Chapter 30

Ryan

I kicked the door hard enough that the wood beside the lintel splintered. I’d never known rage like this. It melted the blood in my veins to molten lava, it burned through my muscles and scalded my core.

“Mother fucker!” I streaked into the room, fists up.

Whitmore stood there, his own raised, and smirked at me. Chanel sat in a chair beside her desk, her eyes flicked open and she sucked in a gasp.

“I’ll kill you,” I said, voice trembling. I clung to the last shards of my resolve.

“Don’t,” Chanel hissed. “Don’t do it. That’s what he wants. He wants you to do something stupid so that he’ll win.”

Win? There wasn’t any winning here. All I had now was bitter remorse for everything that’d happened between us over the course of the last few weeks. Bitterness and an ache to be with her again.

“Do it,” Whitmore said, tone sinuous, snake-like. “Do it, Baker. You know you’ve wanted to do it for as long as we’ve known each other.”

A flicker of shock retarded my anger. “What?” I kept my fists up though, ready to ram this motherfucker into non-existence for what he’d said, what he’d threatened to do. How far could one man stray from what he was meant to be?

Whitmore had been a soldier. But this, this thing in front of me? No, this wasn’t a soldier. This wasn’t a man of honor and discipline.

And what was I if I beat him for this? He hadn’t put a hand on Chanel, though he had threatened her. I lowered my fists. “I’m not like you,” I said.

Whitmore snorted.

Chanel scrambled out of the chair and rushed toward me. She positioned herself behind me, but didn’t lay hands on my body. It was good – I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate if she had.

She loved me. She’d said it only seconds ago. She actually loved me, and I sure as hell loved her back though there wasn’t a thing I could do to change any of this. I couldn’t condemn her to a life like mine. She couldn’t understand what it was like, moving constantly, deployment, months of being alone. No, I couldn’t sentence her to that.

“Focus on me, Baker,” Whitmore said, and clicked his fingers at me. “Focus on what I’m going to do to you.”

“And what’s that? Attack me?” I let out a raw chuckle. “I know you won’t do it. You’re a coward.”

Whitmore clenched his fists. “If anyone’s a coward here, it’s you. You’re the one who can’t do what it takes to get ahead. Look at you, you piece of shit, you just got demoted. And you don’t even care, do you?”

Of course, I cared, but not because of the loss of rank. I didn’t have a choice in any of it, but losing the soldiers I’d worked with ate at me. I’d done my best to provide them with what they needed here and to be a good leader.

“This is a waste of time,” I said, and turned my head. I kept Whitmore in my peripheral vision, but focused on Chanel. “Can you find Jameson for me? Tell her where Whitmore is.”

“Yes,” she said, and hurried out without a backward glance.

Some of the tension I was holding eased. She was out of danger now, at least.

Whitmore remained where he was, but the slant of his shoulder said he was relaxed, unconcerned that he’d broken free and would be punished for it. Especially, when Chanel decided to lay harassment charges against him.

“You’ve only made things worse for yourself,” I said.

“And worse for you too,” Whitmore replied, “as long as I do that, that’s all that matters.”

“When did you become this person? You were never evil.”

“Evil,” Whitmore snorted. “I’m not evil. I’m just exhausted from pretending I can stand who you are anymore. Everyone here worships you but they don’t know who you really are. The cold asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

It wasn’t true. I didn’t think that and never had, but I understood what it took to perform a duty. It was a heavy burden and I’d always borne it without complaint… for the most part.

“You don’t understand anything, Jack. I don’t even think you know who you are anymore.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Whitmore said, then shook his head. “No, I know who I am. I’m the guy who does whatever it takes to get things done the right way. You’re the guy who’ll sit back and do nothing.”

I didn’t dare show weakness in front of him, but I itched to pinch the bridge of my nose and rid myself of the sinus headache that had sprung up.

“How did you free yourself?”

Whitmore shrugged. “I have friends here who know that you’re too weak to lead, and that I should be the one carrying the mantle of Lieutenant Commander. Once you’re gone, I’ll probably get the title.”

“It’s not a title,” I replied.

“Everyone knows that you slept with her,” Whitmore continued, “I warned you about that, Baker. I warned you that what you’d done would come back to bite you in the ass, but you didn’t listen, and now you’re going to pay the price.”

“Did you change the roster?” I asked.

Whitmore let out a raw, throat-cracking laugh. “Did I change the roster?” He mocked me, then rolled his eyes. “Christ, you should be a comic. No, dumbass, I didn’t change the fucking guard schedule. How would I have managed that? I told you, I have friends who know the truth about you.”

Footsteps rang down the halls, the hurried click of heels on tile, and I eased my shoulders. Soon, we’d put him back where he belonged, or rather, where he’d stay until he was put in military prison – where he truly deserved to be.

Jack’s little show made me sick, and it only proved what Commander Shepherd had decided was in the base’s best interests. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I had fucked up. I’d brought too much emotion into my decision-making process and that had effected everything.

