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PROLOGUE
RYAN
THREE YEARS AGO
“If you’re going to summon me to your place, you could at least have the decency to be here,” I grumbled over the line, leaving my brother a voicemail. But why was I surprised he was MIA? Anthony barely made it to the ice rink before the clock started on game nights. “Call me back. Or better yet, get your ass over here.”
I pocketed my phone and set my overnight bag by the couch in his too-rich-for-my-blood condo in Uptown Charlotte.
For a pro-athlete, my brother’s security measures were shit. Key under the doormat and his birthday to disarm his security system—seriously, bro?
He was lucky I’d found my way inside like a normal guy tonight and not the professional door kicker the U.S. government had trained me to be over the last seventeen years.
Spotting the wet bar on the other side of the room, I made my way over. The Advil I’d popped an hour ago hadn’t made a dent in combatting my headache. Why I thought tossing back whiskey would be a great idea—hell if I knew? But I was on edge, wondering what favor my little brother would ask of me this time.
Your head injury might be my saving grace. Just head straight to my condo when you land, had been Anthony’s last message to me while I’d still been in the air. Cryptic as always.
Glad my concussion while keeping the world safe from terrorists will help you out this weekend, had been my initial response. A text like that would get me in a hell of a lot of trouble with the Navy, so instead of hitting send, I deleted it.
As part of DEVGRU, formerly known as SEAL Team Six, we weren’t allowed to share what we did or where we went. Zipped-fucking-lips was our motto.
But damn, the knock to my head had done a number on me. I could barely remember what actually went down that day in Pech Valley, Afghanistan. My platoon had been tasked with taking down a high-value target, and shit went sideways. My reward had been a concussion and two weeks of skull-splitting headaches.
Oh, and if that wasn’t bad enough . . . I’d had my “operator card” revoked until who knew the hell when. Alpha Three was currently filling in for me as our team leader’s number two, and that fact alone could’ve been the cause of my head pain. Three was a great sniper, but was he ready to be second-in-command? And if anything happened to my teammates out there because I wasn’t with them . . .
I cursed and reached for a bottle of Maker’s Mark, ready to take the edge off my pain and attitude, but my shoulders fell at the sight of a framed photo on the narrow table behind the couch. Ignoring the liquid relief in front of me, I gave in to the pull of the memory behind the glass, grabbing the picture as if the physical connection could tether me to the past.
It’d been taken in front of Dad’s shop, Rossi’s Auto Body, shortly after I graduated high school and the day I left to join the Navy. It’d also been the last day I saw my father alive.
It was hard to believe Dad was only nine years older in that photo than I was now. We looked just alike, too. We both stood at six foot one. I had his dark, slightly wavy hair. Similar sharp jawline. Same lost-looking brown eyes.
Anthony, on the other hand, had the Italian-sounding name, but he looked much more like Mom than Dad.
Our parents had fallen in love when they were eighteen. Dad came from a big Italian family, and since Mom was Irish, they’d objected to their marriage. They were old school like that. But Dad chose Mom despite his parents’ objections.
My hand trembled as painful memories tore through me, and I repositioned the photo back in place, worried I’d drop it.
When my phone vibrated in my pocket a moment later, I squeezed the emotions down my throat with a hard swallow before answering my brother’s call.
“You better be on your way,” I barked over the line. “Also, your security measures are shit.”
I grabbed my bag and headed to Anthony’s bedroom in need of a shower.
“My neighbor has an emergency key. I asked her to put it under the mat when I knew you were on your way,” he fired back as I dropped the bag and plopped down on the bed.
“Fine. But where are you?”
“About that, Ry.” Not the best words to hear from my brother.
“Let me guess, this is a trap. You’re not coming.”
“I need you to sub for me tonight and play nice with Nat. Be her date to this Halloween charity event I’m supposed to attend,” he dropped the news I sure as hell didn’t want to hear.
“Hard pass.” I attempted to stand, but my balance was off, and my ass went right back down. I needed more Advil. Or that whiskey. Maybe both.
“I’m not babysitting your girlfriend.” Any other woman and I wouldn’t care. But Natalia? Hell no.
“Come on, this charity event is for vets. Way more up your alley than mine. I’m just a donor. They already have my cash. Just make an appearance in the costume, smile, take a few pics, and then leave. Easy.”
