One shot, one kill. ~ U.S. Army Sniper Creed

 

Fort Drum, NY, June 12th, 2012

“Let me borrow your friend. I’ll show you how the infantry do their shots.”

There’s something I’ve never seen. Something about a woman entering a testosterone-saturated environment, i.e., the on-post watering hole, tended to raise the hackles of the local grunts, who felt the need to prove to said opposite sex, in this case, me, they had a set between their legs.

I shook my head. Just add alcohol and the chest-thumping amplified. I lifted my drink in salute. By all means, let the pec-pounding commence. I tipped the beverage back and drained it.

“Davis?” Smitty spluttered as the tall drink of water who’d just announced how special grunts were tugged her toward the bar, pushed her to a stool, and spun her back to the countertop. Her gaze darted over to me.

“Lean back a skosh, sweetheart.” My new Neanderthal friend touched Smitty’s shoulder, and Smitty complied. The last night before we started training, we’d gone out to party and found plenty of trouble.

The bad boys weren’t regular patrons of our haunt. I’d never set eyes on them before. The one I’d picked out as the leader had a cocky attitude and brought enough heat to melt me in my panties and heels. On a drool factor scale from one to ten, I’d place him as an eleven. A do-me element radiated off him like a bunker blast. Every woman in the club watched him like a hungry wolf. I wasn’t an exception.

I took my time, visualizing him naked. I’d bet he had a nice happy trail, the kind I could lick down to fun-land. He was tall, with dark hair, and eyes I couldn’t tell the color of in the smoky room, but the spooky depths sent tremors racing up and down my spine and heat pulsing between my thighs.

Thus far, Smitty had held up well and hadn’t burst into flames. I had to give her credit for hanging in there. I surmised it could have to do with her being a lesbian, but then again, she did claim to go both ways. Regardless, I admired her tenacity. Any other woman would’ve been a puddle by now. One of the many reasons I adored Smitty.

Spunk under pressure.

Dressed in a spaghetti-strap top that accentuated a more than ample chest, with a little skin exposed above jeans riding low on the curve of her hip, Smitty looked lethal. Small and delicate, and standing at five foot one, Smitty wasn’t the typical soldier. Many mistook her for a civilian, an officer’s daughter, maybe, or wife. With dark-brown hair in a cute pixie cut and eyes so dark they bordered on black, she stopped cars, hearts, and dropped jaws wherever she went.

Tonight, she’d caught the eye of a rogue special forces squad, and the equally devastating leader of said posse, who made me wonder if there was a set of dry panties in the house.

God. Where does the Army find these guys? I did my best to appear unaffected, refusing to let him smell the blood in the water.

“Give me a shot of Jose.” My walking wet dream tapped the bar next to where he’d propped Smitty. He wedged his body between her knees and leaned over, pressing against her breasts. Her eyes shifted in my direction, and Smitty gave a barely perceptible shake of her head, begging for a rescue.

Ha! Not going to happen. You sit back and enjoy it, bitch.

So much for spunk under pressure. A rescue? I gave her a wicked grin and lifted a brow. I’d give anything to have him wedged between my legs. I refused to save her. As a friend, in good conscience, I couldn’t let her escape his clutches. It would be a crime.

She screwed up her face. Yeah, I’d pay for it later.

He turned his smoldering eyes on me and smiled. I clamped onto the bar, my knuckles turning white. There were two types of soldiers on post. The kind you’d bring home for Daddy to meet, and him. I licked my lips and caught my breath. Irresistible—orgasmic trouble. Yummy.

If we hadn’t been on a military post, I’d have questioned whether they were soldiers. His hair touched his shoulders, his jaw darkened with a couple of days’ worth of scruff, typical of the bad boys who went out on special ops, where they needed to blend with the civilian population. A standard 11B bullet-stopper wouldn’t get away with breaking as many regs as he had. Some first sergeant would have him up on Article 15, and he wouldn’t be in here, partying. I plucked at the napkin under my now-empty glass and let my gaze drift down, to confirm my suspicions.

