Sharp edge security oper.., p.1
Sharp Edge (Security Operations Group Bravo), page 1
SHARP EDGE
SECURITY OPERATIONS GROUP BRAVO
KAT BAMMER
KILO BRAVO SIERRA PRESS
To you,
if you haven’t found him yet, your hero is still out there!
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
ISBN: 978-3-903379-34-3
Copyright © 2023 by Kat Bammer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information, storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental.
This book has been previously published under the title: Hero of my Future
Sharp Edge - Security Operations Group Bravo
A KiloBravoSierra Press Book
1
FELICIA
This was a bad idea; I could feel it in my bones. I looked at the Three Oaks Diner through the windshield of my parked car, then down at my wringing hands in my lap. I was shaking inside. Shaking and ready to bolt.
I could still leave. He didn’t know I was here, or even planning on telling him it was over.
I could run. Take Bobby, pack our things, and run.
I groaned. I couldn’t do that. This was our home. Family, my shop, everything was here in Three Oaks.
I couldn’t end this without putting myself in jeopardy.
At least we were in a public place. He’d never hit me in public. Manhandling…sure, but he’d never actually completely lost control in public before—not like he did at home.
Not like he’d done yesterday.
I carefully touched my left side, and the sharp pain robbed me of my breath. My ribs were probably broken; at least, the bruises had looked nasty when I’d stared at my beaten-up body for half an hour before leaving the house.
Trying to breathe as shallowly as possible, just to avoid the pain.
I needed to get them checked out afterwards.
Afterwards.
After I told him it was over.
I looked back at the three bags that hid Bobby’s booster seat under them. Roy’s clothes and every single item that belonged to him.
This was it.
A clear cut.
Go in there, tell him it was over, give him his stuff, and be done.
I turned back around, inhaled.
My eyes fell on the glove compartment. I opened it, grabbed the familiar little pearlescent box, and swiped my thumb over the fading black letters—the remains of the name of the hotel that I had smoothed out over the years.
Holding it in my hands soothed me, but once I opened it and inhaled the clean scent of the soap inside, it catapulted me back.
Back to that night.
Back to him.
Back to when my life as an adult really began and the choices I made changed the trajectory of my whole life.
But I didn’t regret them.
Not for a second.
2
FELICIA
Seven Years Earlier
This had been a terrible idea from the start. I mean, come on…helping your little sister and her two best friends get into a nightclub was bad. Illegal and plain stupid. But then why did I do it? I watched over at the dance floor where Gracie and Owen were having fun dancing. George was hovering right next to me, his eyes never leaving Gracie and his brother.
All evening, they’d been dancing, goofing around like they did always and everywhere. Their friendship, their bond was so absolute. How could I not feel like the odd one out, like something vital was missing from my life? Even among friends who loved and accepted me unconditionally.
I had my sisters, but I longed for so much more. Longed to just feel like I belonged to someone. Someone who loved and accepted me for exactly the person I was. I wanted just for once to not feel so damn insecure, so broken, so alone.
My eyes met those of the stranger by the bar like they’d done a million times throughout the evening, and a shot of awareness zapped through my body. He looked older, at least going on thirty, and weary. But boy, was he the sexiest guy I’d ever laid my eyes on. Dark brown hair, intense eyes, square jaw, and a body to die for.
He’d been nursing his golden-brown drink all evening. And I had felt his eyes on me more than once.
I should’ve just walked over to him, said hello. Acted courageous for once in my life.
“Hey, we’re done. You ready to go home?” Owen said.
His eyes still held me captive. I didn’t get a predatory vibe from him—just silent interest—or maybe it was the same perplexing pull that drew me to him.
“Feli?” Gracie said.
I broke eye contact, and a harebrained idea formed in my mind. I would take a risk—would stay back and talk to the man. I would come out of my shell and for once, do something daring.
Just because I could.
And because I wanted to.
I looked at my little sister, then at George. “I’m staying. Can you make sure Grace gets home okay?”
He nodded but scrunched his eyebrows together, showing concern for me.
