Rome: A Marked Men Novel (3 page)

“I could’ve punched him in the nose, but there wasn’t a stepladder anywhere handy.”

That got a round of laughs from everyone, because I really was tiny compared to the older Archer and

laughter worked wonders at lifting the black mood he had brought. We finished eating and had a few more

drinks; at least they did. I had to drive Asa back to the house and there was no way I was going to risk a

DUI on such a checkpoint-happy holiday. The guys waited until it was dark and wandered off into the yard

to light fireworks, because really they were all just big kids covered in ink.

I found myself alone with Shaw on the deck once again and noticed that despite the lingering sadness

on her pretty face, her happiness practically emanated from her. I put an arm around her shoulders and

rested my head against hers. I was older than Shaw. The poor girl had been through the wringer in the last

few years, so I knew she deserved every single bit of happiness she was feeling at this moment.

“You did good, kiddo. You got the guy, the house is amazing, and all of this is good stuff. Don’t worry

about anything else. You and Rule live in this moment and forget about the rest.”

I felt her laugh and she reached up to squeeze the hand I had thrown over her shoulder. The sky lit up

with a bunch of different colors and male laughter floated up from the yard.

“Sometimes I feel selfish. I got everything I ever wanted and it isn’t always perfect but the good days

always outnumber the bad. I feel like I’m not allowed to ask for more.” She sighed so heavy I could feel it.

“Now Rome thinks it’s all a joke and that hurts, I don’t know why he’s so mad. I’ve loved Rome like a

brother as long as I can remember, so it hurts in more ways than one.”

“It’ll work itself out, you’ll see.” And I would be happy to help it along if I had to.

She was quiet for a really long time and we just watched the mini-explosions and smiled at the boys,

who were clearly having a blast. Maybe one of us should have mentioned that drinking and fireworks

weren’t a great idea, but Captain No-Fun was gone and I wasn’t going to be the good-time police.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re the smartest person I know, Cora?” Shaw’s voice was quiet but I took it

as a compliment considering the girl was well on her way to becoming a doctor.

“I just call it like I see it.”

I did. I was from the East Coast, downtown Brooklyn to be exact, and I was the only child of a career

sailor who had no clue what to do with his rebellious daughter. I loved my dad, he was my only blood

relative, and I knew that he loved me in return. But we didn’t connect, and as a result, I learned from a

young age to speak plainly and not pull any punches. It was the only way the two of us could communicate.

So if someone needed to get to Rome Archer and tell him to get his fool head out of his ass, I was more

than willing to be the person to do it. I didn’t idolize him, I wasn’t scared of him, and whether he was a

giant or not, I wasn’t going to stand by and let him continue to cause so much grief for the people I cared

so much about.

CHAPTER 2

Rome

I couldn’t believe that crazy little sprite had the nerve to dump beer on my head. First of all, she barely

came up to my shoulder, and second of all, she looked like a walking, talking piece of candy. Everything

about her was so colorful it almost hurt to look at her.

I should be furious at her, but she was right, I was an asshole. There was no reason to talk shit to Nash,

no reason to get into it with Rule. I was just looking for a target to vent my frustrations at and those were

the people closest to me. Maybe it was easier to unleash my aggravation at them, because I knew

instinctively they would forgive me. I needed to find a place to have a drink and try and get my head

together. A place that was dark and quiet and where no one expected me to be anything, or act a certain

way. I was tired of not meeting expectations. I was not an idle man by nature. I was used to action, used to

being in charge and taking the lead, and the only things I had managed to be on top of since coming back to

Denver was pissing off everyone I encountered and drinking my considerable body weight in vodka. I was

on a downhill slide that was bound to have an ugly-as-hell impact at the bottom and I knew it, but I felt

powerless to stop it. Today was the proof of that.

I pulled into the first bar that looked like it could handle the mood I was in. Independence Day, my left

nut. I had had about enough of the revelry and good cheer to last me a lifetime. I just wanted to bury my

head in the sand and go back to a point in time that felt comfortable and familiar. I hated feeling like a

visitor in my own life, and no matter what I told myself when I woke up in the morning each day, I

couldn’t shake feeling like everything I had come back to after my contract with the army was up was a life

that belonged to someone else. My family didn’t feel right. The new dynamic in my relationship with Rule

didn’t feel right. Trying to get used to Shaw being taken care of by my wayward and reckless little brother

didn’t feel right. Crashing with Nash while I tried to get my shit straight didn’t feel right. Not having a job

lined up or any clear direction of how to support myself doing something other than fighting a war quite

possibly felt the most wrong out of it all.

The bar was dark and not a place for those out for a fun Fourth-of-July cocktail. In the back, around

several well-used pool tables, was a bunch of guys in biker gear sporting colors and looking like they meant

business. Toward the front were several older men who looked like they never even got off the bar stool to

go home and shower. Neil Young was blasting on the house speakers even though no one seemed like the

type to sing along. This was not a place for the hip and trendy urbanites that flocked to Capitol Hill when

the weather finally warmed up. I took a spot on an empty seat at the bar top and waited for the guy

manning the bar to wander down to me.

He was almost my size, which was rare, only he had a solid thirty years on me. He had a beard that

looked like it could be the home to a whole family of squirrels, eyes the color of charcoal, and the grim

countenance that could only be found in men who had seen the worst the world had to offer and come out

the other side. I wasn’t surprised at all to see a marine tattoo inked on his bulky forearm when he propped

himself up across from me and put down a battered coaster in front of me. I saw him size me up, but I was

used to it. I was a big guy and other big guys liked to figure out if I was going to be the kind of trouble they

could handle or not.

