Authors: Brenda Cothern, H.L. Holston & Eleanor Bruce, Whitley Gray, E.M. Leya, Ethan Stone, Sara York
Title: Uniform: A Man in Uniform MM Bundle
Release Date: November 30, 2015
Tags: Military, Seal, Cop, Police, bundle, gay, GLBT
Heat Level (1 being no sexual content, 5 being erotica): 4
Pairing (Male/Female, Male/Male, Female/Female, Ménage): Male/Male
Length: 198 pdf pages
Purchase Links (Publisher site, Goodreads, Amazon, etc…):
Meet the men in uniform. These are everyday men who put on a uniform and become our heroes. Through good times and bad, they are there to save the day, sacrificing more than most of us can imagine as they put their lives on hold in service to us.
Love doesn't wait until life is calm, and sometimes it's the pressure of the job that throws two men together. Under stress and demand, they find solace in each other, forming bonds that can't be ignored.
Follow our heroes as they fight not only for what is right and just, but also for their hearts and the men they love.
Hand-to-Hand (Wet Seal #1)
H.L. Holston & Eleanor Bruce
Is this the day I’m going to die? Gavin Rathman couldn’t get that question out of his head as he dove behind a large rock, gunfire erupting all around him. As he contemplated his upcoming demise, he saw Ensign Noah Hudson running toward him. He gestured for his teammate to hide with him behind the relative safety of the big rock he was currently behind. Gavin finally breathed a sigh of relief -- Hudson was a terror with his HK MP5N gun.
“You alright, Doc?”
Gavin gave a thumbs up sign, and looked briefly over Noah’s shoulder asking, “Where’s Hawkeye?”
“Hawk is up there.” Noah pointed to the craggy rocks high above their heads where their team sniper was perched to pick off enemy insurgents. The guy had to be half bird; he could sit for hours crouched at a vantage point so high that would make most people’s head’s spin. Hawkeye got his nickname when he first joined the teams because he loved Marvel comics, most especially the character he was named after, the legendary archer and assassin.
“What about Bender and the Lieutenant?” Gavin asked.
Noah’s smirk was almost dangerous. “Bender’s setting charges. You know how he likes his little toys. And Jack’s keeping the natives off our backs.”
“When’s the helo coming in?” Gavin looked to the sky, willing the chopper to come into view. They were seriously outnumbered here.
Noah looked at his watch. “Five minutes. Then we’re all bugging the fuck out of here, Doc. Cultural mission with tribal elders aborted. And a personal note for the CIA: The natives here are not friendly, nor open to monetary bribes from us filthy infidels.”
“Fucking spooks and their secret agendas.” Gavin turned his head and spat. Goddamn dust and sand.
Their mission had been idiotic from the get-go. They were left short one operator when Johnson blew out his knee on a training mission before they’d left San Diego for Kabul. He was going to be out of commission for months, maybe forever, if the surgery didn’t correct his injury. They’d made do without him; they were SEALS, that’s what they did: improvise and adapt.
Everything would have been fine if the CIA hadn’t shown up with their brilliant idea to offer a fifty thousand dollar bribe to the leader of a small band of Taliban fighters to turn on his brothers-in-arms. However, Gavin and his team followed orders, no matter how stupid and treacherous they were. So, if the CIA said go make nice with the terrorists with a bag of cash; then, SEAL Team One made nice with a bunch of Al Qaeda terrorists.
Gavin heard a soft pop to his far left and looked over to see one of the head of one of the locals who’d been trying to kill them for the last fifteen minutes explode.
Hawkeye to the rescue.
“I just wish Jack had let me shoot their leader. I had the perfect shot.”
A voice came out of nowhere, “Always the diplomat, Hudson.”
If it weren’t for his training, Gavin would have jumped. The Lieutenant certainly lived up to his nickname of “Ghost.” The man could infiltrate any location with a stealthy silence that even impressed other SEALs; Noah and Gavin never heard or saw him coming.
He watched as Lieutenant Jackson Blackwater hunkered down next to Noah’s left side, his dark good looks a throwback to his Native American ancestors. Gavin found it hard to believe the man was thirty-six as he looked ten years younger.
While they waited for their helicopter to arrive, Noah responded to their team leader’s remark. “I didn’t see you trying to talk your way out of the situation either, Jack. With all the flash bangs you were throwing, sir.”
As Jack opened his mouth to reply, all hell broke loose. Looking back, all Gavin could remember was the color red.
