Part of becoming a private military contractor was learning how to profile people.
Me: Leighton Watts. Lonely as hell. A coward. An orphan. Twenty-four years old. Desperate to belong somewhere. Felt dead most of the time. Too much of a chicken to reach out to the family I never knew. Never asked for anything, because I was afraid to get rejected. In general, just a sorry sack of sadness.
Him: Bo Beckett. Senior operator at the Hillcroft Group. Mentor of sixteen Hillcroft recruits, me included. Rough around the edges but patient and kind. Had sworn off relationships. Straight? Most likely. Early forties. Smoking hot. Angry. On a mission to hunt down his brother’s killer. Definitely pushy. He wanted me to get in touch with my dad’s family, and even more so when we discovered I had uncles who’d worked at Hillcroft. Sidenote: this freaked me out.
Another part of becoming a private military contractor was to focus on the training and not get caught up in an active operation—but in my defense, it wasn’t my fault someone tried to freaking kill me.
