Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. Janet Evanovich does. I am borrowing for our reading pleasure and not making any money.

This story has no beta. Mistakes are mine.

Warning: Rated M. If you don't like frequent use of bad language don't read.

Chapter 2, Bottoms Up.

Seven of us enter the bar dressed in our civvies but we carry a strong "don't fuck with us" vibe. To the non locals or just clueless, we appear as a group looking for trouble, truth is and the locals know us as hardened soldiers back from a tour of hell and really need to unwind and decompress. With the assistance of our choice alcohol and a beautiful woman we will release any excess adrenaline and nourish our deprived sexual desires and needs. Locals know we mean no trouble, in fact bar staff usually clear a corner table situated in the back and near an exit.

I can sense the subtle changes in our group as we relax a little. Les has more of a swagger in his gait, Tank's forehead smooths of furrows that can be accentuated against his bald head. Cal's flaming skull tattoo oddly enough is less threatening while Bobby's eyes change fractionally from a dark intense focus to a slightly brighter version. Woody's southern drawl is accentuated. Ram and I share the same slight release of our shoulders. Finally. The afternoon had really been dragged out by the suits during our debrief. Then, of course, there was Lester...

Debrief concluded 1700 this afternoon. It began not even 30 minutes after we landed at base after a long uncomfortable flight. Fortunately we are accustomed to travelling and resting in less than desirable environments.

While we were outside HQ waiting for Lester to finish his debrief Tank was expressing his relief at not having to see leaf cutter ants for the foreseeable future. He was grumbling about Lester delaying his shower and down time.

It was Cal to respond to Tank's mumbles. "Tank, man chill, you know the drill. Santos just can't fucking help himself. He gets a kick out of screwing with the suits on debrief".

In a symmetrical pose to my own, Ram was leaning back against the truck beside me with arms crossed. He is generally cool, calm and collected like myself and adds lazily "it is his first step of the decompression to civvie life". We all know this.

I nodded in agreement. My cousin has his own unorthodox decompression methodologies that are uniquely him. Those methods fit the prankster, playboy that is my cousin. It works for him but drives Tank crazy every debrief.

Lester had arrived at that moment echoing my own thoughts. Rubbing his hands together Les proudly states "alright I screwed with the suits" then chuckles and continued "fuck, I didn't think there was so many shades of red and facial expressions those tight ass suits could make on their squinty faces". I shake my head and grin.

"Now" Les pats Tank on the shoulder, "Lets find us some hard alcohol and fine, sexy women".

We are still hyper alert and each of us examine our surroundings in detail right down to the small changes in the positions of tables. They have been adjusted to fill a hole left by a missing table that was there when we were here last.

There is a new face behind the bar.

What is interesting is that this new employee is a tiny woman. Tall in height though. Generally any women working at this bar are rough, tough and take no shit. They can take care of themselves. This woman has a fine, smaller frame. She is confident but there is a softness about her. I wonder if she has any idea of what she has gotten into working here. Sure she can make and pour drinks that is obvious but this bar isn't known for having blue collars in patronage.

Yep, I think this woman is in over her head and will be running home crying for mummy and daddy when her wanna-be beer slinger phase turns down hill.

I know when the men spot her when Ram lets out a low whistle and Bobby answers that whistle with "damn".

I shrug my shoulders while taking a seat at our table. Lester pipes up "what'd I miss, man?"

"Cuz, how did you miss the woman slinging at the bar? Is your dick's radar on the blink or is it too much hand action while away?" I say with a grin.

We bust up laughing and Lester glares at me, "Fuck you cuz, my dick is working just fine, more than that, it's fucking top shape and peak working condition". He looks over at the bar before leaning back in his chair, smirk in place. "Oh yeah, my dick is feeling more than fucking excellent".

Cal interrupts "lets get something to drink before Les starts sniffing a female trail and we don't see him again for the night. I got the first round".

Well into our night the guys and I have had a few or more rounds and danced with many willing women. Never taking them back to our table. This is our team time. At the end of the night we will then seek out a beautiful sexy woman and take her home to satisfy our other more intimate needs.

I am accessing the pendejo near our table thinking our evening will possibly be shortened. Then the drunk ass moves to stand over our table attempting to intimidate us with derogatory comments. Glancing around to my men I give silent approval for their behaviour. We are calm and unfazed, on the exterior anyway, and until this fucker initiates something we will keep our hands to ourselves. I know it is taking a large amount of control for any of us to not leap up and knock this sorry excuse for a man on his ass out cold.

Dios, you would think people are past this shit. Fuck, the country is filled with a wide cultural ethnicity. No, this fucker has got to have a problem and no less targets a group of Special Op Army Rangers fresh on home soil from hell. I shake my head while picking up my glass to have a drink thinking this fool has no idea. The guys and I don't see ethnic heritage and we come from a mixed gene pool.

Les and I are Cuban American. Tank and Bobby are African American, Woody is the traditional Southern Gentlemen and opposite the colour wheel to Tank and Bobby. Cal has a little Asian flavour surprisingly because the man is huge at 6,5 feet and almost deserves Tank's name. He is Caucasian with a flaming skull tattooing his forehead. Ram has some Melanesia heritage due to his Hawaiian roots. With our differences we are all brothers; family. We are closer to each other than we are to our blood relatives.

There is an audience developing, drawn to our area but what caught my attention is the little bartender. She has moved from behind the bar to stand at the front of the people. Her eyes hold cold and steely on the mouthing pendejo like she is planning an attack strategy for laying him out herself but there is a hesitancy in her eyes. Hmmm...

Her eyes quickly flick to Bobby a fraction before mine do and the blur of movement from a hand grabbing a hold of Bobby's neck. Bobby shot up out of his chair with his left fist flying out and catching our trouble maker on the nose with a resounding crunch. Shit.

The guys and I are all standing when Bobby follows through with a jab to the side at kidney level and the fucker is down then an elbow strike to the head. Woody and Tank hold Bobby back and I speak to the bouncers. The are a lot of witnesses to the scene that unfolded and I know we did nothing to provoke anyone including this asshole, so I am not worried. The bar owner knows we are soldiers and is a retired marine himself. We come here after every mission.

I give the onlookers a hard stare. Shows over people. In my cursory glance my eyes hold on the little bartender. Her legs are long under burgundy leather pants and show the curves of her hips. I see her visibly relax, shrug and walk back behind the bar.

Back at the table Ram has poured out Tequila shots. Woody raises his glass "here's to another job done and the safe return of our asses on American soil" and Les picks up with "Nother round, fill 'er up. Hammer down, grab a cup. Bottoms up". We tip our glasses back letting the welcoming liquid slide down our throat. We slam the shot glasses down on the table and I respond "thank fuck for that".

AN: Hi all. I apologise for my delay in updating this story and my other, "It Take's a Village...". My muse has dived on the later story. I know what I want to write but the inspiration behind it is lacking and I have lost some confidence in writing it too. Also, my writing time is considerably less since I have changed career paths. After being a dance teacher (my passion is dance) for about 15 years to now working and studying as a veterinary nurse it is a quite a big step to say the least.

Thanks for your support. A special shout out to Margaret aka whymelucylu and Tartlover. Thanks Babes.