Blood red and Jack screaming in pain.
Curt shut off his bike and pulled the helmet from his head. Sweat dripped down his spine as he glanced up at the sky, wondering how it could be so damn hot so late in the day. The sun was just setting, but it had been an unusually hot summer for the area with temperatures reaching into the triple digits in early June.
He ran his fingers through his thick, long brown hair, wishing he could cut the length off and go back to the buzz cut he enjoyed before going undercover. It wasn't just the hair, but the beard too. It itched and added to the already sweltering heat, but it also helped to hide his identity.
Too many years. Sometimes it seemed like a lifetime since he swung his leg over the bike and infiltrated the biker gang. The Boars had their hand in every illegal activity you could think of, and Curt worked hard to gather evidence and build a case so they could take the group down. He was close. Each day he woke up, he wondered if it would be the day he would get the call that they were ready to make arrests.
As he glanced at the clubhouse, he sighed. The newest venture for the club really bothered him, and it was also why he was pushing to close things down and make arrests. He glanced past the long driveway where several bikes were parked to the covered sheds behind the house.
Inside those sheds were dogs, several strong pit bulls that the club now used for fighting. It turned Curt's stomach to think about those dogs suffering. He'd seen all kinds of shit go down in this club, but few things bothered him as bad as seeing the dogs fight.
Every instinct in him was to put a stop to it right away, but they had too much invested in this case to rush anything. Still, he'd met with his superiors, letting them know the time had come. They couldn't wait any longer. He hoped they would listen and they could make arrests soon.
Fatigue and stress consumed his body, but he had to keep focused. One mistake and his life would be over. This wasn't a simple game. This was a world of life and death, and he needed to be at his best.
One benefit to his years of working with the gang was he now held leadership for his area. He was third in command in the state, which meant he had final say in many of the things going on. With the agency behind him, everything he touched was golden. He had access to the best drugs, the cheapest guns, and nothing ever seemed to touch him. He could get away with anything. The men beneath him had to listen or risk his wrath. He was firm enough, while trying to stay within the law, so that most had a healthy respect for him.
Some things, like the dog fighting, he couldn't control, that was a new thing that came from higher up, but what took place inside his clubhouse and within his small group of members, he could do with as he wished.
He rolled his shoulders as he headed up the path to the clubhouse, noticing that the lawn needed to be mowed. He was strict about keeping the clubhouse looking somewhat neat. His men bitched and whined, but he reminded them that a rundown place attracted attention, attention they didn't need. He always said if he was running drugs, he'd put an 'I Love Jesus' sticker on his bumper, and hire two young girls in homely dresses to drive the car. It blew his mind how people would use beat up, old clunkers to do their illegal activity.
He didn't expect some Home and Gardens cover look from them, but he did demand that it wasn't an eyesore like so many other clubhouses were.
"Dylan!" he yelled as he walked through the front door. "Who the fuck is supposed to mow the lawn. Get your ass on it. This place is starting to look like the city dump." He blinked as his eyes adjusted from sunlight to the interior.
"Curt, shit, get in here." Dylan called from the back living room. "You got to see what we found sneaking around the place."
Curt groaned at the excitement in Dylan's voice. It meant something major was going on. Readying himself for anything, he kicked aside someone's backpack as he made his way to the back room.
Several of the other bikers stood in the doorway, but parted as Curt's large frame pushed his way through them. The emotion in the room crackled, and as he watched the other members, his heart sank. This wasn't going to be good. It was the same feel that he got when they were about to do a big job. The looks on some of the faces were ones he saw right before someone died.
"Look what we found sneaking around the dog pens," Dylan called.
Curt finally pushed through the mass of bodies and he froze, letting his calm demeanor slip for just an instant, but quickly schooling his features and forcing himself back into character. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Kneeling before Dylan was a uniformed police officer. His hands were tied behind his back.
"What the fuck is this, Dylan?" Curt walked around the men, coming to stand beside him. As he got his first glimpse of the officer's face, his breath caught. He knew this man. More than knew him, he would never forget him. He quickly looked away, turning his focus on Dylan, praying that the man on his knees didn't recognize him, and if he did, he would know enough to keep quiet.
"Found him sneaking around the dog pens in back. He said someone reported we were abusing animals. He's seen too much, Curt. We gotta take him out." Dylan held his gun in one hand and ran the muzzle under the officer's chin.
