Page 1 of Duty Compromised
Chapter 1
Ty Hughes
I dropped my phone on the gym bench and tried not to let frustration get the better of me. Four more weeks. Four more weeks of sitting on my ass in Rocheport, Missouri, while my team at Citadel Solutions handled actual work without me. Four more weeks of Ethan Cross telling me company policy was nonnegotiable: full medical clearance or no active duty.
“Let me guess,” Donovan said from across the garage we’d converted into a makeshift gym years ago. “Doc still won’t clear you.”
“Not until the tissue’s fully healed.” I reached for the barbell and started adding weights. “Apparently getting shot isn’t something you just walk off.”
My older brother shook his head. “Could be worse. You could be dead.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.” I rolled my eyes.
The gunshot wound in my left shoulder pulled as I lifted the bar into position. Six weeks since the Corazón mission, and the damned thing reminded me it was there every time I moved wrong. The doctor said I was lucky—clean through, missed everything important.
Lucky. Right. Lucky would have been not getting shot at all. Lucky would have been getting Lauren out of that jungle without Silva’s men catching up to us. Instead, I took a round to the shoulder providing cover fire while Logan got her to the extraction point.
Worth it though—Lauren was safe, Logan was actually happy for once in his miserable life, and the bullet went straight through without hitting bone or anything vital. Only ten weeks of recovery driving me batshit crazy.
“You’re favoring your right side,” Ben Garrison observed from where he sat on the floor, his Belgian Malinois Jolly sprawled beside him.
Ben had driven down from Denver three days ago, said he and Jolly needed a break from the city. But I knew better. Donovan had been Ben’s battle buddy in Afghanistan. They’d done two tours together before Donovan got out six months ago. Ben knew things about my brother’s last deployment that Donovan wouldn’t talk about—not to me, not to our parents, not to anyone in the family.
Whatever had happened over there, it had changed Donovan. Made him quieter. More distant.
“I’m fine,” I said, pushing up through another rep. The bar felt heavier than it should at 185 pounds—that was the weight I used to fucking warm up with.
“Sure you are.” Ben scratched behind Jolly’s ears. “That’s why you winced on rep three.”
I finished and racked the weights with more force than needed. “You want to spot me or critique my form?”
“I can do both.” He hauled himself up, all six-foot-four of him unfolding with the easy grace of someone who spent his life staying combat-ready. “Besides, someone needs to keep you from tearing something and extending your medical leave. Drop the weight to 155.”
“I can handle?—”
“You can handle getting back to full strength without your ego making decisions.” Ben pulled a ten-pound plate off each side. “Marathon, not a sprint.”
I fucking hated that he was right. I looked over at Jolly to find support, but he just wagged his tail and gave me his signature Jolly grin.
Donovan loaded up the other rack to 225 for his working sets. Smooth and controlled through his warm-up, then powering through reps like the bar weighed nothing. Six months out of the Army and he maintained regulation-short hair, woke at 0500 without an alarm, moved with that same coiled readiness.
But something was different too. The easy laugh was gone. The quick jokes missing. Now he just…existed.
“Speaking of Citadel,” Ben said, settling into place behind the bench as I positioned myself for another set. “Ethan called me yesterday.”
“About a mission?” I grabbed the bar, focusing on keeping my core tight despite the pull in my shoulder. And my fucking jealousy about something as casual as being called in for a mission.
“About your brother.” Ben glanced at Donovan, who was pointedly not looking our way. “They could use another K9 handler. Someone with his combat experience and skill set.”
“And?” I played along, powering through the reps, feeling every one in my still-healing tissue.
“And I told him Donovan would call when he’s ready.”
Donovan dropped from the pull-up bar after twenty perfect reps. “I’m right here, you know.”
“We know,” Ben said carefully. “Just saying, the offer’s there. Good team, good benefits. Ethan runs a tight ship but takes care of his people.”
That was an understatement. Citadel Solutions wasn’t just a security company—it was a family. Ethan had built it that way on purpose, hiring guys who needed more than just a paycheck. Guys who needed purpose. Direction. A place to belong after the military spat them out. Guys who had stayed mission-ready and were able to do the type of personal and corporate security work Citadel handled.
