Chapter 1
“I want to join the army,” I blurt out as soon as everyone is sitting down for dinner.
There’s only the four of us now. Pops and Dad stopped fostering about a year ago, although stopped is a loose term.
Pops still helps out when an emergency call comes in.
It’s still not unusual to find an extra body in the kitchen when we come down for breakfast.
Pops’ head whips around from looking at Dad to me. “No! Absolutely not. Do you know how many wars are going on?”
Saint rolls his eyes. “I think that’s the point, Pops.”
“Don’t trivialise this. War is never good; all it does is waste lives of innocent men, women, and children. Call me selfish, but I don’t want one of them to be my son. He’s not even eighteen yet.”
Dad gives Pops a shake of his head. “Let the boy go, Rob. This is his journey, not yours.” He looks at me. “I’ll be proud to take you, son.”
I join the Signals as an Electronic Warfare you have to, since you never know when you might need each other.
“You must have lived there to be as fit and strong as you are.” It’s not a question, so I don’t bother answering with anything more than “Something like that.”
I like to keep my life private; I don’t need anyone to know what happened to me as a kid.
Just like my need to submit—that’s another no-go on my life.
Pops says it’s because of my neglect and abandonment as a child that has me desiring to be cared for.
I’m the only brother that’s submissive, the other three are all Doms. How we all came to be in the lifestyle bewildered us.
But having our choices accepted by our dads as not a big deal made life easier as we learnt and experienced new things.
My first time at Bound, the club my brothers use, was well, interesting. I needed to be taught how to submit. And boy, it was painful. Now, the sting of a crop or the burn of hot wax centres me in a way nothing else can.
I turn off the shower and grab my towel off the hook, drying my torso and back before wrapping it around my waist. Dane is still in his stall, probably wanking as he does that a lot. The horny bastard.
One phone call from my Warrant Officer changes my life.
When I joined the army, specifically the Signals regiment, I wanted to learn languages that were useful in the world we live in today.
I’m fluent in three different Middle East dialects.
I worked fucking hard to excel and be an asset in the wars we’re fighting in this century.
I’ve been promoted way above my peers, and while I have friends, my focus has always been the job.
I love it. So, as I walk briskly down the corridor to the office of one of the scariest NCOs, I have no idea what and why he wants to see me.
We are back in the UK, but I’ve not been able to get home to see my family.
It’s grown by one more since I left. I knew Pops wouldn’t turn away anyone in need.
I look forward to some leave and a trip back home.
I knock on the door and wait. It doesn’t take more than fifteen seconds before I am invited to enter.
“Ahh, Foster, come in, come in.” He waves, but his usual sneer is gone. In its place is something that could almost be pleasant, friendly even. We all know it’s never a good sign.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” I stand straight, my arms by my sides, until he says. “At ease.” And I relax.
“You’ve been exceptional in your work here; you are always the first in and the last out.
It’s commendable. Your skills have been noticed by someone who wants you in his team.
It’s highly unusual for someone with only, what?
Four, five years’ service, to be sought out. Especially by Vauxhall Cross.”
I think my heart has just stopped, and my lungs collapse. What the fuck???? I manage to get my brain to stop racing a mile a minute. “Um, Vauxhall Cross, Sir. Why?”
He smiles, actually smiles. I wish I could take a picture because no one will ever believe me.
“I think it’s obvious, Corporal. You have the skills they want.
” He looks down at his desk and slides a couple of pieces of paper to the side until he stops and picks up one.
“It’s all here. You are to turn up here.
” He taps the paper again. “On Monday, at Oh nine hundred hours, and report to Mr Pilkington. He will take over from there.” He straightens up in his leather chair.
“While this is unusual, it’s not unheard of.
You are worthy of this, and I’m proud to have known you.
” He walks around the desk and holds out his hand. “Good luck.”
Pilkington turns out to be an incredibly posh—but not snobby—frontline officer. His smile is warm and welcoming. “Ah, yes. Foster. Very good, very good. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person.”
I follow him to his office and sit dumbstruck as he runs through my roles and directives, only manging to nod my head in agreement a few times before the meeting is over with. Welcome to MI6.
I end up in places similar to the desert countries I thought, hoped, I’d never see again.
