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“I bet it drives him crazy that you haven’t watched any of them.”
“He started getting worked up and said it’s one of the most beloved movies ever made.” I can’t even help my eyeroll. It’s unintentional but doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Oh, my God, I love you already,” Sailor gushes.
We both laugh and it feels nice to have a friend in Sailor. Even though I barely know her and Fallon, I think they’re the coolest.
“So, here’s the deal,” she continues. “We’re going to give Dash his Princess Leia fantasy tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
She shakes the bikini. “This little ol’ top here is reminiscent of the one his treasured Princess wore in the third film.”
“You mean the sixth?”
“Oh, whatever. It was the third film released, but he always has to get all technical about it. Beneath that hot exterior, beats the heart of a true geek.”
A smile curves my mouth because I can relate. There are so many things I’m interested in that other people would probably think are silly and would classify me as a total dork. My love for Sinatra and jazz, my interest in DIY crafts, my drive to learn new languages and how a perfect night for me involves chocolate, wine and my romance novel.
Or, at least it did. But that’s all about to change. I’m in Italy with the sexiest, most badass group of people I’ve ever met. I’m about to put on the skimpiest outfit I’ve ever seen…and I’m actually about to wear it in public.
Sailor tosses the top over and I catch it.
When in Rome,I think. Or, in this case, Milan.
Chapter Eleven: Dash
After Maddox and I discuss the op from every possible angle, I finally sit down on the edge of the bed and relax somewhat. I had no intention of bringing Lake along tonight, but it’s only a meeting and her ability to speak Italian should impress Giancarlo Caruso. And, on top of that, I feel better keeping her close. There are bad guys out there who’re after the Tantium Force and they still believe she has it.
A quick glance down at my watch reveals just how much time has passed. I tell Maddox I’ll be back in ten minutes—plenty of time for a quick shower and to slip on my navy blue suit. Eden once asked me why I prefer blue suits over black, and when I told her I like them because they’re more casual, she laughed.
“You, Dash Slater, don’t possess a casual bone in your body,” she’d said.
Maybe she’s right.
So I told her that I don’t wear black suits because I’m not a funeral director.
She was right, though. I’ve never been very laid back, but that’s because ever since I can remember, I’ve never had that luxury. The constant pressure on my shoulders is what keeps me going; I have no other choice because people depend on me. My parents died when I was young—another reason why I joined the military at 18—and I’ve taken care of myself for a very long time. If I didn’t, no one else would.
Known for my cool, strategic mind, I moved up quickly in the Army ranks. After two years and endless training, 200 candidates were given a shot to take the next step. To try out for Delta Force. We were the best of the best, and I was ready to join the elite few. The tip of the spear. After an intense selection process, I was one of 16 candidates invited to join Delta Force, AKA the Combat Applications Group—the other 184 didn’t make it.
Making CAG meant the pressure on me intensified tenfold, but I was ready. I became responsible for a team, and that’s not something to be taken lightly. The decisions I made on missions didn’t just affect me. The operators on my team depended on my leadership during direct action/assault missions. That’s five lives, not including my own, that I was responsible for every single day.
Those five operators, including Fallon, became my family. They were the reason I allowed myself to get captured by hostile forces.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shut those thoughts down fast, not allowing myself to go there. Not now. Now, I need to keep my head in the game and be prepared mentally and physically for the next mission. Getting sucked down into the dark, torture-filled quagmire of the past isn’t an option.
After a two-minute shower—thank you to the Army for that skill—I dry off and pull on my clothes. The midnight suit makes my eyes look more blue than green and the dark indigo circling my irises intensifies. They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Maybe that’s why I keep a constant shield firmly in place over mine. No one needs to see into my soul. There’s too much darkness there.
No time to dry my thick, black hair, so I grab some gel and slick it back. With my naturally golden skin tone and gelled ebony hair, I’ll fit right in with the locals. My family tree is questionable, but I know I’m part Italian with some Native American in there. Between the ruthless roots of the Italian mafia and those fierce Cherokee warriors, my career choice really isn’t a surprise. Killing the enemy is a part of my DNA.
It’s also another reason why I distance myself from serious relationships. No woman would want to see that twisted darkness that lies beneath the tailored blue suits. Experiences out in the field have changed me and not in a good way. My darkness runs deep, but I keep it under control and don’t allow it to ever get unleashed.
At least, not since Syria.
I release a low, steady breath, lock up those memories, and straighten my tie, pulling it tighter against my neck. After adjusting my shirt cuffs beneath my jacket sleeves, I slip my phone into a pocket and touch the Glock holstered at my back.It’s go time.
I return to Sailor and Maddox’s room and the women still aren’t back yet. Not a surprise. Why it always takes them so long to get ready is beyond me.
