Rome

“I gotta say I’m glad he doesn’t have your temper, Rule. I think one solid hit with those mitts of his and I would’ve ended up like Asa over there.” Rowdy indicated the southern playboy with a tilt of his beer.

Asa had taken a beating so bad that he had been in a coma for several weeks. It was a miracle he had come out of it as unscathed as he had.

Rule grunted and put his free arm around Shaw as she leaned into his side. They really were too cute for words. I had to bite back an envious sigh. Rule glanced at the gate Rome had just stormed out of and stated, “He’s never been much of a brawler. I mean, when we were younger he would wade in when Nash and I started shit, but he was never the type to start anything himself. That’s why I don’t get what is going on with him lately. I’m about sick of it, though.”

Nash snorted a laugh and pointed at me with the end of his fork. “To be fair, Tink kind of started it today. Was dousing him in beer really necessary?”

I tried to look innocent. It wasn’t really a look I could pull off very well, so I gave a helpless grin.

“I could’ve punched him in the nose, but there wasn’t a stepladder anywhere handy.”

That got a round of laughs from everyone, because I really was tiny compared to the older Archer and laughter worked wonders at lifting the black mood he had brought. We finished eating and had a few more drinks; at least they did. I had to drive Asa back to the house and there was no way I was going to risk a DUI on such a checkpoint-happy holiday. The guys waited until it was dark and wandered off into the yard to light fireworks, because really they were all just big kids covered in ink.

I found myself alone with Shaw on the deck once again and noticed that despite the lingering sadness on her pretty face, her happiness practically emanated from her. I put an arm around her shoulders and rested my head against hers. I was older than Shaw. The poor girl had been through the wringer in the last few years, so I knew she deserved every single bit of happiness she was feeling at this moment.

“You did good, kiddo. You got the guy, the house is amazing, and all of this is good stuff. Don’t worry about anything else. You and Rule live in this moment and forget about the rest.”

I felt her laugh and she reached up to squeeze the hand I had thrown over her shoulder. The sky lit up with a bunch of different colors and male laughter floated up from the yard.

“Sometimes I feel selfish. I got everything I ever wanted and it isn’t always perfect but the good days always outnumber the bad. I feel like I’m not allowed to ask for more.” She sighed so heavy I could feel it. “Now Rome thinks it’s all a joke and that hurts, I don’t know why he’s so mad. I’ve loved Rome like a brother as long as I can remember, so it hurts in more ways than one.”

“It’ll work itself out, you’ll see.” And I would be happy to help it along if I had to.

She was quiet for a really long time and we just watched the mini-explosions and smiled at the boys, who were clearly having a blast. Maybe one of us should have mentioned that drinking and fireworks weren’t a great idea, but Captain No-Fun was gone and I wasn’t going to be the good-time police.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re the smartest person I know, Cora?” Shaw’s voice was quiet but I took it as a compliment considering the girl was well on her way to becoming a doctor.

“I just call it like I see it.”

I did. I was from the East Coast, downtown Brooklyn to be exact, and I was the only child of a career sailor who had no clue what to do with his rebellious daughter. I loved my dad, he was my only blood relative, and I knew that he loved me in return. But we didn’t connect, and as a result, I learned from a young age to speak plainly and not pull any punches. It was the only way the two of us could communicate. So if someone needed to get to Rome Archer and tell him to get his fool head out of his ass, I was more than willing to be the person to do it. I didn’t idolize him, I wasn’t scared of him, and whether he was a giant or not, I wasn’t going to stand by and let him continue to cause so much grief for the people I cared so much about.

CHAPTER 2 Rome

I couldn’t believe that crazy little sprite had the nerve to dump beer on my head. First of all, she barely came up to my shoulder, and second of all, she looked like a walking, talking piece of candy. Everything about her was so colorful it almost hurt to look at her.

