Masters at Arms (21 page)

“You’d have done the same thing if you were
in Miller’s place. Hell, Grant and Wilson said you were trying to
protect them. Stop blaming yourself for what some fucking insurgent
is responsible for.”

Damián lowered his arm and looked Adam in the
face. His body began to shake, almost imperceptibly at first, then
harder. Adam rubbed the scar on the back of his neck.

“I froze.” The words came out in a whisper.
Tears streamed unheeded down the sides of Damián’s face.

Fucking breakthrough. This was the first time
Damián had admitted to freezing. The kid’s pain tore Adam’s guts
out. After what he’d watched him go through the past several
months, he’d thought they’d never get at what was eating him. He
never wanted to give the kid a hug more than he did now.

Where the fuck did that come from? He didn’t
need to baby him.

“Tell me what happened.” Adam started to
reach out and squeeze his arm in support, but backed off. Touching
him might interrupt this confession of sorts. He needed to let him
talk, release some of his demons.

Damián turned his head away and pulled his
legs up, the right knee tenting under the sheet a few inches lower
than the left because of the amputation. Lost in the memories, he
remained silent for a moment. Then he groaned in anguish. “I saw
the grenade first. I just stared at it. Oh, God!” He cried out and
Adam couldn’t help but reach for his hand, which Damián grabbed
onto with a death grip. “I just fucking stared. I looked at the
others. They didn’t see it! But I couldn’t move for like a
minute.”

“Just seemed like a minute. Grenades go off
in seconds. You’ve just slowed the motion down in your head.” Adam
sure could relate to that. He’d had those same slow-motion memories
from the ambush in Kandahar. Watching and not being able to protect
or save his men.

Damián stared at the ceiling with unseeing
eyes. “By the time I screamed for them to take cover, there wasn’t
enough time. Grant was talking with Wilson. She didn’t fucking
know. I nudged Sarge and we both moved at the same time. I thought
he’d moved fast enough, but I didn’t make sure. I went after the
others. When I turned back, Sarge was right behind me, but too
close to…” His body stiffened and he squeezed his eyes shut, as
though feeling the impact of the explosion again.

Damián pulled his hand away and hugged
himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Adam couldn’t stand it anymore.
He pulled him up to sit, wrapped his arms around him, and held him
tightly. The kid began shaking harder, as if in shock.

* * *

Smothered. Even though he wasn’t lying down,
he still felt the crushing weight against his chest. Sarge. He
struggled to get the body off him.

“It’s me. Adam. You’re safe, Damián.”

Not Sarge. Adam.

“You did everything you could. It’s not your
fault.”

“Oh, God. I tried. I fucking tried. I
couldn’t…” He wrapped his arms around Adam and held onto the man
who had become his lifeline. Surprisingly, the smothering feeling
receded a bit.

“You did everything right. You couldn’t save
everyone. No one could.”

“Why? Why’d he have to die? Why not me?”

Adam continued to just hold him, but Damián
noticed that his former Top’s heart was pounding hard against his
chest. When he spoke, Adam’s voice had become raspy. “That’s above
my pay grade—and a question I’ve asked myself a million times, too.
But you have to quit blaming yourself.”

Easier said than done.

“I will, if you will.” But Damián knew they’d
both probably go to their graves asking themselves the same
question.

Adam cleared his throat. “What you have to do
is find something or someone that will make your surviving
worthwhile. Find a cause that moves you. Find a woman who needs
you. Just fucking find something you can do to make the world a
better place for at least one other person.”

Damián held on tighter. He knew tears were
falling onto Adam’s chest, but didn’t want to ease away and reveal
the evidence. The man had been like a father to him the past six
months, taking care of him day and night. Making sure he did his PT
exercises. Forcing him to wear the god-damned prosthesis until
finally it stopped rubbing his stump raw.

The man had had no fucking life as a result.
Adam should have been enjoying retirement, not babysitting him. Why
hadn’t he just left Damián in San Diego to finish off what the
grenade had started? How could Damián ever repay him for the
sacrifices he’d made?

Puckered skin? Damián’s hands rested against
what felt like puckered skin on Adam’s back.
What the fuck?
He pulled back and felt Adam’s body go stiff.

