Page 54 of Overkill

“You’re one of those army guys who live on that farm, huh?” Marcus asked, that prickliness in his tone ever present.

“I am.”

“They said you guys had a wedding on that property.” He scoffed. “Brought in a fake motorcade and everything.”

“Nothing fake about it.” I tapped my finger on the table.

“Bullshit.”

I raised a brow. “Who do you not think was at that wedding?”

“Bunch of caterers said the President was there.”

“That he was.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I stood two feet from the man during the ceremony and shook his hand.” I shrugged. “I don’t need you to believe it, but it happened.”

“How the hell does a bum like you know the President?”

“I don’t.” The kid was cute, trying to get a rise out of me. But other than disrespecting his sister, there wasn’t much he could do to rattle me. “But the bride and groom were friends of mine. We were on the same Special Forces team—”

“Special Forces?” He scoffed louder this time, again trying to irritate me by choosing not to believe a thing I said. “No way are you’re Special Forces.”

“You’d be correct. I’m medically retired.” I reached down and pulled up the tail of my flannel shirt, showing off my scar. It was thick, raised, and gnarly. And hell, I hoped it didn’t disgust Melody too much. “Explosion threw me and burned a chunk of my side.”

I put my shirt back down.

“I’ve got limited motion in my abdomen, and if I’m not very, very careful, I can be laid up for days in absolute pain because of all the damaged nerves and tendons. Pair that with all my head injuries, various bullet wounds, and the number of broken bones I’ve had…” I shrugged.

Getting medically discharged was not an outcome I had sought, but it did force me to look at my life and figure out what, exactly, I had. What was important, and what wasn’t. That existential crisis may have saved my life.

“The groom’s name is Kai Griffith. His dad is Roland Griffith. You know who that is?”

“No.” The kid rolled his eyes.

“He’s the director of the CIA. Also the spitting image of my buddy, in case you ever see him on the news or something.”

Marcus eyed me with suspicion, so I decided to keep filling the silence, laying out my cards as much for Melody as for him…

“Director Griffith and President Davis Lau were roommates in college, and he is, therefore, my buddy’s godfather. That’s why he was at the wedding.” In the kid’s eyes, my associations gave me relevance. That was fine. Wrong. But fine. If it got him to open up to me, to trust me, to listen to me—and hopefully be nicer to Melody—it was all fine. Especially if, in turn, she might like me better if her brother didn’t see me as public enemy number one.

“Roy says Davis Lau should go back to China.”

The smug look on his face made me want to reach over and smack him.

“He was born in America, boy. That makes him American. Democratically elected by a pretty big margin, too.” The vote hadn’t even been close. “And as a veteran who’s bled for this country, I’ve got a bigger say on who’s American than some peach fuzzed little shit like Roy.”

I had no idea who Roy was. I just assumed he was a prick.

“Roy Smith-Gray is a fucking asshole,” Miriam snorted.

“Miriam!” Melody chided, though it was obvious she agreed with her little sister. “Language.”

“It’s true though.” Miriam mumbled and shot me a look. I returned it, letting her know I agreed. I still didn’t know who Roy Smith-Gray was, but if these two ladies thought he was a dick, then he was.

“Marc’s just trying to prove he’s not as brown as the rest of us.” Miriam rolled her eyes.