I should be furious at her, but she was right, I was an asshole. There was no reason to talk shit to Nash, no reason to get into it with Rule. I was just looking for a target to vent my frustrations at and those were the people closest to me. Maybe it was easier to unleash my aggravation at them, because I knew instinctively they would forgive me. I needed to find a place to have a drink and try and get my head together. A place that was dark and quiet and where no one expected me to be anything, or act a certain way. I was tired of not meeting expectations. I was not an idle man by nature. I was used to action, used to being in charge and taking the lead, and the only things I had managed to be on top of since coming back to Denver was pissing off everyone I encountered and drinking my considerable body weight in vodka. I was on a downhill slide that was bound to have an ugly-as-hell impact at the bottom and I knew it, but I felt powerless to stop it. Today was the proof of that.

I pulled into the first bar that looked like it could handle the mood I was in. Independence Day, my left nut. I had had about enough of the revelry and good cheer to last me a lifetime. I just wanted to bury my head in the sand and go back to a point in time that felt comfortable and familiar. I hated feeling like a visitor in my own life, and no matter what I told myself when I woke up in the morning each day, I couldn’t shake feeling like everything I had come back to after my contract with the army was up was a life that belonged to someone else. My family didn’t feel right. The new dynamic in my relationship with Rule didn’t feel right. Trying to get used to Shaw being taken care of by my wayward and reckless little brother didn’t feel right. Crashing with Nash while I tried to get my shit straight didn’t feel right. Not having a job lined up or any clear direction of how to support myself doing something other than fighting a war quite possibly felt the most wrong out of it all.

The bar was dark and not a place for those out for a fun Fourth-of-July cocktail. In the back, around several well-used pool tables, was a bunch of guys in biker gear sporting colors and looking like they meant business. Toward the front were several older men who looked like they never even got off the bar stool to go home and shower. Neil Young was blasting on the house speakers even though no one seemed like the type to sing along. This was not a place for the hip and trendy urbanites that flocked to Capitol Hill when the weather finally warmed up. I took a spot on an empty seat at the bar top and waited for the guy manning the bar to wander down to me.

He was almost my size, which was rare, only he had a solid thirty years on me. He had a beard that looked like it could be the home to a whole family of squirrels, eyes the color of charcoal, and the grim countenance that could only be found in men who had seen the worst the world had to offer and come out the other side. I wasn’t surprised at all to see a marine tattoo inked on his bulky forearm when he propped himself up across from me and put down a battered coaster in front of me. I saw him size me up, but I was used to it. I was a big guy and other big guys liked to figure out if I was going to be the kind of trouble they could handle or not.

“Boy, you already smell like a brewery. You sure you need to have another one?”

I frowned until I remembered the little blonde pouring her beer over my head. She could have found a better way to make her point, I thought as I remembered the soggy state of my T-shirt. I didn’t know what to make of Cora Lewis. She was around a lot. We never really talked much. She was too loud and tended toward the dramatic, hence the Coors Light shower I had just received. Being around her made my head hurt and I didn’t like the way her mismatched eyes seemed to try and pick me apart.

I took my sunglasses off the top of my head and hooked them in the collar of my T-shirt.

“I picked a fight with the wrong pixie and she poured her drink on my head. I’m straight.”

The guy gave me a once-over and must have deemed me okay because without my asking a tankard of beer was set in front of me along with a shot of something amber and strong. Typically I was a vodka drinker, but when the burly brute poured himself one and wandered back over to where I was seated, I didn’t dare complain.

He lifted a bushy eyebrow at me and touched the rim of his shot glass to my own.

“You army?”

I nodded and shot back the liquor. It burned hot all the way down. If I wasn’t mistaken it was Wild Turkey.

“I was. Just got out.”

“How long did you serve for?”

I rubbed a hand over my still-short hair. After wearing it cropped close to my head for so long, I really didn’t know what else to do with it.

“Went in at eighteen and I turn twenty-eight at the end of this year. I was in for almost a decade.”

“What did you do?”

It wasn’t a question I normally answered because frankly the answer was long and anyone that hadn’t served just wouldn’t get it.

“I was a field operations leader.”

The bear of a man across from me let out a low whistle. “Spec ops?”

