EPILOGUE
SAN DIEGO - Two months later
“And what about the furniture?” The super asked.
“Keep it.”
“This is some nice stuff.”
I was fucking aware, asshole. I wanted to say that, but considering how much I never want to see the shit again, I held my tongue. “It is, but it’s cheaper to leave it behind and start fresh.”
“If you’re sure?”
Rub some more salt in the wound, why don’t you.
“I’m sure.”
I didn’t want to see the shit again. Ever.
Every time I laid eyes on it, I saw Xander—naked and begging, freshly fucked, riding my cock, adorably sleepy, whiny and needy, savagely fucking me.
The list went on and on. And every memory poured a metric shit ton of pain into the wound that still festered, praying he came to his senses yet knowing he wouldn’t.
The moment we set foot in San Diego, orders waited for me to report to Langley.
I knew it wouldn’t go well. But then I’d been told to switch out my go bags and meet the G6 at North Island.
That was the moment I knew for a fact I was screwed.
They’d repositioned two planes to get my ass to Virginia on their timeline.
The brass had overridden my operational plans, and they’d nearly lost an entire SEAL team. No fucking way would they take the blame. No, it would be me. Even though I had evidence to the contrary, I was a fall guy.
In more ways than one.
TO BE CONTINUED…