Page 13 of The Verdict

It had been like this for all of us—me, Tynan, Dare, and Harm—since we returned from the war.Retired.We were Green Berets.5th Special Forces Group, 3rd Battalion.Harm and Dare were brothers by blood; the rest of us, along with Ryan Henry and our medical attaché, Rorik Nilsen, had become brothers by fire.

And when one brother had fallen… I dragged my thumb over the black ink of Ryan’s tag number one last time and then banded my arms over my chest.

“Harry Winters dropped off his Harley for a custom paint job. Dare prepped everything for you earlier this week.” Tyhanded me a folder detailing the job and then turned back to his computer screen.

Between cases, we ran a high-end motorcycle garage, the Sherwood Garage, from a secluded ten-thousand-square-foot complex on fifty acres of land just outside of Carmel Cove. Working on restoring and modifying expensive bikes was a solid distraction during downtime.

Or it had been until six weeks ago.

“Any other cases, I mean?” I needed more dangerous distractions. Bikes weren’t going to cut it. Not after that night in the city.

My friend paused and cocked his head. Assessing. Always assessing. That was why Tynan Bates was our operations manager and technical support. He had the most experience in tactical assessment, asset coordination, and cyber recon, which was why his office was the most high-tech space in the garage.Monitors. TVs. A stack of servers, security cameras, and equipment. He researched our potential targets to make sure our limited resources were put to good use and provided intel support during operations.

“What’s up with you lately?”

Shit.Out of all of us, Ty was the least likely to probe into anyone’s personal life. That was how I knew it was bad—the way she’d affected me.

“What are you talking about? Nothing.” I locked my hands in front of me, my finger rubbing my wrist. “There’s work to be done.”

“There’s always work to be done.”

I frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

“You haven’t gone out in over a month.”

Six weeks.

My gaze narrowed. “So?”

“It’s not like you.”

“Maybe I’m doing dry January.”

His brow arched. “They use that to refer to sex, too?”

“They do now,” I said, my jaw tightening.

It was no secret that I was a creature of habit, preferring to spend my days working hard and my nights playing harder. I regularly gave into temptation, racking up one-night stands faster than miles on my bike. The rest of the guys built up defenses through solitude; I preferred to build mine through tolerance.

How did one become immune to a disease? By being vaccinated with fragments of the danger. How did one become resistant to a poison or diminish an allergy? By microdosing until a tolerance was built. So, I applied that science to women—to want. I succumbed in measured amounts to temptation to build up a tolerance to anything more.

Except there was a risk to temptation—one I both knew but never expected:knowledge.

And knowing the taste of her—of having her—prevented me from forgetting it. Knowing what I could have made me want only that. For hours. Days. Weeks. My mind had been poisoned with the knowledge of her, and there was nothing I could do to escape it except beg for cases—for life-and-death danger.I needed a distraction from the woman I couldn’t stop thinking about—the woman who’d disappeared after I’d saved her life.

“You haven’t gone out since the night of Wheaton’s holiday party. Since you?—”

“It has nothing to do with that,” I interrupted him, my blood pumping like his questions were the equivalent of a gun to my head.

“You killed a man.”

“Wasn’t the first time. Won’t be the last.”And I’d kill that fucker every goddamn time for the way he’d touched her.

“Are you worried about the woman? I can try to find her?—”

“No,” I replied a little too harshly. I didn’t want to think about what changed that night—how I changed.I didn’t want to think it had to do with her.But God help me, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

My body tightened like it always did, the sudden memory flowering like a weed rooted in my brain. Molten chocolate eyes. Thick, dark hair framing her face in wild waves. Her guarded smile. And the curves of her body crafted from my finest fantasies.

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