Curt's gut twisted. The man on his knees wasn't just some officer, his name was Tony and he'd been in the police academy with Curt, God knows how many years back. The two didn't just know each other, they'd dated during their training, ending things when they graduated and both went their separate ways. Once Curt moved and went undercover, he was sure he'd never see him again.
He stared at Tony, trying to see if he recognized him. With his beard and the tattoos that now covered his body, he didn't look anything like the fresh shaved, clean cut recruit that he had been back then.
Tony on the other hand, looked just as good as he had when they met, if not better. His body was thicker, his muscles larger, and his eyes more alert and aware. The blond hair now longer than the buzz cut he remembered him having. His pale blue eyes reflected the fear he must have been feeling.
There was no doubt in Curt's mind that Tony knew how much trouble he'd walked into, and with one wrong move, his life was over.
One More Time
“Yes, ma’am, I understand you’re not very happy with your husband, but that doesn’t mean you can attack him with a weasel.”
The couple had fought over which TV show to watch. Even though Mr. Palmer had acquiesced and let her watch Real Housewives of Washington D.C. Mrs. Palmer hadn’t liked the fact he had argued with her so when he’d gone to bed she’d tossed an angry ferret under the covers. Mr. Palmer had been bitten a couple times but there had been no major damage.
It was just another night as a cop in small town of Lovelock, Nevada. We never had anything exciting here. Mainly domestic disturbances like the Palmers. Some police offers would’ve preferred more action, but not me. I’d done four years in the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department and had gotten tired of dealing with punk gangbangers shooting at me. The three years at Lovelock had been far less exciting but much better for my blood pressure.
After settling the disturbance at the Palmers’ I cruised down Main Street making sure the boarded up buildings hadn’t been broken into by bored teenagers. Thankfully we only had more active businesses than empty ones in town. Not that we were a bustling metropolis by any means. I’d just braked to allow mangy stray black dog to cross in front of me when a man ran past my car. Because I was driving slowly I was able to stop in plenty of time. He stood staring at me for a moment before turning and dashing off. Normally I wouldn’t have wasted my time chasing him, but since he was buck-ass naked I figured I should bring him in.
I spun the wheel and turned down the alley he had fled into. Since it had a dead end, he couldn’t have gone far. I didn’t spot him right off the bat so I assumed he was doing his best to hide. I put the car into park, kept the lights on and stepped out.
“You might as well come out,” I hollered. “It’ll be a lot better for you if I don’t have to come in after you.”
I turned my flashlight to where the voice had come from behind two trash cans and the nude dude stepped out, his arms raised. I didn’t recognize him, which was odd since I knew most people in town. He was approximately twenty-five years old, six foot tall, one-hundred-eighty pounds. Muscular.
Shining the beam at his face, I asked, “Care to explain this to me?”
He chuckled nervously. “You’re not gonna believe me.”
“I was hooking up with this really hot chick and her husband showed up. Had to climb out the window.”
I sighed. “Was her name Connie?”
“Yeah. How did you know that?”
“Let’s just say you’re not the first man Harry’s caught her with. She does it make him jealous.”
He rubbed his face then quickly put his arm back up. “Christ, I’m a dumbass.”
Officer Michael Knight was having a shit day. Shitter than usual for a Friday. It had nothing to do with the scorching Florida heat or the humidity that had his tee shirt sticking to him like a second skin and it had nothing to do with him being covered in alley filth. If only that were what had him livid and ready to kill. And so help him; if any of his co-workers made another Knight Rider crack when he entered the squad room, he was going to beat the ever living fuck out of them. The consequences be damned.
He could take a joke as well as the next guy, but the harassment over his name was getting out of hand. Pictures of ‘K.I.T.T’, some of which were admittedly cool, plastered around his work station were easily dealt with via a trash can. Knight Rider ringtones and ‘K.I.T.T.’ message notifications were annoying, but could be tuned out. However today, his fellow cops had gone too fucking far.
They messed with his baby. The only thing he really gave a fuck about outside of the job. They messed with his truck. The David Hasselhoff bobblehead stuck to his dash pissed him off to no end. Especially, since it took him a good twenty-five minutes to scrub the sticky shit off after he snapped the fucker in half. The bobblehead wasn’t in his truck the night before and his red and blue flashing police lights were fine when he used them three days ago. Someone at the station must have messed with his truck last night.