Standard military issue, his boots were worn down to slippers, the tread almost nonexistent. It took miles and miles of humping across rough terrain to bring them to the state they were in—signature grunt. You wouldn’t catch him wearing them in formation, but a guy like him would never go to the field or on deployment without them. No wet-behind-the-ears soldier there.

Then I caught a peek at a black tag hanging around his neck. Add two and two. Special forces, Uncle Sam’s force amplifiers, or, in my case, heat amplifiers.

If appearance wasn’t enough, the attitude gave him away. The bartender slid a shot glass along the bar, and he caught it without looking. It took a special kind of warrior to do the job he did, and boy did they know it. He picked it up and raised it for the room to see then worked it into my friend’s cleavage. Her eyes popped wide, and she narrowed them on me, promising retribution. I shrugged.

“Salt and lime,” he called out.

A salt shaker and lime were handed to him. “You ready?”

Smitty gave a tiny nod.

He leaned down, licking the top of Smitty’s tit. She sucked in an audible gasp as he seasoned her breasts as though they were Sunday dinner. I shifted on my feet. He had me going.

“Bite on this.” The way he’d said it sounded so dirty, so wrong, and I wished I’d found a spot on his stool. He pressed the lime to her lips, rind first, and she took it in her mouth.

“Three, two, one….” The group counted back, and his tongue snaked along her chest, picking up salt. He used his mouth to pick up the shot and tip it down, flinging the empty glass with the flick of his head to a soldier on his left who caught it. Smitty squirmed again, and he took the lime from her mouth with his own, his hands remaining flat on the bar on either side of her shoulders.

The bar erupted into hoots and catcalls as he turned around and stared straight at me, crooking his finger. “Your turn.”

I rolled my eyes. If they thought we’d be their girl toys for the night, they had another think coming. We’d had our fun. Now, we should go.

“What?” He laughed.

“Lame.” I shook my head.

“Don’t knock it, if you haven’t tried it.” He tossed back another shot. “You scared? You’ve been staring at me like you want to eat me, so come on, take a seat on my stool.”

I jerked my chin toward the door. “Come on, Smitty. Let’s get out of here.”

Smitty stared glassy eyed, mouth agape, not moving.

“Smitty?” I urged.

“Okay, so you don’t want a ride on the stool. How about I give you one hundred dollars to do to your friend what I just did.”

“Please. If you think I’m going to suck salt off Smitty’s tits so you can get off, no thanks—not for a Benjamin.” I turned for the door. “Let’s go, Smitt.”

“One thousand dollars.”

I froze in place. “One thousand—as in Benjamin and his whole extended family? To do a shot like you just did?” I spun around. “Let me see it.”

“Ante up, boys.” Hot Stuff motioned for his squad to fork over cash. Hands were thrust into pockets, wallets pulled out, not a sliver of hesitation. They stuffed the cash into his hand until he had a pile of bills in his palm. “Uncles and distant cousins.”

I charged up to where Smitty still sat. “Bartender. I’d like a shot of Jose.”

“Uh, Davis?” Smitty finally snapped out of her trance. “This will be like kissing my sister.”

“No worries, Smitty. I’ll share the booty.” My comment brought more hoots and catcalls in response. I glanced around. “The money.” God. Did I have to spell it out for all of them?

“Davis,” Smitty said again with more emphasis.

I stepped up to her and pushed her back against the bar, setting my keys down. “Stick ’em out.”

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t think. Imagine the boots you could buy with five hundred dollars?” Yeah, it hadn’t exactly been fair, yanking out the big guns. I knew the one temptation Smitty couldn’t pass on. Shoe whore.

Smitty stuck her chest out. We all had our weaknesses. CFMs, come-fuck-me shoes, were definitely hers.

Trouble in Combat Boots shoved a shot glass of tequila into my hand and held up the prize. I snatched the pile, stuffed it down the front of my top, and stuck the shot glass in Smitty’s cleavage. As I picked up the salt, the bar went silent.

