking, more details might
come out, especially the ones he was afraid to admit even to
himself. Adam talked him down from the nightmares every time. Just
in the last month, he’d gone from nightmares two or three times a
night to only once a night. Progress.

“The same one. Grenade goes off. Sarge
blocked the blast for me, but wound up…” Damián stopped rattling
off the usual details, but his breathing became shallow and rapid
again.

“Deep breath. Now!”

Damián responded, taking several deep breaths
actually. “Should have been me.”

Adam knew guilt had been eating at the kid
all along. Hell, he knew that feeling firsthand. No amount of
therapy would help either of them lose that. They’d survived while
others had not.