Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(50)

It’s been three weeks, and I can’t stop thinking about her. I’d like to say my thoughts are positive, but a lot of them really aren’t. I swing between thinking she really was a superficial bitch and knowing that I had just begun to scratch the surface of something incredible.

Not that it matters. With Petr out of the picture, the chances of us meeting up again are completely gone. I don’t even have her email address and am pretty sure she’d delete anything I sent her, even if I did.

Why the hell does that make me want to email her even more?

“Sir, you going to Petr’s Christmas party?” Carson asks me.

Then there’s that. The holidays are four months away. Petr already invited us back to Massachusetts. I guess his family gives some sort of insane party over the holidays. Riley even found it on gossip websites as being an exclusive event apparently everyone in New England tries to get an invite to. Celebrities, supermodels, socialites and other people of that caliber attend the three-day event.

I can’t understand that kind of wealth, and I’m not at all impressed by people who are famous for being rich or on TV. It’s one more reason to keep my distance from Katya, a reminder we’re nothing alike. I grew up on the streets of Chicago before joining the Corps. I’m good with my money, more so because I don’t spend shit when I’m deployed. I paid for what little I own, mainly my truck, in cash.

But I’ll never be anything close to what the Khavalov’s are in terms of money, and it’s not like I have family Stateside I visit on leave. Going all the way home for a party seems stupid.

Unless I’d see Katya.

All the more reason to avoid it.

“Probably not,” I reply. “I usually stay behind so you guys can take a break.”

“You going, Riley?” Carson asks.

“Fuck yeah. Supermodels? Petr promised to hook me up with anyone I want.”

“I want to go, too,” Carson says. “Mainly so I can send pics of me with celebrities home to my mom.”

“How’s she doing?” I ask. Carson’s mom has been in the hospital for a year with stage four cancer.

“Still won’t die,” he jokes. He smiles, affection crossing his face. “Too stubborn.”

I return my gaze to the ceiling. The guys are quiet for a few minutes before Riley speaks again.

“I found something the other day when we went back to the village where the Khavs got hurt. Some shitbag in the bazaar was trying to sell it.”

My good humor flees. For all of two seconds, I was able to think of something other than that night. I hear him dig around his ruck.

Sitting up, I wait to see what it is.

He tugs free a set of dog tags, each of which has black rubber around its edges to keep them from jingling.

“Mikael’s,” he supplies and hands them over.

Surprised, I take them. “How the f*ck did these make it?” I read the name to confirm. They’re dirty, and the rust color indicates dried blood is what clogs a few imprinted letters.

“I thought you might want them.”

“We should send them to Petr,” I reply, studying the tags.

“Or take them back at Christmas,” Carson adds. “Might be a nice gesture.”

How would Katya react to having them back? I’m not sure at all. Would it infuriate her or would she appreciate it?

I read Mikael’s name over and over on the tags, touched more deeply than I should be by holding them. That something so small can mean so much …

“Great work, Riley,” I say.

He nods, smiling. “Mikael’s still with us.”

“Hey, sir,” the Ranger calls from his corner, where he’s messing with the comms equipment. “Captain Jacobson says we need to move. Someone picked up on our position. She’s saying to head back along our planned route, and she’ll send someone to pick us up.”

“Roger.” I rise instantly. The guys don’t need to be told it’s time to move – quickly. I pull on Mikael’s dog tags and tuck them with mine beneath my shirt.

We pack up and are leaving the covert base within ten minutes, headed stealthily along the route of egress we planned. Alert and wary, we walk the five clicks towards the rendezvous point, where the security detachment she sent is waiting as promised.

An hour later, we’re back at the FOB. It’s a small compound in the middle of nowhere, heavily fortified, but it’s got real beds and decent food.

I’m not surprised to see Harper in the command center when I arrive. I nod as I walk by then go to the barracks area my team usually occupies when we’re in from a mission. After depositing my gear, I return to the center to check in and let my commander know we’re back.

“Good mission?” Harper asks from her spot in front of a computer.

“Always.”

“Your guys all right?”

“Yep.”

I slide into the seat beside her, ignoring the looks of the night shift in the center. I look and smell like I’ve been in the field for two weeks. Harper is used to dealing with us, even if the others manning the intelligence and operations forward operating base tend to regard the secretive spec-ops guys like mythical animals.

“How long you in for this time?” she asks.

“Four days.”