Page 7 of A Dead Man’s Pulse (Trident Security Omega Team #1)

Chapter Four

“ S o, is he going to take the job?”

As Angie’s lyrical voice drifted through his cell phone, Ian flagged down the waitress for the bill. “Doesn’t look like it. He’s got five more minutes before I walk out of here.”

If Reese didn’t show, Ian would have to go back to the five other files he had sitting on his desk and make a decision with Devon on who to offer the position to.

But he really wished the guy would show up—not only because Ian thought he’d be a perfect fit for the new team, but because the retired Marine needed a reason to get up every morning.

Otherwise, he’d just waste away—another dead soul among the living.

“Will you be in the mood to go to the club tonight, Sir?”

Despite his disappointment over Reese, a grin spread across Ian’s face.

That single word “Sir” out of his submissive’s pretty mouth always got his dick twitching, no matter what was going on at the moment.

The club she was referring to was Ian and Devon’s other business, which they co-owned with their cousin, Mitch Sawyer.

The Covenant was a private, elite BDSM establishment in the Trident Security compound that the Alpha team all belonged to, having been in the lifestyle during their military years.

When Ian first met Angie, she hadn’t been in the kink community but had a healthy curiosity about it. He’d introduced her to his world, and she’d come to love and need it as much as he had.

“When am I not in the mood to go play, Angel?” The waitress slid a thin leather folder with his bill in it onto the table and then stepped away again.

A feminine snort came over the phone. “Okay, that was a stupid question. But if your answer had been ‘no,’ I was prepared to bring out the big guns.”

“Which would be?” His woman had definitely caught his attention with her flirtatious tone.

“Oh, just that I got a delivery today from someone’s favorite lingerie catalog.”

And, damn, now he was hard as a rock. He had a huge lingerie fetish, loving how a woman looked and felt in silk and lace, and Angie enjoyed indulging him in it.

His fiancée rocked sexy undergarments like no other woman he knew—the more see-through, the better.

When she and Ian had first started dating, Angie had found out she’d been harboring an inner exhibitionist up to that point in her life.

“The red, fishnet body stocking?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she responded in a husky, sultry tone. “The crotchless one. I think you’ll want me to wear the red stilettos with it too.”

“Are you trying it on right now, standing in front of the full-length mirror?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Fuck, she was killing him. He winced as his pants tightened in his crotch, as he shifted to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket.

He was about to tell her to get her green vibrator—or JGG for jolly-green-giant—for some phone sex, but across the dining room, the front door to the pub swung open, and in walked Reese.

His sharp eyes scanned the patrons, and when he spotted Ian, he marched over, sheer determination on his face.

Without acknowledging or noticing the fact Ian was on the phone, he said, “I’m in. ”

After staring at the man for a moment, Ian nodded and then pointed to the opposite seat in the booth.

The phone sex would have to wait until he was on Trident’s private jet later.

At least, then, he’d be able to get himself off at the same time she did.

“I have to go, Angel. My appointment just showed up.”

“Oh, good. Love you, Sir. Call me from the plane.”

“Love you, too, Angel. And I will—have JGG primed and ready to go.” A few months ago, he would’ve been embarrassed saying “I love you” to her over the phone in someone else’s presence, but now, he didn’t care who knew how much he loved his woman.

She was the reason he lived each day with a lighter heart than he’d ever known, and now he had the chance to offer someone else a different reason to get up every morning.

Disconnecting the call, he set the phone on the dark wooden table as Reese took a seat.

Ian flagged the waitress back over and handed her the bill with his credit card.

“Sorry, we’ll be here longer than I thought.

Keep the tab open for now, and please bring me another Bud Light. Reese, you want anything?”

The man glanced at the woman. “I’ll have the same, please.”

“Sure thing,” she responded before heading over to the bar.

Ian studied his potential new employee—it wasn’t a done deal yet. There were several mandatory requirements Reese had to accept. “You got in just under the wire. You sure you want to do this?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What? Did you finally come to the conclusion hiring me was a bad idea sometime in the past two hours?”

