Free Scorch: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance (Military Bad Boy Romance) by Aubrey Irons

want me helping you pick out some new panties?"  

    She blushes, predictably; "I think I'll be just fine without your help, thank you."

    I grin wickedly and lean in closer; “I’m a great second opinion for that sort of thing, you know.”

    Her face grows even redder, if that was even possible, before she shakes her head; "Try not to get lost, Javier." She walks away, leaving me grinning at my own jokes, but still feeling like they're empty.

    *****

    Considering that I'm the only Spanish guy in town, with no shirt on and a chest and arms full of fairly identifiable Día de Muertos sugar-skull tattoos, I buy a new t-shirt first. After that, I'm looking at hats before I decide I don't want to look like a total dipshit and find myself ambling around the market instead. Fantastic. I've got fifty full minutes to kill before I'm supposed to meet Chelsea; now what do I do?

    Oh hey, look; a bar.

    Perfect. Killing time and a way to get my mind off Chelsea Archer? Sign me the fuck up.

    I straighten my new shirt as I walk up to the place. I swing the heavy wooden door open and blink at the utter darkness of the interior as my eyes try and adjust from the outside; "Hey, let me get a tequi-“

    I stop talking as soon as I feel the cold metal of a gun barrel press against the side of my head.

    "Que paso, Toro."

    Ah, fuck.

    I frown as my eyes begin to adjust to the dark bar and realize that the place is entirely empty but for the five guys in black t-shirts and tactical vests with the "BR" Blackriver insignia on the chest.  

    Well, walked right into that one. Literally.

    "Figured a place like this was a good spot to bump into a little cockroach like you, Toro."

    The man standing in front of me with the mustache and the leering grin on his face is Benson, and I know him from way back even if he is one of those people you’d love to never see again. Mercenary outfits like Blackriver attract all sorts of types. You get ex-soldiers looking for the thrill of a gun or just the regular paycheck from something they already know how to do. You get the wayward lost souls like me who're just looking for something to escape with, and then you also get the utter psychopaths.  

    Benson falls into this last category. These guys are the guys that you'd lock up in a normal society; the guys the Marines say no to, because at heart, they're just murderous, trigger-happy lunatics who want a license to kill.

    I really don’t miss any of those groups after leaving that life, but it’s the Benson type that I hate the most.

    "Have a seat, amigo ." His accent is thickly American and southern, amplified even more by the ridiculously out-of-place cowboy hat he's wearing; as if anyone has any doubts that the man with the trucker mustache, the stars and stripes tattoo on his arm, and the Oakley sunglasses can possibly be anything else but American.

    I glare at him, hating the idea of doing what he tells me to do, but tightening my fists at the fact that defying him is probably a bad idea when I'm surrounded by five psychopaths with guns. I like stacked odds, but I'm not stupid.

    I sit.

    "Good boy."

    Keep it up, fuckhead.

    "So, having fun? Enjoying being a man free of El Muerto ?”

    Benson gives me a cold look, but I just lean back and shrug as I grin at him; "Figured I needed a vacation."

    His lips curl into a chilling smile; the kind I used to use all the time when I was trying to intimidate people. Actually, there's a strong chance I lifted that look from him back in my Blackriver days.

    "You got yourself a pretty little travel partner." His look says everything his mouth isn't, and that look says that he doesn't actually give two shits about me; he's here for Chelsea.

    "Her?" I shrug again.

    Casual, keep casual.

    "Nah, I ditched that chick. She got boring."

    Benson smirks at me; yeah, he bought that like pigs fly.

    "Oh, I'm sure you did." He sighs heavily; "Tell me, Toro, what is it with ex-employees of mine fucking William