Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO_
HAZARD
When I haul my ass into HQ and find Trav, he’s in his office, sitting behind his desk. He’s been there a lot lately. Every time I’ve come to deliver the bullshit bounty he sent me to chase, he’s been right here with the same concentration line across his forehead.
The years of military service, government contracts, and wrangling the herd of donkeys that make up the Mike Bravo crew are starting to wear on his good looks.
For the first time since I’ve known him, Trav looks …
tired. I wouldn’t think eight months could drastically change a person like it has, but he’s suddenly looking every one of his forty-something years.
I knock twice on the doorjamb. “You all good, boss?”
He lifts his head and gives me the nod to come in. “Yeah. Same shit, different day.”
I throw the wad of cash on his desk as I take the seat in front of him. “Job done.”
Trav takes the money and puts it in the top drawer of his desk, not even bothering to count it. I could be ripping him off for all he knows, yet he blindly trusts his team.
I understand why he would, though. He pays me way too much, considering I’m bringing in less than I’m worth to him. If I’m honest, I think he’s only keeping me around so I can do the jobs no one else wants.
“Okay,” he says, turning his full attention to me. “Next up—”
“Let me guess,” I start. “You have a new job for me. Another bounty hunt for someone who skipped out on bail, who’s a quick tackle-and-grab job, mindless as all hell, but pays me well, so I shouldn’t complain.”
Trav leans back in his seat and runs his forefinger over his chin. “That sounds a hell of a lot like complaining to me, but no. I’m checking in with you.”
“About …” I try to act nonchalant, but I know what he’s going to say.
“The job. Mike Bravo. How you’re doing. If you want more responsibility, if you’re happy where you are, if … you and Decaf might be able to be in the same room anytime soon, that kind of thing.”
And there it is. “I’m not the one who has taken every overseas job since I started here, so I think that’s more of a question for him.
If he’s ready to face me or not. I heard he thinks I’m here to kill him, which is hilarious.
If I didn’t think he’d kill me on sight, I’d be tempted to hide in his closet with a creepy mask and a knife. ”
“If you were going to kill him, you would’ve done it when you first got here,” Trav says.
“That’s what I told him. It’s obvious he wants nothing to do with me, and that’s fine, but it’s a kick in the teeth that I’m the one being punished for it by having to do these bullshit jobs.”
“Hence, the check-in. I need to ask if you still even want to be here.”
I sit up straighter. “Are you firing me?”
Trav huffs. “I don’t fire people unless they betray me. I’m asking you, genuinely, if you see yourself here for a long time. Are you a lifer, or are you here merely to stalk your dad’s best friend?”
“I’m not stalking him. I was just stupid enough to think he’d want to get to know his godson and that maybe he would be able to tell me more about my dad.”
Trav’s lips purse. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Yes, I still want to be here.” Because I haven’t completely given up on Decaf?
Because I don’t want to go home to Mom with my tail between my legs, telling her what I’ve done?
She knows what I do—that I didn’t re-up and moved to the private sector.
She doesn’t know why or who for, though.
I don’t love bounty hunting, but at the same time, I was thrown in the deep end with Mike Bravo.
My first assignment on the job, I managed to get captured and tortured.
I mean, did I really need that fingernail?
After that, Trav’s gone easy on me with the assignments, and the slower pace has helped me settle in.
“What are you holding back?” Trav asks.
He’s so good at reading people, and I’ve watched him over the last eight months, how he interacts with each of his guys, and I’ve noticed he’s softer with me.
Completely soft? Fuck no. I don’t think it’s possible for Travis West to be gooey, but he’s not calling me shit for brains like he does Iris or Zeus.
Which is surprising, considering everyone else says I’m just like them.
Maybe Trav can see past the bullshit, and that’s why he’s nicer to me, or maybe he knows I’m not going to cut it here, and that’s what this conversation is really about.
“Haz?” Trav prompts. “This is a judgment-free zone.”
“Really?” I cock an eyebrow.
“Okay, I’ll rephrase. This is a judgment-free zone for you. In this moment. I can’t promise it will stay that way forever, but for this conversation, you’re safe to say whatever’s on your mind.”
I choose to believe him, and I take a deep breath to let it all out. “I don’t want to bounty hunt anymore, but if I’m honest, I’m terrified of doing something like my first job again.”
“Because of what you went through.”
Ugh. “I hate admitting that because it sounds so … wimpy.” I lost a fingernail.
Doesn’t sound so fucking rough, but when it’s ripped from the perfectly healthy nail bed, it’s quite possibly the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced.
I rub the regrown fingernail. It’s still painful even if it’s a phantom kind of pain.
It’s not really there, but I can feel it anyway.
“There’s a reason why they always go for nails. That and teeth.” Trav shakes his head. “You’re allowed to be scared of it happening again.”
I’m still going to hate the way I feel about it anyway.
“Leave it with me, and I’ll try to find you something less boring but not overly exciting. If you and Decaf could be in the same room, I’d send you off on a simple job together. I think I’ll need to force him onto R and R with how many back-to-back missions he’s taken on lately.”
Us working together? Never going to happen, but it’s not because of me. “Maybe I should get a raise with how much productivity he’s putting in to avoid me.”
Trav laughs. “Maybe you should. You won’t, but nice try.”
There’s a knock on Trav’s door, and somehow, some way, I know it’s Decaf without having to look. There’s a distinct aura that surrounds him, a mix of ire and anguish, and it always hits me before even laying eyes on him. When I do look, I regret it.
I don’t know where he’s been or what mission he’s been doing, but his skin is golden and tanned, and while he may have bags under his eyes from little sleep, he still looks so fucking … gorgeous.
Which has also been something I wasn’t expecting about the guy who was supposedly named my godfather upon my birth. I didn’t expect to be attracted to the man.
From his hypnotic dark eyes with distinguished crow’s feet to the slight graying in his beard, his whole look is a vibe. A sexy, domineering vibe.
Stupid dead daddy issues coming to bite me in the ass.
I hate, hate, hate that I yearn for this man’s attention.
Not even in a sexual way; just anything he’s willing to give me.
In the beginning, it was because he was a part of my father’s life, and I wanted to feel closer to him, but now …
I think it’s the chase of any attention, negative or positive, that drives me each time I see him.
Not that I’ve seen him much, but in the times where I get a glance?
A grunt sent my way? A frown that I tell myself is because he is concerned for my welfare and not asking why the fuck I’m in his space?
It could literally only take a few words for me to melt to my knees. Beg him for another piece of attention.
There really needs to be a support group for people with daddy issues. We could meet at a strip club and thank our stars that at least we’re not working a pole.
Though Atlas’s partner, Lemon, is a stripper, and he’s probably the most rational and levelheaded person associated with Mike Bravo.
Actually, a lot of his dancers are the same.
Maybe I should become a stripper. Then I won’t have this constant need for attention because I’d be getting it from countless different men each night, and then I’d be cured.
That’s how it works, right?
Decaf does a double take at my presence but then goes back to doing what he does best—what he’s done for my whole damn life. He ignores me. “I’m back. Where am I off to next?” he asks Trav.
“Jesus, man,” Trav says. “When was the last time you slept?”
Decaf pretends to count in his head. “Eight months, two weeks, and three days ago.” He glares at me.
Oh, ha ha. Right when I turned up. I get jokes.
“You’re on five days’ R and R. You need it.”
“What about—”
“Go home,” Trav orders. “Sleep.”
Decaf looks like he wants to object, but he doesn’t. He disappears as quickly as he came, and it only proves that he’s not ready to work with me. He probably never will be. I wish I could move on from constantly thinking about why my godfather hates me so damn much.