George seemed so much more mature than your typical sixteen-year-old, worlds apart from his brother who was the happier, more irresponsible one of the two of them. “What about you?” he said.
“A couple of friends are due to arrive any minute. I’ll stay and hang out with them for a while, but you don’t have to wait. They’ll be here any second.” A little white lie. Now, I’ve started lying? What the hell?
“We can wait.”
Busted.
I leaned my head to the side, feigning annoyance when I was internally shaking.
But I was two years older than George, and I sure didn’t need his company or supervision. “I’m fine. Get Gracie and yourselves home safely, will you?”
He looked like he wanted to argue. But when I put my hands on my hips and cocked my head, he raised both hands.
And I continued to ignore the little voice in my head whispering, “You’re out of your damn mind.”
Staying back in a club just to maybe start a conversation with a stranger was the situation that started every good horror movie ever, and staying back alone was the move that got said actress killed in Act One.
That and walking into the woods.
I would never walk into the woods.
I fingered my pepper spray in my purse.
I wouldn’t do anything stupid, like leave the club with him, so there was really no reason to feel scared.
“Okay,” George finally said, and the three of them said their goodbyes.
I watched them exit the club. Then turned and made my way to the bar and the guy.
My chest tightened.
This was stupid and dangerous. I wobbled, then came to a standstill. I should leave, as well. I turned, but, for whatever reason, I looked back, and his eyes clashed with mine.
Curiosity and bemusement made them appear almost neon.
Play it cool, Feli, you can do it. Just say hello—see if his personality matches his good looks.
Just a conversation, a harmless flirt.
That thought almost tripped me up as if I knew how to flirt.
But I marched on.
“Hey.” I didn’t pretend, didn’t play shy or anything, just settled next to him and ordered a club soda. I looked older than nineteen.
I knew I did.
Even though my black, dyed hair didn’t make my freckles go away, the heavy layer of makeup I’d donned today did.
“Hey,” he said, then looked down at his drink. His voice w
Just as I expected—matching his entire persona of dark and handsome and intriguing.
“You shouldn’t talk to strangers in clubs,” he said with gravel in his voice.
Another shiver went down my back and settled directly in my core like a quivering ball of energy.
I raised one eyebrow, feigning indignation when secretly I felt pegged. “If I shouldn’t talk to strangers, you shouldn’t have stared at me the whole evening.”
He spun the glass in front of him but kept staring. Then he sighed, nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have stared at you.”
I nodded. “Then why did you?”
He chuckled, his eyes turning dark, almost black, matching his dark voice. “None of your business, little girl.”
My stomach squeezed. Being called little girl…by him made me feel sexy and cared for at the same time. As if he was taking charge and I could relax and follow his lead. Completely irrational, but at the same time pure heaven. I took a deep breath.
Then he shook his head. “Damn. Shouldn’t have said that.”
It was a cop-out, but I let it slide. “What are you doing here?”
He gave me a sideways look. “You asking why?”
I smiled. “Because you don’t seem like the type who’s hanging around in bars a lot.”
I didn’t hang around bars either, but he didn’t need to know that. He looked more like the type who was hanging around a fitness studio, maybe even doing some dangerous shit. So maybe chatting him up wasn’t such a good idea after all.
He nodded. “I have a hard time sleeping.”
I stared at him. I hadn’t expected him to show vulnerability or give me a real reason.
I suddenly felt much safer, even a bit daring. He needed a cheer-me-up. “So, you’re trying to drink yourself to sleep instead?” I raised one eyebrow.
Wow, I was being sassy. I’d never been sassy before. Or anything other than a good girl. But boy, did it feel good. Empowering.
Today, I wasn’t good, reliable Felicia. Tonight, I was someone else. Someone bold, feminine.
I could pretend to be a femme fatale for one night and see how it felt. See if I liked that.
“Something like that.” He didn’t try to hit on me. Didn’t give me any creepy vibes of being overly interested. But it felt risky just talking to him.
He took a sip, then our gazes locked again. “Why did your boyfriend leave without you?”
“Boyfriend?” I asked and frowned. What boyfriend?
“The guy who’s been standing right next to you, watching the other couple dancing?”
