Axis Altered: Explosion Series

By Felicity Black

While being Charline One on an elite black ops SEAL teams should be plenty, I want more. Specifically, I've wanted Thea since she was mine in the seventh grade. Yet, here I am, eighteen years later...still sitting on my ass, despite Charlie Three announcing Thea as his fiancée. What's worse than wanting a team guy's woman? Well, that's easy. Charlie Three's also my cousin.

 

I finally decide to take Thea back when my cousin gets spun up to Myanmar. Suffice it to say, I'm thermonuclear when I learn that a judge who's been obsessed with Thea for thirteen years is the primary suspect for an explosion that fractured my entire team. Digging up enough dirt to put the guy six feet under is one thing, but protecting Thea is quite another. She's an attorney whose both highly opinionated and overly skilled at the art of negotiation. I just need to stamp the judge's ticket to rendition before I lose Thea, again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stardust Romance
• Release date: Oct 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215586228

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

THEA

Ihate losing. Not that it happens much. For one, I only take on cases I know I can wield into a favorable outcome. For two, I win even when the evidence in favor of my client is mediocre.

What can I say? I’m a damn good attorney, yes, but I’m an even better negotiator.

When I do lose, it’s on purpose. I’m not haughty. I’m confident, and there’s a difference. The thing about boldness and self-assurance is they’re learned—honed through years of practice.

But yeah…I was so certain the court would deny my motion for summary judgment—a.k.a. my instant victory—I’d already spoken to thirteen witnesses and had subpoenas prepared to formally obtain their testimony.

So when the Order denying my motion came through, I didn’t even blink. Instead, I fired off an email to my paralegal to get the subpoenas out the door.

On a normal day, I’m not even admitted to practice law in the Western District of Texas. That didn’t stop me from getting special admittance for this case…the one I’ve waited for since that day I stumbled into Mock Trial Club in seventh grade.

I chose to live in D.C for two reasons. The first was because of the volume of highly sensitive cases D.C. Circuit hears. I figured I was more likely to snag a case that would ultimately become one for the history and law books—a landmark opinion—by being immersed in the local action.

Never once did I think my pathway to potentially argue a case before the Supreme Court of the United States would come from somewhere other than our nation’s capital. But here I am on a not just any case but a class action lawsuit that is has SCOTUS written all over it.

Secondly, my best friend relocated here. It’s no shocker Apollo was asked to be on one of two black ops SEAL teams who report to POTUS. He’s a damn fine operator, yeah, but he’s more than that.

Charlie and Zulu—the back ops teams—are collectively like the greatest sports team that ever existed. It was the first time Team U.S.A. included active pro players. The talent was hand-picked from a wellspring of NBA teams—a collection of the most elite and gifted players in the world.

They didn’t just beat every country they played by thirty-eight points or more, nor did they just win gold. The entire damn team was admitted into the Olympic Hall of Fame. A mere glance at the roster screamed basketball royalty—legends. Jordan, Pippen, Malone, Barkley, Ewing, Bird.

As far as dream teams go, basketball’s top ten in 1992 included Magic Johnon. Apollo Johnson is today’s special operator equivalent. There are soldiers, there are warriors, and then there’s Apollo.

I twist my engagement ring so the diamond is at the center of my finger. It normally fits just right in the summer. My stomach has been a little queasy…maybe I’m coming down with something?

I hope he’s back in time for my birthday. I thought I was used to him getting spun up, but turning thirty-five must be making me hormonal.

That has to be it because I’m so horny, my breasts are tender. What the hell is wrong with me? Apollo and I aren’t even like that. He’s everything I could ever ask for in a partner but the romance…which is fine.

I’d spent too many years in middle and high school drowning in the emotional tumult that accompanied intercourse. Maybe it was because Griff was my first love, but I never could disassociate sex from him.

In hindsight, that was the entire premise of our relationship. While I inherently know we failed every time we tried because we lacked depth and foundation, I can’t help but think of sex as being the destroyer of even the strongest bond.

Exhibit A? Apollo and I have been together seventeen years whereas Griff and I were nothing but a wild ride and failure.

The bottom line is I can’t lose Apollo. So it’s a damn good thing he’s not romantically attracted to me. I’m too mentally and emotionally broken to make a more rational conclusion on this topic. In my mind, relationships with sexual intimacy fail, and abstinence is the hallmark of our success.