But I’m good at it—one of the best. I don’t have the tattoos my brothers are adorned with, so I’m nondescript enough to blend in to listen to the languages I studied hard to learn, and I report back.
Then I lose the one person I thought I’d be with forever, and it’s time to stop.
I don’t want to be like him, to be the reason a family shatters apart.
To be the statistic my pops feared so much, so many years ago.
“Thank you for your service, Drake. You’ve been an asset to us, to the government, and your country,” Pilkington says to me as he shakes my hand.
It’s a little over the top, but he’s like that, married to his position.
“You know you never really leave the company. We may call on you again, if you’re needed. So, keep mum.”
“Of course, Sir. It’s been a pleasure to work with you.” I release his hand and step back before turning my back and walking through the door of his glass walled office.
I pull up on the drive of my parents’ house.
It’s an unannounced visit, but it’s Sunday, and I know everyone will be here.
After taking a deep breath, I open the door.
I can hear the cacophony of voices all loud, all laughing and happy.
The sound is food for my soul. They haven’t seen me for months—nearly a year.
I’ve been in the Middle East, my long black hair and tanned olive skin so dark I could be mistaken for a native; it’s only my hazel eyes that are different, and the golden whisky accents make them acceptable.
Definitely not the son and brother they know.
But since I’m done now, I thought they could get a glimpse of who I’ve been.
They’ve teased me relentlessly about being a spy, and I’ve encouraged them to let their imaginations run wild.
The kitchen is full of, now silent, men, all staring at me as if I’m a stranger. It’s Pops that sees through the disguise and lets out a scream of recognition. “DRAKE!”
His chair is pushed back so fast it almost topples in his haste to reach me.
“Hey, Pops,” I say as he wraps his arms around me in a fierce hug, then he puts his hands on my biceps as he looks me over, patting my arms and shoulders as if he’s checking I’m real.
Or maybe to see if I’m all in one piece.
Dad is the next to greet me, his hug just as hard. “It’s good to see you, son. You’ve been missed.”
“I’ve missed you too.” I squeeze him just as hard.
“Are you hungry? Of course you are. You’re always hungry. Sit down. Knox shift up a chair.”
“God, it’s always me,” he grumbles but moves to the empty chair, giving me his chair, the one next to Pops.
“Good to see you, too, brother.” I smirk but give him a one-armed hug before I sit down. He blushes but stands up and hugs me properly. “It’s good to see you back safe and sound.”
Whilst they don’t officially know what I do, or did, they’ve teased me enough about being 007. I sit down and reach out to grab some bacon and French toast. “I’ve missed your breakfasts.”
“I think you need a haircut, mate.” Royal gestures to the long hair. I grab the hair tie from my wrist and tie it up. I know it’s scruffy, but I kind of like it. It tidies up onto a sexy man bun, or so I’ve been told.
“Nah, not yet. It fits in with my next job.” I’m security for some teen popstar who’s shot to fame thanks to some reality or singing show. Something I know nothing about. I’ve got all the notes to get me up to date before I start on Wednesday.
“How long are you here for?” Dad asks. He’s shown all along how much he wants me back home.
Pops is the man who wears his heart on his sleeve, showing all his emotions.
Dad is quieter. I know he loves us, and I know he worries about us all, wanting us to be happy, to find love if it’s what we want, and settled.
He’s never liked the secrecy around my work, working out very early on the path I was taking.
“I’m back. I mean I’m not working for the people anymore. I’ve got an easy gig starting this week, protecting some new popstar guy. I’d never heard of him before I got the call from his manager.”
It’s Royal who takes the bait, maybe because he teaches teenagers. “Who is it?”
“Um.” I pull out my phone as if checking when I know exactly what he’s called. “Rafe Quartermaine.”
Royal leans back in chair, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Good luck with that. He’s quite the wild child. All the kids at school are obsessed with him. He’s always in the gossip mags, getting drunk and misbehaving with both men and women.”
“Are we going to see your ugly mug in the background of every pic?” Saint chimes in. “Although with that whole brooding stare, muscles, and obviously the man bun, you’ll probably get your own groupies. You’ll have all the Doms fighting for your submission.”
“Fuck off,” I tell him, but I’m grinning. I’ve missed this.