As I walk down the dark hall, escorted by two senior intelligence officers that have told me how excited they are to make my acquaintance three times already, I have a sinking feeling. I should be excited to be here, in this new unit, supporting such an important mission. Task Force 141 has some of the best special warfare guys there are, in the entire military.
But I liked my old unit. It was a slower pace, albeit still hard work, but we were able to laugh and joke in the moments between mission planning and reports. I made rank quickly, now a captain, and found the work exhilirating. I enjoyed what I did and it showed. It wasn't long before my superiors started noticing. I was only at my first base - I hadn't been in long enough to go anywhere else. So when my commander told me she believed a PCS was in order, I was excited to sit down and talk about it.
I didn't expect to come here, though. They're all a bunch of, well, dude-bros who know that they're damn good. It's a new city, and they have me living on base instead of off base, which kind of sucks. Luckily, I got one of the nicer homes. I want this introduction to fly by so I can go back and get everything put together. Who knows how long I'll be here.
"Captain Madden," one of the two says, "Welcome." He pushes open a metal door, and we walk in.
There's a large table in the middle, with small desk cubicles around. A bunch of people that are probably like me are milling around, some jogging to conference rooms in the back, some working at their desk.
"Here is your desk," the second one says. I need to remember their names.
I nod, glancing down at the, fortunately, nicely sized workspace. It looks like I have my own printer.
"Thank you," I say politely.
"We were wondering if you'd like to get settled, first, meet some of your peers," the first one - last name James, if I'm reading his uniform right - says, "We can pull you in a few minutes once we have gathered the task force for you."
"That would be great, thank you," I say. I sit down, logging into the computer, setting it up the way that I like. A few people come over to introduce themselves. They all seem to have already heard all of my personal information, as I note from them asking about my former base, without me having told them where I was stationed. They seem impressed, which is nice, because I've worked hard. But I want friends, not coworkers.
"Captain Madden," a voice says as I'm organizing pens into cupholders. General James is behind me. "Would you mind coming to meet the crew?" he cracks a smile. I find that he's done that a lot today.
I nod, smoothing back my ponytail as I follow behind him. He opens the door for me, and I enter a room filled with so much masculine energy I almost gag.
Sergeant "Soap" MacTavish, Captain John Price, Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, and Farah Ahmed Karim, if I did my homework correctly. And someone else - someone I'm assuming just recently started working with Task Force 141. König. I avoid his eyes. He's weird and unnerving.
"Who's the blondie?" Captain Price asks.
"Captain Flora Madden," I say, before the general next to me can introduce me. "You can just call me Flora, though." I extend a hand to shake. He takes it.
I guess that kind of proves me to the rest of the group, because they all extend their hands, introducing themselves. König, however, does not. I give him a small nod, only looking at his chest, as I step back to stand next to General James.
"Captain Madden has exemplified incredible operational planning skills at her previous base," he says. "We've stolen her for our mission."
"How old are you?" Ghost asks, rudely.
"Old enough to be here," I quip back. "Made rank and made it here, didn't I?"
His eyes widen behind the mask. I guess he didn't expect that.
Price laughs, smacking Ghost on the shoulder. "That's what you get for being a dick."
"I guess he's just saying you look young," Karim says, smiling. "You being on the smaller side and having such great skin and all."
I smile back. "Well, thanks," I say. "I'm 23."
I get some looks from the group, König, of course, remaining still. God, I don't think I like him. So big and yet so quiet. Probably for the best.
General James nods at the group. "Well, you guys are more than welcome to continue this conversation. Captain Madden is off the hook from you guys for the day since she just got here this morning." He smiles at me. "See you tomorrow."
"Nice meeting you," I say back to the group, turning towards the door.
"Do you need help moving in?" Price asks.
"Oh, no, I'm alright," I say, even though I definitely need help moving in. My Jeep is packed to the brim, and I have a few boxes to pick up from the post office that I mailed to myself, as well. Hopefully they don't happen to drive by as I struggle inside. "Thank you, though." I offer a small smile as I leave the room.
I don't like socializing, really. I certainly don't like a bunch of large guys making jokes at my expense.
I make it outside, walking to my car, as a large figure abruptly brushes past me, walking towards his truck.
Considering König's width, his "brush" actually knocked into me. He makes me drop my keys.
Under my breath, I mutter, "Dick," and bend down to pick them up.
Before I can, though, a large hand picks them up for me, and I stand, looking up at König.
"Maybe you could manage to not run into someone in such a large parking lot next time, yeah?" I say, looking up, up, and up at him. My 5'2" to his 6'10" is not very convenient.
His hand extends the keys. "Thanks," I say, plucking them from his palm, and getting into my Jeep. I blow out of there like a bat out of hell.
It doesn't feel like I'm off to a great start.
YOU ARE READING
Quiet Hate
RomanceKönig, insertion specialist, is good at his job. Special warfare isn't an easy task, but König makes it seem that way. He doesn't have many friends, doesn't socialize, and he never shows his face. Certainly not to some random new girl that shows up...