Everyone knew he had been staking out his current arrest for the last two days. However, the icing on the fucking cake that was his fury wasn’t revealed until he made his current bust. The red and blue flashing lights installed in the grill of his truck had been switched out to a red pulsing line that moved steadily from left to right and back again. Just like in the grill of K.I.T.T.
It was bad enough that he was covered in sweat, grit, and grime from the alley, but it wasn’t until he turned his arrest around and saw the new light bar that he saw red, and it had nothing to do with the color of the lights behind his grill. His suspect must have sensed something which had more to do with Knight being filthy from tackling him, because the man tensed. Wisely, the low-life kept his trap shut about the truck lights. Either he was smarter than he looked, or he was way too young to recognize the reference to the 80’s TV show.
Knight stomped into booking, roughly dragging the two-bit drug dealer behind him and leaving dirty boot prints on the while linoleum floor. He didn’t care about the floor and had tuned out the guy’s whining about ‘police brutality’ after the first time the man bitched about being tossed, unceremoniously, into the back of his truck. Knight pushed his repeat offender, the little fuck who refused to give up his supplier, roughly down onto the bench in booking. His shove was so hard that the man yelped when his cuffed wrists slammed into the wall.
“Jesus, Knight,” O’Conner huffed while watching the suspect slouch down on the bench to give his hands more room between his back and the wall.
Dixon Carter’s heart shattered into a million pieces, his whole world imploded as he watched his husband make the moves on another guy. They weren’t just holding hands; they were kissing out in the open, not even trying to hide their love affair. Of course Dixon shouldn’t be here as far as Bryan was concerned. He’d flown home on leave, hoping to surprise Bryan, but he was the one who’d gotten the surprise of his life. This was supposed to be a big weekend for them. He’d made it, been accepted into training that led up to him eventually going into the Basic Underwater Demolition SEAL training in Coronado, California. Bryan had said he’d wanted to move with him, but after seeing his husband shove his tongue down another guy’s throat, he wondered if anything the asshole had said had been true.
Dixon drew in a breath, thinking that nothing would ever be the same again. He shook his head, trying like hell to comprehend what was happening. Had he really seen Bryan and that stranger kiss? Why the hell would his husband do this to him? He watched, wondering if he were mistaken, but Bryan pulled the other man close again, kissing him like he meant it. Dixon closed his eyes and tried not to fall apart. How the fuck was he supposed to recover from this? He and Bryan had been together for eight years, since their sophomore year in high school when Bryan had moved to town. Bryan had stood by him through basic training, but he guessed Bryan had a different view of what commitment meant.
Dixon’s heart twisted as he grabbed his pack and lifted his hand to catch a cab, but he lowered his arm, shaking his head. He wasn’t going to run from this. He sure as hell wouldn’t leave his stuff with Bryan. No chance in hell would he allow the fucker to continue using his truck, or taking drives in the restored Mustang Dixon had worked on since high school.
He trailed Bryan and the new guy to their apartment, watching as the pair kissed and hugged before going through the front door. He waited on the street a few minutes before following them upstairs to the third floor of the walkup he and Bryan had picked out when he’d been on leave a year ago. God, just the thought of Bryan in their place, kissing that guy, made him want to hit something.
He slid the key in the door, hoping to catch them, and praying he didn’t. When the door swung wide he didn’t hear any sound for the first few seconds. Relief flowed through him, and then he heard someone grunting, the sound twisting through his gut, making him sick. Dixon knew he and Bryan were over for good.
Pain lanced his heart and he tried to breathe, but the air was too thick and his chest ached. He drew in a second breath, this one almost taking him to his knees as Bryan cried out like he was really enjoying himself.
How long? How many others?
The questions played through his mind as he moved to the bookshelf that held the signed baseball his grandfather had given him before he passed away. His bills were in a neat stack beside the ball and he grabbed those too. The TV and stereo weren’t important to him. Besides, he’d be living in the barracks once he moved to Coronado so things like TV’s didn’t really matter much.
While he was alone in the den, listening to his husband and some stranger get it on, he looked around the place, noticing the sweatshirt he’d given Bryan for his birthday tossed to the floor and the Navy mug he’d shipped for Christmas chipped and holding pens instead of being used as a vessel to drink from. The end of this relationship hurt like crazy. He couldn’t believe how painful anything associated with Bryan could be. The man had promised him love, companionship, and forever. Bryan was here taking care of things at home, but he’d really just been playing house with whomever decided to fill his bed.