Page 93 of Keeping a Warrior

She was gone when he woke up, and Rhys struggled out of bed feeling like he’d been run over by a Humvee.

Out in the compound, some guys were sprawled about on ammo crates or old camp chairs. Rhys dropped to sitting and rubbed his eyes.

“Hey, I remember you.”

He peered blearily toward the speaker. The guy looked vaguely familiar, but Rhys couldn’t place him.

“Uh...”

“Kandahar, a few years ago? You augmented my team on one op. Hank Barwell.”

Rhys still didn’t remember him, but he perked up a little. The dude must mean the mission where Rhys had first met Devon.

“Hey, how’s it going, man?” They bumped knuckles, and then Rhys reached out to snag a pack of Oreos that Shane tossed to him. “What’re you doing way out here?”

Hank grinned at him. “Just passing through.”

He and a few other guys started to talk shop as Rhys sprawled back in his chair and munched on the cookies. After washing them down with some tepid water, he tapped Matt on the shoulder.

“Have you seen—”

Squeals of laughter caught his attention. Rhys smiled when he caught sight of Devon playing soccer with the group of village children who’d come to fly the kites. The kids were used to playing with tied-up bundles of old rags, so the real soccer ball she’d dug up from somewhere had drawn quite a crowd.

She had the shemagh he’d given her draped over her head, the ends tucked into the neck of her T-shirt. Her cheeks were pink with exertion, eyes sparkling, and Rhys’s heart gave a squeeze.

God, you’re beautiful.

Devon waved when she saw him watching. He waved back with a goofy grin on his face, not even caring who saw.

With a snort, Matt kicked him on the shin. “Dude, you have it bad. You’re worse than I am.”

Rhys was just about to kick him back when Hank shaded his eyes with his hand and peered toward the noisy group. Suddenly he gave a derisive hoot.

“Oh, shit. I see you’ve inherited the walking mattress.”

Rhys froze with his Oreo halfway to his mouth, his tired brain trying to process the words. “What?”

“Anyone here fucking her?” Hank leaned back in his chair, fingers linked behind his head. “I know she’s hot to trot, but watch out. When you’re done with her, she’ll accuse you of rape.”

Rhys exploded up out of his chair, but he didn’t get far. Arms like steel bands wrapped around his shoulders from behind.

“Oh, yeah?” Hank immediately lurched to his feet and beckoned to him. “You wanna fight over a whore? Let’s go.”

With a roar, Rhys broke free of Matt’s arms and lunged again. He barreled into Hank and they went crashing to the ground.

Hands were immediately on him, wrestling him up and away. Rhys fought them, wanting only to smash in Hank’s sneering face, shut that mouth spewing vile words about the woman he...

Rhys sagged in Matt’s arms as Devon ran up.

“Stop this!” she shouted. “Just stop it.”

Hank shook himself free of the men holding him, staggering when Shane gave him a vicious shove.

Devon got right up in his face. “Say what you want to me, not them.”

“Okay, fine.” Spitting on the ground at her feet, Hank snarled, “Fuck. You. Bitch.”

A red haze descended, and it took three guys to hold Rhys back.