Chapter 10

10

DEAN

I t was wild to be back here. The base. The state. My bar. All of it brought back so many memories. I remembered my first time ever making the trek down this road. I was twenty-five, maybe twenty-six, and ready to conquer the world. It felt like a lifetime ago.

My fancy truck that I took very good care of was hitting every bump in the road filled with potholes bigger than the truck itself. I cringed thinking about the mud that was splashing over my pristine vehicle. It didn't look like the road was well traveled, which didn't bode well for the bar's success.

The old girl came into view. The neon sign flickered in the night, a siren call to pilots looking for an escape. The Fly Trap could be heaven or hell, depending on the night. I wondered what I was in for that evening as I pulled up and the gravel crunched under the tires.

My heart swelled with nostalgia. I took a second to take in the sight of the place that looked exactly the way I remembered it. I parked in back, hoping to avoid the drivers that treated the parking lot like a demolition derby at the end of the night. We had a local cab company on speed dial.

The glow of a cigarette came from the corner of the building. I grinned and walked over to greet Jude Lyne. He was one of my oldest friends and fellow pilot from back in the day. Together, we owned the bar, and he ran it for us while I kept democracy safe.

"Those things are gonna kill you one day, Radio," I teased, using the old call sign we had given him back in our pilot days.

Jude spun around, his expression lighting up with recognition and amusement, the cigarette hanging from his lips. "Ryker! It's been a long time since someone called me that!"

I chuckled, clapping him on the back as we shook hands. "No one calls you Radio?"

He scoffed. "Hell no."

He looked a lot older than I remembered. He had a few years on me, but damn, it really showed. If I would have gotten out, I might look like him. Staying in the Air Force and keeping my physical condition up so I could fly was keeping me young.

Jude had always been terrible at using comms when we were pilots, earning him the nickname Radio as a result. It had become a running joke among our squadron, one that had stuck with him long after he had hung up his wings.

"So, what brings you back out here to the ass crack of nowhere?" Jude asked. "Nobody worth their salt comes out here these days. Just newbies and teachers. Don't tell me you retired?"

I shrugged, leaning against the wall and inhaling the musty scent of damp foliage and nature in general. "Just doing a favor for General Thomas," I replied, knowing that Jude would understand the significance of the request.

Jude raised an eyebrow at the mention of Mo, our old friend and mentor. "The Sheriff, huh?" he mused, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"The one and only," I confirmed, knowing that there was no one else quite like him in the Air Force.

"He's still around?"

"Oh yeah," I replied. "Four stars. He's up in Colorado."

"No shit," he said with a smile. "Good for him. So, what kind of favor are you doing?"

I shook my head. "It's complicated."

He chuckled. "That's the best kind of story."

The back door was propped open, allowing us to hear what was going on inside. The usual din of male voices trying to talk over one another floated out.

I was going to tell him about Mo's request when the sounds of a commotion drew our attention.

"Shit," Radio muttered. "Every fucking time."

"What?" I asked and followed him inside.

A group of rowdy young pilots was getting into an argument with some regular patrons. I rolled my eyes at the familiar scene unfolding before us. It seemed that not much had changed around here since our days as trainees.

"I can't believe you've let our bar turn into such a shit hole," I muttered under my breath, watching as the tempers of the group continued to rise. "It stinks in here."

Jude shook his head in agreement, his expression grim. "There's no point in fixing it up anymore. Young punks keep coming in and ruining it. Like these clowns."

I looked around the bar that looked exactly the same as it did when we bought the place with the intention of fixing it up. We didn't fix it up because we quickly realized that was not the type of customers a place like this appealed to. We decided to keep it rough, but this was a lot rougher than I remembered. I felt a little guilty for not being around to help my buddy out. Some wingman I turned out to be.

The group of men were showing a lot of bravado, but I assumed they knew better than to actually start a fight. Maybe they didn't see me and possibly they didn't know who I was. I ignored the stupid insults being tossed back and forth between the regulars and the young bucks that had egos the size of Texas. I knew they were about to get taken down a peg or two once they were exposed to actual training. I picked up a glass and held it up to the light. "What the hell, are you spit cleaning these?"

"Are you the health inspector?" Radio shot back.

I chuckled at his sarcastic remark and placed the glass back on the counter with a smirk. "Nah, just a concerned customer trying not to catch anything from your less than stellar cleaning skills."

