Page 1 of Dove
Prologue
BEAR
To be fair, I’ve never been great at following orders.
Which makes it kind of… ironic… that I rose as high as I did in the military.
Of course now that’s all coming to an end. Just like everything in my life does.
"Our investigation has found that you not only disobeyed a direct order, not once but three times, and put your men's lives at risk. We find, further, that you put the entire operation at risk, as well as the weapons and top-secret information you were carrying at the time. Lives were lost, equipment was destroyed, and regional assets were endangered by your actions."
The man behind the desk in front of me pauses and looks up, his eyes so dark a black he could be Satan himself.
Hell, for all the damage he's doing to my life, he might as well be.
"In short, your actions cost us a lot of money, as well as men. As such, we're assigning you an OTH discharge, effective immediately."
He pauses again, and this time I know it's intentional. He wants me to react to what he just said. Wants me to give him some sort of response. A cringe. A gesture. A moan.
But he's out of fucking luck on that one.
After all, they've spent fifteen fucking years training me not to have an emotional response to anything they say or do. Christ, they've taught me to bury my emotions so deeply I barely have access to them anymore. So he's a fucking fool if he thinks I'll react now.
Even when he's stripping me of everything I've worked for since I turned twenty.
"All of this could have been avoided if you'd just followed orders the way you were trained to do."
This time, I can't keep my mouth shut. I won't.
"Following orders would have meant leaving my men behind and cursing them to a fate worth than death," I snap. "And I wasn't going to do that."
He stares expectantly at me, his eyes narrowed in the overly bright lighting of the office, his hair cut in the high, tight manner that even the higher-ups in the Marines insist on wearing. I know what he's waiting for this time, too.
He wants me to call him sir, the way people like him have come to expect. The honorific they've imposed on me for years, now, and the one they think they deserve.
But he's got another thing coming there, too.
Because I'm finished bowing down to people like him.
Instead of answering, I turn sharply on my heel and head toward the door out of this godforsaken place. This tiny office where decisions are handed down, lives changed, and careers ended. This box full of fake mahogany and beige carpets, taupewalls covered in military honors and those generic paintings you see in hotels. This room where men like me, who have slaved for our country, are told that we're no longer useful because we chose saving our soldiers rather than following the orders of some guy sitting in an office just like this.
"Lieutenant."
The word is a dagger thrown right at my back, a snapped command so sharp that it actually brings me to a halt.
Partially because if I'm being discharged, that word doesn't belong to me anymore.
I bite my tongue against the clapback trying to burst out of my mouth and turn my chin over my shoulder, giving the man only my profile. He doesn't pay to have my full face anymore, and as far as I'm concerned, he no longer even deserves my attention.
But I'm morbidly curious about what he has to say.
"Yes?"
"You know the rules. There's a gag order on anything you may have seen or done during your time with us. We won't protect you if you go out and get into trouble. And we won't stand as reference for you."
I snort at that. "Why the fuck would I use you as a reference?" I ask sharply. "I don't even want to fucking remember I've been here."
A tense, shocked silence follows that, and then: "Get out of my office, Hawke."
