Page 2 of Royal Salvation

Letting him go, he stayed silent on the flight back. Playboy was stretchered away as soon as they hit the ground and he and his team were separated. Sitting in his dirty, filth-ridden clothes, he thought about the girl and prayed to a God he wasn’t sure was listening that she’d recover.

His commanding officer ushered him inside the room and closed the door. Twenty-four hours later, his illustrious career with the Australian Special Forces was over. His CO had been sympathetic, but Playboy was the son of a high-ranking general and thus protected.

Reaper had thought he’d be prosecuted, that he’d get his just desserts, but he was being sent home to recover before he was returned to the very role that Reaper was being stripped of. His team had come to see him as he packed his gear, the picture of him and his brother the only personal item he had.

They’d told him how Chess had said his words were lies and despite their testimony, the brass had believed Chess and Playboy.

Two weeks later he was in a bar in his hometown of Cairns, where his mother was from and still lived since she’d divorced his asshole of a father, nursing a ten-year malt at eleven am in the morning.

Tossing back the fiery liquid he slammed the glass down and motioned for the bartender to bring him another. As he contemplated his life and the screw up it had become, he wondered what he’d do now. Perhaps he could stay with Caleb and his husband John for a while.

They lived on the Gold Coast and were both successful architects with a beachfront home. Caleb had reached out when he’d heard what happened from their mother, but he hadn’t been able to face anyone yet.

A presence beside him made him look left to see a man with dark hair and wide shoulders take the seat beside him. Reaper wasn’t in the mood for talking. He recognised a fellow operator when he saw one and had no intention of being friendly.

The man ordered a drink and sat quietly sipping the liquid for a good half an hour before Reaper’d had enough. Turning, he glanced at him through bleary eyes and wondered when the last time he’d been truly sober was. “Do I know you?”

The man paused with his drink halfway to his mouth and looked at him. “Nope.”

“Then what the hell do you want?”

“I just want to know if you’re finished wallowing in self-pity yet or if you need a few more days to pull your head from your ass.”

Reaper heard the British accent and frowned before he realised the insult the man had thrown down. Standing, Reaper swayed. He’d obviously drunk more than he thought. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

The man ignored him and ordered two coffees from the bartender.

“You don’t fucking know me.”

“Don’t I? Justice Carson aka Reaper. You have a brother Caleb, who is married to John. They’re currently trying to adopt a child. Your mum lives a quiet life in Cairns working for a local law firm as a personal assistant. Your dad is Colonel Malcolm Carson and is a complete hardass.”

The man stood and he was a smidge taller than Reaper’s six foot two inches and slightly broader but also a few years older. A flicker of memory lingered in his brain but was gone before he could hold on to it.

“Let’s get a seat and you can decide if you want to come work for me.”

Feeling suddenly sober, Reaper followed the man to a corner seat with a table and took the chair facing the door as the other man angled his chair to do the same. “Who are you?”

“My name is Jack Granger and I run a private security company.”

Reaper moved to stand. “Not interested.”

“That’s fine, but if you walk away, you’ll never have the chance to get your revenge on Playboy for what happened in the Hindu Kush.”

Reaper snarled, his lip curling in open hostility as he grabbed for the man’s throat.

As fast as he made contact, he was laid flat on his ass, the other man standing over him with a deadly glare. “You ever lay hands on me again, I’ll fucking bury you where you stand. Do I make myself clear?”

Still reeling from the quickest takedown he’d ever seen, Reaper got on his feet, a grudging admiration forming in his gut. Rubbing the wrist where Jack had twisted it with such speed to put him on his ass, he sat opposite and watched in silence as their coffee was delivered.

“Everything good here, mates?”

“Yep, all good,” Reaper responded, his interest piqued now. What did this stranger know about Playboy and what happened, and why was he there? Taking a sip of the hot brew he felt himself sobering up fast, caffeine and adrenaline would do that to a guy. “How do you know what happened?”

“I told you, I know a lot of things. What I want to know is if you’re ready to walk away from this life and begin a new one.”

“Meaning?”

“Fuck, you talk less than I do. I mean, I work for someone who needs people with a good moral compass and who are willing to get their hands dirty to defend those who can’t defend themselves.”