Radio snorted in response, but before he could come up with a comeback, the tension in the room escalated. The group of rowdy pilots were now shoving the regular patrons. Glasses fell and shattered on the floor. The atmosphere in the bar had turned volatile, and it was only a matter of time before fists started flying. I exchanged a knowing look with Radio, both of us understanding that we couldn't let this situation spiral out of control.

Jude crossed his arms, his steely gaze fixed on the group causing trouble. "Looks like we might have to step in, Ryker. These kids don't know who they're messing with."

I nodded in agreement. With our years of military training and combat experience, we smoothly made our way through the crowd toward the escalating confrontation. The rowdy pilots were clearly outnumbered by the locals who had been coming to the bar long before these young gunslingers arrived.

As we approached, I caught sight of a familiar face among the group of pilots. A fiery petite woman suddenly stepped out of the group of men, her jaw set in determination as she squared off against the ringleader of the regulars. Despite being outnumbered and outsized, she showed no signs of backing down. Her gaze was locked firmly on her opponent as she prepared to defend herself.

"Oh, shit," I muttered.

Jude turned to me, a puzzled expression on his face. "What?"

I swallowed hard, my heart sinking as I realized just how bad this situation was. "That's her. That's my assignment."

"What?" he asked.

"That's Mo's daughter."

"Who?" he asked again.

"That one. The one stirring shit up."

I took a deep breath, trying to come up with a plan to diffuse the situation without blowing my cover. Mo had been explicit about keeping my real intention for being in Columbus from his daughter, knowing that she wouldn't react well upon finding out I was babysitting her. But now, here she was, right in front of me, ready to throw down in the middle of a bar fight. Once again, I found myself tasked with taking care of Mo's wild child daughter.

"That's the favor?" Radio repeated.

"Yep." I watched as she went scorched earth on a man twice her size and age. "He said she was a little unruly but has the talent to be a good pilot. He wanted me to personally train her."

"I think you might need a leash. A cage. Maybe a blow dart filled with a strong tranquilizer."

I chuckled at Radio's dry humor, but I knew he was right. Dealing with Mo's daughter was going to be a challenge. I saw the determination in her eyes and the stubborn set of her chin. She was fiercely independent and clearly didn't appreciate being underestimated. It was going to take all of my skill and patience to earn her trust and guide her in the right direction.

"She's in UPT?" Radio asked.

"Yep." I nodded. "From what I'm told, she's got chops. But I think Mo is worried she's going to get kicked out of the program or possibly the Air Force in general with her inability to keep her temper under control."

"And you, you're the one he chose to rein her in?" He chuckled.

I nodded, my mind racing with the implications of Mo's request. The situation in the bar was escalating rapidly, and I knew I had to act fast before things got out of hand.

"That's what I thought." I sighed. "He pulled my transfer to London to take care of his kid. If he was anyone else, I would have told him to kiss my ass."

"But it's Mo." He nodded.

It looked like things might settle down. A young woman put her arm around Sarah and guided her back to the table. Insults were still being hurled back and forth, but it looked like the fight had been avoided.

"You know the second time I met her, she had just been in a bar fight," I said with a smirk.

"No shit?" Radio laughed.

"Yep. I met her at her graduation from the academy and that night I picked her up walking alone with cut knuckles and a shiner. I took her back to the med bay to clean her up. She told me a dude hit her."

He looked at me with surprise. "No shit?"

"No shit," I confirmed, feeling a mix of amusement and exasperation at the memory. "She claimed she was just defending herself, but I had my doubts. I honestly didn't believe the story, but after seeing this, I believe it."

Radio shook his head, still chuckling. "Man, you really do have your work cut out for you with this one."

I let out a resigned sigh. Navigating Mo's daughter's fiery personality was going to be a monumental task. But as her mentor and guardian, I had no choice but to see it through. This was something he was trusting me to do. I couldn't just walk away.

Something went flying through the air. That was followed by chairs scooting across the wooden floor with some tipping over.

"Oh shit," Radio sighed.

I sprang into action, dodging flying objects and weaving my way through the chaos to reach Mo's daughter before things escalated further. As I approached, I could see the fire in her eyes and the clenched fists at her sides, ready for a full-blown brawl.