Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(52)

Fuck. Just f*ck.

He set his beer down. His throat was too tight to swallow anything.

Or to speak.

Rising, he clapped a hand on Danver’s shoulder and walked out into the black night and drizzling rain.





Chapter Eleven



On Friday, Anne stood inside the Shadowlands entry and studied the guard dog with a frown.

His gaze was on the desk. His shoulders slumped. He was unshaven and uncombed. In fact, Mr. Super-aware hadn’t even noticed her arrival.

Worry poured through her as if someone had left a faucet open.

She walked behind his desk. “Ben.” Not wanting to startle an unhappy vet, she waited until her voice registered and his head lifted before setting her hand on his shoulder.

A stressed-out soldier would probably have taut muscles. His weren’t. No, his body language read as if he’d checked out.

“What’s wrong, Ben?”

“Sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t see you.” Turning away from her, he made a checkmark on the attendance papers in front of him. “Got you down.”

“Good.” She pushed aside pity and steeled her voice. “Now answer me. What is wrong, Benjamin.”

“Nothing.”

She dug her fingernails into his thick deltoid and felt him jolt. “Inadequate response. Try again.”

“Fuck.” He turned his chair and gazed up at her, his eyes haunted. “Not your business.”

“I’m making it my business, subbie. Answer me.”

His eyes held defiance for a second, two, then his gaze dropped. “God, Anne.”

She waited, watching his endurance disintegrate with her silence.

“It’s not…” He swallowed. “My team. My spotter and I were attached to a team. They handled the perimeter. And…” His voice frayed, like a shirt ripping apart at the seams. “My spotter. Mouse. We worked together. For years. He’s—he’s gone.”

Tears burned her eyes. Not only for the loss of good men, but for the almost visible waves of pain from Ben. “I’m sorry, so sorry.” She moved close enough to lean her torso against his shoulder, lending him her body’s warmth, and then ran her hand through his hair. If only she could stroke his hurt away.

“Thanks,” he said and shrugged, as if rejecting her touch and her sympathy.

Her hand paused as she regarded his response, his posture, his averted gaze. This was more than mourning. What else was going on in that head of his?

Unfortunately, it could be anything. He’d been out of the military for years, but emotions weren’t logical. And healing marched to its own beat.

Her emotions weren’t rational either. She’d planned to avoid him, but now…now all she wanted was to take him into the club and try to help in the way a Domme sometimes could.

To get him out of his head and into “now” time.

“Well, Benjamin, you asked for a scene. I’ve decided to give you one.”

He shook his head. “Ah, no. Thank you, but—”

“I planned it all day long, brought special toys.”

Her lie silenced him. He didn’t want to do anything right now—at all—and yet, his own submissive nature wouldn’t want to let her down.

“Let me call Z and get you relieved.” She pulled her cell phone from her bag and moved out of earshot, pleased when three giggly submissives came in the door to claim his attention.

“Anne.” Z’s smooth voice was unhurried. “Is there a problem?”

“Actually, yes. Have you seen Ben today?”

“No, I haven’t been down to the club yet.”

As she explained, she kept an eye on Ben. When he forced a smile for the entering members, her heart simply ached.

“I see,” Z said.

“Let me have him. However, be aware that if I push him too deep, I’ll take him home and he won’t return to the desk.”

“Understood.”

“Can you give me some ideas of what this problem might be?” she asked. “He told me he’d seen you professionally.”

“I am sorry, Anne, but…no. Anything he says to me is confidential.”

“Of course.” She shifted her stance as she tried to figure out how to attack from the flank. “I know you’re a veteran. Perhaps you could share what kind of problems soldiers tend to have?”

She heard his chuckle of approval.

“Excellent question, Mistress Anne. PTSD is common, but the symptoms are fairly noticeable if you spend any time with a vet.”

In other words, probably not Ben’s problem.

“Some feel guilty remaining alive when teammates die. Others feel ashamed about leaving the service, as if they’ve betrayed their friends. The Special Ops community forges strong friendships as well as a sense of duty.”

Guilt. That might be it. Her worry increased as the pieces fell into place.

Ben had left the Rangers and then his teammates and best friend had died. He was still alive.

What if her brother Travis took her place on the recovery team one night and was killed picking up a fugitive? Just the thought was a stab through the heart. She’d believe that if she’d been where she belonged, Travis’s death wouldn’t have happened—or, at least, she’d be there to die with him. She’d feel as if she shouldn’t be alive.