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CHIEF PETTY OFFICER Gabriel Thorne had yet to find a challenge he couldn’t meet, beat or defeat.
And today’s game was no different.
Ignoring the noise, the intense stares and the heavy expectations, he assessed the field, making note of all of his options even as his mind calculated risks and probabilities. There were three easy shots, ones that would assure him an advance. But Gabriel had no need for easy.
A quick glance at the clock assured him that he did have a need for speed, though.
He leaned over the pool table, slid the cue between his fingers and, in a practiced move, placed a machine-gun shot right in the center of the waiting balls, sending them all flying home to clear the table.
“And that’s how it’s done,” he told his scowling opponent.
Gabriel easily read the fury in the guy’s face, but kept his grin in check while the other man yanked his wallet from his slacks pocket.
“Another round,” insisted Jase Jeglinski—otherwise known as Jackrabbit to the SEAL team.
“Another time.” Gabriel tilted his chin toward the billiard-ball-shaped clock on the wall, ignoring the mutinous set of Jackrabbit’s jaw and the guy’s clenched fists.
Even if he’d let one fly, Gabriel would have reacted with the same easy disregard. Because there was nothing Jackrabbit could dish out that Gabriel couldn’t take.
The easy confidence he’d been born with had been carefully honed to a razor-sharp edge in his years in the military.
“Dude, do you ever lose?” another of the men surrounding them asked in awe.
“Romeo? Never.” Scavenger laughed as he collected his own winnings from the other three men. “I warned you not to bet against him.”
Gabriel shook his head. Leave it to Scavenger—aka Petty Officer Shane O’Brian to anyone not on the SEAL team—to make sure the odds were as even and fair as possible. Sooner or later, he’d learn that it didn’t matter what he did—life just wasn’t gonna turn out fair. But Gabriel figured it was his job to watch his buddy’s back, not to offer up that particular lesson.
“You keep him around to carry your ego?” Jackrabbit asked with a laugh that held no amusement as Scavenger expanded his praise to include Gabriel’s legendary success with the ladies.
“Nah. I keep him around because he can turn a tin can, a pile of sand and a couple of rocks into a tactical communications device that will get our ass out from behind enemy lines,” Gabriel retorted, only half joking since he was sure the communications specialist could do just that.
He ignored Jackrabbit’s skeptical snort because he understood it. A SEAL team wasn’t a team simply because the group of men had been assigned together. They had to work together and prove themselves to establish real trust.
Gabriel, or Romeo as he was more often referred to, Scavenger and their pal Irish, aka Mitch Donovan, had been reassigned from Virginia to the West Coast less than seven months ago and had been otherwise deployed for most of that time. So while they were a part of the team on paper, until they’d deployed on a mission with the rest of the men, he knew they were still proving themselves.
“So that’s the shooting range, the pool table and what was the other one?” Tall and dark haired with a muscular build that leaned toward lanky, Lt. Taylor Powell gave Jackrabbit an amused look. “Beer guzzling, wasn’t it?”
“He can’t win them all.”
“Sure he can,” Scavenger disagreed with a friendly smile. “I’ve never seen him lose a bet.”
“All that means is he only takes sure bets,” Jackrabbit said with a growl, obviously still pissed.
Gabriel didn’t blame him. Losing sucked. Or so he’d heard.
“Ops, bets, women,” Scavenger said in a musing sort of tone. “We’ve served together for six years now and I’m pretty sure he’s won them all.”
To prove his point, he continued regaling the others with a few of Gabriel’s exploits.
Gabriel ignored the stories and the ensuing laughter as he racked up the balls for whoever wanted to play the next round. He didn’t need to defend himself. His record stood solid on its own. Jackrabbit would see that soon enough, since they were heading into training together next week.
He’d learn that Gabriel was used to winning.
Define your path, stand your ground. That was what his grandfather had taught him. That and to never let anyone else’s actions define his own. Simple rules that’d defined his life. Because of them, he’d survived leaving the reservation and living on the streets after his grandfather died. He’d got out of the slums, he’d joined the Navy, he’d become a SEAL. Because of those rules, he’d never met a challenge he couldn’t meet, beat or defeat.
It was what he did.
It was who he was.
Maybe it hadn’t always been that way, but it was now.
And now was all that mattered.
Gabriel glanced at the clock again, noting how fast time was flying by.
“C’mon, boys. We’ve got a party to get to.”
Not that Irish would be docking points for them being late to his little shindig. But Gabriel figured their commander’s bride-to-be might be a little put out if half of her fiancé’s team was late to their engagement celebration. And Gabriel made a point to never disappoint a lady.
As one, the eight men strode out of Olive Oyl’s bar with a wave here and a shout-out there to familiar faces. Outside, the cool air washed over them in welcome as they straddled their motorcycles. Not nearly as comfortable as they’d be in jeans or even in uniform, some of the men tucked their ties into their shirts, a couple of them stowing their suit jackets into their saddlebags.
Gabriel, who hadn’t bothered to put either on yet, simply unhooked his helmet. Before he could pull it on, the deceptively lanky guy on the Indian Chief next to him tilted his head.
“Watch your back,” murmured Mr. Wizard, as the team called Taylor. “Jackrabbit’s got a hard-on to take you down.”
“Ain’t gonna happen.”
“He’s just superstitious,” Scavenger