The truth is I didn’t become a badass attorney because of any legal experiences I’ve had. I am this way because Apollo believed I was this person. He didn’t just teach me how to harness my inner strength. He showed me how to apply concepts of advanced weaponry and combat to words.

In turn, my verbal warfare became sharper, stronger, deadlier. It laid waste to every party who sought to war against my clients.

The carnage? The damages? It’s in the billions of dollars I’ve snatched from my opponents and stuffed in my clients’ pockets.

So yeah…I’m not confident. I’m motherfucking confident. Why? Because Apollo made me so.

CHAPTER TWO

GRIFFIN

Normally, this would be my favorite week of the year. The cherry blossoms are an impressive litany of pink. The trees are alive with blooms, as are the petals dotting the grass.

The aroma of these flowers is one I only associate with this place. I slowly turn my head from the trees adorning the sidewalk to the Reflecting Pool on my left.

My eyes rove for a hint of copper until I spot my first penny. It’s only then I allow myself to look straight ahead at the man who sits sentry in his larger-than-life way as he pensively regards the freedom for which he yearned could be.

The Lincoln Memorial is easily in my top five favorite landmarks in D.C., though the ascent to the monument itself seems more tenuous than normal.

I clutch the plain black box in my hands to my chest, determined not to jostle its contents as I manage to climb the steps.

My feet are cinder blocks. The perspiration that’s already pebbling my chest under my dress whites is not unexpected considering the task before me.

The grind of my teeth under my flattened lips is my only solitude as I continue the flight of stairs. My eyes avert from the steps, momentarily, to glimpse the fluted columns and the double-wreath medallions above the colonnade. I imagine my home state of Ohio as being inscribed in the frieze, though I know it’s on the Potomac side of the building.

While every mission is important, this one is my highest honor. That Grandpa would ask me to take him on his victory promenade through the National Mall before he joins Grandma is a distinction worth more than any insignia, rocker, or tab my uniform’s ever displayed.

The credit for every badge, ribbon, and medal I’ve ever earned, though? Well, they’re all due to James Johnson’s uncompromising ethics. And the Chief Petty Officer designation symbolized on my collar and belt buckle are because of his relentless discipline.

I may have serendipitously been named Griffin Isaac Johnson, but it was Grandpa who made me G.I. Joe—not that I would ever tell my teammates my middle name because they would wipe my ass with that moniker.

When I finally reach the edifice of our sixteenth president, I lay a peony at its marble base, just as Grandpa requested. My white gloves seem treacherously slick as I transition the Arlington-approved urn to its side and hold it out from my body while Grandpa, Lincoln, and I maintain our moment of silence.

My eyes wander upward eighteen feet until they meet Lincoln’s. His steadfast oversight of the National Mall would be the same if his eyes weren’t made of stone: unwavering.

From their candor to their ferocity to their bravery, Grandpa and Honest Abe definitely shared some synergies. I tuck the rectangular box under my arm as I turn toward the Washington Monument.

After a dozen paces, I commence my descent of the Memorial steps. Grandpa insisted his celebratory walk be conducted when his beloved cherry blossoms peaked. Though this day has been planned for months, the guilt of missing a spin up with my brothers is heady.

I don’t even know where they went or how long they’ll be there. Hell, I wasn’t even called in to be briefed. The only reason I know my brothers got spun up is because Landon Carmichael texted to gloat he was riding strap for my lazy ass—his words, not mine.

Landon’s a solid frogman, but he’s no Charlie One. I’ve never missed a single mission since being named team leader. If any of my men don’t make it home…fuck!

When I make it to the bottom of the steps, I see a familiar figure strolling contemplatively toward the side of the Reflecting Pool that Grandpa mapped out for his last hoorah.

My stride quickens, along with my pulse. Why is she here by herself? It’s not necessarily unsafe given the daylight and area of town, but Apollo wouldn’t like it. Hell, I don’t like it.

Thea! I yell, as I close in on her. Either she doesn’t hear me, or she’s too lost in thought to notice an extremely deadly man infringing upon her space. She’s staring emptily into the water with no situational awareness.