Shaking his head, Ian pushed his phone aside and crossed his arms on the table. “Not at all. Just making sure you’re a hundred percent positive before I expend any more energy on you.” He paused. “How was your session with the shrink?”

“Confidential.”

Ian snorted at the annoyed tone of voice for that one word.

“Not if you’re on my team it isn’t. Rule number one for me hiring you—you’ll continue to see a shrink in Tampa whenever you’re in town.

Two or three times a week, depending on what the doc says.

I’ve got three of them from the government-approved list, who are experienced with veterans with PTSD, for you to choose from.

You don’t like any of those, then we’ll look until we find one we both agree on. ”

Reese’s jaw had tightened, but when Ian raised an eyebrow at him, he nodded. “Okay. Rule number one I can live with.” With a little snark, he added, “I assume there’s at least a rule number two.”

“Smart man, although you know what they say about assuming anything. Rule number two is you’re one hundred percent open and honest with me.

I can work around any missions you’re uncomfortable with, but you’ve got to open your mouth and tell me.

I’m not going to show you the door if you do, but you can be damn sure I’ll kick your ass out if you fucking lie to me or withhold the fact you can’t deal with something. ”

After a brief pause, that demand garnered a slightly better response. “Understood. Anything else?”

“Those first two are not negotiable, and neither is rule number three.” Ian steeled himself for the hissy fit that might follow his next words.

“After you get some training time with your new team, we’ll all sit down, and you’ll tell them what happened in Afghanistan. Everything that’s not classified.”

This time, the man’s jaw dropped. Fury flared in his eyes, and Ian waited for the “fuck you, asshole” followed by the table being flipped over .

. . or something to that effect. Reese leaned forward, glaring at him, but kept his voice low.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Who the hell is going to want to work with me after hearing what I’ve been through?

Fuck! I can’t even tell the damn shrink what happened. ”

Ian knew he wasn’t referring to the classified shit, which he couldn’t tell anyone—not even a government-approved psychologist. He meant he hadn’t told the doctor how he’d listened to his teammates being tortured, one by one, and then had to see their decapitated heads.

Ian also knew this was Reese’s third or fourth shrink he’d tried to open up to.

“What have you told him so far? Have you told him you have survivor’s guilt?

How you breathed a sigh of relief when you weren’t the next one dragged out of the cell?

And how guilty you felt seconds after that relief disappeared as you listened to your buddies being tortured?

Cowboy, man, all that’s normal. Well, as normal as shit can get after what you’ve been through.

And if none of your shrinks have gotten that out of you after all this time, then you’re seeing the wrong fucking ones.

” He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Hang on a second.”

The waitress returned with their beers and then left again. As Reese continued to stew silently, Ian grabbed his phone, found the number he was looking for in his contacts, pressed Send, and waited for the call to be answered.

“Hello, Ian. You’ve got three minutes before my next client walks in.

” Dr. Trudy Dunbar was a psychologist he’d known for the past few years.

Although she wasn’t in the lifestyle herself, she’d done her dissertation on BDSM, so they referred members of The Covenant to her when a Dom or sub needed professional treatment.

It wasn’t uncommon for an individual’s personal problems to interfere with their playtime or reasons for being in the lifestyle, which could result in someone getting hurt.

Trudy had helped several members of the club.

She was also on the government’s approved list to work with veterans who were privy to sensitive or classified information and knew how to skirt around the subjects that couldn’t be talked about.

“Hey, Doc. I need a military referral up in D.C. One of my new employees has been seeing someone, but I don’t think it’s working for him.

Survivor’s guilt from things associated with SERE, among other stuff.

” The acronym stood for Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape in the world of spec ops, with “resistance” referring to torture.

He didn’t want to say that over the phone in the busy restaurant, but the doc would easily figure it out.

“He’ll need three to six months up here before he moves to Tampa, and then I’ll hook him up with you or one of your approved colleagues. ”

“D.C., huh? Who’s he seeing now?”

Not needing to ask, he responded, “David Preston.”