I shook my head, then chuckled. “You mean George. He’s not my boyfriend.” I snapped my mouth shut. No details. He was still a stranger, so I should avoid talking about my sister and her friends.
At close range, he looked even older, probably in his late thirties. Men like him were definitely not interested in childish stuff like that.
And a femme fatale wouldn’t blabber on about inconsequential stuff, right? Right.
Time to turn the light back on him.
“What has you in a brooding mood and not sleeping?” I asked. Getting the attention off of me and onto him would be a good strategy to remain mysterious. At least, I hoped that was how it worked.
“Just life stuff. How old are you?” he asked instead. If that was how it was going—if he was answering every question with three words and a counter-question—this flirting plan would go up in flames.
“Old enough. Why were you staring at me?” At least he’d already admitted he’d done it. So that was out in the open.
“Because you’re beautiful. And interesting. And I can’t seem to look away…” He petered off.
Was that the alcohol speaking? Because I was neither beautiful nor interesting. I shrugged my shoulder. What would a femme fatale say to that?
I laughed, and it came out deliciously raspy. “Thank you,” I said, even though I cringed inside. “You’re interesting and beautiful, as well.”
That earned me another slowly raised brow, which was insanely sexy and had my knees shaking.
Then he turned in his chair and caged my knees between his.
Wow.
I tried a smile—which came out really, really awkward. Why couldn’t I be naturally charming, or sophisticated, or at least self-confident?
“Are you really doing this?” he asked, then captured my hand into his much bigger one.
This? What exactly did he mean by this? My heart raced while I tried to be super cool by raising one brow. “This?”
“This.” He drew a circle with his thumb on the back of my hand.
Delicious sparks shot through my stomach. “This, in the sense of…” I needed him to say it—whatever he meant this was.
He chuckled. “Are you hitting on me?”
I exhaled, smiled. At least he got the message. Maybe my flirting game didn’t suck as bad as I’d expected. “Yes, are you hitting on me?”
He thought about that question a little too long, and the delicious sparks turned into nervous flutters.
“I think I am. Though I’ve had a lot to drink, so maybe that’s not the best decision I’ve ever made.”
I sighed. Fair enough. I’d never had a single boy, or man fall head over heels for me…or at all. So why would he be different? I pulled my hand back, but his grip tightened.
“But on second thoughts. Yes, let’s do this.”
“This?”
“Just tonight. No names. No attachment. You game?”
I sucked in air. Holy moly. How did we get from flirting and finding each other attractive to one-night stand in five seconds flat?
Danger, danger, danger.
“I don’t know you enough to commit for the night.”
He nodded. “Wise decision. Good to know you’re not reckless.”
Reckless? I snorted. I was the opposite of reckless. I was the queen of reliability and caution. Something I hated about myself. “What tells me you’re not a serial killer hanging out in bars, picking his next victim?”
He chuckled. I liked how he raised one corner of his mouth slightly higher than the other. That lopsided grin made him look younger and more approachable. “Well, asking me that outright, I wouldn’t be a very good serial killer, if I told you, now, would I?” His eyes never left mine, and he never stopped with the lazy circles caressing my hand.
“You need a neutral third party to vet me.”
I nodded. What a pity that we didn’t have a neutral third party.
“Hey, barkeep.” He let go of my hand, whipped around, and signaled the barkeeper, who approached immediately. “Would you check her ID?”
I snapped back to him and our eyes locked. “My ID?”
He gave me a lopsided grin that made my knees weak. “Humor me.” Then he gave me a small nod to go ahead.
Fuck me.
If he looked at me like that, he could probably tell me to strip naked and I would do it. I pulled my ID out of my pocket and handed it to the barkeeper.
I looked around, avoiding watching. The club was already emptying, so there wasn’t a lot for the barkeeper to do. How late was it? How long had I been here and talked to him because it sure felt like only a couple of minutes had passed?
“I can vouch for him,” the barkeeper said and handed back my ID.
Wait. What? My head snapped back to the man next to me, who took his wallet back from the barkeeper. I’d completely spaced out. And missed the entire transaction. “Excuse me, what?”
