Free GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance by Cordelia Blanc

your hands off the girls. I’m your superior, and it’s my job to enforce the Major’s orders. Now go.”
     
    Hastings and Miller looked at one another in their confused stupor. Lyon stepped towards me. “You might be their superior, Daniels, but you aren’t my superior. Last I checked, we’re both corporals.”
     
    “You want to dispute my order? Want me to go and get Major Richards?”
     
    “What, you’re going to go tattle to the Major?” Lyon sunk his head down and puckered his lips, mocking me. He stopped a few inches from my face, close enough that I could smell his stale, sour breath.
     
    “Step back, Corporal,” I said.
     
    “Am I in your personal space? Why don’t you go tell Major Richards that, too.” The urge to slam Lyon’s face into the pavement was stronger than ever, but somehow I resisted.
     
    I stared into his sunken, beady eyes. He was obviously weak, unable to hold eye-contact for more than a few seconds before his eyes darted down to my feet. He masked his vulnerability by pretending to size me up. I just continued to stare him down, watching him become more and more uncomfortable. But still, he pretended to be tough.
     
    “I gave you an order, Lyon.”
     
    “And what order was that again?” He smirked.
     
    “An order to go fuck yourself, Corporal.”
     
    His smirk slouched into a frown and he scowled, taking a deep breath in. “I bet you never even fucked her. I bet you got into that room and you couldn’t get it up, you fucking queer.” He took a step closer, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off of his head. “Are you a queer, Daniels?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

    I stood and watched as the other girls meticulously applied their makeup, redoing the mascara on every single eyelash five times over before moving onto the next. They’d all found out about the leaked spreads that morning, and they also found out that my spread had gone viral.
     
    A few of the girls congratulated me, but most of those congratulations were far from sincere. Barbie’s ecstatic, bouncing congratulations was convincing enough. But the other girls seemed downright depressed about it. One of the Playmates, Miss November, laid the sarcasm on thicker than I thought possible when she said, “Way to go, Ashley. I’m sooooo happy for you.”
     
    In the main room of the guest facility, they’d unloaded and set up the portable makeup stations. Each station was equipped with a large mirror, two dozen frosted light bulbs, and ten lifetimes’ worth of makeup. Each unit sat four girls.
     
    As I was about to sit down at an empty seat, one of the girls pushed her makeup over and said, “Sorry. I need the extra space.” It was a clear message—they all suddenly hated me. Probably out of jealousy.
     
    No one wanted to sit with me. Barbie’s counter was full, and she seemed to be completely oblivious to everyone’s sudden bitterness towards me.
     
    So I sat alone, at a plastic foldout table in the corner of the room. I asked one of the other girls if I could clean my makeup brushes with her towel, and she said, “No, sorry, I don’t like cross contaminating my makeup.” I wanted to tell her to shove it, but instead, I went and grabbed the green Marines shirt that Gage lent to me.
     
    One of the girls ran in from the next room over. “There’s a fight! Two of the guys are fighting, outside.”
     
    All of the Playmates were up on their feet and moving towards the door before the girl could finish her announcement. No one bothered to get dressed before running outside. Most of them just quickly wrapped a towel around their bodies. A few of the girls didn’t even bother to do that, running outside with nothing but a thong and a hand-bra.
     
    I followed, grabbing the only piece of clothing I could find on my way out, the green Marines t-shirt.
     
    Everyone stopped just outside the front door. Being shorter than most of the other Playmates, I couldn’t see over the row of blonde heads, so