The Price of Love

Get Me a Better Weapon

Writers Note: We back baby! I hope you all are doing well. I am SOOOOO excited for this story and to get Captain Price's POV, he's just an amazing character. I will forewarn you though, THIS IS AN AGE GAP ROMANCE. If that isn't your thing I completely understand. I do not plan to make it gross like some age gap romances are, John will NOT be manipulating or coercing our FMC in any way and she is well over the age of consent. 

That being said, let the games begin.

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Captain Johnathan Price, known by several of his comrades and fellow leadership as "Bucket" for his iconic bucket hat he insisted on wearing on missions, was certain of two things. The first was that he was on his last cigar for the night, which in itself was a crisis of its own. The second thing he was certain of though, was that the man across the street and two floors below him was completely unaware of him.

Being an expert in special forces work took an ungodly amount of time, practice, hard work, dedication, and sometimes luck. One thing that Captain Price also had that separated him from the rest of his brothers in arms was incredible and uncanny self-discipline. Many called it plain confidence; he could make decisions that many others couldn't fathom making and still win the day.

Had it made him slightly cocky? Perhaps. But after the things he had seen and done in his lifetime, he might deserve a bit of that recognition.

For nearly thirteen years he had been a part of the Special Air Services of the United Kingdom's Royal Navy, ten of those had been as an officer, seven of them as a commanding officer. He was coming up on his second anniversary of being a Captain, an accomplishment that he was proud to have been granted, considering now he was able to command men on covert missions instead of being told what to do.

He didn't resent his previous officers and commanders advice and leadership though, Captain McMillian was one of the greatest men that Price had ever had the pleasure of being under the command of and he tried to replicate his work ethic and accuracy everyday. But there was something about having young, excited, blood thirsty soldiers under his direct command that gave John a sense of purpose. Taking down bad guys was wonderful, but winning wars with a team was the bread and butter of his career.

Silently, he placed the lit cigar on the concrete lip of the roofing he had placed his Tac-50 scoped sniper rifle on, a bi-pod helping to stabilize the gun as he zeroed in on the head of the sniper guard and breathed deeply, then grunted when a droplet of sweat dripped off his nose and onto the edge of the sniper scope. John fucking hated jungle system operations, couldn't stand the humidity, the smell of ocean and sand were about as appealing as fermented fish. Lifting his eyes from the scope to watch a single vehicle round the corner of the enemy complex, he thought about the misting water vapor in the air that gave him a slight tactical advantage. Covering him way up here, but it also made everything he did a bit more slippery.

The building under him was little more than rubble, a few standing pegs that held up a staircase and some rotting floorboard. Another reason he hated these jungle missions, the salty water destroyed everything in its path. "John?"

Kate Laswell, there was no mistaking the monotone feminine voice flowing over the communication systems in his ear, the coil dripping with perspiration. Huffing, he stayed focused on the car as it tumbled over the ditches and potholes in the ground. Already knowing about what one of the most accomplished station chiefs in the American Central Intelligence agency would be calling him about. The incident with a few hundred containers of Sarin gas that had been stolen during a Marine Special Warfare unit operation.

They wouldn't have lost those containers if he had been there, but he couldn't be everywhere at once and there were Nigerian terrorists planning to round up young girls for sex trafficking in that vehicle below. The sound of mud sloshing around had him turning his eyes to it as it rounded the corner of the compound's driveway.