If I’d gone with my gut instincts about Whitmore, none of this would’ve happened. If I’d held off with Chanel – No. That wouldn’t have changed anything. Anyway, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back.

Jameson entered the room, closely followed by Chanel, and two other privates in their uniforms. Petty Officer Jameson’s face centered around a scowl. She glared at Whitmore, wordlessly.

“What?” Whitmore asked. “I got bored waiting for someone to come take up the guard position. What was I supposed to do? Wait around?” He laughed again.

Jameson signaled for the two privates to take him, then deferred to me for orders.

“Back to his holding cell,” I said, and grimaced at the term. “I want to find out how he got out and why Officer Wyatt wasn’t on duty as he was meant to be.”

“Oh, I might know the answer to that.” Whitmore tapped the side of his nose. “But I probably won’t tell. I dunno, you’ll have to convince me.”

I glanced at Chanel, her open gaze, filled with a mixture of fear and outrage, then nodded once. “If you need anything –” I trailed off, catching a strange glance shared between the two privates. “Don’t hesitate to contact Petty Officer Jameson,” I continued, “she’ll help you, Miss Scott. Best of luck with the refurbishment of the base.”

Chanel nodded and took a couple steps back from the door, to allow us all passage. She didn’t so much as look at me.

The two privates took point, leading their prisoner between them, I followed with Jameson in tow.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” Whitmore cast back over his shoulder.

“Quiet,” Jameson snapped.

The gray halls slid by, along with a few other soldiers who narrowed their eyes at our moving group. Was their disdain for Whitmore or for me? The creeping paranoia settled around my shoulders. I couldn’t shake it off.

Whitmore had sown the seed of doubt in my mind and it sprouted into a sapling. I had to chop it down before it became a tree. Jack was motivated by an intense need to ‘outdo’ me. I couldn’t trust what he’d said, but the doubt was still there. Waiting for a burst of sunlight to give it strength.

We rounded the corner and marched right up to Whitmore’s ‘room,’ then entered, him first, Jameson after, and finally me. I didn’t hesitate, though it made my skin crawl to be close to him again.

I’d never had such a test of my temper in my entire life.

The privates sat him down at a table in the center of the room, then retreated to the door and hovered on either side of it.

“Outside,” I said, “and close it behind you.” I might not have been a Lieutenant Commander anymore, but I still outranked them.

They saluted, then moved out of the room and shut the door.

I took a chair opposite Whitmore, and Jameson sat down beside me. We both studied him, impassively – I hoped that was how it came off.

“I didn’t think you’d make a good lackey, Jameson,” Jack said, and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Who changed the roster for you?” she asked, and her tone didn’t even sharpen. A fantastic display of control. But that was who she’d always been, and I admired her for that. “Was it Wyatt?”

Whitmore shrugged. “What does it matter if it was Wyatt or not? I have plenty of friends who know the truth about you, Baker.”

I would’ve believed him if I didn’t understand the line of command better. No one here would break rank for Whitmore, unless they’d lost touch with reality, and I doubted there were many of those who had.

It would be Wyatt and perhaps one other, if Whitmore had been persuasive enough.

“If you don’t tell us we’ll find out another way,” I said, evenly. “There’s no use holding back the information. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“I could say the same about you, Baker. Trouble follows you wherever you go.”

“Will you tell us who helped you change the roster?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then this conversation is over,” I replied, and rose from the table. “Petty Officer Jameson, we’ll need the roster and the records of every officer who has watched over Whitmore this last week.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jameson replied.

“Sir? He’s the same rank as you,” Whitmore snapped. “Don’t call him that.”

Jameson’s gaze shifted to our ‘prisoner’ and the skin around her eyes tightened. “Is there anything else you need, Sir?” she asked of me.

“Just that for now, Jameson.”

She saluted far too formally, and left the room with clipped strides. Whitmore watched her go, eyes narrowed. “I see you’ve got friends too.”

“There aren’t friends on this base, Whitmore. We’re colleagues, soldiers, not friends, you should know that.” I walked out as well. Staying would mean a loss of control. I couldn’t hold back my anger much longer.

I moved down the hall toward my office to continue clearing it out, mind burning from what I’d heard. Chanel loved me. Even when she thought loving me would mean pain or punishment, she’d stuck to it.

The woman was a wonder and I’d repaid her by stringing her along and allowing her to believe that things between us could actually work out. That made me a special type of asshole.

I couldn’t risk hurting her again. I’d have to keep my distance these two weeks, even though it would be more difficult than anything I’d ever done.

The chemistry between us was insane. Even now, I was drawn to her, to the prospect of returning to her room and stripping the clothes from her skin, holding her to my chest and just… just feeling her.

I widened the length of my steps and focused on the task at hand instead. Thoughts like that led into dangerous territory. I couldn’t go back. I had to look forward and pretend that it didn’t kill me to do it.

I didn’t have another option.