I grunted a response and picked up the beer.

“I bet they were sad to see you go.”

The thing was, I think I was sadder to see them go. I wasn’t cleared for active duty anymore. My shoulder had taken a beating when we rolled over an IED on my last deployment and there were all kinds of shit rattling around in my head, constantly taking me out of the game. Sure, I could have taken a desk job, stepped down, and trained the generation coming up after me. But I wasn’t the best teacher and being tied to a desk was the same thing as retirement to me anyway. So I got out and now I had no fucking clue what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

“What about you?” I motioned to the tattoo on his arm. “How long did you put in?”

“Too long, son. Way too long. What brings you in here today? You aren’t one of my regulars.”

I cast a look around the bar and shrugged. For now this place was a perfect fit for my mood.

“Just out having a drink to celebrate America like a good patriot.”

“Just like the rest of us.”

“Yep.” I had to fight the urge to chug the beer down and order him to keep them coming.

“I’m Brite and this is my bar. I ended up with it when I got out and started spending more time in the bar than I did at home. I’ve been through three wives and one triple bypass, but the bar stays true.”

I lifted the eyebrow that had the scar above it and felt the corner of my mouth kick up in a grin.

“Brite?” The guy looked like Paul Bunyan or a Hells Angel; the name didn’t really fit.

A smile found its way through that massive beard and pearly-white teeth that were the only bright spot in the dim bar.

“Brighton Walker, Brite for short.” He extended a hand that I shook on reflex.

“Rome Archer.”

He dropped his head in a little nod and moved down the bar to help another customer.

“That’s a good name for a warrior.”

I closed my eyes briefly and tried to remember what it was like to feel like a warrior. It seemed like it was a million miles away from this bar stool. The music switched to AC/DC and I decided this was my new favorite place to hang out.

I was on my Harley, so I should probably cool it with the booze. A DUI would just be the icing on the crap cake I was currently being served on a daily basis, but as the beer mixed with the potent bourbon from earlier, none of that seemed to really matter anymore.

At some point I did another shot with Brite and the bar stool next to me was abandoned by the grizzled old man that had been complaining about his wife and his girlfriend for the last hour and quickly occupied by a redhead with too much makeup on and too little clothes. Had I been three less beers in, I would’ve seen her for the trouble she was. As it was, Brite told her to scram, advice she promptly ignored. She was cute, in that I’m a good time take me home kind of way, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had randomly picked anyone up from a bar. When I was overseas there had been a female intelligence officer who’d been down to be friends with benefits whenever we were in the same place at the same time, but it had been months since I had seen her. Maybe a quick, sleazy hookup was just what I needed to break through the black cloud that had been hovering over me since my return.

“What’s your name, sugar?”

Her voice was squeaky and hurt my head but I was loaded enough to ignore it.

“Rome.”

I saw her heavily made-up eyes dart back to someplace over my shoulder and that should have been my first clue that this wasn’t going to end up all fun and games.

“That’s a different name. I’m Abbie. Now that we’re friends, why don’t we get out of here and get better acquainted?” She ran a painted fingernail over the curve of my bicep and for some reason the bloodred color of it made other images of things that same color start to flash behind my already hazy vision.

I started to pull away, to get those hands that were making bad things happen in my foggy brain to let me go, when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder from behind. I was a trained soldier, but more than that, I was a man who had a brother born and bred into trouble. I knew what trouble looked like from a million miles away. I knew what trouble felt like, what it moved like, how it sounded, and yet I had kept right on drinking and ignored all the signs as it built up around me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Brite frown at whoever was standing behind me, and even in my stupor of bourbon and beer I knew this wasn’t going to be good.

Sighing under my breath, I shook off the talons that had me seeing blood spilling out of a young soldier’s throat onto the desert sand and turned around so that I was leaning back on the bar with my elbows. It shouldn’t have surprised me to see that almost the entire back poolroom of bikers was now gathered around me and the bar area. The guy with his paw on my shoulder was a scrawny little fella and I felt my boozy brain register that he wasn’t wearing the club’s colors, which meant he was either a hang-around or a prospect, and I was the lucky bastard he had picked to try and prove his worth with. Sometimes it sucked being a big-ass dude.

