Willing Sacrifice
Page 28

When he’d gotten out of his truck, a little girl had shown Max her knockoff brand Barbie doll, dirty and scraped up. The doll wore a homemade dress made of a paper napkin colored with crayon. Pretty creative on the kid’s part. Where there was a will, there was a way. Two young boys had been playing some form of baseball with a stick and rocks. Max hoped they didn’t brain her by accident.
“You running a daycare now?”
Dale snorted. As Max came to the doorway of the shed, leaned on it, the man looked up from his task, sharpening a set of pruning shears. Dale’s workbench was built so he didn’t have his back to the door. More evidence of why Max had made sure to call out when he entered the house. Dale would verify it was him regardless before pulling out the Glock he had strapped beneath the bench, but they both understood the courtesies.
“They’re good kids. They help me with small jobs here and there, and it gives them a little cash. Need some coffee?” Dale nodded to the pot brewing in the corner. His weathered face creased in a smile when he noted the case of beer Max had brought. “We can chase it with the beer later, if you stay that long.”
“Yeah.” Max put the case on a clear spot and picked up a mug hanging from the pegboard. As usual, Dale had a few projects going. He was building another flower box, repairing an old transistor radio and had a stack of magazines waiting to be read.
“You haven’t been around much these days,” Dale observed, handing over his own coffee to be topped off.
Max shrugged. “Been busy. K&A’s had a lot happening lately. Amanda had a few bad days, so I’ve been seeing her a little more often. Twice a week instead of once. She’s getting back to an even keel though. I also drove down to Houston and hooked up with Donny to take Jenny and Gayle and her kids to the Gulf for the weekend.”
“Did Lewis or Charlie get a text from the neighbors, telling them their wives were stepping out with two good-looking young guys?”
Max grinned. “Within twenty-four hours. They’ve got a good community watch in Gayle’s neighborhood. Charlie sent me a note, said I better have satisfied his wife, because she was a demanding wildcat in bed. I told him he didn’t need to come back. After having me, she considered him superfluous.”
Dale chuckled. “I’m sure he had some choice words for that. They okay?” Setting aside the shears, he slid his left hip on to another stool, braced his right foot. He kept his salt-and-pepper hair that had once been black cropped military short, which emphasized the strong planes of his face, the deep-set eyes and rock-hard jawline. He was in his late forties, the grooves of his face carved by water, wind and a whole lot of other things. Dale was a retired SEAL, having served his twenty-year stint. His direct blue-green gaze said he had all his shit together, and then some.
He’d made the shift to the stool smoothly enough, but Max knew there was no leg from the knee down on the left foot. His prosthesis was good enough that only someone looking for it would detect a difference in his more casual movements.
“Yeah, they’re okay.” Max sobered. “Gayle knows the drill, and has figured out how to cope with the months alone. Jenny’s having a harder time. She’s pregnant with her first. Lew got called down range right after they found out.”
“That always sucks.”
“Yeah.” Max sipped the coffee. “But everyone’s been rotating through when they can to help out, and there’s a core group of six wives in that area that meet regularly. Gayle’s pulled her into it, a support group.”
“Their own Seal Team Six,” Dale noted, his lips curving. “Gayle will take care of her.”
“Yeah. She’s about seven months along and doing well, but…”
“But after your experience with Savannah Kensington, you’re hyperalert about it. Nothing wrong with that. As long as Jenny doesn’t tell Lewis the guys are stalking her.”
“If they can be detected in the bushes outside her house or while shadowing her at the grocery store, they deserve to be busted.” Max tapped his mug to Dale’s. “As you said, you get your practice where you can.”
“You never know when you’ll be called to serve.” Dale gave him a considering look. “I know you love me, but I’m thinking you’re here for another reason.”
“Still a Master Chief,” Max snorted. “Even if you won’t let me call you that.”
“I have to know my place in this world. The other can be like a drug, you miss it so much. But if you slip and call me that every once in a while, it doesn’t hurt my feelings. Ack Ack.”
“Yeah.” Max’s lips twisted at the nickname his fellow operators had given him. He knew all about that feeling Dale was referencing. It was something hard to explain to others, how much he missed those days. Days spent freezing cold, tired, on edge. Adrenaline cycling through his veins like coke, even as his core stayed dead calm, focused, doing everything necessary to flush out, hunt or bring down the target. But Dale got it. “Thanks, Master Chief.”
