“The fuck?” Carlos gave a surprised snort.
“Did he say anything else?” Aberlour asked, striving for an even tone, despite his growing rage. They’d been threatened by plenty of other military men before. God knew they’d faced their fair share of sociopaths in bootcamp, but this kind of sleezy behavior? It took predation to a whole new level.
“No,” Oliver bit out, clearly still unhappy.
“Did he—” Aberlour swallowed against the bile in his throat. “Did the lieutenant initiate any other types of physical contact other than the ones Chichi just described?” Aberlour asked, tone cold—professional. If he lost control now, he’d be hunting down Lieutenant Clarence and feeding him to the fishes.
“Let it go, Abe, it’s not—” Oliver said, shaking his head.
“Answer the fucking question, Staff Sergeant!” he roared, anger seeping out of every pore.
Oliver squared his shoulders, his nostrils flaring in silent fury. He stared Aberlour down.
Briefly, Aberlour feared Oliver would actually refuse to obey a direct command.
“Sir, no, sir!” Darling responded, tone sharp with anger.
Aberlour swallowed hard against the hot rage that had been steadily building and nodded. It was already too much. If Abe had listened to his inner demons, he’d be out the door and waterboarding the asshole in the Pacific Ocean by now. The mere idea of that asshole’s slimy hands touching Oliver—pressing against him, taking what wasn’t his. Fuck. It was enough to make his blood boil, and Aberlour was an impulsive man at the best of times.
“Can’t believe you got hit on by a fucking Navy SEAL,” JD said, completely flabbergasted, but also looking amused. He clearly wasn’t viewing this situation through the same lens as Aberlour was.
“More like sexually harassed if you ask me,” Marcus remarked, thoroughly disgusted.
“He was just trying to get under my skin,” Oliver said dismissively.
“I don’t know man, sounds more like he was trying to get underyou,” JD retorted, then barked a laugh that surprised everyone.
Aberlour whipped around, fury in his eyes. “Cut it out!” he barked at JD, who stilled instantly.
Abe took a deep breath and forced himself to unclench his fists.
“Anything like that happens again—hell, if he so much aslooksat you the wrong way, you tell me, understood?” He glared at Oliver, making it obvious this was non-negotiable.
Oliver, of course, couldn’t help arguing anyway.
“Honestly, Dumber, it was just—”
“Youwilltell me!” Aberlour growled back.
Oliver shut up, looking mutinous, but he gave a sharp nod.
“Maybe we should report this,” Marcus suggested.
Aberlour shook his head. He didn’t need to ask Oli to know he’d never accept Aberlour’s sending his report up the chain of command. Besides, it was the word of a Navy SEAL officer against the word of Oliver. Aberlour knew his command, as well as that of the SEALs, would not take his report seriously.
“We ignore it. Pretend like nothing happened. We’ll be off this boat in two days, and then, hopefully, we’ll never have to see that asshole again. In the meantime, you keep your mouths shut. I don’t want anyone stepping out of line. We’re not getting reprimanded or kicked off this goddamned ship because of some fucking lowlife SEALs,” he declared, making direct eye contact with each of his men. All of them gave a curt nod, although several frowned in annoyance.
“If anything else happens involving any of those fuckwads, then report it to me immediately, and I’ll deal with it,” he promised them, fury clawing at his gut.
“Yeah? How you going to do that?” Marcus asked, sounding a little snarky.
“Just report it to me. I told you I’d handle it.”
Marcus was still staring at him, one eyebrow raised, seemingly reluctant to accept Aberlour’s promise.
Without a word, Aberlour snatched one of Marcus’ knives and flung it at the board. He was a good five feet behind the throwing line, but the knife struck the bullseye dead center anyway.
“I’ll deal with it,” he repeated, giving Oli one last look of warning before walking out.
