Page 20 of The Captain
My jaw tightened, the words hitting like a sucker punch. Caleb was here? Why the hell hadn’t he said anything? I leaned forward, my voice low but steady. “Where is he?”
Marcus waved a hand back toward shore, casual as hell. “Somewhere, doing something.”
I pressed, my patience thinning. “Last I heard, he was in Asia.”
Marcus nodded, noncommittal, like he was dodging a jab. “Yeah, he gets around.”
I wanted to grab him by the wetsuit and shake answers out of him, but I kept my hands on the railing, my face impassive.
“Seven brothers, huh?” Marcus said, shifting gears before I could push harder.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice flat.
“That’s rare,” he said, his tone thoughtful, like he was turning over a stone to see what was underneath.
I didn’t know where he was going with it, and I didn’t like it. My brothers were my anchor, my blood, the only thing that kept me grounded through years of ops and losses I didn’t talk about. Whatever Marcus was hinting at, it felt like a door I wasn’t ready to open.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked, my voice low, not quite a demand but close.
Marcus looked at me—really looked, his eyes locking on mine, that comical glimmer still there, like he was laughing at the world and inviting me to join him.
“I might be full of shit,” he said, “but I’ll never bullshit you. Understand?”
I took it for what it was: a promise that answers would come when they came, and not a second sooner. I nodded, but the questions piled higher in my head, a stack of ammo crates ready to topple.
I blurted out the one that burned most. “Just tell me I’m not getting pulled into some goatrope run by a trust fund baby raising a private army.”
Marcus’s eyes widened, mock shock, but that twinkle never left. He pointed at himself, grinning. “Me? A spoiled trust fund baby raising a private army worthy of Napoleon’s praise? Do Ilooklike that guy?”
I studied him—the wetsuit, the easy stance, the way he moved like he’d seen action and laughed through it.
“No,” I admitted, the corner of my mouth twitching. “But you don’t look broke, either.”
He laughed, loud and bright, the sound carrying over the water. “Not just me, man. All my brothers. We’re not exactly hurting.” He looked out at the horizon, his grin fading to something softer, more serious. “Family’s everything, you know? I hope you feel the same way. At Dominion Hall, brothers take care of brothers.”
I didn’t miss the weight in his words, the way he saidbrotherslike it meant more than comrades, more than the bond I’d known in the Corps. It felt like he was hinting at something bigger, something I couldn’t see yet. My gut told me he wasn’t talking about soldiers sharing a foxhole. There was a punchline coming, and I wasn’t sure I’d like it when it landed.
I kept my face neutral, sipping the coffee that had gone cold in my hand.
“Family’s family,” I said, leaving it vague.
My brothers—spread across the globe, fighting wars that didn’t make the news—were the only thing that kept me sane. Caleb being here, and not telling me, cut deeper than I wanted to admit. What else weren’t they saying?
Marcus didn’t push, just leaned back against the railing, the wind tugging at his hair. TheEclipsepowered through the water,the coastline a distant smudge now, gulls trailing us like they were waiting for a mistake.
I cataloged more details: a crew member checking a line with the precision of a sniper zeroing a scope; a faint scar on Marcus’s forearm, barely visible under the wetsuit, shaped like a blade had kissed him once; the way the yacht’s deck vibrated just enough to tell me the engines were overpowered for a boat this size. My head still throbbed, but the open water and Marcus’s easy chatter kept the ghosts at bay, at least for now.
I thought about Camille again, unbidden—her laugh in the bar, the way she’d taken the whiskey like it was water, the fire in her eyes when she’d demanded more. She was out there, fighting her war against the Navy, against the world.
I didn’t know where I fit in that, or in this place, but the pull was there, like a current I couldn’t shake.
Marcus’s words about family echoed, mixing with the ache in my chest, the one that had followed me from Montana to every shithole I’d ever fought in.
The yacht banked slightly, the horizon tilting, and Marcus clapped me on the shoulder, his grin back in full force.
“Don’t overthink it, man,” he said. “You’re here. That’s step one. Step two’s just keeping up.”
I nodded, my face still impassive, but something in me loosened, just a fraction. Marcus was a smartass, no question, but he wasn’t careless. He was an operator, like me, and he was offering me a rope. I didn’t trust it yet, but I’d hold on until I knew what I was climbing toward.
