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CHAPTER1
VINCENT
“Is that you, Biscuit?”screams a blonde no taller than a couple of Coke bottles stacked on top of each other. “I can’t believe you’re home! Finally!” The woman throws herself into the arms of the six-foot brick house next to me. His good reflexes, the ones that saved my life about nine months ago, kick in, and he catches her.
“Biscuit?” I mouth over the blonde’s head. That nickname is a new one. I’m used to calling the tawny-haired seaman Frank, which isn’t his name. It’s Benson Charles, which no one in my unit ever used because that is the name of some dog that wears pink bows and shoes, not for an officer who can hike twenty miles a day carrying a hundred pounds of shit on his back.
Nah, we call him Frank because his head is square like Frankenstein. Never in my time with him in the squad did I ever hear the name Biscuit.
Frank avoids my gaze and directs his attention to the girl in his arms. “Hey, Melody. Good to see you, too.”
“Good to see you?” She squirms out of his arms. “That’s all you gotta say to me?” Before Frank can react, the palm of her hand is whipping his face to the right. For a tiny thing, she’s got some power. She storms off, more like a tornado than a sweet song.
“What happened here?” I ask.
“Me being a dumbass,” Frank mutters. The tips of his ears are red, and there’s some color on his cheekbones. If we were back in the unit, I might give him more hell, but since we’re in his hometown and he saved my life, I keep it to myself.
“Let’s get a drink, eh? I’m parched.” I use my height and size to part the crowd and make my way to the bar. Beside me, Frank does the same. We reach the bar at the same time.
“Biscuit!” The bartender raises his hand for a high-five.
Frank grimaces slightly but slaps the hand in front of him anyway. “I need two beers. One for me and one for my squad mate, Vincent.”
I reach in my back pocket for my wallet, but Frank shakes his head. “Nah, Tom won’t take a dime from us.”
“That’s right,” chimes the bartender, grinning behind his unruly '90s-era pornstache. “Can’t be charging Biscuit and his buddies drinks. That’s against the rules, and don’t ask me what rules. They’re the rules up here.” He taps the side of his head. “It’s all karmic balance and shit. My old lady did me a card reading the other day and said my chakras are out of balance, so I’m getting them straightened out by not charging Frank and you for drinks. Don’t mess me up now.”
“Got it.” I take the frosty mug from Tom and tip it in his direction. “To healthy chakras. May your Virgo sun rise.”
Tom beams. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, do you?”
“No clue,” I admit.
He bellows a laugh. “You got a good one, Biscuit.”
“You can call me Frank, if you want, Tom. Biscuit’s kind of an old name, ain’t it?”
“Nah, you’ll always be Biscuit to me.”
“Don’t mess up his chakras by suggesting otherwise,” I add.
Frank glares at me over his own mug of beer. “You gonna be like this all week?”
“Yup. You gonna tell me what’s the deal back there?” I tilt my head toward the entrance where Frank got slapped.
“With Melody?” He rubs his thumb across his cheek.
“Yeah.”
“I guess she’s mad because she was writing me and shit.”
I nearly drop my beer on the counter. “What in the hell?”
Frank’s flush deepens, spreading from his ears down to his neck. “I’m no good with women, you know? What am I supposed to say to her? Like the first thing that comes out of my mouth earns me a slap. Besides, just cuz she’s writing to me don’t mean she’s that interested.”
“That wasn’t the slap of a disinterested woman, Frank.”
“She named me Biscuit when I was ten, and that’s all anyone calls me now.”
