Perfect Rage (Unyielding 3)

“Holy shit, you okay, Alina?” Jaz asked.

The loud smack vibrated in my head and there was a burning throb in the middle of my forehead. Hard, air-filled plastic hitting the skull hurt, but it was more shocking than anything. “Ah, yeah. Fine.”

“Shit. Sorry. Didn’t see you there, ma’am.” It was Riot and he stood in front of me, sweat dripping down his chest and his eyes no longer twinkling, but genuinely concerned. “You okay? Do you need to sit down?”

I stared at him, a little dazed, but I was uncertain if it was from the ball hitting me in the head or from the hot guy standing inches away from me. I went with a combo.

I breathed in and his scent wafted into me. It was all man, no cologne, just a natural earthy smell with a hint of mint, as if he’d just used one of those breath strips.

And he was tall. Like really tall and I was five foot five so I wasn’t tiny, but he still towered over me. With his broad shoulders and bulging arms, I felt like a pixie standing next to him.

“Ah, yeah… umm, no, I mean, I don’t need to sit. I’m good,” I finally sputtered. I didn’t normally sputter, but my nerves had already been sparking and now they were out-of-control fireworks.

I froze, eyes widening when Riot’s fingers gently caressed the spot where the ball hit me. It was so soft I barely felt it. Except I did and goose bumps rose and my belly flipped.

“It’s red, but I don’t think it will bruise,” Riot said, his gaze drifting from my forehead to land on my lips then slowly back to meet my eyes. “Corporal O’Neill.” He held out his hand and I took it, noticing how it completely engulfed mine. His palms were rough and his handshake firm. Not painful, but with purpose.

“Yo, O’Neill!”

He turned and I looked past him to see the guy Deck across the yard with his gear in hand and his shirt back on. “Bird landed. See you back in the world,” Deck called. “One month.”

Riot, or rather Corporal O’Neill, did a fist pump in the air.

Deck jogged off with the seriously scary built guy they called Gate.

O’Neill’s attention shifted to Jaz who had yet to say anything and I knew why when I looked at him. He was grinning ear to ear as his gaze moved from O’Neill to me and back again.

“Jaz Klein.” He offered his hand and they shook. “Journalist for the Miami Messenger Magazine. The girl you smacked with your ball is Alina, my brilliant photographer. I’m writing a story—”

“On the orphanage,” O’Neill finished and his eyes shot back to me, but there was a scowl now and it was a little scary because his square jaw clenched and his lips pursed.

“Yeah,” Jaz said. “Are you one of the guys giving us a ride?”

He didn’t answer him; instead, his intense eyes were on me and I shifted uncomfortably. “The magazine sends you to an unstable country to take photos? Not fuckin’ smart. And I don’t have time to babysit civilians.”

Jaz cleared his throat. “I understand your concern, Corporal O’Neill, but the public wants to read more than just about the war over here. And I plan to give it to them.” I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until O’Neill’s eyes moved from me to Jaz. “I’ve been to hundreds of unstable places and am very aware of the risk.”

O’Neill paused while looking him up and down. Jaz was in his forties, appropriately dressed, wearing black cargo pants with a snug, long-sleeved shirt, black combat boots and his head was buzz cut like the military guys, so he fit in.

O’Neill had about an inch of dirty-blond hair and two days scruff that gave him a rugged look.

“Yeah. Maybe.” O’Neill’s attention shifted back to me again and I stiffened. “But I wasn’t referring to you.”

Whoa. What? I looked down at myself. I had on dark green fitted pants with laced boots and a white blouse that I thought was appropriate considering the unbearably dry heat.

“I’ll speak to my staff sergeant and advise him that you’re both to be airlifted out of here at the first opportunity. The story on the orphanage needs to be told, but not now. PR was crazy allowing this. Come back in a few years when shit settles. Or when you find another brilliant photographer.” Then he added, “One that’s out of high school.”

Oh, my God. Did he just say that? He could only be a couple of years older than me.

I was too shocked to say anything and Jaz was having a coughing fit with his hand over his mouth, so I knew damn well the guy was laughing. Laughing.

“Jaz.” I kicked his ankle and he cleared his throat and said, “Umm… yeah, listen, don’t worry about her. She can handle herself.”