Locked & Loaded (Ricochet 1)

The first time Travis hit her, a month after they were married, she knew what her future looked like. Today, the beatings she suffered through? This was exactly how she thought she’d eventually die.

Chapter 3

RICK COULD smell the acrid smoke, the singed flesh burning his nostrils. His face was pressed to the ground, debris and rock cutting into his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he could see a halo of fire glowing bright against the pitch-black sky. He vaguely registered the flames that ate through his camos and thermals quickly, seeking out his unblemished skin.

“Staff sergeant!” His earpiece was filled with his teammates’ calls to him. Rick couldn’t move or speak. His brain was too rattled to form words.

“Rick! Ricochet! Come in.”

Leave, he thought to himself. Get Bixby out of here. He knew his team wouldn’t go. They would never leave a man behind. They would find him. Alive or dead, they would find him.

Rick startled awake with a gasp, sweating. Fucking dreams. It’s been over a year since he left the Marines, two since that night on the mountain, and it played in his mind as if it were only yesterday. His own private movie, shown on a never-ending loop.

Christ, it never ends.

Rick glanced over at his bed partner, some blonde chick he picked up at a bar last night. He struggled to remember her name, only recalling that he called her peaches because she tasted like peach Schnapps, most likely because she drank way too much of it at the bar. She was fun, but it was time to go. Rick slid out of bed as quietly as possible, not wanting to have the “thanks it was great, no I’m not going to call you again” conversation. He stretched when he got to his feet, the now familiar pull of tight skin flexing over the back of his left thigh.

Shit. It was late, or early depending how you thought of it. He never fell asleep at a woman’s house. He never wanted to. Rick knew he was tired, he didn’t realize how tired until now. Constant lack of sleep will do that to a person. The shrink gave him pills, but Rick didn’t do tranquilizers. Years spent as a Marine had him trained to be able to spring into action at a moment’s notice, even from a deep sleep. He refused to let his guard down by being knocked out and helpless by drugs.

Rick had to be at the gym tomorrow, okay, this morning by eight or Mack would chew his ass up and spit it out before he could even get his first cup of coffee. He quickly dressed and slipped out the door, the thought of a hot shower at his own house giving him more pleasure than the blonde he left in bed.

“SO, I EXPLAINED everything to you yesterday,” Tucker said to Quinn.

“Yes, I got it,” she responded. Tucker was taking his job of training her very seriously. Too seriously in Quinn’s opinion. The man never stopped talking, and not in a social, friendly way. It was more of a regurgitation of the employee handbook than an actual conversation.

“Great. Then I’ll let you get to it. Remember, no unexpected visitors. Ever. If they argue, call me or Mack, but don’t let them past the lobby.”

Quinn had to hold back the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she smiled at the man and settled in the chair behind her desk. Her desk. She had her first job. Quinn was equal parts excited and terrified. What if she couldn’t do it? She shook her head. Mack wouldn’t have given her the job if he didn’t think she could handle it. Besides, it was nothing more than a glorified receptionist and quasi-housekeeper position for a mixed martial arts training facility. It wasn’t as if she was being asked to do quantum physics.

By the time she was done with her freak out, Quinn noticed that Tucker had left her to her own devices. Thank god. He was a nice guy, but after two days of his “training”, she was ready to be without her very talkative, very repetitive shadow.

The phone rang as Quinn booted up and logged onto her computer.

Taking a deep breath, she answered her very first phone call, saying exactly what Tucker drilled into her—three times. “Sanctum MMA, this is Quinn, can I help you?”

“Quinn? Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice asked brusquely.

“I’m the new receptionist. Can I help you?” How rude! Great, she was already making enemies.

“Put me to Tucker,” he barked.

“Please hold.”

Quinn stared at the phone as if it might tell her what this guy’s problem was. Irritated, she picked the handset back up and transferred the call to Tucker’s line, stabbing the button harder than necessary.

“Jerk,” she muttered.

“That’s not a very nice way to greet guests.”

Quinn jumped in her seat, clutching her chest in surprise. She spun the chair around to face the lobby, ready to chastise whoever snuck up on her. Instead of snapping at the offender, her mouth fell open when she got a look at the beautiful man leaning over the counter in front of her desk. He was smiling, looking more like a magazine ad for designer jeans or expensive cologne than someone who would be hanging out in a sweaty gym in Atlanta.

“I-I wasn’t talking to you.” The gorgeous man lifted an eyebrow. Whoops! “I mean, when I said jerk. Oh my gosh, sorry. I didn’t mean to say it again. Crud.” Quinn sank into her chair, her face burning with embarrassment.

“It’s alright.” He grinned, showing off two perfect rows of straight, white teeth. “I’m Rick. You must be Quinn. Mack mentioned something about a new employee. Have to tell you though, with a name like Quinn, I was expecting you to be a man.”

Quinn bristled at Rick’s assumption, straightening up so she would look more professional. “Well, obviously, I’m not a man.”

Rick’s eyes gleamed, his mouth quirking up in a smirk. “Obviously not, doll,” he drawled as his piercing blue eyes raked over her body lasciviously.