When I grasp her wrist to awaken her from her trance, she startles with a leap. Her arms flail as she struggles to achieve balance. I snag my free arm around her waist and pull her into my body, all while attempting not to drop Grandpa’s urn.

While she’s avoided a swim, she’s actually in a more dangerous situation by being in my arms. I’ve wanted Thea since the seventh grade. She’s been off-limits ever since my cousin claimed her my junior year of high school.

After her shock dissipates, her fingers release their grasp on my torso, and she pulls her AirPods out of her ears. You scared me, Griff!

I’m not ready to let her go just yet. She smells like the peony I just laid at the base of Lincoln’s statute, sweet and floral. She melts in my arms like chocolate, or at least that’s what I imagine with the heat she’s eliciting from my body.

You should pay better attention, Apple. I could’ve been an assassin. At least that nickname belongs to only me. She made the tenth and last spot on the Math Counts team over me our eighth-grade year, and apple pie is a nod to pi.

She places her palm on my chest. Her attempt to push me away only strengthens the hold of my arm snaked around her waist.

"Could’ve been an assassin?" her brow arches, mockingly.

You know what I mean, Thea. Yes, I’m a highly trained assassin, but that’s exclusive to the context of tactical warfare. I’ve never used that skill set for civilian purposes.

Thea’s eyes roam my face. They’re an azure aqua unique to her. I take a mental picture of them, memorizing the flecks of turquoise and crystal. No matter how many times I’ve tried to describe them, I just can’t capture the exclusivity this color is to her.

I’m missing something. The externalities whirl in my brain: natural light, cherry blossoms, still body of water, and her proximity to me. There’s an untamable ferocity and radiance in her irises, which seem to both absorb and reflect the sunshine.

Which of the following do you surmise is a bigger threat: a wall of muscle descending upon me, undetected, or my fiancé’s cousin holding me for an extended period? Side note—said fiancé is OCONUS and risking his life for you and me while his cousin is sightseeing in the National Mall, presumably sidelined.

Yeah, Apollo wouldn’t be happy I’m still holding his woman when the threat has long subsided. But fuck him, I saved her from the threat. The detail that it may have been one of my own creation is irrelevant.

Fuck! Door No. 2 leads to nothing good. Door No. 1, it is.

You think I’m a wall of muscle? I give her my sexiest smirk.

Thea wrangles herself free and steps down from the ledge surrounding the Reflecting Pool. How she managed that step with her unforgiving pencil skirt and four-inch heels is a mystery.

Her torso twists slightly when she does this step maneuver, and her shirt gaps between the buttons near her breasts. A glimpse of her hot pink bra has my cock’s approval.

Her professional look is topped off with pearl stud earrings and cat-eye glasses. The frames match her heels spectacularly: Both are black and white snake-print.

It’s not difficult to surmise why those shoes are her favorite. They exude authority and are an exuberant fuck you to every client, judge, and opposing counsel who’s stereotyped her as some meek, vegetarian-type attorney.

Hell no! She’s a carnivorous tigress who lives for the merciless kill. Her words are sharper than any knife: She can slay any motherfucker with mere syllables.

In addition to arguing like a damn MMA fighter, she’s wickedly brilliant. She dwells in the minutia and can absorb a Bankers Box worth of documents produced in discovery in a few hours.

Hell, absorb is an understatement. She has an intimate understanding of each document and every line item on it times a thousand pages in a couple hours, tops.

Damn, she’s not only the whole package, she’s the fucking North Pole on Christmas Eve: gorgeous, incandescent, perspicacious. She’s all of the things in one person.

I’m heading back to court, Griffy. I’ll presume since you’re in dress whites carrying what appears to be nondescript urn—whom I’m guessing contains your Grandpa—this is no frolic through the park. For that reason and the fact that I fight my own damn battles, I won’t be disclosing to Apollo you both held and ogled me.

Thea struts away four steps, her ass swaying like the fucking tigress she is. Goddamn!

She abruptly stops and turns back toward me, licking her lips before they part. I shift my stance, desperate to conceal my raging hard-on without calling attention to it.

If wanting my cousin’s girl makes me an asshole, then I’m the King. Anyway, lustful thoughts and looks never hurt anyone, right?

It’s touching that’s over the line, and I haven’t done that since…shit. Does five minutes ago count? That was more of a rescue than lewd contact. Yup. Totally a rescue.

