Page 5 of Rock Bottom

I ducked through the doorway and went down the hall to my bedroom, where I had to duck again to get through the door. The ceilings in my trailer were only seven feet high, just three inches taller than me, so the doorways were too low. Yet another reason I hated the trailer.

If I’d had my way, I would’ve bought a nice log cabin out in the woods, a good hour away from the nearest city. That was still close enough that I could work while being far enough away to discourage visitors. I’d have a place with nice, high ceilings, strong wood walls and natural wood flooring, and maybe a cat or two for company. As it was, I couldn’t keep cats either. Between Boone’s dogs and my being away on missions too often, I just couldn’t dedicate enough time to caring for an animal.

I hauled my old duffel bag out of the closet and started filling it with rolled up clothes from my dresser, alternating packing with a more in-depth read of Dante’s file. As far as bodyguard gigs went, this one would be a breeze. It wasn’t like when we got hired to guard someone in witness protection, or someone hiding from the mafia. Those jobs almost always got messy. As far as I could see, Dante didn’t have any mafia connections and the bank statements Leo had pulled didn’t show any signs of a gambling addiction or financial problems. He did blow a large chunk of his income on escort services. A disturbing amount of money, actually. And porn. A lot of porn.

A few recent magazine articles had been printed out and added to the file. The most recent one was an interview with that pushy twat on In Character, Joe Doe. Apparently, Dante had come out as bisexual, which created quite a stir. Enough that I wondered if that might be the real reason the label executives might be stashing him for thirty days. They could be waiting for the controversy to die down. Dante seemed like the sort to stoke the fires a bit.

I retrieved my first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. I wonder if the label executives knew they were hiring an all-queer security firm when they reached out to us? Probably not. It wasn’t like we put it on all our business cards, but everyone at The Junkyard Dogs was some variety of queer. That’s what had brought us all together. There was still a lot of homophobia and toxic masculinity in the military, and in many of the jobs we were qualified to do once we were discharged. Finding a place to work that would look past both my queerness and my PTSD to see my record had been hell. I didn’t want to be a token, and I didn’t want to be shown off like a trophy for being a damn war hero. I just wanted to work and live. Boone understood that. He was like a brother to me.

Not that I thought my sexuality would be a problem. Dante was far from my type. I didn’t even like his music, and I certainly didn’t like to party. We’d have nothing in common, Dante and I. In a way, that was a relief. Maybe he’d ignore me for thirty days and we could get through this without any trouble for once.

And maybe pigs would sprout wings and fly.

I packed everything I could think of into the back of my Tahoe, including my survival gear. Then I remembered there was a lake nearby and went back to get some poles and my tackle box.

When I returned, I found Bowie reclined against the side of my SUV, sharpening one of his knives. He had his snakeskin cowboy hat on crooked, as usual. “Goin’ somewhere?” he said in his Texas drawl.

“Job,” I replied in more of a grunt than speech.

“I ain’t never seen you take a fishing pole on a job before.” He tossed his knife in the air and caught it by the blade.

“It’s a bodyguard job out in the middle of nowhere.” I secured everything in the back with some straps to keep it from rolling around. “I’d rather be over-prepared than under.”

Bowie tipped his hat back a little more and arched an eyebrow at me. “You know, in Ranger training, they dropped us off in the wilderness with nothing but the clothes on our back and instructions to be at the rendezvous point by X time on Y date. You missed your rendezvous, you were shit outta luck. I lasted eight days out in the Texas sun with nothing but my brains and this here knife. Ain’t nobody need all that shit you got there.”

“Need? Perhaps not. Want? That’s a different matter entirely.” I slammed the trunk shut. “I prefer to be comfortable when working.”

Americans like Bowie were obscenely proud of their so-called grit. I didn’t understand the point. The worth of a man couldn’t be measured by strength alone. What about integrity, loyalty, and courage? What about good, hard work? The exercise he’d described would’ve been much more telling if he’d been tasked with the survival of his entire team, and not just himself.

But that was why I was Boone’s second in command, not Bowie, though he’d assume my duties in my absence.

“Well, you have fun,” Bowie said, pushing off my car with his hip. “I’m your contact, by the way, for when shit hits the fan. Oh, and the boss asked me to give you this.” He tossed me an unmarked CD.

I frowned, turning it over. “What’s this?”

“I do believe that’s what the old people call a CD.”

I scowled and nearly chucked it at his head. “I know what it’s bloody called. What’s on it?”

“Oh! Just a bunch of After Atom’s songs.” Bowie shrugged. “Boss said it might give you a better perspective on who you’re dealing with. Help you get into Dante’s mind, you know? Anyway, call me when you realize you’re in over your head and I’ll come to your rescue, princess.”

“Bugger off, you wanker.” Just in case he didn’t get the message, I said it in American, too, with two middle fingers.

Bowie blew me a kiss and waved as he walked off.

He meant well, even if he was being a little shit, but that was just Bowie. He was a brat and seemed to revel in it. It was too bad he’d just finished a job because it’d be just desserts to pair him with someone like Dante. It’d be like putting two hedgehogs in a bag and shaking it.

No, Boone was right to assign me to Dante’s case. The lad needed some discipline in his life, which I’d be more than happy to provide.

I double checked everything was in order and then got into the car, tossing the CD into the seat next to me. I frowned at it. My car didn’t even have a CD player, so instead, I pulled After Atom’s latest album up on the satellite radio.

My finger hovered over the play button and I hesitated, sweat forming on the back of my neck. My heart thundered in my ears. Come on, Church. It’s just a bit of music. It’s not going to kill you.

I swallowed, closed my eyes, and hit play, wincing at the first guitar rift screeching through the car. My stomach twisted and my skin prickled like someone had walked over my grave. I didn’t even make it to the chorus before I had to reach over and shut it off.

In the silence, I slumped forward, resting my head against the steering wheel while sweat gathered on my forehead and my stomach roiled. Everything was hot and cold all at once, and the world wouldn’t stop tilting this way and that. Familiar tightness gripped my chest. Not this again.

I pawed at the air conditioner, blasting my face with cold air until the throbbing in my temples stopped and my stomach settled. It took a good ten minutes to calm myself enough that I felt comfortable driving.

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