*Riding South spoilers below*
Trapped inside Tenney House and at the mercy of his father, Camilla and South are forced to face their greatest fears in order to bring down the Gentleman's Network--an organization that trades in secrets.
But in order...
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Hernandez squeezed his muscled frame in between Camilla and I, taking both our hands and leading us back out onto the dance floor. Even though my personal relationship with the fellow SEAL had always been that of rivals—whether in the gym, on Team Six, or at the Academy—I trusted him.
He was always just a little bit better than me in everything we did, and it drove me insane. No matter how hard I trained my body or mind, he always seemed to finish ahead.
And even though he could be a sloppy drunk at parties, I knew when shit hit the fan, Hernandez had my back.
The Newport Yacht Club's restaurant had been decorated just for our engagement party, harbor lights visible through the floor to ceiling picture windows. Yet, it wasn't the ocean that had my attention.
It was the room.
Everything felt tight and overly hot with the lights down low. Guests were on their feet, tall flutes of champagne raised while clanging their butter knives against the crystal. The shrill, high-pitched sound went right through me.
I let my gaze trail around the crowded room, each face a blur, and my heart was pounding in my chest.
The sound. The people. The darkness.
It sent me right back to that fateful night on the hot sand. Bursts of gunfire exploded around me. Then, I felt it. The sickening pain of an armor-piercing bullet as it ripped through my Kevlar vest and sent me to my knees.
Sweat blossomed on my forehead. The room spun, and I bit down hard on the lollipop, trying to bring myself back to the present.
Why couldn't I get over this stupid reaction? I was alive. The incident happened months ago. Yet, here I was. Feeling like I was going to puke on my favorite suit in front of a hundred people.
Who was the pussy ass bitch now?
My father appeared out of the blur of faces—hair slicked back and a flat smile on his face—marching towards us like an angry gunnery sergeant. He was the only one, besides Fitzpatrick, who insisted on wearing his summer white uniform to our party, unable to pass on the opportunity to flex.
I'd told him I didn't want this night about the Navy; I wanted it to be about Camilla. But when did my father ever listen to my opinions?
Holding a sweating glass of whiskey poured neat, he surveyed each of us in turn.
"Lieutenant Hernandez," my father snapped.
Rico's shit-eating grin only widened. "Admiral Tenney. It's good to see you, sir."
"You are excused. Get out of my sight."
The stubborn-ass kid from Miami didn't flinch. His training and confidence impeccable. "Actually, sir," Hernandez hedged, "I'm on orders from Mrs. Tenney to bring these two to their seats. And, not meaning any disrespect to you, sir, but I've always been told that the wife outranks the husband at home." He flashed Camilla a grin. "Am I right?"
