He should say “no” and end the conversation, since Hunter had no desire to give Payne hope he was going to reciprocate. But one thing had been bugging him, and since Payne had offered, he decided to take him up on it.
“Yeah.” Hunter said sourly. “How old are you? I thought you were maybe eighteen, but you must be older, unless you started ninja lessons at two.”
“Eighteen? I’m flattered!” Payne batted his lashes playfully and pressed his fingertips against his chest in a coquettish gesture. “But no, I’m thirty-two.”
The revelation was a surprise, despite the fact Payne had admitted to being at the shitstorm in Iraq in 2011, when a base bombing had blown apart six soldiers even as the US was in the process of withdrawing. For all Hunter knew, Payne could have been a snot nose on his first deployment, but apparently that wasn’t the case. “Enlisted or officer?”
“Enlisted.” Payne stacked his hands behind his head and leaned back as he watched Hunter. “The Gibson men have a tradition of military service. My grandfather retired a colonel. My dad retired early and then taught at the Citadel, and I was a whiskey. E-6 by the time I mustered out.”
Hunter raised a brow. “Combat medic?” He was surprised. 68Ws, or “Whiskeys”, as the medics were known, were dedicated professionals, and if Payne had been one when Victory was bombed, then he would have been one of the people trying to put the bodies back together. Hunter couldn’t help but respect medics, since they went into the worst situations in order to save others. They also had an old and rather risqué motto. “The louder I scream, the faster you come, huh?”
A wicked gleam appeared in Payne’s eyes. “That’s my motto for more reasons than one.”
“Oh?” Hunter couldn’t stop himself from asking, especially given Payne’s expression.
“I like making my men scream,” Payne said, an enigmatic smile curving his lips.
Apparently Payne was also a tease, and Hunter regretted giving in to his curiosity. He scowled. “So you were a healer, not a killer. Not a merc.”
“Does it matter?” Payne asked, watching him intently. “Do you see me as somehow less than you because I’m not a ‘real’ merc?”
“Did I say that?” The surge of anger he felt surprised him, and he glared at Payne. “You asked, didn’t you? All I said was a real merc is always a merc, and it’s true. I’m a hired gun, a killer, someone who knows how to destroy with ruthless efficiency. That’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at. And if you don’t like it, shut the fuck up.”
“I’m not judging you, Hunter,” Payne said in a gentle voice. “But it sounds like you may be judging yourself too harshly.”
“So what? It’s none of your business,” Hunter snapped. A small internal voice tried to tell him maybe Payne had a point, but he didn’t listen to it. “Fine, you answered my question. I don’t need to know any more about you.”
“Too bad, because I’m quite fascinating.” Payne gave him the wide-eyed innocent look again. “But if you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to talk. There’s always paperwork to fill out.”
With that, he turned his full attention to the monitors and let silence fall in the close quarters of the van.
Perversely, Hunter was annoyed at letting Payne have the last word, but mostly he was relieved. Payne was too damned smart, too sharp, too prodding with his questions and statements, skating too close to things Hunter didn’t want to consider. He could see why Payne had gotten his nickname, and it probably explained why he’d had to become so fast and sneaky. No doubt if he prodded other mercs, especially one with a notoriously short temper like D-Day, he’d have to be fast or he would’ve been dead by now.
Staring morosely at the monitor in front of him, he wondered if he’d be better off quitting L&G and going with some two-bit outfit who wouldn’t care about either his past or his future. But Stack had once told him he believed the real measure of a man was his ability to keep going when it would be easier to quit. Hunter hadn’t realized until Stack was gone just how hard he had always tried to live up to the standards Stack had set for himself, and now he couldn’t seem to stop.
So he’d put up with Herc, and with Payne, and with the tediousness of staring at screens where nothing happened. He might die of boredom or frustration, but when he got to the afterlife, he’d be able to face Stack with pride.
It seemed the least Hunter could do when his best friend had sacrificed his life so Hunter could live.
