Page 4 of Rusty's Command

The bar droned with the low hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. About a dozen people sat at tables overlooking the view, a mix of locals and tourists nursing drinks and plates of island fare. It was the usual scene for this time of day—quiet, but not dead. By midday, the locals would start spilling in, filling the place with their boisterous energy.

Behind the counter, Waylen looked up from polishing a glass, his face breaking into an easy grin. “Howzit, Rusty! The usual?”

“Yeah, thanks.” His stomach growled, reminding him he’d missed breakfast.

Cooper, Ethan, and Bellamy were already settled at their corner table, their K9s sprawled in a furry heap beneath it. The sight of Charlie Team was the slice of normal he needed to push away the chaos of the morning.

Rusty dropped onto the empty chair next to Ethan and opposite Bellamy and Cooper. Soda spun twice then nuzzled the nose of her older sister, Whiskey, before settling at Rusty’s feet.

“Heard about the raid,” Bellamy said, working his way through a massive plate of teriyaki chicken and rice.

Waylen slid a cold beer into Rusty’s hand. “Here, you’ve earned this.” He clapped Rusty on the back.

Rusty huffed a reluctant thanks as Weylan swept a towel off his shoulder and moved to the next table.

“Word is you rearranged someone’s face.” Ethan smirked and mischief glinted in his eye.

Rusty groaned. “Don’t start.”

Soda settled her chin on his boot like she sensed how pissed off he was.

Cooper glanced up from his phone, where he was reviewing tomorrow’s protection detail roster. “That bad?”

“Found a woman half-dead in the basement. Triggered some shit.” Rusty took a long pull from his beer. “The chief is pissed.”

“Your dad is always pissed,” Ethan said around a mouthful of kalua pork.

“Yeah, well, this time I might’ve screwed up the whole operation.” The beer turned bitter on Rusty’s tongue. “Found enough evidence to nail the bastard, but I let my temper get the best of me. Now the chief is talking about excessive force.” He grabbed two of Cooper’s offered fries and stuffed them into his mouth.

“Sometimes that’s what they need,” Bellamy muttered, drowning his rice in hot sauce.

Cooper shot him a warning look. “We’re not in Colombia anymore, Bellamy. Can’t go around throwing punches just ‘cause we want to.”

“Brotherhood Protectors didn’t bring us here to sit on our hands either.” Bellamy forked the last of his chicken into his mouth. “Even if we’re stuck babysitting VIPs this week. I’m telling you, this governor’s visit couldn’t have come at a worse time. We’re short-staffed as it is.”

“Speaking of which.” Rusty checked his watch. “Don’t you three start soon?”

“Right now.” Bellamy shoved his plate away with more force than necessary and stood.

“Wait up. I’ll grab a ride.” Ethan drained his drink. He turned to Rusty. “Don’t go doing anything stupid.”

“Define stupid.”

“Stupid enough to get you pulled from the team.” Bellamy clapped him on the back.

“I need this job too much for that.”

“Good. As Bellamy said, we’re stretched thin enough as it is.” Ethan nodded at Cooper. “You coming?”

“Yep. Don’t stress it, Rusty.” Cooper’s steady voice was the same one that had gotten them through countless ops. He rested his hand on Rusty’s shoulder, the familiar weight grounding. “Come tomorrow morning, your dad’s gonna be singing your praises. He knows you did what needed doing.”

Rusty huffed as his Brotherhood Protectors teammates left with their K9s, their chatter fading as they stepped outside. He was left alone with his beer and the kind of thoughts that crept in when the noise died down. Dark, restless thoughts. Never a good combination.

What the hell am I going to do now?

He stared blankly at the menu, the words blurring together under the dim glow of the bar lights. The jukebox kicked on, blaring the opening chords of Shania Twain’s“Man! I Feel Like a Woman.”The twangy vocals hit a nerve, dredging up memories he’d spent years trying to bury. Memories of Hannah dancing around the kitchen, her laughter masking the bullshit she’d hidden from him for way too long. Memories of the day she stopped dancing forever.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the menu. Burger or pasta? It didn’t matter. Nothing sat right in his stomach these days anyway.

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