Just Four Words

Chapter one- JAKE

Was freedom tangible?

After being deprived of it long enough, could it become something of an entity, something powerful enough to occupy even an iota of matter, making it by a physical definition, a quantifiable thing? Could it make the transition from astral to palpable if it was so fiercely desired?

I thought so.

I sounded like a drunken professor who just got out of a bad marriage, I knew, but I couldn’t help it. I felt so light and happy that under normal circumstances, I likely would have called on Father Mallory, a priest quite close to my parents, to check what measures I could take to ensure I wasn’t possessed by something. Because badasses? We didn’t DO light and happy. This was ridiculous.

Even as I berated myself and mentally deducted Badass Points, I couldn’t help the small grin that played with the corners of my mouth. I couldn’t control it any more than I could control my babe in a pastry shop.

Officer Scarlett Lexi.

The thought of her massacred any semblance of restraint I had left and I was certain my Mom in Miami could see the smile stretching over my face. My babe had that effect on me like none other before her; it would figure that I would fall head over heels for the woman I normally would have pegged as ditzy and fickle.

I had, actually, thought those very same thoughts when I met her at basic training that afternoon, years ago. I was meeting Diesel, my cousin and Scar’s drill sergeant at the Academy, that first day. She was perky and enthusiastic and just about the opposite of the kind of women I expected to go into the Force. Diesel and I put a wager on it, because I was sure she wouldn’t last a day in basic; a flaky, cheerleader-type floozy thinking she could handle the game because she had watched too many James Bond flicks and decided she could do with a cheap thrill.

Boy, was I wrong!

To date, Scar still surprises me with her unpredictable behavior and witty mouth. She turned out to be more badass than I ever could have imagined, and what she lacked in skill, she more than made up for in bravery, determination and innovation. She had spunk in spades and always pushed herself back up with a tenacity that even I had to admire, and being a trained mercenary and ex-Marine, that was certainly saying something. She grew steadily, and while she hated using her gun, she was second only to me with her hand-to-hand combat. The guys from my old unit and I would get together a lot, and they still bet on the day they’re sure is coming, when Scar will drop me on my ass on the mats.

She charmed her way into my men’s hearts with her easy and loving personality, and in the very same breath, commanded respect with her fiery attitude and unwillingness to be sidelined or molly-coddled as a result of mundane serial killers, or banal threats to her life, or an inkling of cumbersome fear. When she’d first met them, the band of ex-Marines had been ready to fluster her, and in doing so, me, but Scar had retaliated every snarky comment and sarcastic response. When she floored a drunk patron trying to grope her ass, she had effectively put an end to anyone treating her differently because she was a woman, and unfortunately, also ensured that the men wouldn’t dare to cross her in favor of me unless it was a life-threatening emergency. I appreciated that they had that level of respect for her, and proud of her for earning it, but it proved a pain in my ass when I tried to do something to protect her that might not entirely be within her range of approval.

She bamboozled my mind with her startlingly perfect balance of badass and independent, with feminine and vulnerable. At the very same time that I wanted to salute to her for a perfect heart-shot to a target, I also wanted to gather her in my arms while she cried for choosing her life over the life of someone pointing a gun at her. She made me laugh with her vehement and creative reasons as to why she should never be a mother, yet she touched a part in me I long thought dead when she hugged the kids at the orphanage she volunteered at, or when she encouraged her nieces and nephews to be whatever they wanted to be.

She was an enigma to me, yet at the same time, so totally familiar to me. She was my best friend. She was my rock, even when I wrongfully thought I no longer needed one. She was the driving force between the light in me that was struggling to burst through from the murky depths of darkness it was submerged in for so long.

She was also the reason, naturally, that I couldn’t stop smiling.

After so many years of my life that wasn’t my own, where I had kept pushing her away, I was free to live my life now. If you had asked me ten years ago, I’d have said to you that freedom was an overrated concept, or an illusion that people needed to believe in. I’d have told you that freedom was not in the cards for me.

Now?

Now I sat in my Cayenne, driving to a wedding hall, contemplating whether my freedom had, with the sheer force of my wanting it, become a corporeal entity.

And I hadn’t realized how much I wanted it, until I was faced with her.

And so, four simply uttered words changed my life forever.

“Your contract is terminated.”

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