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“HELLO,” BISHOP ANSWERED in his perfectly clipped way of speaking, answering my call on the second ring. “I will make an assumption, sir, that your beast is not content.”
Never failed to surprise me that Jordan Bishop’s intuition was always so fucking on point. He never missed a thing and he knew exactly why I was calling before I had a chance to say the words.
I was long overdue in checking in and since my nightmares had increased and my agitation was at an all-time high, I figured I might as well catch up with Bishop and get some advice. He understood that all the shit I saw and experienced overseas shaped the man I had become. I spent a hell of a long time trying to outrun my past and was struggling with the fact that I was still at war. It was just a different enemy now.
The past was hard as fuck to get over and if anyone could understand my position, I knew he did. Didn’t make it any easier to talk about, especially since Jordan Bishop was cold and emotionless. He didn’t have feelings or struggle with them. The guy was lethal, detached, and a killer by nature. The Marine Corps only fed his own beast and provided what he needed to hone his skills.
Bishop was a Captain and Force Recon. Deadly as they come and didn’t give two shits about that fact. There was something primal about his instincts. Combined with his brilliant mind, he was the most ruthless man I ever met.
We had a connection. An understanding that we each had monsters within that demanded our full cooperation. Fighting against them only fought against our true nature. There was a reason I was so successful as a Marine. The same could be said for Jordan Bishop. The Corps gave us the freedom to become the bastards we already were and the Royal Bastards gave us the protection we needed to thrive.
I was a Gunnery Sargeant when I discharged. Served ten years for my country and my only regrets had to do with all the brothers I lost overseas during Operation Enduring Freedom. The Global War on Terrorism was why I joined after the 9-11 attacks. My patriotism and loyalty were part of who I was and my need to take down the enemy thrummed in my veins with every breath I took.
Bishop’s observation was correct.
My beast wasn’t content.
“No, not fully.”
His approach was quick, intentional, and left no doubt that he saw through my bullshit. “You need to feed the beast, Patriot.”
“I do,” I admitted, knowing that wasn’t entirely true. I still attempted to control him in other ways like alcohol or weed or sex. Since I met Naomi that had changed and now the restlessness was back.
“What mediocre substitute are you using? We both know that will not work.”
Fuck. I wasn’t feeding my beast enough. He was right. I needed to take a step back and get my head in the right place. “Yeah, I hear you.”
“You will always be a Marine. You will always need to feed that beast. Your Reaper needs to feed. If you give him the wrong nourishment you will fail in your desire to keep control.”
I blew out a breath, ingesting his words of wisdom. “I haven’t been hunting much lately.”
“That is the source of your problem.”
“It is,” I agreed. “Thanks, Bishop.”
“Patriot.”
There was a click as he ended the call. I didn’t expect anything else. It wasn’t his way.
That was fine. I didn’t need anyone to hold my hand.
The solution was maintaining balance. I needed to find a way to feed my beast often enough that he was content. I used to be satisfied with the hunts I went on in Vegas. The city of sin provided plenty of prey. There was no shortage of rapists, murderers, traffickers, pedophiles, and assholes.
But I was still on edge. Either I needed to hunt more often or I needed to figure out what was tipping the scales in the wrong direction.
There was a knock on the door and I dropped the book I was reading on the nightstand next to the bed, sliding my feet to the floor. Shadow came by everyday around late morning and would spend the afternoon, share lunch, and then head off once Patriot returned. I smiled when I thought of the prospect. He was quiet and patient, never forcing conversation or anything else. In fact, I usually had to be the one to instigate it but he wasn’t unfriendly. Had more to do with the fact that his sorrow hung heavy over his head and the burden he carried over Stefanie’s death weighed him down.
I opened the door, flashing him a small smile. “Hey.”
“Mornin’, Naomi.” He lifted a tray. “Brought us both somethin’ special today.”
Intrigued, I leaned forward to see if I could get a whiff of what he was sharing but he turned to the side. “Nope. It’s a surprise. Made special by Snooki. She said she’d have my ass if you weren’t sittin’ down and had your eyes closed when I uncovered the tray.”
Snooki was something else. I liked her wild side. She wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything, especially herself. Confident and sexy, she had most of the single brothers eating out of her hand. On top of that she was a wonderful cook. From what I learned from Shadow she taught the club girls a lot of useful skills in and out of the kitchen.
I followed him into the room I shared with Patriot and left the door ajar as I took a seat at the table. Shadow stared me down until I closed my eyes tight. The first thing I noticed was the distinct scent of cinnamon and sugar and then tart citrus. My eyes popped open and I squealed with delight.
Fresh squeezed orange juice was sitting next to a chocolate mocha iced coffee but that wasn’t the best part. A homemade cinnamon roll oozed creamy icing and sat on a puddle of gooey cinnamon and warm dough. Fresh fruit was cut up in a crystal bowl that included strawberries, cantaloupe, red grapes, and honeydew. Sausage patties, scrambled eggs, and crispy slices of bacon were on a separate plate.