My face is up here, G.I. Joe. My eyes snap upward at her comment. Other than Apollo, no one else knows my parents fortuitously named me Griffin Isaac Johnson. I couldn’t make up a shit name like mine if I tried.

I prowl toward her and thrust her body toward mine, no longer caring she knows about my thumping dick pressed into her pelvis. You know how I feel about that name, Apple.

A nearly indiscernible tremble ebbs from her hips. The mood of one of her nipples is concealed against the ribbons on my breast pocket, but I can see how attentive her other one is through my uniform.

And you know how I feel about you undressing me with your eyes, she admonishes.

Circumstantial evidence, at best, counsel. It is a hard fact your pussy is wet for me, right now, though. I rub my thumb across her flushed cheek.

Objection. You’re leading the witness on direct exam, Chief Petty Officer.

Mhm, I’ll be happy to continue this exam of you in this sexy outfit at my place tonight. Say 1800? All bow down before the King Asshole.

In your dreams, Sailor. She pulls herself from my full-body embrace with a huff and struts away with purpose. The way that pencil skirt clings to her ass and thighs only accentuates her toned calves and butt.

I want my ramped-up cock inside her while she’s wearing nothing but those snake-print heels and matching eyeglasses. Fuck!

Now that she’s facing the other way, I finally adjust my crotch, which has reached an uncomfortable granite feeling. Given publicly jerking off behind a tree would likely be frowned upon while in uniform, my only option is to think of something truly terrible.

Like the fact I’m holding an urn. Or that Grandpa witnessed me hitting on his grandson’s fiancée. Or that Grandpa knows Apple’s mere proximity is an instant swordfish in my pants.

Yeah. Those are all certain boner killers. That, and my cousin is risking his life in the sandbox while I’m on leave and flirting with his woman. Christ, not just his woman—his fiancée!

I’ll go ahead and purchase my one-way ticket for a douche canoe and paddle on my way out of here. Why can’t Thea have a sister? Or clone herself? Or, hell, I don’t know…choose me?

I should’ve known she wasn’t thinking when she turned me down for junior prom. I should’ve asked her again with a promposal or whatever it’s called instead of shrugging my shoulders and asking her best friend. If I hadn’t been so intent to get back at her for declining my invitation, she would’ve never turned the tables by asking Apollo.

My cousin is the real asshole. Though she and I were off and on from seventh grade through December of our junior year, he knew Thea was my one and only. He fucking knew she and I were both of each other’s first and only true loves.

Yet, he took the love of my life to junior prom on a fucking white horse and willfully stole her from me. She was motherfucking mine for basically five years. We gave each other our virginity.

Stabbed in the back by my own damn cousin. That’s some fucked up family loyalty right there.

She was even wearing my promise ring at prom. The whole time, I thought she was messing with me, simply emphasizing I was an idiot for asking her best friend to prom instead of trying harder for the woman I really wanted to go with me.

Apollo wouldn’t take his hands off her, though; just couldn’t let her loose to dance with me. I should’ve injected myself between them and took what was mine like a man with an actual dick. But Apollo was three years older and bigger, and I was dickless for not standing up to him…well, other than clocking him in the jaw.

What twenty-year-old attends senior prom, anyway? Christ, Thea and I had both just turned seventeen. Her birthday is April twelfth, and mine is April twenty-first; same month, same numbers, same year.

If that’s not fate, I don’t know what is. Yet, Apollo’s an asshole who cares dip about fate or what’s mine.

Well, it’s motherfucking on, Cuz. I’m taking what’s mine back. He obviously wanted this fight, since he started it, and he’s going to get a damn war.

I’m not the one who threw double birds at family and brotherhood. Hell, I even made him my Charlie Three. I still chose him, despite the massive fault line between us named Thea, and how does he thank me? He put a goddamn ring on her finger—the bastard.

I’m not throwing up the white flag anymore and watching him stick his dick in my woman. She’s always been and always will be mine, and I will make it so again.

Starting tonight when I fuck her bareback and fill her with my cum. Fuck! Damn it to hell!

Grandpa. Grandpa in an urn. Grandpa turned to ash.

Arlington. Over six-hundred acres of urns and caskets. Shit!

My clip turns purposeful as I stride along the Reflecting Pool. The cherry blossoms on my right dance with the subtle spring breeze, causing their unforgettable scent to ravage me yet again.