I leaned down and licked the top of one breast then salted it. Smitty had a white-knuckle grip on the barstool, holding her breath. I stuck a wedge of lime between her lips.

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One,” the entire bar counted down.

I licked the salt, captured the glass with my mouth, and tipped my head back, draining it, before I slammed it down on the bar. I grabbed Smitty’s head, sucked the lime into my mouth, and kissed her. I took my time, making sure they’d suffer for their antics.

Someone hissed, a couple of others groaned. When I pulled away, the room had gone dead silent. I wiggled my brows at Smitty and spit the lime slice into the glass.

“I’ll give you another five to do it again,” someone yelled out from a dark corner.

I shook my head, having no desire to continue entertaining the perverts. “One shot.” I took Smitty’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “Later, boys.”

We darted out the door, giggling like little girls. “You should have seen the look on his face,” Smitty said and broke out into another fit of laughter.

“I didn’t need to. I could feel his eyes on my back. I think there will be a round of cold showers to go with the shot.” My head buzzed, and excitement washed through me. Damn, I loved the adrenaline rush.

“They deserve it.”

“Deserve what?”

I jumped—startled he’d followed us out. “To deal with raging hard-ons and Rosie Palm as backup,” I said as we continued down the street.

“Harsh.” The stud who’d talked me into the shot trotted to catch up. “You’re going to leave—just like that?”

I turned to him. “Yes. I have to be up at o-dark-ugly.”

“It’s early—hours away. Come on. Stay. Party.” His pleading expression nearly undid my defenses. The man was good.

But I wouldn’t fall for it. “Nothing personal.” I poked one finger into his chest, slid it up to his dog tags, and flicked them. He’d wanted us to see them, or else they’d be tucked into his shirt. I knew the game. The bad boys got the pussy. But not this time. “My mother warned me about guys like you.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. “Yeah? What did she say?”

“She said—don’t.” I spun to go.

He clamped onto my shoulder and brought me back around. “Don’t knock it until you try it.” He yanked me to his body and lowered his mouth to mine, kissing me. My knees went soft, and I collapsed against him. My palms pressed against his chest, and even through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, the heat of his body scorched me.

No wonder Mama said don’t. One kiss and all I wanted was to “do.”

“Davis,” Smitty said from behind us.

Hot and lethal stepped back and smiled. “I’m going to be here for six weeks. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Maybe,” I muttered as he turned and headed back to the bar. I stared at his enticing backside and itched to run my hands over it, feel the muscles flex under my palms.

“Forget him.” Smitty tugged on my shoulder. “That walking erection is trouble.”

“He’s yummy.”

Smitty groaned.

“What? Just because you’re a great big super lesbian doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate fine male flesh when I see it.”

“I’m bi. I’ve told you a hundred times. I appreciate. Trust me. The boys aren’t the only ones who’ll be taking a cold shower tonight. It’s…. Never mind.” She turned and walked away.

“It’s what?” I trotted up alongside her.

“I don’t know. Something tells me getting involved with this guy would be bad.”

“Duh. Any intelligent female knows he’s trouble in spades. There’s nothing wrong with using him for a little somethin’ somethin’, though.”

“Stop thinking from between your legs for a second and concentrate on what’s happening right now in our lives. You have to be an example. All the time. Everywhere.”

“As opposed to having salt sucked off my tits in public. You could have stopped him at any time. So don’t even try to pull the innocent card.”

“I did it for fun and didn’t intend to take it any further. You don’t see me going home with him. I think if I’d left you kissing him a minute longer, you would’ve. We’ve no clue who he is. This isn’t our post, it’s enemy territory.”

She had a point. Five females in the entire Army had been picked to attend this special Army sniper and infantry training. The Department of Defense was so sensitive about it, they’d placed us in an infantry unit stationed at Drum. We’d both heard rumors they were bringing in instructors, snipers with confirmed kills. The best Uncle Sam had.

No woman in the United States military had ever been allowed into this elite field before, and it was a great honor we were picked to break ground.

