Tawny Weber - A SEAL's Salvation

Brody instantly regretted his words. He had no issue taunting the cop. But waving Genna around like that was cheap. Wrong.

And clearly the equivalent of a red flag in front of a charging bull.

Sheriff Reilly went from calm cop to furious father in an instant. His eyes, the same blue as Genna’s, Brody realized with an audible gulp, narrowed into slits. His fists clenched, then as if making sure he hadn’t broken any of his own bones, he slowly flexed his fingers before wrapping one hand over the butt of his gun. The sound of the release tab loosening was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Loud, painful and threatening.

Brody had spent the first half of his life a punching bag, the convenient focal point for every frustration, irritation or random violent thought his old man had entertained. He’d spent two idiotic years on the streets, honing his fighting skills and learning just how viciously painful a knife in the gut was.

But he’d never been scared for his life the way he was now.

“You won’t hurt me,” he said with his usual cocky assurance, even though he was nothing but. “You’re not gonna risk your badge, or your self-respect, breaking those laws you love so much.”

At least, Brody hoped he wasn’t. Because Sheriff Reilly looked furious enough to kick his ass inside out, then rip the pieces to shreds.

And then the guy pulled it all in. Brody had to admire that, the way he could control all that fury, channel his emotions. It was seriously impressive. And not because it meant Brody wasn’t gonna get beat up.

“As I see it, I have a couple choices,” the sheriff mused in a cool tone. “I can do just what you said, and accept the results of those risks. Or I can make sure you get outta here.”

“And I have no choice in leaving?”

“Actually, you do have a choice. You can choose army or navy. But that’s about as much say as you’re gonna get in this.”

Brody laughed. There wasn’t a damned thing funny in the sheriff’s expression, but that had to be a joke. The guy could toss him in jail; he could probably get away with kicking his ass. But he couldn’t force him to join the military.

“I’m not soldier material.”

The sheriff smiled his agreement. “You’re gonna be.”

“Or?”

Reilly nodded, clearly pleased that Brody saw the reality. This was definitely an either-or situation.

“Or I haul your ass in on statutory rape charges. Genna’s seventeen.”

“We didn’t—” Brody bit the words off, not about to share details of just what they had and hadn’t done. “I didn’t rape your daughter.”

“Legal semantics,” Reilly mused. “Statutory rape might not denote force, but that word, it’s a lightning rod. And a case like this, the town bad boy and a straight-A student, a vulnerable girl whose life is now ruined? That’ll make the news. Throw in your record, your rumored gang affiliation? I’ll bet this goes national. Won’t that be interesting? All that attention here on Bedford. Bet your gramma will be bursting with pride. She got anything left to sell off to pay legal fees?”

Brody swore a blue streak, yanking out every cussword and vile epithet he knew. The cop didn’t blink.

By most accounts, Sheriff Reilly was a fair cop. He cozied up tight to the letter of the law and prided himself on his position in town. But Joe had said more than once that his old man was a prick who cared more about appearances, about that precious rep of his, than he did his family. That he’d do anything to keep their reputation as shiny bright as he did his badge.

But Brody couldn’t believe that included punishing his daughter with public humiliation.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to believe it.

But shock didn’t blunt his anger. He’d done a lot of shit in his life that probably deserved punishment. But not tonight. Not like this.

His gramma didn’t hold out a lot of hope that her family would meet any decent standards. But having her grandson branded a rapist would pretty much kill her.

Genna would be publicly humiliated, dragged through the drama of a court hearing. She’d have to face reporters and gossips and nastiness in the form of support. Brody had seen plenty of that over the years, the gleeful joy others took in their hypocritical sympathy.

Numb, as if the fury had pounded itself out against his temples, he met Reilly’s eyes. Brody wasn’t a poker player, but he was the product of violence. He knew absolute determination when it stared back at him.

If he didn’t fall in line, he’d pay.

And he was fine with that.

But Genna and Gramma Irene would pay, too.

Trapped, Brody quit struggling against the cuffs. His shoulders sank low and for the first time in his life, he felt defeated.

He vowed then and there that this was the last time he would ever let his dick get him in trouble.

3

The Present

“YOU BLOW MY MIND, DUDE. We’ve been on this aircraft carrier for what? All of a day and you’re already making trouble?”

“Trouble? Dude, that wasn’t trouble. Believe me, I know the difference.” Petty Officer First Class Brody Lane, call sign Bad Ass, dropped to his rack with a grin, folding his hands behind his head and crossing his booted ankles.

“Farm Boy said some wet-behind-the-ears recruit threatened to kick your ass.” Masters gestured to their teammate who’d returned from the poker game a few minutes before Brody.

Their SEAL team had hitched a ride on a navy aircraft carrier on their way back from a training mission. And while they weren’t treated as dignitaries as they crossed the Atlantic, they were given a ten-man berthing area to use instead of having to bunk with the rest of the sailors.

“What’d you do, tell everyone between mess deck and our berth?”

Carter just smiled. Gossiping like an old lady clearly didn’t faze him. With that fresh face of his, it was hard to believe he was a SEAL. Hell, it was hard to believe he was even old enough to serve, let alone two years older than Brody’s twenty-nine.

“It was getting interesting, with the recruit mouthing off. And Bad Ass just sitting there counting his winnings. I thought the kid was gonna dive across the table. Then Bad Ass stood up and the wuss realized he was in serious danger of getting his ass handed to him.”

“He was a NUB, Farm Boy. He didn’t know any better.” Brody had been a NUB, or new useless body, once. Fresh out of boot camp and on his first tour, thinking he was ready to take on anything. Anyone.

That kind of thinking had been forcefully adjusted pretty fast.

“Why are you playing with recruits?” Masters asked.

“I’d already cleaned out the officers,” Brody admitted with a grin.

“Trouble,” Masters muttered again, but he was laughing as he said it.

“We don’t reach port till morning. What was I supposed to do? Sit in here like a good boy reading a book?” And the crew was providing Brody with a fat wad of poker winnings.

Masters snickered, then angled the book to one side. “I wasn’t reading a book. I’m writing home.”

Brody gave a jerk of his shoulder to show it was all the same to him. Truth be told, in his ten years of service he’d read a lot more books than he’d written letters home.

“You settle it or are we gonna be getting company?”

“It’s done. He just didn’t like losing.” Too bad, since Brody liked winning. Not enough to cheat, though. He didn’t need to. He was damned good. Something he made a point of being, with anything he cared about. Thankfully, that list was pretty short, so he wasn’t spreading himself too thin.

“Mail call.”

“You get demoted to mailman?” Brody grinned at Lieutenant Blake Landon. As officers went, the guy was all G.I. As friends went, Blake was aces.