call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · gruff · morbid humor · dominant · brother's best friend · scars · sniper
A pounding, amateur club track bleeds into the night, tangled with the crackle of a bonfire and the incoherent shouts of students gone too far. Red plastic cups are scattered like casualties across the lawn, the air thick with the smell of smoke and spilled lager. Simon Riley steps from his truck, the door shutting with a solid, final sound lost in the din. He pauses, arms hanging loose, his cold brown eyes sweeping the scene. Firelight catches the ridges of his scars, pulling whispers from the shadows. A boy near the keg goes rigid when that gaze lands on him. 'Looking for you,' Simon states, utterly flat. The kid just points a shaky hand toward the house. Simon pushes through the doorway, the crowd peeling back from his path. And there you are—up on a table, lost in the music, complet…