In general, we had a lot of opposition from the male element. The unit to which we’d been assigned had trained and fought together through several deployments and had some of the best NCOs and officers in the United States Army. We were trespassing in man-land. One slipup, one bad move, and we could ruin it for others. Even the shots in the bar looked like a bad thing in retrospective.

We’d been stuck on this post for the last two weeks, waiting for the rest of the group to arrive and school to be in session. Aside from cleaning gear, dealing with inspections, filling out paperwork, and undergoing physicals and medical tests, we’d been pretty bored. We should’ve taken leave like the others, but Smitty insisted we arrive early and settle in. It had taken all of a day to accomplish, and then we were left with lots of downtime. Going out at night gave us a chance to let our hair down before the real stress began.

We were told sniper training would be intense, and even fit males had a hard time keeping up with it. Although we weren’t at Benning with a regular cycle, they’d promised it wouldn’t be any easier. In fact, we were guaranteed it would be harder. They wanted to run their lab rats through every scenario they could drum up, to be sure women could handle it.

Of course, if they wanted to know if women could handle it, they only needed to look to the Russians and their female snipers who served in WWII. They’d kicked serious ass. But Uncle Sammy was a bit of a chauvinist, and even though he didn’t want to admit it, he hoped we’d fail. By segregating our training, he could keep it hush-hush and his options open if we made it. The United States didn’t want women in combat arms.

The fallout to success ratio wasn’t good with the regular class, but the Army had never put tenacious females through the program, and we were determined to show them we were better than they thought we could be.

My background got me here. As one of a handful of people who could shoot dimes out of the air, I didn’t lack the skill. Back home, my part-time employment after school and during the summer had included playing Annie Oakley in a Wild West show out of North Platte, Nebraska. My father had been an Army sniper in Vietnam. After he got out, he bought a sporting goods store, got married, and fathered me. I lost my mother to cancer before I reached the age of two. He did the best he could and raised me like a son, taught me to shoot from the time I stood hip high to him.

My first rifle had been a Twenty-two Chipmunk. From there, I’d graduated to bigger and better things. For my sixteenth birthday, my father bought me a Soviet SVD sniper rifle. My first love. After that, I developed a thing for guys with guns. Big guns. Accurate guns. Men who knew how to shoot turned me on. It only seemed reasonable when I graduated high school I’d join the Army, and I did.

When my father was elected as a senator representing Nebraska, I kept my identity to myself, only sharing with those who already knew. I didn’t want favors, and I sure didn’t expect them.

When I entered the military, I’d been disappointed to discover combat arms closed to women. It was what I’d been born and raised to do. Three-and-a-half years later, I heard Uncle Sam wanted five elite women to train as snipers. I begged my company commander to put me in for it. We were the last speed bump on the road to women’s equality in the military.

My company commander finally caved and submitted my application after I spent three months nagging and hurtling every obstacle thrown before me. I had to re-up, attend Air Assault School, and rappel out of helicopters. I had to go Airborne. I even did some cold weather training in Alaska. They’d stuck their candidates in a light infantry squad for six months, and I’d humped enough miles to have crossed the United States from coast to coast. As the days went by, our numbers dwindled until only five women were left. We’d survived the trial by fire; now we got to jump feet first into hell.

I’d come to realize this wasn’t just a dream, it had become an obsession, and Smitty knew as well as I how hard we’d worked to get where we were. I didn’t need to get mixed up in something stupid. So I nodded and walked back with her, silently thinking about the man who’d kissed me.

When I got to my room, I realized I’d set my keys down in the bar. I didn’t want to explain to the charge of quarters how I’d lost them. Technically, they weren’t lost. I knew exactly where I’d left them. I crossed the hall and knocked on Specialist Smith’s door.

“One second,” she called from the other side. She cracked the door and peeked out. “Davis? What are you doing here?” She had a towel wrapped around her body as though she was headed for the icy shower she’d alluded to earlier.

“Nothing. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

She nodded and shut the door. I spun on my heel and stared down the hallway. Thirty minutes, tops, and I’d be at the bar, another thirty and I could hit the sack. I headed for the exit.

