Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(20)

He grabbed his jacket from the chair and left the office.

Downstairs, he waited for Raoul to have a moment.

Raoul whipped a cocktail together for a john, and once the guy had left, sauntered over to Frank. “Boss?”

“Don’t think I don’t know why you dug up the new guy.”

Raoul lifted his pierced eyebrow. “He’s a top and hot?”

“Careful, you.” Frank lifted his finger in warning. “That said, I’m out for the night. Call me if there’s anything requiring attention.”

“Will do.” Raoul shook his head, as if offended for real. “As long as you trust me with that.”

Frank turned around and lifted a hand, half f*ck you, half see you later.





Geoff’s email came as a relief in the middle of the week. Somehow, Stefan’s and Frank’s schedule at the club never intersected, but maybe that was because Frank dropped in late and usually left after about half an hour. Easy to miss anybody on a schedule like that. In any case, it was good that both of them had space to retreat to—Stefan did his job, and Frank stayed out of the way.

You up for some ball busting Sat?

Frank emailed back that he was.

How many?

In all fairness, Chris could likely get Stefan in, if they’d stayed in touch. But Frank decided that was driving the wedge deeper. He was his boss, after all. Maybe a week was enough for things to settle, and they could find some good footing now. The hurt had faded, much like a bruise that had paled. A bit sensitive if he squeezed too hard, but he couldn’t be offended at every weird response he got.

So he made a point of being in the club at eight sharp that evening and waved Stefan over to his table when he came in.

Stefan slid in opposite.

“How you doing?”

Stefan nodded. “Good. You?”

He’s not checking your health status.

“Ah, just busy. The usual.” He folded his hands on the table. “Hey, if you’re game this weekend, Geoff needs a head count. You in?”

Stefan’s brows drew together a little. “Yeah, I’d like to go.”

“Okay. Going in with Chris?”

“With you.”

Now, that was a bit of a surprise.

“Oh. Um . . .”

Stefan cocked his head. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, yeah,” Frank leaned back. “I thought you might prefer riding with him.”

“You ever seen the way he drives?”

“Uh, no, I can’t say I have.”

Stefan grimaced. “I’m not sure if he needs a refresher course in the rules of the road or the laws of physics, but I’m not getting into a car with him until he does.”

Frank laughed. “That bad?”

“Worse.” Stefan glanced around the lounge. “Solid crowd tonight. I should get to work.” He faced Frank again. “Meet you at your place? Same time?”

Frank nodded.

“Cool.” Stefan stood, hesitated like he was about to say something, but then left.

Well, at least this time, he could watch Stefan stalk his prey without worrying he was in the kid’s sights. Of course, that had been half the fun last time, but Frank had no doubt he’d enjoy the view even without the thrill of being hunted.

Especially if he got to watch Stefan f*ck someone like that again.



Stefan arrived bang on time, as always. He changed out of his unassuming T-shirt and jeans and put on his clean, pressed camouflage. The military must have drilled that into him, making sure all the seams and creases were perfect even though he’d be crawling around in the dirt soon. Not to mention—

Don’t think about that now.

Stefan didn’t put on his camouflage blouse yet, instead draping it over his arm and wearing only his tight black T-shirt and dog tags above the belt. Same thing he wore at Market Garden most nights, which had johns falling all over themselves. Maybe Frank needed a few more guys like him. Built, bold, dressed in something right out of a military-themed wet dream.

“Ready to go?” Stefan pulled his gear bag onto his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Frank had already loaded his equipment into the car, so they added Stefan’s to the pile and headed out of town.

“So how often do you do this? The sex and paintball games, I mean?”

Frank shrugged. “Every few weeks, usually. Sometimes more often. Depends on what I’ve got going on.”

“Before last weekend, I hadn’t played since I left the States. Didn’t even realise they had woodsball in the UK.”

“How long ago was that?” Frank stopped at a red light.

Stefan didn’t answer immediately. “The last time I played? Or when I left the States?”

“Either or.”

Stefan looked out the window. Frank could only see his partial profile and couldn’t even catch his reflection in the side mirror. What little of the kid’s face he could see was blank.

After a moment, Stefan spoke. “Last time I played was three years ago.”

Frank waited, but Stefan didn’t offer up any more than that. “You just play woods? Or speedball?”

At that, Stefan relaxed a little. “Man, I could tell you some stories about playing speedball.”