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PROLOGUE
Briana
Fucking Lieutenant Kresky. While my daddies were off in country, doing their Lumberjack thing, fucking Lieutenant Kresky was in charge of the little base in the underground bunker. And he had just given me an order.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant?” I asked, trying hard to keep my temper.
“You heard me, SRD. I need you to get me coffee.”
What. The. Fuck. He wasn’t my boss. Okay, technically he was, because my spec ops daddies had put him in charge. But I didn’t get coffee. I filed reports, like a secretary—fine. I set up meetings like a secretary—sure.
I didn’t get coffee. Except that I kind of did, for my daddies—because I loved them.
I didn’t love Lieutenant Kresky. He wasn’t a daddy. He didn’t have the right to punish me, the way my Lumberjacks did… let alone the right to fuck me any way he chose, whenever he liked, the way they did.
Dammit. They’ve been gone way too long. I’m so damn needy. The faces of Daddy John, Daddy Omar, and Daddy Trevor rose into my mind’s eye… and not just their faces… their huge bodies, their muscular chests, their enormous thighs, and in between those thighs…
“SRD, do we have a problem?”
The lieutenant stood over my desk. He could get his own fucking coffee. He was standing up and I was sitting down and the break room lay about fifty feet away. No, I wasn’t in the middle of anything, but the principle mattered. I didn’t get coffee for Lieutenant Kresky. I was a bad girl, trained in Advanced Guidance back in the States, turned into a military fuck toy aka SRD—Sexual Relief Device—and sent to a bunker in the frozen tundra. I served special operations forces as a morale booster, and I’d become damn good at my job, shameful as many would find it.
Shameful as I still found it, a lot of the time.
I did not get coffee for Lieutenant Kresky. I looked up at him. Not bad looking, but a bureaucrat—not a real warrior, like my daddies. He didn’t even know how to use the voice of authority my daddies used with me.
“Not on my end, sir.” I kept my voice as level as I could. “But I don’t get coffee.”
“Alright then,” the lieutenant said, “you’d better go ahead and get your paddle instead.”
My lips parted and my heart started to beat fast. I felt my face flush hot with anger and embarrassment.
“No fucking way,” I said, my calm starting to evaporate.
“SRD, Captain Bradley told you I’m in command. I heard him.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Captain Bradley, Daddy John. He hadn’t meant that this asshole could paddle me, though. He definitely hadn’t.
But he could. He could get two corporals from the tech unit in here to hold me down, and he could go into my quarters to get the fucking paddle himself and pull my fatigues down and paddle me until I could hardly walk, if he wanted. Then he could tell Daddy John about my insubordination, and Daddy John wouldn’t just paddle me again—he and Daddy Omar and even Daddy Trevor wouldn’t let me come for a week.
I felt my face crumple. It was all just because I missed them: I knew it. Tears filled my eyes and I got up abruptly, lowering my swimming gaze so I wouldn’t have to see the lieutenant.
“Your decision, SRD,” he said. “Coffee or your paddle.”
He wasn’t an asshole: he hadn’t even insisted on the paddle. But I couldn’t take it. I rushed from the room and down the corridor to the exit out into the snow. I just needed a few moments to myself. I keyed in the code I wasn’t supposed to know. The big metal door opened.
I didn’t even think about the security risk—about the heat signature I might create. The cold surrounded me, embraced me as I went up the stairs to the other door, the one that just looked like the entrance to an abandoned building. It was so cold out there, I would get frostbite if I stayed for longer than a minute. I would clear my head and then go get coffee. I stepped outside, gasping at the cold.
Someone grabbed me from behind. I felt a hood go over my face, smelled a chemical smell.
Oh, shit.
