Only for Us by Cristin Harber

there weren’t enough options on the page for me even to begin. But in this little house, with my two girls nearby, I know I can face my demons. “I think I can manage it.”
    “Then I can, too.”
     

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
    Grayson
     
    Boys’ night out. Job-interview night. I look as if I totally fit in with this group of guys, but it’s all for show, and I couldn’t feel more out of place than in this bachelor party group. The guys are fine—they’re all part of Titan’s Delta team and know each other really well. They seem like the kind of guys I’d chill with, throw back a couple beers, and talk about whatever game is on the tube. But since I’ve been back, readjusting hasn’t been easy, and running with this team makes me miss my team.
    My chest has been tight all day. I left Emma’s this morning after breakfast with her and Cally. But the tingle of anticipation has had me pulling at my collar, taking deeper breaths than are needed. Seriously. This isn’t something I need to sweat. We’re a bunch of guys going to a titty bar, albeit apparently a high-class one, and I’m just gonna sit back and zone out.
    I didn’t get into details with Emma. Maybe I should have. Hell, I’m not trying to fuck up already. But it’s a job. I’m not headed here to have some stripper grind on my shit.
    I hate strippers. They remind me of Pops. His taste in women after my mom died was skank. Cheap vanilla perfume and clear, plastic-heeled shoes. I hate this, and we’re not even inside yet. Hell, I’m more likely to have a PTSD meltdown from walking around in Pops’s slutty world than hanging with a group of men similar to my dead teammates.
    Fuck me. I need to take a breath .
    “Doing okay, bro?”
    I nod at the guy named Ryder. He’s Aussie. Says he’s a sniper. Acts like it too—cocky dude. I chuckle good-humoredly. The other guys are a fun time, too. Brock, Titan team leader for Delta, is here. There’s a guy named Trace who looks too young to have a gold band wrapped around his left finger. Then again, I’m too young to have a woman and a daughter waiting at home for me.
    Home .
    God, I haven’t had one of those in… ever.
    I make conversation with a guy named Colin about whether the other dude Javier is getting any pussy tonight. With his face busted up the way it is and the angry scowl every time he looks toward the front door, my vote is no. But I’m the only one voting that way.
    The guy to my right, Luke, laughs, shaking his head. “Between the accent, the tats, and the street fighting, Javier found the winning combination for panty dropping.”
    Right. We cross the parking lot of Emerald’s Gentleman’s Club. I doubt too much effort is needed for the panty dropping to start.
    I take a breath and focus. This is supposed to be fun and games, but it’s also a job interview of some kind. Plus, this place isn’t far from where I grew up, and Cally and Emma live too close to anywhere suspected of selling women. Sex-trade fuckers. I stifle a growl as a hand claps down on my back. It ricochets, and a dull stab of pain hits where my weeks-old wound is still healing.
    “Ready?” Brock acts as if we’re boys, and I suppose he’s reading the vibes rolling off me that aren’t very bachelor-party friendly.
    “I’m good.” We bump fists right before the blacked-out door opens, and a heavy bass thunders from inside.
    Into the belly of the beast we go. I can almost taste the cheap perfume and the itch of glitter. Our goals are simple: size up the staff. Connect them later to any known traffickers. If there’s a lead, follow it for information. If there’s a chance to build a relationship, milk it. Easy enough.
    En masse, we move through the high-roller crowd. It’s not as skanked up as I would’ve guessed, but I still don’t like it. There’s a general shift as we make our way through. We’re big, muscled up, the kind of group that takes no shit. I can feel the eyes on us: strippers sizing up our