Chapter One
Afternoon light spilled in from the cracks of the closed blinds, creating a hazy, almost dusty amber hue over both the kitchen table and the room of the second floor apartment.
Damon Corso, a decorated war hero who loved his country beyond belief, arched his eyebrows and tossed a dubious glance at one of his dear personal friends, Ellis Cheung.
Ellis returned Damon’s inquisitive gaze. “What?” He shrugged defensively, keeping his hand steadily clasped over his last remaining knight on the chessboard.
“Are you sure you want to make that move?” Damon asked Ellis, eight years his junior. Ellis was thirty, had a ripe passion for his work, and was a real go-getter, so to speak, but he was terrible at chess.
Ellis frowned until a smile began to crack at the edges of Damon’s lips.
“I’m just messing with you, pal,” Damon declared.
Damon noticed Ellis’s shoulders slightly relax at his admission.
“But you will be in check if you make that move.”
Ellis groaned and slowly lifted his hand off the knight in question, leaving it untouched in its designated place.
“You’ll never beat me,” Damon teased lightly.
Ellis rolled his eyes. “And you’ll never let me forget it either, chess nerd.”
Damon chuckled. He sat across from Ellis at the kitchen table, both men perched over the chessboard as if their lives depended on the outcome of the game. Damon reached over and cupped his hand over Ellis’s shoulder and gave it a brotherly squeeze.
“Don’t wear your emotions on your sleeve. Keep your poker face, no matter the cost.”
“I know, I know.” Ellis sighed and propped his elbows up on the table. He closed his eyes for a moment or two and then glanced at the green numbers illuminated on the microwave stationed on the counter in the kitchen. “I just keep thinking—”
“Don’t think about it,” Damon cut in sharply. “It’s not time yet.” He wasn’t a mind reader, but he knew exactly what Ellis was going to say this time.
Ellis scrolled his brown, almond-shaped eyes back to Damon and rooted them there. “It will be time before we know it. We may as well talk about it. It could be healthy for us.”
Damon leaned back in the chair and the legs underneath squeaked in protest. He had gotten the table and chairs at a flea market about six months ago, and even at purchase, the set had seen better days.
Damon folded his arms across his chest and stared at the chessboard. He suddenly didn’t feel like playing anymore.
“I don’t mean to be a buzzkill—” Ellis began.
“No, it’s okay.” Damon raised his hand to stop Ellis before he rambled on. “I get it. We need to be prepared.”
“I don’t like him any more than you do . . .” Ellis trailed off, sounding glum.
Ellis was a Uniformed Division Officer, which was a fancy title for being a guard for the presidential motorcade. He took his job seriously. He was a UC Berkeley graduate, Magna Cum Laude, and was the grandson of Chinese immigrants.
It had been drilled into his brain for his entire life that if he wanted to get ahead in life, he had to work his ass off to climb to the top. Despite his strict upbringing, he was easygoing with a jovial manner most of the time.
His passion in life was bikes—motorcycles, to be specific. Whenever he had free time to devote to his favorite hobby, you could be damn certain to find him in his garage working on one of his prized possessions, a 1966 Harley Davidson FLH Electra Glide.
Ellis loved that bike more than anything in the world, probably even more than his own family, not to say that he didn’t love them too. He was in the process of restoring several motorcycles, but that one was the cream of the crop in Ellis’s eyes.
Damon stood up and drifted over to the fridge. Warm yellow light splashed through the dark galley kitchen. He plucked a bottleneck beer from the inside door and held it up for Ellis to see.
“Want one?”
“No, I’m good.” Ellis shook his head and turned his back to Damon, staring at the wall.
Damon was partially amused. He grabbed two beers, anyway, popped the tops, and relished in the little hissing sound the open top made once he twisted it open. It was crisp and cool, and a little smoky vapor plumed from the open bottle as it hit the warmer air.
“You need it anyway.” Damon pushed the beer across the table and halted it directly in front of Ellis.
Ellis cut him a wry look. “If you say so.”
“It doesn’t look like I have to twist your arm,” Damon said, grinning humorously.
Damon chugged down the refreshing liquid. The carbonation tickled his throat and the warmth of the alcohol soothed him as it slammed into his stomach and spread through his veins. Damon wasn’t a big drinker, nor was Ellis, but now was the time for them to relax and complain about the job they had arranged for tomorrow.
“You know I don’t like the president any more than you do, but come on, we have a responsibility here—” Ellis began.
“Don’t fluff the task with that bullshit.” Damon cackled, taking another sip and eyeing Ellis from across the table with a wave of his hand.
