Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  While it does hurt, anger continues to apply its numbing balm over the wound. I know it won’t heal this way, but it’s better than the raw pain I feel when the anger fades away.

  “I’m okay. All packed up and ready to head out.”

  I’m leaving Tennessee today.

  I’m officially divorced, although Rob made the process harder than was needed. The idiot wanted me to pay him alimony. Yes, alimony to, “Keep him in the lifestyle in which he was accustomed.” The judge had laughed him out of the courtroom on that one. When I’d provided receipts proving I’d purchased everything, including his big red truck, it was all given back to me. He cried like a baby when he handed over the keys.

  I sold my house and all its furnishings and applied to be a traveling nurse and physical therapist. My first job starts in Arkansas the day after tomorrow. I’ll be in Texas two weeks after that. I’ve never been west of the Mississippi. I’ll get to see all of America this way.

  “Aren’t you the least bit nervous?” she asks and shivers again as a cold breeze sweeps through the barn.

  I look into her hazel eyes, the same color as mine. “Little bit. More excited than anything. Thanks for my care package. The can of mace was a nice touch.”

  She wrinkles her nose, a gesture I’d seen a million times. “Well, you can’t be too careful, you know. Be sure to hang the little can on your car keys. And the little flashlight. Park in lighted areas. Don’t look at your phone when you’re walking to your car. Be aware of your surroundings and lock your doors as soon as you’re inside.”

  I grin at her. “Hey now, I thought I was the older sister.”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I smile at the screen. “It’s Nana.”

  Faith leans in close to get a look at the screen: Dinnr onthe tabl comeon☺

  It’s so cute. My seventy-two-year-old grandmother is learning to use the smart phone she got for Christmas and is getting close to mastering texting. She opened a Facebook account and already has over a hundred friends, and is turning into a Pinterest freak. She was even asking about Instagram just last week and gets a kick out of watching videos on Vine.

  She can’t wait until summer because she plans to post pictures of her gardens and then step-by-step photos of her canning process. She’s even thinking of making a canning cookbook and selling it on Amazon. Knowing Nana, it will be a bestseller overnight.

  After lunch, it’s time for me to go. I want to be out of Tennessee by tonight and I’ll have to drive across the entire state to reach that goal.

  I hug and kiss my brother and his wife, my sister, my mom and dad and all four of my grandparents, holding tight to my niece and nephew. I’ve already said goodbye to all my friends at work and made it through the little cake and ice cream party they had thrown for me. Now, two more stops before I hit the road.

  I don’t look at my old house when I pull into Natalie’s driveway. Fury nestles in my heart each time I even think about it and that terrible day. I moved back in the apartment above my parent’s garage the day I got home from the hospital and only stepped foot in the house when I absolutely had to since then.

  “Auntie Grace. Auntie Grace.”

  I smile at the familiar greeting and bend to hug both boys close to my chest. “You two are going to freeze your toes off. Let’s get inside before they turn into icicles.”

  They race off, Bernice on their heels and I step into the warmth of Natalie’s home. I step over Tonka trucks, Legos and the new Thomas the Tank track I got the boys for Christmas.

  “I’m back here,” Nat calls out and I pick my way back to the family room. By the time I get back there, she is, very gingerly, standing up.

  “Sit your sore behind down,” I tell her, but give her a hug once she’s on her feet. She just had my god-niece two days ago. I peek into the bassinet beside the chair she’d been sitting in. A pink blanket, a pink face and bright yellow hair is all I can see.

  “You all packed up?”

  I reach into the bassinet and pick little Emma Grace up, snuggling her under my chin and ignoring the knife slicing into my heart. She’s heavy, weighing in at a healthy eight pounds two ounces at birth and she has the chubby little cheeks to prove it.

  “Yep. Camry’s filled to the brim. I might end up getting something bigger if I decide I like traveling. Especially if I keep going west like I hope.”

  Nat smiles at me, a little watery but forcing the brightness to replace the sad. “I’m so excited for you, getting to go all over the country, but I swear, I’m going to miss the dickens out of you.”

  I pull Emma Grace closer to my face, smelling her hair and baby soft skin. “I’m going to miss you too. All of you. But I’ll be back in a couple months to visit. I promise.”

  “Well, you better or I’ll be forced to bring this crew with me to hunt you down.”

  Wanting to lighten the mood, I ask her, “Have you heard the latest aboug Rob?”

  Her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare at the sound of his name. “Yes I have. Seems like the minute Marilyn Slut King threw him out, he shacked up with Charity Slut Evans. Do you know I was driving by her double-wide and just ‘bout had a heart attack when I saw her out on the riding lawn mower in her string bikini. That’s probably what put me into labor.” She throws up her hands. “A string bikini, for heaven’s sake. In the middle of winter, no less. Granted, it was seventy degrees that day, but really. It’s trashy stuff like that that gives us southern folk a bad rap.”

  I’m grinning at her by the time she’s rattled through her tirade, her face now a rosy pink. “Well, you ask me, they deserve each other. Hear she likes fishing too.”

  Nat snorts. “They have matching bass boats in the front yard.” She bats her eyelashes. “Isn’t that sweet?”

  It’s my turn to snort, and I do it with so much gusto that little Emma Grace stirs in my arms. I kiss her forehead and pat her little butt, shushing her back to sleep.

  “Say cheese,” Nat says and I look up, smiling at the camera she’s pointing at me. I try to make my smile reach my eyes, crinkling them in the corners when I really want to scream ‘this is so not fair’ to the heavens.