“Can I help you?”

The redhead was long gone and Brite was making his way around the end of the long bar. The old guys stayed posted up and ignored the brewing hurricane like only lifelong drunks were capable of doing.

“You trying to start something with my girl, GI Joe?”

It was boring and so predictable that I had to roll my eyes. I had been in enough shithole places in the world to know that a bar brawl was a bar brawl, but throw in a wannabe biker and it could get really foul.

“No. I was trying to get drunk, and she interrupted me.”

I don’t think they were expecting that because a couple of titters ran through the group. Scrawny puffed up his chest and reached out a finger to poke me in mine. Normally I could just walk away from this kind of thing. I was typically a levelheaded kind of guy. I didn’t fight unless it was in defense of something I really and truly believed in, or in defense of someone I loved, but today was the wrong day to goad a reaction out of me.

I swatted the guy’s hand away and did a quick survey of the room. I didn’t see any visible hardware, but bikers were known for stashing knives in hard-to-see places, and Brite seemed like a cool enough guy. I didn’t want to trash his place if I could help it.

“Look, dude, you don’t want to do this, and I really don’t want to do this. We both know you sent the chick over here to try and start shit, so just leave it at that. I’ll bounce, and you and your buddies can go back to smoking up and shooting pool. Nobody has to bleed or look stupid. Okay?”

In hindsight, trying to drunkenly reason with a bunch of bikers probably was bound to have a low success rate. Between one blink and the next I had a bottle broken over my head and found myself in a serious choke hold. Scrawny Guy looked like he wanted to kill me and the rest of his crew was just hanging back waiting to see what he could do. I didn’t really want to hurt the guy, but the bottle over the head had taken a nice chunk of skin off with it and a river of red was steadily flowing into my eyes. Just like with the red nail polish on the tramp’s fingers, the sight of my own blood took me to another place and time, and it wasn’t me struggling with a stupid, show-off biker, it was me battling for life, for freedom, for the security of my family and friends at home. Just like that, the poor kid had no idea what hit him.

I already had a distinct size advantage on the guy; throw in the fact that I was a soldier who’d been battle-hardened and trained by the country’s best, and it got nasty and bloody fast. It didn’t matter that the numbers were so obviously skewed in the biker’s favor, I was getting out of the bar in one piece no matter what I had to do to make that happen.

Bar stools were broken. Glasses went flying. Heads banged against the floor. I think at one point I heard someone crying, and somehow when it was all over I was hunched over with my hands on my knees, blood now dripping not only from my lacerated head but also my hands, and a nasty knife slice across my ribs. The bikers had scattered, for the most part, and I wasn’t surprised to see Brite holding a baseball bat and glaring at me.

“What the hell was that?”

I would have laughed, but I think the knife cut in my side was worse than I’d originally thought.

“A really shitty ‘thanks for your service’?” My humor was not appreciated, as the older man swore at me and pulled me painfully into a standing position.

“Doesn’t look like that little punk is gonna get patched in anytime soon.”

I got a critical once-over and was met with a sigh.

“You need a doctor.”

It wasn’t a question.

I tried to wipe the blood off my face with the back of my hand but just ended up smearing it all across my face while my side steadily leaked onto the floor.

“I rode in. Don’t think I can handle the bike right now.”

He shook his head at me and put two fingers in his mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle.

“Everybody drink up and get out. Consider this last call.”

A few diehards grumbled, but it only took five minutes before Brite was locking the front door, hauling me out the back door, and shoving me into the battered cab of an old Chevy pickup truck.

I rested my head back against the seat and gave the older man a rueful grin.

“I’ll pay for any damage to the bar. I’m sorry about that.”

He snorted in response and gave me a narrow-eyed look. “Try not to bleed out before we get to the emergency room, son.”

Like I had a choice.