A grim smile touched Dale’s mouth. “What’s up, Max?”
“I’m getting involved with a woman. And she’s a Domme.”
“Hmm.” Dale took a swallow of his coffee. The guys sometimes called him “Merman”. With his odd blue-green eyes, the name fit, but the real reason was because of several missions where circumstances had forced him to deepwater dive in his rebreather gear, well beyond its twenty-five-foot rating. And he’d survived.
He and Max shared the distinction of having graduated BUD/S at one of the youngest ages allowed, seventeen, though of course Dale was a decade or so ahead of Max when he got there. He’d served with Dale on missions and trusted him entirely, and Dale returned the favor, but Dale was right. It was more than the desire to visit with him that brought Max here today.
Dale was a sexual Dominant, a Master in the same vein as Matt Kensington and his executive team. Dale occasionally used his membership at Club Progeny, but most of the time he hung his whip, so to speak, at a smaller, nonprofit membership club in the area. Though Max had never had the opportunity to see him operate in that capacity, he expected Dale brought a psychological intensity to his sexual Mastery that Janet would appreciate greatly.
“You’re no one’s boy toy, Max.” Dale gave him a serious look. “Are you trying to convince yourself you are, just to get what’s behind her whip and boots? That doesn’t work.”
“You can’t see me in collar and leash?” Max asked, arching a brow.
Dale snorted. “Yeah right. Sorry, man. I had to ask. There are a few mistresses out there who are convinced every guy wants to be Dominated, and if a guy says he doesn’t, he just hasn’t met the right Domme to do it. That’s not the case, any more than every woman I meet wants to be my sex slave, more’s the pity. However, those kinds of Mistresses can be pretty convincing, especially when her target is thinking with his dick. Which, admit it, happens to the best of us.”
Max inclined his head. “She’s more than that to me.”
“Okay then.” Dale sat back with his coffee. “So what do you need from me?”
“I’ve seen her work out with subs at Progeny, and she’s pretty tough, has her hands firmly on the reins. But with us, it’s more of a give and take, like we’re figuring out how to dance with one another. With each meet, it gets more complicated. Like starting with the waltz and moving into the tango. Without giving specific details—”
“Please God don’t.”
Max grinned. “She does make me feel like doing things I normally wouldn’t consider doing with a woman. It’s the way she gets lost in it, aroused by it…it’s fucking mesmerizing.” He took a breath. “So, sight unseen, and given there are a lot of variables, does it ever work, if it’s in the blood of one, but not the other?”
Dale considered the question. “I’ve seen it happen, yes. But it’s different for every pair and—I won’t lie to you—often it’s only a short-term success. Some crash and burn when they approach it for the long haul, because if she eventually needs you to go deep, and you can’t do that, that might be a problem. Unless her reasons for going deep are mixed with other factors, things you can satisfy without that dive. This isn’t a linear thing. It’s more like a maze, and we all find different paths. You’ll be able to find the answer for yourself, good or bad. Just keep all your senses open and follow your instincts. What do they tell you about your chances with her?”
“It pays to be a winner, right?” Max gave the maxim from BUD/S training with a serious expression. “If I want her, I make it work. I don’t accept defeat.”
“Hoo-yah. Unless she puts out a restraining order on you.”
Max snorted. “If I became that much of a problem, she wouldn’t want the cops involved. She’d handle it herself, with extreme prejudice.”
“I’m already liking her. Bring her around sometime.” Dale set aside the coffee, rubbed his knee. When Max glanced at it, he shrugged it off. “Damn humidity. Works it up a little.”
“You’d be better off in a less tropical climate.”
“Yeah, but who’d watch after your dumb ass, kid?” Dale kicked him lightly with the shoe covering the prosthesis. Though he looked amused, Max felt a twist of guilt, knowing that there was some truth to it.
“You don’t have to stay around here, Master Chief. I can clean my own house.”
“Did I say you couldn’t?” Dale asked, pleasantly enough, though Max recognized the don’t-bullshit-me-unless-you-want-to-do-a-thousand-pushups edge to the tone that had made him a scary and effective SEAL trainer. “I have plenty to keep me here. Swing sets to build, flower boxes to make. I’m also watching after Eddie’s dad and his dogs, over at the junkyard.”
Max smiled, though his gut twisted, remembering the day they’d lost Eddie. How they’d brought his personal shit home to Ed Sr. “Is he still doing good?”