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When we reach Fort Riley, I say a silent thanks for the club’s connections that allow us to land our aircraft on a military runway for me to disembark. King’s waiting by his truck when I grab my shit. I nod to a few of the boys as I get off. After being on a mission for so long, you get to know one another, but you’ve also got no problem taking a break from seeing them for a while.

“You look like shit,” King says in greeting as he takes my bag and tosses it into the back for me.

“Ah, thanks, sweetie. Missed you too.”

King chuckles as he gets in, and I follow, shutting the passenger door behind me.

“Any problems?” he asks, and I know he isn’t talking about the mission.

He was already briefed on the results, like most of the Hounds who volunteered to be part of OHH. Not every brother aspires to be part of the mercenary gig, but enough of us are that we have a rotation set up to prevent burnout or exhaustion. The rotations come with access to see the results of all missions after the fact. We don’t post it online when we’re working on something, only after we have the results. Good or bad.

It’s coded, not available to the public, just for us each to learn what went well and what didn’t. It’s part of the continuous training requirement for OHH. Each member has to read the end results of the last mission, and if they see a flaw in something, it’s their duty to report it. We’d rather know the flaws to prevent them next time than have someone redo something they thought was successful and wasn’t.

King wanting to know if there were problems is about if I specifically had any issues. We don’t list who was on what mission, or how the team handled it, only if there was a death. Otherwise, all details on individual members are left off.

“Bumps and bruises only.”

He looks at me, glances at my hand on my ribs, and grunts before starting the truck up and heading to the clubhouse.

“Make sure General doesn’t see.”

I nod but say nothing to agree that I might or might not have cracked two ribs while on the mission. Nothing to do but wrap them and take some pain meds. Doc can’t fix them, so no point in mentioning it.

“What happened while I was gone?”

Unlike King, there was no newsletter letting me know what happened while I was out. It was radio silence except for the message that Casper wanted me home and not rehabbing at our North Dakota location we set up as the OHH training facility.

He glances at me out of the side of his eye.

“What?” I growl, already knowing it’s about Natalie.

He shrugs. “Nothing man. Same shit, different day.”

I narrow my eyes at him, but he doesn’t look over, even though I know he can feel my stare.

Great. Fucking awesome. Just what I wanted to come home to. Natalie is up to something that’s probably going to piss me off, but I have to deal with it.

I close my eyes and try a breathing technique a brother from another chapter taught me on the last mission. Guy was a former Navy SEAL and swore by it. I didn’t trust that holding my breath in a certain way for four seconds would do me any favors till I tried it. Been doing it ever since.

It doesn’t solve any problems, but it helps me loosen my dread and anxiety of what’s to come.

The clubhouse is packed when we get there, but that’s part of the plan. Everyone needs to be in place when Casper and Billy come back, engaged, to a group of their friends congratulating them.

“Fuck,” I say when I see all the decorations being put up as we pull past the gate.

“Yeah, Casper’s gone all out. Even planned for a slideshow, so expect to see yourself up there. He’s apparently been putting this together for months. Guy’s nothing but organized for a former sniper.”

“And a hell of a romantic, apparently,” I mutter as I get out and grab my bag King hands me.

King just grunts in agreement as we make our way inside. Each brother I see pats me on the back, but none stop me from going to take a much-needed shower. I haven’t had a decent one in two weeks, just baby wipes and rinses in a river, and I’m sure I stink.

I unlock my door and walk in, then drop my shit.

“You’re back.”

“No shit,” I want to say, but I don’t. I can’t say anything. My mouth is dry from one look at her.

I turn around to close the door to give me a second before walking over to my dresser and pulling out some clean clothes, noting that she put a few things of her own in my space. I push them aside and grab what I need, then move past her and to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I drop my shit on the counter and come back out.