Damián looked him in the eye. “Turn
around.”

“You don’t give me orders, son.”

“What happened?”

“It was a long time ago. Kandahar. Ambush. I
took some shrapnel to the back.”

While he rattled off the cold, hard facts in
a non-emotional way, Damián knew from the pain reflected in Adam’s
eyes that the man must have battled his own demons. From where
Damián’s hands explored, half the man’s back must be riddled with
shrapnel wounds. The master sergeant had been through just as much
as Damián had.

How had he stayed so strong, so normal, so
sane?

Was Damián his cause, to help him handle his
own survivor guilt?

Maybe there was hope for Damián yet. He
needed to quit feeling sorry for himself and find some worthwhile
cause to dedicate himself to.

But what?

Three months ago

Adam would be glad to get this meeting over.
Damián wanted to add live music to the club. They’d finally opened
in 2008 and were doing well, so they could afford it. Adam just
didn’t go in for most of that heavy-metal stuff Damián liked.

“Edgy?” Damián asked
.

He looked at Damián and Marc as they searched
for just the right word for the classified ad. Well, Marc seemed
about as much into the conversation as Adam was. What the hell
ailed that boy lately?

“I like it.”
As long as it doesn’t put
me
over the edge.
Adam watched as the younger man he thought
of like a son scribbled that addition onto the notepad on the desk
between them. “Read me what we have so far.”

“‘Private club. Friday & Saturday
performances only. Eclectic, edgy music—heavy metal and Goth
welcome. Auditions start at 3 PM Wednesday. For location and
additional info…’ Then the phone number and e-mail.”

“Sounds good to me,” Marc said. He seemed
distracted this afternoon. Actually, he’d been that way for well
over a year, but refused to tell Adam what was eating at him.
Probably still hadn’t gotten over that woman who had dumped him
last year. What was her name? Pamela? He’d only brought her to the
club a couple times. She seemed nice, but there wasn’t much
chemistry between the two other than the Dom/sub thing.

Marc hadn’t talked with him about the
relationship, and Adam didn’t go looking to butt in. Still, he
thought the younger man could benefit from some advice, if he ever
asked for it. Sometimes he came across as too arrogant and
manipulative to suit most women. He seemed to have some kind of
wall up that always kept them in their place, but that place was
never quite as close as women wanted to get.

Marc stood. “I’m sorry, but I’m pulling a
night shift to help out a friend, so I’m going to have to hit the
road. I trust whatever you both decide to do.”

They said their goodbyes and Adam watched him
leave. Maybe he’d try to have a word with him before the club
opened up Friday night. With Marc’s SAR work schedule, he didn’t
see much of him, though.

Damián, on the other hand, practically lived
here and helped run the club.

“Son, you’re in charge of hiring the
entertainment.” Adam wouldn’t know what young people wanted to hear
if it hit him over the head. Besides, he needed to keep Damián busy
so he wouldn’t dwell on things outside his control. He said the
nightmares were rare now, but Adam could tell when he showed up
with circles under his eyes that he’d been visited by his
demons.

Being a Dom helped Damián regain some of the
control he’d lost over his life, but Adam worried that he sometimes
went a little too deep into SM. He knew it wasn’t the boy’s nature
to inflict pain and he thought maybe he was just using SM to
release his anger, rather than as an expression of his sexual
nature.

Damián slid the notepad across the desk
toward Adam. “If we could hire two or three acts—have a mix of
styles—we can rotate them and keep things from getting stale.”

Adam pulled the notepad closer. “Sounds good.
I’ll e-mail the ad to the online newspaper.”

After discussing some other business matters,
mostly about ways to improve the experience at the club for members
and their guests, Damián went to set up a new piece of equipment in
one of the private playrooms.

Adam watched him leave his office. Damián
wore his trademark black leather Harley vest and black jeans. He
had long ago ditched the crutches, then his cane. He’d gotten used
to walking on the prosthesis and, only when he was overtired, did
he walk with a limp.