Ellis inhaled deeply as if carefully planning his words. “Yes, it’s annoying to have to serve and protect a president who is so uncharismatic, a—”
“Moron?” Damon finished his sentence for him.
“To put it so diplomatically, yes,” Ellis quipped dryly.
Damon had been in the game too long to beat around the bush. He had a brazen temperament as it was, and he was known for telling the truth, even if it hurt. He usually ended up ruffling a few feathers in the process.
Yes, it was true that Damon was as loyal to his country as they came and a true patriot at heart, but he had no love for the current president, and certainly no respect for the idiot.
Damon was a Crack FBI Investigator and a former Navy SEAL who returned from his tour overseas with a Purple Heart and a limp after saving his superior from an IED. Now, he was an Assistant Special Agent in charge at the FBI, and down the line, he had acquired, and more importantly, sustained, a variety of powerful connections in Washington, DC.
Ellis knew this too and respected Damon’s reputation. “You know you could leverage your ties with the FBI, CIA, and Secret Service to advance quicker.”
“That would get me closer to the president,” Damon reminded him sullenly.
“So, are you saying that ultimately, there is no end to your constant griping?” Ellis cast Damon a playfully taunting grin.
Damon picked up an opposing pawn and chucked it at Ellis, who caught it in his fist.
“Hey, now, that is my pawn,” Ellis said with a nervous chuckle.
“Are we still playing?” Damon asked sardonically. “Or are we giving up on that game to start a new one?”
“What game?”
“Well, our job,” Damon elaborated.
He noticed Ellis staring at him for several seconds, but he didn’t care. He tightened his jaw and took another enormous gulp from his beer bottle.
“You don’t have to be so blatantly bitter,” Ellis said.
“I’m not,” Damon grumbled, giving his friend a sour glance. “Just to you, behind closed doors.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Ellis laughed.
Damon adjusted his weight in the chair and then winced as a searing pain rippled through his knee. It felt like someone was repeatedly jabbing at it with a hot fire poker.
Ellis sat up straight and leaned across the table, giving Damon a concerned look.
“Your knee?”
“I’m fine,” Damon assured him.
Ellis’s expression was doubtful at best. “You aren’t wearing the brace.”
“I don’t wear it all the time,” Damon snapped then immediately regretted barking at Ellis. He respected the guy, and their friendship meant a lot to him. “It’s just bothering me today more than usual. It’s probably going to rain.”
Ellis grinned. “You sound like a seventy-year-old woman talking about her arthritis.”
Damon smiled in response, knowing that Ellis was only joking with him. If it had been anyone else who’d said it, he would have become instantly offended.
Only a handful of his closest associates and friends knew that his knee still caused him agonizing pain if struck or twisted the wrong way.
He lived modestly, saved his money as frugally as possible, and focused on exercise and martial arts studies when he could. He lived alone, unless you counted his two tabby cats, one called Tar and one called Rusty, the names given for their contrasting colors.
“I just need to move around. It gets stiff when I’ve been sitting too long.” He stood up and wobbled around the living room, which was open to the kitchen in his apartment. He flicked a brief glance at his reflection in the mirror.
He was thirty-eight years old and neck-deep in a ruthless career, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved the grizzly work.
He brushed his fingers through his short dark brown hair. He had a steely gaze with keen, pale blue eyes and sharp features across his jawline and cheekbones. He was tall, over six feet, to be exact, and muscular. He had a sculpted build that came from avid exercise. He fit the description of a military background to an exemplary tee.
He noticed Ellis watching him. Ellis was slightly shorter but also muscular in build, and he had ear-length straight black hair.
“Are you sure you’re all right, man?”
Damon looked at him and managed a meager smile. “I promise.”
“Look, we can go back to the game if you want,” Ellis mentioned almost apologetically as if he didn’t want to overstep any invisible boundaries. “We don’t have to talk about the motorcade escort for tomorrow . . .”
“It’s fine.” Damon sauntered back over to the table and plopped back down in his seat. He stared at the chessboard and then lifted his gaze to meet with Ellis. “You know what fucking bugs me the most about that useless weasel in office?”
“What?” Ellis gawked at him expectantly.
“The fact that the man is so damn repulsive. He could trick anyone into believing in his fake charm. If only they weren’t blind to the corruption under the surface.”
Ellis was quiet for a few moments. He traced his index fingers over the script of the logo on the bottle. Then, he looked up at Damon and searched his eyes.
“Has . . . Selina called again?” Ellis cringed as he asked the question, almost as if he regretted asking it before the sentence had completely left his lips.
Damon groaned and gazed up at the ceiling, blinked, and grimaced. “Please, of all things, I definitely don’t want to talk about her right now.”
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