Free Blind Rage: Team Red, Book 4 by T Hammond

guard.
     

     
    Chapter Five
     
    Red was quick to jump from his vehicle, intending to circle around to see who was patrolling. With a quick, “Bye, Teresa. I’ll let Tank out if he’s not already in the yard playing with one of the guys.”
     
    Frost was nice enough to escort me into the house, considering my service dog was otherwise occupied, leaving me at the kitchen counter where, of course, I refilled my mug to a chorus of, “Kirsch,” “Byte,” and “Henry,” as the men performed the habitual roll call to let me know who was in the room. “Frost leaving,” “Eddie out,” and “Jazz gone,” let me know some of my detail left the room after refilling their coffee mugs.
     
    In addition to my Team Red detail, twelve men had been brought in for the first wave of PreClan surveillance and security training. It was Bastian’s idea that each of the Horses would forgo the usual “Hello” or “Good-bye” acknowledgement, in favor of an audible census, so I could know who was present when in a crowd, or herd, as I mentally referred to them. Daily greetings included “Kirsch, here” or “Lieb, leaving,” as the teams cycled through the house. On the rare occasions I entered the Cave, it was agreed, unless I requested specifically, there was no verbal roster. It was taking a little practice, but it was working for us.
     
    “Don’t. Even. Think about it,” a growly, female voice, accompanied by the sharp tap of heeled shoes, threatened. My hand stilled halfway to my mouth. I could smell the coffee. So close, and yet so far. The kitchen was unnaturally silent; apparently, I wasn’t the only one frozen in place by Gwyn’s warning tone. “Kirsch, step back from the cookies. The note stating ‘hands off’ applies to you.” I could feel the other men relax with me, as we all realized we weren’t the target of Gwyn’s ire. I took an experimental sniff. Mmm, peanut butter cookies; my favorite. I’d been so focused on refilling my cup, I hadn’t paid attention to the lingering aroma of baked goods.
     
    “Missed you, doll,” Russ greeted his wife, followed by lovey-dovey smoochy noises. Yeah, I was jealous.
     
    Heavy footsteps in the pantry preceded Bastian’s, “Hey, Babe.” I was enveloped in strong arms and his mouth took my breath away. Okay, maybe not so jealous anymore. A hint of peanut butter on his tongue attested to his stealth skills—I’m betting the plate was at least one cookie short. “Snagged one for you, too. It’s on the end table in your bedroom,” he whispered in my ear, under the guise of nibbling my neck. The man was a mind-reader. I pulled his mouth back to mine to give him a proper “thank-you.”
     
    “Geez, you guys, get a room,” someone said from behind me.
     
    I’m not sure if he was addressing us, or Russ and Gwyn, but Gwyn replied, “What was that, Ralph? Are you forgetting who makes the chore schedule? I can have you scrubbing toilets for the next year.”
     
    “Sorry, ma’am,” he instantly responded.
     
    Bas turned me around so I faced the room, my back braced against the impressive width of his chest and abs. It was like leaning against a foam-covered brick wall. Comfy, yet unyieldingly firm. “Who’s Ralph?” I asked, clueless. I thought I knew everyone by now. He must have followed Bastian up from the basement, as he hadn’t included himself when the men let me know who was in the room. Then again, he may have spoken during that hot kiss. I’m pretty sure I was incapable of thought for a solid five seconds.
     
    “Lenny’s call name is ‘Ralph,’” Barney Kirsch snickered. “On account’a he barfs when he smells a strong odor. Gets sick at the sight of blood, too. Poor guy ralphed all the way through basic. He ended up doing office work for the rest of his tour. The guy is great with a keyboard, though.”
     
    “But, hopeless with a cart of cleaning products,” Lenny added, with rueful embarrassment. “If I didn’t barf from