“The Sons of Sorrow hang out in the bar all the time. The old-timers are a good group of guys. A bunch of them are ex-military and get what my bar is all about, so I don’t usually gripe about them coming in. It’s all the younger kids trying to make a name who stir shit up. It wasn’t the first time blood has been spilled on that floor and I doubt it’ll be the last. You come see me when you sober up and get all sewed back together and we’ll talk about what you can do to repay me for the damages. Gotta tell you, you’re one hell of a fighter, son.”

I would have shrugged but the slice on my ribs was starting to burn and I was having a hard time ignoring the sticky, warm blood oozing between my fingers, so I just grunted in acknowledgment.

“I’m really not. I hate fighting, I did it for a living for too many years, but the only way to come out alive is to be better at it than the other guy.”

I closed my eyes and silently prayed we didn’t hit any more red lights. My vision was starting to blur around the edges.

Brite’s voice was gruff as we pulled into the parking lot of the emergency room. “That’s a damn shame, son.”

I didn’t have a response because he was right. It was a shame.

I didn’t get admitted right away. I guess a knife wound and a split-open scalp took a backseat to fingers blown off by fireworks on the Fourth. I didn’t want to keep Brite waiting, so I called Nash and left a garbled message that I was going to need a ride at some point in the night. I knew I should have called Rule or Shaw, but I just wasn’t up to dealing with that headache right now. And I knew Nash would come with no questions asked even if I had been a royal ass earlier in the day.

“I gotta leave my bike at your bar tonight. I would appreciate it if you kept an eye on it for me in case Scrawny is a sore loser.”

Brite nodded and again I saw that flash of white buried in that massive beard. “Well, I would say it was nice to meet you, Rome Archer, but of all the things I’ve been in this life, a liar has never been one of them.”

We shook hands and I promised that I would touch base with him when I was in more functioning order.

I had to wait longer than I was comfortable with to see someone, and by the time they took me to the sterile little room and pulled the curtain around the bed, I was pretty sure I was staying conscious by the sheer force of my will alone. I was peeling my ruined T-shirt off over my head when the curtain moved back and a really pretty nurse holding a chart came in. She had her head bent over whatever she was reading and it gave me the opportunity to check her out. She had long copper hair twisted in a braid away from a truly lovely face. She looked a couple of years younger than me, and I couldn’t help but appreciate that she was rocking some kick-ass curves under those boring scrubs all medical professionals seemed to wear.

“Hey.”

She looked up at the sound of my voice and blinked wide, dove-gray eyes at me. I don’t know if it was the sight of my naked chest or the fact that I was now covered head to waist in blood that had her looking apprehensive.

“Hello, Mr. Archer. It looks like you had a rough night.”

“I’ve had better, that’s for sure.”

She snapped on some latex gloves and came over to stand beside me.

“Let’s have a look at what kind of trouble you got yourself into, shall we?”

She poked and prodded at my head and I tried not to stare at her boobs. She really was a pretty girl and it made the sting of her jabbing at my newest battle wounds hurt just a little less.

“What’s your name?” I didn’t really need to know it, I probably would never see her again after I got stitched up, but her eyes were just so soft and pretty I couldn’t help but ask.

She gave me a friendly smile and looked like she was about to oblige me when the flimsy curtain was yanked back and Nash came barreling through. His cornflower-blue eyes were on fire with a mixture of anger and concern. The flames tattooed on the side of his head were standing out as the vein under them throbbed in irritation.

“Do you have any idea the kind of hell I’m going to get from Rule when he finds out about this? Goddamn it, Rome, what the fuck is wrong with you lately?”

I was going to respond when his attention switched from me to the lovely nurse who was staring at him with her mouth hanging slightly open. I was used to Nash’s dramatic look and larger-than-life presence. He and Rule had always drawn a lot of attention, so it never fazed me, but the pretty little nurse suddenly looked like she was seeing a ghost and it looked like Nash was trying to place where he might have seen her before as well.

“I just need to get stitched up and then you can yell at me on the way home.”