While mortality is certain, I wish Grandpa had more time. That I had one more dreadfully slow stroll with him along this same route. Just one more story about ‘Nam. One more time of his unsolicited offer of tactical warfare strategy, which was surprisingly timeless and intuitive.

Everything I am and all that I will ever be is because of this man. I adjust my grip on the oak box. The fact Grandpa’s been reduced to a container nine inches tall by four and a half inches wide is ironic.

The man was the most affable, larger-than-life person I’ve ever known. He could reel in an agoraphobic in seconds, easing his or her social anxiety with his boisterous charm. Come to think of it, Apollo is the best of Grandpa, whereas I inherited his authoritarianism.

Grandpa’s the man who raised me when his own son walked away after knocking up my egg donor. He’s the man who adopted me at fifty-five. He was closer to retirement than fathering a fucking newborn, yet he sacrificed everything to be the mom and dad who didn’t want me.

In the end Agent Orange put Grandpa in this box. Thank you for your service; here’s your fucking cancer!

My thoughts continue in a stream of consciousness as I walk around the base of the Washington Monument.

Wonder where my brothers are and when they’ll be home? Why the hell did they have to get spun up the one and only time I’ve ever taken leave in my entire military career? If anything happens to them…shit!

That’s not an option. Landon’s solid, and Rocky’s a damn good number two. Despite my roaring jealously for the fucker, Apollo may even be a better operator than me.

They’ll be fine—more than fine, actually. It’s just my big head thinking they need me to succeed.

For this, I’m willing to risk an infraction. My bare hand dives into the pocket of my pants until my fingers feel a small bundle of tightly woven threads. I transition the ribbon to my other hand while I tug back on my glove.

Of all the military accolades, it’s this one that’s most coveted to me. Grandpa’s Vietnam Service Medal. I don’t have to look at the ribbon to know it’s Air Force Yellow with three stripes of Old Glory Red in the middle and bookended with Primitive Green.

I grit my teeth at the thought of leaving something so precious at the base of this monument, but it’s Grandpa’s day; his way goes.

If Grandpa were next to me, he’d be re-explaining the intricacies of the Battle of Yorktown and other legacies of the man whose name this monument bears.

Damn it! The mere thought of the Revolutionary War and Washington only makes my dick twitch at the memory of Apollo taking Thea to see Hamilton at the Chicago Theatre.

I imagine Apollo as a horrible fiancé who would rather play Halo or some other shit than worship the woman who’s been his for the seventeen years I’ll never get back. It’s easier to hate the man when I envision him swept up in fiction versus enjoying the reality I would do anything to make mine.

Fifteen years to decide Thea was worthy of a fucking ring, the bastard! Well, his non-committal bullshit is my fucking gain.

After laying Grandpa’s prized possession at the base of marble, I decide to put my plan to take Thea back into action. And I know just how I’m going to do it.

CHAPTER THREE

THEA

The thing about living in the city is five layers of blackout curtains don’t nullify the light. There’s always a rogue ray permeating the smallest pinhole of fabric separation.

I set my glass of water down on the counter with a sigh as I idly tug at the gray and white trellis-patterned curtain, compelling the gromets to slide half an inch. I’m too old to live downtown, apparently, because the cacophony of cars, horns, and taxis with a reliable chorus of subway trains are noises I can’t deal with right now.

If I’m being candid, I only ever hear this shit when Apollo’s gone. Though I’m normally incapable of tuning it out in his absence, I collapse on my bed. I’m unexplainably tired and horny, which further perpetuates my assumption that I’m coming down with a bug.

Distantly, I’m aware the blare of the doorbell is the beginning of an imaginary journey. Still, it seems like just another note in the discord of disjointed sounds filling the room—antonyms to my ears as I slip into a wild dream.

I see myself…sauntering without grace toward what I perceive as the newest interjection to an evening marred with imperfections, automatically angry at whoever is on the other side of the door. I fling it open with an extra measure of fury, only to be swept into Griff’s chest before he slams and locks the door back, quicker than I opened it.

What the fuck, Apple? You shouldn’t be opening the door without checking who it is first, he seethes. Hell, don’t open it at all. Ever.

One of his arms wraps tightly around my torso