Iris (Mike Bravo Ops 1)

GenNex was like that. It was the highest of the highest branch of military ops along with SEAL Team Six.

Mike Bravo is all of that and more. They take on other jobs like protecting pop stars and investigating important people other VIPs want to keep tabs on. They’ve taken out cartel leaders and freed sex workers from human trafficking rings, and they do it without public acknowledgment or praise. They do, however, charge a fuckton for their services, hence the beautiful mansion on the outskirts of Palm Desert.

It’s intimidating as all get out. Not because of the work—I was trained for this type of thing—but because with this kind of power, Travis West and Mike Bravo would be targets for many organizations who hate the US and the freedoms we stand for. They’re probably even on some watch list. The USA will gladly use them while they’re valuable, but I’d hate to see the day where the government feels they don’t need Mike Bravo anymore. We’d all become enemies of the state, and then guys like me—my old work colleagues—would be tasked with taking us out.

I want to say I’m hesitant in taking this position, but I’m not.

Bring it on.

My body, on the other hand, might not be as ready as I am.

How the fuck do these poles go together?

“Having trouble?” The deep rumble of Trav’s voice is still as welcoming as it has been since we met, but I’d prefer not to hear it while I’m failing at doing something so simple.

“Is there a trick to this brand of tent, or is it a test for dumbasses?”

Trav approaches and turns the pole I’m holding upside down.

I sigh. “Dumbass it is.”

With his help, I have the tent up in no time.

“Nervous?” Trav asks.

“Will you judge me if I say yes?”

“Not at all. It’s an adjustment. New team. New protocols.”

“New boss who appears friendlier than I’ve heard …” I’m just gonna let that hang out there.

“Please, I’m a kitten.” Yes, this mountain of muscles with his hardened jaw is a kitten. “I’m not scary unless you make me scary. Ready to head inside?”

“And meet everyone officially? Not really.”

“You’ve been out of the game for too long,” Trav says.

I don’t want to admit that it’s not the game or the other guys I’m worried about. It’s being around Iris again.

There was always something about him. In his easy demeanor, the way he was so … out. I always thought that showing him I was faster, bigger, stronger would somehow impress him.

Many nights I went to bed wishing it was me he was secretly hooking up with instead of what seemed like everyone else. He was definitely popular.

I just couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk my family finding out. And the military back then, despite DADT being repealed, still wasn’t the most welcoming.

I had everything to prove. I needed to outshine my two older brothers and my well-decorated father. My priorities were elsewhere than a quick fuck with a loudmouth.

“What’s on the agenda?” I ask Trav, hoping for something easy first up.

“Oh, you don’t want to know.”

I can’t tell if Trav’s being serious or not. “Sounds … fun?”

“Right answer. Let’s go.”

He leads me inside to a games room of sorts. There are a couple of guys sitting at the bar with their stools turned to face the pool table. The others are all watching as Iris and the only woman on the team play.

“Beer?” Trav asks and rounds the bar.

“Thanks.”

He uncaps a bottle and hands it to me, but when I turn back to the action, I find more than one pair of eyes now focused my way. Everyone is smiling, but I somehow feel like I’m the butt of a joke.

Iris sinks one, and he only has the eight ball left.

“Ooh, you’re screwed, my new friend,” one of the guys at the bar says. He leans back and rests his elbows on the counter. He’s closer to Iris in size than say Trav or any of the others who are walking tanks, but he has a nice smile. Cocky, even. Reminds me of someone else in this room who I’m refusing to look at. “I’m Zeus.”

“Brock.”

Zeus chuckles. “Not for long.”

Before I get the chance to ask him what he means, the rest of the team bursts into applause.

Iris won the game, and he’s grinning from ear to ear. The short woman with long black hair in a braid curses in Spanish and crosses to a whiteboard, where she scrubs out her name from a bracket.

“Atlas,” Iris sings. “It’s down to you and me.”

The tank next to Zeus stands, and on his way past, he grips my shoulder. “I’m going to win this for you.”

“Umm, thank … you?”

Everyone laughs.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m missing something?”

“The winner gets to choose your Mike Bravo name,” Zeus says.