Here in Denver, Adam, Marc, and Damián had
gotten to know each other as civilians and friends. Whenever he
thought back to that day in Fallujah, where he’d nearly lost them
both—and had lost Miller. Thank God they, at least, had managed to
get the rest of the troops home alive.

And these two men had become his family. When
he’d lost Joni, he hadn’t thought he’d ever feel he belonged
anywhere again.

The three of them were pretty much at the
service of any of the subs at Masters at Arms who needed a top. A
number of bottoms came to the club solo, just wanting to have a
scene with one of them. Marc was the only one who’d seen anyone
seriously and that had lasted only a few months. Usually, the three
of them were able to accommodate the subs, which might be why so
many of them kept coming back and bringing their friends.

Damián told him about a girl in San Diego
he’d dated once. Still seemed hung up on her, but he said he hadn’t
been able to find her when he’d been home to visit his sister and
her kids last Christmas. She must have been something to keep him
thinking about her all these years.

Under Adam’s and Marc’s tutelage, Damián had
become a knowledgeable and attentive Dom. Good thing, because Marc
had become more and more scarce at the club in the past year. A few
months ago, Damián had taken over the training of the new
unattached subs.

Even though Damián served the needs of the
masochists when he wanted to get off, his gentle side seemed to
come out with the more inexperienced trainees. He was very vigilant
to the needs of the subs, knowing how far to push them without
going beyond hard limits.

“All done,” Damián said, returning to the
office. “It’s going to be fun trying that one out.”

Adam smiled. Marc had recommended the new
spanking bench. Said his SAR partner had made him one for his home
playroom. He wondered when Marc had time to entertain anyone in
that playroom. He didn’t seem to have his heart in BDSM scening
these days.

“Son, have a seat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When are you going to quit that ‘sir’ shit?
It’s Adam. Hell, even Dad’s better than sir. I only want to hear
Sir from a subbie.” He’d reminded the kid of that many times.
Damián just smiled. He’d probably ignore the order this time,
too.

“You’re doing a great job with the trainees.
The subs are raving about what an excellent trainer you are. And
the doms have noticed the improvement in the subs’ level of
discipline, too.”

“Thanks.” Damián looked away. He looked
serious. Then his gaze met Adam’s again. “Remember how you wanted
me to find a cause—something that would help me make a difference
for someone else?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I think I have.”

“Great! Doing what?”

“The Patriot Guard Riders. They provide
motorcycle escorts for military funerals, and keep protestors far
enough away they can’t bother the families. I’ve been supporting
them as a non-rider for a while now, but my Harley is just about
ready down at the shop. I’d like to ride now, too, whenever the
call goes out.”

Adam felt a lump the size of Minnesota in his
throat. As he came around the desk to sit on the edge in front of
Damián, he cleared his throat before trying to speak. “I think that
would be the perfect cause for you, son. I know you’ve worked hard
restoring that hog, too.”

Damián looked away, then back again. “It
might mean going on rides when the club’s open.”

Other than the club and his work at a local
Harley repair shop, this was the first thing the kid had gotten
interested in since he’d moved to Denver. “To hell with the club.
Any time you need to go on a ride, go. I can get people to help out
here as needed. Hell, most of our regular patrons are ex-military.
They’ll want to support what you’re doing, too.”

“Thank you, sir.” He cleared his throat and
surprised the hell out of Adam. “I also want to thank you for
pulling me back from the edge.”

Adam reached out and squeezed Damián’s
shoulder. “God didn’t bless Joni and me with children. We lost a
son…” Adam stopped until he could control the shaking in his voice
before this turned into an all-out bawl-fest. He still couldn’t
think about Joni or their stillborn baby boy without regret and
pain. “I couldn’t have asked for a better son. I’m proud of you for
fighting your way back.”

Adam cleared his throat before continuing.
“I’ve told you this before, but I think of you more as a son than a
business partner.” He felt Damián’s shoulders shake with emotion.
The kid had been very close to his own parents. But his father had
worked himself to death trying to support their family, dying when
Damián was only twelve. Adam surmised the loss of his father and
the need to protect his mother and sister had played a big part in
what led him into trouble with the law before he joined the
Marines. Reminded him a lot of Adam’s own misguided youth and
reasons for joining the Corps.