Page 36 of The Brat Tamers

“She scared the shit out of me, man. I couldn’t secure the guy because she was jumping in his face.” Porter drops his arms and stands up straight, rubbing the top of his head as he paces a four-foot section in and out of my bedroom. “I enjoy a challenge just as much as you do, and I have no problem with her giving us shit when we are playing, but when she endangered me and herself, I snapped.”

“You yelled at her…” Case says, and I’m betting he’s already heard this story and is prompting Porter to tell me everything.

Porter glances between us, the anguish on his face palpable. “You should have seen the look on her face. I was so mad, and she was devastated, and I guess it broke me a little. I couldn’t talk to her afterwards. I could barely look at her.”

“Yeah, well, she noticed.” I plop down on my bed, stacking my pillows up behind me.

“So, what do we do next?” Case turns and looks at me. “We agree? She’s the one.”

I shrug. “She’s the one I want.”

“Me too.”

Porter nods, “Me three.”

Yawning, I stretch my arms over my head. “I gave her our card. She can contact us in any of a half-dozen ways. I say we give her a couple of days to think about what she wants.”

Porter stretches and yawns himself. “And if she doesn’t call?”

I rearrange my pillows—punching them until they lay just as I like—and chuckle. “Then I guess she’ll get kidnapped for real.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Case stands and smacks the doorframe as he walks out of my room.

I hope it doesn’t come to that. It would make life a lot easier if she made this decision on her own.

* * *

Nine days later, and not only has she not contacted us, but I’m being hauled into Victor’s office in the middle of the workday. Not that we have any actual work to do. I’ve been pinging him constantly, looking for something entailed enough to get me and my team out of town. Being home and not having her contact us is driving us insane, and we’ve almost come to blows a couple of times over the stupidest shit.

Out of coffee? Fight.

Dishes left in the sink? Fight.

Sitting on the couch in a sweat-stained shirt after a workout? Fight.

I walk into Victor’s office, surprised to find Reese standing there at parade rest. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Close the door.” Victor looks up from his computer.

I close the door and also stand at parade rest, twelve years of military training kicking in without a second thought.

“Sit the fuck down, guys. We’re not in the military anymore, and I’m not your commanding officer.”

Reese and I exchange a look and take our seats.

Victor clasps his hands and places them on his desk, his shrewd gaze disassembling us both. He sighs and leans back in his chair. “Did you know the PsySpecOps training program was designed after World War One to create an elite team of super soldiers? Instead of using chemical enhancements like the comics and movie plot lines set up for us, the US Army decided the best way to create the perfect man was to take the strengths from multiple men to minimize any weaknesses and since infusing all of that into one person was deemed impossible, teams were designed and trained. It took a couple of years, but eventually they found the best combinations came in threes, and when the program went live, they created teams. The science behind the tests to match up the three is solid, and the success rate of any team graduating after passing the first round together is ninety-three percent.”

I glance at Reese, completely confused as to why we are getting a history lesson we all learned at AIT.

He keeps his gaze forward, but the narrow squint of his eyes tells me he’s thinking the same thing.

Victor keeps going. “An unpublished, documented side effect of creating these teams is the participants found they coexisted so well together that seeking relationships outside of their trifecta proved impossible. As straight or hetero-flexible males, finding one woman who is amenable to their lifestyle is difficult at best. Impossible at worst. It’s very common for men in our career field to seek their gratification somewhere like a sex club, where alternative lifestyles and non-judgmental playtime are more common.”

“Uh,” I open my mouth to interject, this conversation quickly going somewhere I don’t want to go. Women think men engaged in locker room talk freely, but the truth is, what goes on with my dick and the dicks of my partners is our own goddamn business. Although, considering he has me and Reese in here, I’m certainly curious about the goings-on of the dick sitting beside me.

Victor holds his hand up and shakes his head. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to fucking hear a word from either of you. I don’t know what happened, and I don’t want to know. Got me?”

He clears his throat, laying his clenched fists on top of his desk. “The two of you have been up my ass since we closed the Krushner twins’ case, asking for an assignment that takes you and your team somewhere—anywhere—other than here. Well, gentlemen, I have nothing for you. And so, I’m sending you and your teams on sabbatical. I don’t give a fuck where you go; I don’t care what you do—although, I suggest you spend the time fucking your brains out, so when you come back to work, your heads are on straight.”

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