 

***

 

I tugged the door open and stared into the smoky room. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back. Alone—even worse. I debated going in, hemming and hawing until I couldn’t stand here anymore without looking like an idiot. Finding a little spine, I finally stepped over the threshold. I could handle this. I’d walk over to the bar, retrieve the keys I’d left behind, and stroll out.

Simple.

Wrong.

I skirted several of the bad boys who had witnessed my shot and slipped up to the bar where I thought I’d left my keys. I could feel every eye in the room trained on me. My gaze swept the surface. “Excuse me,” I called to the bartender. “Did you find a set of keys?”

The bartender shook his head, popped the lid off a bottle of beer, and set it in front of a patron. I eyed the floor. Where the hell were my keys? I hadn’t come all this way for nothing.

A whistle behind me snagged my attention.

Well, shit. I grabbed hold of the edge of the counter, not wanting to turn around, knowing damn good and well who had them. I had to get back to the barracks and hit my bunk. I didn’t need a confrontation with hot stuff.

No choice. No keys—no entrance to my room. I bit my lip and faced the devil. My heart immediately jumped into my throat. There he sat, at a table in the corner, legs stretched out in front, dangling my keys from his finger.

I swallowed, focusing on the carrot he held before me. He swung them back and forth, daring me to come and get them. Every instinct told me to run. My reasoning self told me I didn’t have time for this, and to go get them. He was one man. I could handle one man. I glanced at him again.

Maybe not.

He smiled and jangled them. “These yours?”

I growled between clenched teeth. “I’ve done enough shots for tonight. I told you I have to be up early.”

“So do I.” His eyes swept me head to toe, and I hugged my arms over my chest, feeling dirty. “Sometimes, it’s easier not to go to sleep than to doze for an hour or two. We could do something instead.”

Just what kind of activity did he have in mind?

“Here they are, if you want them so bad.” He tossed them in the air and caught them.

I strode up, snatched them, and spun to leave. He snagged my wrist and yanked me into his lap. “What do you have to do tomorrow that’s so important? Cook breakfast in the mess?” He tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind my ear.

“What? Because I’m female, you assume I’m a cook?”

“Chairbourne Ranger?” He continued to play with my hair, letting it slide between his fingers.

“Bite me.” I knocked his hand away and moved to stand. His arm tightened around my waist.

“I wonder where the kiss we had earlier would’ve gone.”

“Nowhere. Let me up.”

He released me, and I launched to my feet.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to find out,” he said.

“No inclination to.” I whipped around and headed for the door.

He jumped up and followed.

“Go away.”

“Not going to happen.”

I stopped and turned, slamming into his body and close enough to kiss him again. “Stalking is creepy.” I tipped my head back and gave him my nastiest look. “You don’t want to piss me off.”

“Honey, you wouldn’t know if I was truly stalking you.” One corner of his mouth curled up, in the kind of smile that made women drop their clothes. “I’m beginning to think I want to see this angry side. You’re awful cute when you’re flustered. A real spitfire.”

I shoved on his chest. “And you’re drunk.”

“No, buzzing a bit, but I’m all here.”

“I’m leaving, and you’re leaving me alone.”

“You’re leaving, but I’m not letting you walk out of here alone.”

Snort. I could take care of myself. Did he really think I needed an escort? “Who do—”

“We’ve had several rapes on this post in the last month. I’m not the creep you should be worried about.”

I shut my mouth. I’d been ready to tell him to go to hell, but, now that he mentioned it, walking alone at this hour could get a girl into trouble on any post, and I’d been stupid enough to do it once. I sighed. “You’re not going to back off, are you?”

“Not a chance. You have a choice. I call a cab and get you a lift to your barracks, which something tells me you don’t want anyone to see, or I walk you there. Pick.” He nodded toward the exit. “You’re safe with me.”

Somehow, his declaration seemed like a lie. I moved off ahead of him. “Try to keep up.”

“Why? The view’s great from back here.”