Crack!
Effective weapons do not bend. Not ever. Not for anyone.
Crack!
Nathan said nothing, silently working through the vivid, unexpected recollection of his conditioning. He reached for the part of him that was the detached Hunter. The survivor who endured his merciless training and lived to find a better life for himself outside of that other, brutal, bleak existence.
But there was a part of him that would always recall the stench of spilled blood and urine and other offending body fluids … and taste the salty tears of a terrified, brutalized little boy.
“Nothing will hamper my effectiveness,” he murmured evenly.
Chase stared. “Do you love her?”
A quick, sharp denial sat on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t seem to spit it out.
Whatever it was that he felt for Jordana, it surpassed simple desire or affection. It consumed him. Made his heart feel squeezed in a tight fist yet soaring free at the same time.
He glanced down, gave a mute shake of his head. “Maybe I do. Fuck, I don’t know.”
“You better figure it out,” Chase replied. “Because anything less than that is a waste of our time here. Especially when it could cost you your rank under my command. Possibly even your place in the Order as a whole.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Nathan assured him. “No matter what I have with Jordana, the Order is my family. My duty. I’ve got this under control.”
Chase grunted. “Then prove it to me. Prove it to yourself, and bring her in, as you should’ve done last night.”
Nathan pictured her in her stunning red dress, surrounded by half of Boston as she proudly unveiled her exhibit.
Then he imagined walking in there, just as he’d dreaded, not as the man she hoped to have at her side for that important moment but the warrior sent to ruin her night and likely earn her hatred.
He swore roundly under his breath. “I can’t do that. Not tonight. She’s got this event at the museum. She’s been planning it for months—”
Chase rose to his feet on a snarl. He scrubbed his hand over his brow, then leveled a hard look on Nathan. “Listen, I didn’t live nearly two hundred years without more than a few fuckups and near disasters to my credit. You know my history; it’s far from spotless. I’m hardly the one to lecture you on duty or how you should live your life. But I’m your commander. I’m taking you off patrol for the night. Tell Elijah he’ll captain in your place.”
Nathan absorbed the edict with a conceding nod. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Chase challenged. He motioned for Nathan to stand up. “Consider this a chance to figure your shit out with Jordana. I need to know if you can come back and continue your mission as captain of your squad. I’ll expect your answer first thing tomorrow morning.”
Nathan gave him another nod. “Yes, sir.”
Chase slanted him a thoughtful but frustrated look. “Now get the fuck out of here.”
Nathan left and headed down the corridor.
Rafe rounded a corner up ahead and immediately jogged forward to meet him. Worry etched his face.
“Have you seen Commander Chase yet today?”
“Yeah. He just finished chewing me a new asshole.”
“Shit.” Rafe looked at him, contrite. He fell in alongside Nathan and walked with him toward the warriors’ wing of the compound. “I had to name Jordana as a witness, man. I left her out of the patrol report because I didn’t want to make things hard for you, but—”
“It’s nothing,” Nathan replied. He could hardly be upset with his friend for simply carrying out his duty. “You had to report. I would’ve done the same thing.”
“So what’d he say?”
Nathan shrugged. “Nothing I didn’t deserve to hear. Then he yanked me off patrol for tonight. I need to let Eli know he’ll be heading things up in my place.”
“Jesus, Nathan.” Rafe frowned, gave a slow shake of his head. “This is serious shit.”