“Boy, you already smell like a brewery. You sure you need to have another one?”

I frowned until I remembered the little blonde pouring her beer over my head. She could have found a

better way to make her point, I thought as I remembered the soggy state of my T-shirt. I didn’t know what

to make of Cora Lewis. She was around a lot. We never really talked much. She was too loud and tended

toward the dramatic, hence the Coors Light shower I had just received. Being around her made my head

hurt and I didn’t like the way her mismatched eyes seemed to try and pick me apart.

I took my sunglasses off the top of my head and hooked them in the collar of my T-shirt.

“I picked a fight with the wrong pixie and she poured her drink on my head. I’m straight.”

The guy gave me a once-over and must have deemed me okay because without my asking a tankard of

beer was set in front of me along with a shot of something amber and strong. Typically I was a vodka

drinker, but when the burly brute poured himself one and wandered back over to where I was seated, I

didn’t dare complain.

He lifted a bushy eyebrow at me and touched the rim of his shot glass to my own.

“You army?”

I nodded and shot back the liquor. It burned hot all the way down. If I wasn’t mistaken it was Wild

Turkey.

“I was. Just got out.”

“How long did you serve for?”

I rubbed a hand over my still-short hair. After wearing it cropped close to my head for so long, I really

didn’t know what else to do with it.

“Went in at eighteen and I turn twenty-eight at the end of this year. I was in for almost a decade.”

“What did you do?”

It wasn’t a question I normally answered because frankly the answer was long and anyone that hadn’t

served just wouldn’t get it.

“I was a field operations leader.”

The bear of a man across from me let out a low whistle. “Spec ops?”

I grunted a response and picked up the beer.

“I bet they were sad to see you go.”

The thing was, I think I was sadder to see
them
go. I wasn’t cleared for active duty anymore. My

shoulder had taken a beating when we rolled over an IED on my last deployment and there were all kinds

of shit rattling around in my head, constantly taking me out of the game. Sure, I could have taken a desk

job, stepped down, and trained the generation coming up after me. But I wasn’t the best teacher and being

tied to a desk was the same thing as retirement to me anyway. So I got out and now I had no fucking clue

what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

“What about you?” I motioned to the tattoo on his arm. “How long did you put in?”

“Too long, son. Way too long. What brings you in here today? You aren’t one of my regulars.”

I cast a look around the bar and shrugged. For now this place was a perfect fit for my mood.

“Just out having a drink to celebrate America like a good patriot.”

“Just like the rest of us.”

“Yep.” I had to fight the urge to chug the beer down and order him to keep them coming.

“I’m Brite and this is my bar. I ended up with it when I got out and started spending more time in the

bar than I did at home. I’ve been through three wives and one triple bypass, but the bar stays true.”

I lifted the eyebrow that had the scar above it and felt the corner of my mouth kick up in a grin.

“Brite?” The guy looked like Paul Bunyan or a Hells Angel; the name didn’t really fit.

A smile found its way through that massive beard and pearly-white teeth that were the only bright spot

in the dim bar.

“Brighton Walker, Brite for short.” He extended a hand that I shook on reflex.

“Rome Archer.”

He dropped his head in a little nod and moved down the bar to help another customer.

“That’s a good name for a warrior.”

I closed my eyes briefly and tried to remember what it was like to feel like a warrior. It seemed like it

was a million miles away from this bar stool. The music switched to AC/DC and I decided this was my new

favorite place to hang out.

I was on my Harley, so I should probably cool it with the booze. A DUI would just be the icing on the

crap cake I was currently being served on a daily basis, but as the beer mixed with the potent bourbon from

earlier, none of that seemed to really matter anymore.

At some point I did another shot with Brite and the bar stool next to me was abandoned by the grizzled

old man that had been complaining about his wife and his girlfriend for the last hour and quickly occupied

by a redhead with too much makeup on and too little clothes. Had I been three less beers in, I would’ve

seen her for the trouble she was. As it was, Brite told her to scram, advice she promptly ignored. She was

cute, in that
I’m a good time take me home
kind of way, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had

randomly picked anyone up from a bar. When I was overseas there had been a female intelligence officer

who’d been down to be friends with benefits whenever we were in the same place at the same time, but it

had been months since I had seen her. Maybe a quick, sleazy hookup was just what I needed to break

through the black cloud that had been hovering over me since my return.

“What’s your name, sugar?”

Her voice was squeaky and hurt my head but I was loaded enough to ignore it.

“Rome.”

I saw her heavily made-up eyes dart back to someplace over my shoulder and that should have been my

first clue that this wasn’t going to end up all fun and games.

“That’s a different name. I’m Abbie. Now that we’re friends, why don’t we get out of here and get

better acquainted?” She ran a painted fingernail over the curve of my bicep and for some reason the

bloodred color of it made other images of things that same color start to flash behind my already hazy

vision.

I started to pull away, to get those hands that were making bad things happen in my foggy brain to let

me go, when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder from behind. I was a trained soldier, but more than that, I

was a man who had a brother born and bred into trouble. I knew what trouble looked like from a million

miles away. I knew what trouble felt like, what it moved like, how it sounded, and yet I had kept right on

drinking and ignored all the signs as it built up around me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Brite frown at