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I visit that club every night like clockwork. Each night, I’m there, waiting for her to appear. Desperate to gaze into her sultry eyes. Hungry to taste her luscious lips. Eager to feel her pussy envelop my cock.
And now, days later—weeks later—there’s still no sign of her.
Not. One. Damn. Sign.
I’m about ready to claw my eyes out. I already made a fool of myself with Mitzy’s techies, trying to get them to track my mysterious woman through CCTV. I’ve used up all the favors owed to me and find myself in the unenviable position of giving up on the mystery woman forever.
Not even a solid training exercise with my team can pull her from my thoughts.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brady, Bravo-One and leader of Bravo team, glares at me from his cage in the bullpen. “Your head is all over the damn place.”
My teammates and I stand in Bravo’s bullpen after several hours of having our asses handed to us over and over by Mitzy’s robotic dogs.
Fucking menaces.
“Nothing’s the fuck wrong with me.” I’m grouchy and irritable from our training exercise. “Mitzy and Forest are too fucking entranced by her robotic menaces.”
“You can say that again.” Booker, Bravo-Two, peels off his body armor and tosses his sweaty shirt into a bin for washing.
The six of us reek from sweat. My shirt makes a splatting noise as it joins Booker’s in the laundry bin. My body armor’s going to need a good rubbing down and disinfecting as well.
We just returned from a field trial with the Rufi. Mitzy calls them the Rufuses: Robotic Ultra Functional Utility Specialists. I call them annoying vermin. Fuckers are relentless and impossible to evade.
About the size of a large dog—let’s call them voracious wolves. They run like cheetahs. Stalk like lions. And have the endurance of the frickin’ Energizer Bunny. It’s impossible to escape them, and once they’re on you, those fuckers are on you. They never stop. Never tire. They never give up the chase.
As someone who spent twenty minutes pinned underneath one, I claim personal experience with that degradation.
Bravo’s job today was to take the side of the enemy. Not such an odd request. We frequently assume both sides in all our training exercises when practicing for a mission, or just refreshing our skills.
That’s all to say, I don’t mind being on the opposing side. What I mind is getting fucked with.
We weren’t opponents of the Rufi. We were goddamn prey tasked with evading the Rufi pack—six of the robotic fuckers—while Charlie team worked with the Rufi to bring us down.
We were easy pickings, and we went down fast.
“Damn Rufi handed us our asses today.” Rafe sits on a bench. “But, I have to say, and despite how today sucked, I’m definitely looking forward to having them on our side.
Ahead of the rest of us, Rafe’s already stripped down to his skivvies. Instead of hopping in the shower, he removes his prosthetic and massages what’s left of his leg.
Except for Booker, and maybe Zeb, we all carry scars from that disastrous mission. A mission where a bomb blew Bravo team to bits. Rafe lost a leg. Brady was horribly disfigured by burns. I lost two fingers; nothing I can’t live without. Booker came out unscathed. Luckily for us all, considering he’s the team medic.
“No shit.” I sit on a bench and attack the laces of my boots. “One of the Rufi ran up on me from behind, leaped into the air, tackled me, and brought me down flat on my face. Then, it sat on my back like I was some damn trophy. Preening over its kill. I swear, if those things were real, it would’ve been grinning like a fool, tongue lolling out of its mouth, dripping slobber all over my back.”
“At least you were on the ground.” Hayes joins me on the bench, removes his boots, then takes his weapon apart in less than thirty seconds. “I got treed.” He shakes his head and mutters under his breath something about the damn dogs. “Run up a goddamn tree. Fucking Rufi stared up at me the rest of the exercise with its freaky head that’s also an arm. The fucker tried, actually tried, to climb up after me. It used that head-mouth-hand appendage to grab hold of a branch. Only reason it didn’t get me is because the branch broke.”
“For the record…” I slap my weapon down on the table and glance at Brady. “My shots were spot on. My head’s totally in the game. It’s those fucking Rufi…”
I may not be the team’s sniper, but I know how to shoot. If anything, the loss of two fingers makes me a better shot.
“You may have been spot on with your shots, but you were a beat behind the rest of us.” Brady’s pissed. “Your head isn’t in the game. What the fuck is so damn important you couldn’t get out of your own damn way?”
The Rufi handed us our asses. It’s what they’re designed to do. They’re great assets in battle. If they’re on your side. I’d love to work with them more, but this fucking non-stop testing sucks.
“How about you focus on the success of the test rather than me being a beat behind?” I grumble a few other things and take out my anger on my weapon as I break it down for cleaning. “My head’s right where it needs to be.”
“I’m talking about your other head, asshole.” Brady’s like a fucking dog, unwilling to let things go. That’s what makes him a phenomenal leader. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“Does it matter?” I give him a look. Out of all of us, I’m the most successful when it comes to hooking up at the bars.