  It’s not fair.

  The familiar anger washes over me and I have to breathe it away. Love in—Hate out. It’s a mantra that hasn’t come close to working yet. But the extra oxygen helps, so I keep it up until my jaw unclenches at least.

  I hate Rob.

  I’d kill him if I could get away with it. I’ve even been watching those forensic file shows to get hints and clues. I know it sounds terrible and I know I’ll probably never do it, but I take great satisfaction in daydreaming about spitting on his grave.

  “Are you thinkin’ about spitting on his grave again?” Natalie asks me and I laugh out loud at getting caught. “You really need to work on your poker face if you have a hell’s chance of gettin’ away with murder.”

  “I know, but sometimes I think it’d be worth the electric chair to cut off his balls and have him gargle them until he chokes.”

  She grins. “Well, if you ever do it, just call. You know I’ll bring the shovel.”

  An hour passes before I find the strength to put the baby down and leave. I hug and kiss the boys, who start begging me not to go.

  “I wuv you,” Hayden says, big tears rolling down his face. “Who wiwl put bandaids on my wittle knee now?”

  “I bought your mama a great big first aid kit, remember. Every time you get hurt, pull out one of those stickers, okay. I kissed them all, so when you wear one, you’ll be getting an Auntie Grace kiss.”

  He brightens, but Jayden pipes in with a, “But what if we run out?”

  I ruffle his hair. “Then I’ll just send you more. And remember that we can FaceTime with each other. So if you need anything, just have your mama set us up a call.”

  They both brighten and run off to watch Thomas when Nat sticks a movie in the DVD player.

  “You’ve got enough money?” she asks.


  “Yes, I’ll be fine,” I promise her. “Got a little nest egg squirreled away from selling everything.”

  “I can’t believe I’m not going to see you every day.” She sniffs and her eyes grow watery.

  “I know.” I sniff and grow watery too. “Take care of those babies and call/text/skype anytime, you hear me?”

  “I will.”

  Pulling from her driveway, I wave and honk until her house is out of sight. One more stop. Two left turns and a right and I’m there—Heaven’s Gain Cemetery.

  Like a Band-Aid, I tell myself and step from my car and walk to the little headstone on top of the hill.

  “Hey, baby boy,” I say to the stone. “Mama’s here with new flowers. I’m gonna be gone for a little while, but Aunt Faith is going to put fresh flowers up every month until I’m back.”

  After he died, I’d been too sick to have a funeral and I don’t know if I could have gone through with one if I’d been well. So I’d opted for a small graveside service instead.

  I sit down on the cold ground and just stare for a few minutes at the flowers I put in the vase. Then I heave myself up and bend to kiss the stone. “Don’t be giving God too hard a time up there while I’m gone. Love you, sweet boy.” I wipe my tears from the stone with my sleeve.

  Turning around, I head back to the car and turn the heat up to high. Then I plug in my phone to my speaker system and tap Audible. I’m going to listen to Gone Girl on this drive. Feels appropriate.

  I blow a kiss at the grave and then firmly place my foot on the gas.

  Nearly seven hours later, as I cross the Tennessee line into Arkansas, I don’t even look back.

  Chapter 10 – Duffy

  Two months later…

  Fifteen minutes after my pager goes off, I walk into the conference room at Ft. Bragg. Something’s up. Something serious. I can tell by the energy in the place.

  I grab a cup of coffee and a bottle of water and take my usual seat. I don’t look across to where Stone or Rathberg used to sit. We lost them both last month in a ‘training accident.’

  Exactly an hour after the pagers went off, the door to the room is pushed closed. Captain Finks steps to the front and pulls down a screen. It’s a map of Syria and he’s zooming into the city of Deir ez-Zor.

  Fucking hell.

  Seventh largest city in Syria and it’s been eaten alive by ISIS. It’s also a place we aren’t supposed to be.

  “Okay, men,” Captain Finks begins. “Two months ago, two UN doctors were kidnapped. Zero word on their location until today. According to intel, they have been moved to Deir ez-Zor.” He zooms in further and taps an eagle view of a building. “To this ISIS safe house.”

  “Any intel on how long they’ll be there?” Seaver asks, then lifts a ‘you can’t blame me for asking’ shoulder.

  “Negative. But here is where things get interesting. We’ve also received reports that three top level ISIS leaders are making their way to the city.”

  I sit up straighter. Hostage rescue and target capture and interrogation. I’m liking this already. Then I connect the dots and my jaw tightens. “Public execution?”

  Finks nods. “We believe so.”

  “Any word on the three American aid workers?” Ridley asks.

  A number of people have gone missing in Syria over the past few months and ISIS has been unusually quiet about it, leading us to think they are planning something big. Very big.

  “Nothing official, but there have been whispers of them being on the move as well as the two journalists who went missing three weeks ago.”

  Shit.

  “So we’re looking at three female aid workers, two female journalists and the two male physicians heading to the same city?”

  “That’s correct, Duff. Add the three ISIS leaders and we’ve got…”

  “Shock value,” I finish for him.

  “Affirmative. Shock. Terror. Fear. Everything these assholes feed on. And their leaders will be well protected.” He taps over to another screen showing satellite views of the area. “Three days ago.” The area shows normal population. “Two days ago.” The population had increased exponentially in surrounding pockets. “Yesterday.” A tremendous increase. “Today.” Breaths blow out as we visually witness the growing population of the city. “We are estimating a minimum of three thousand.”

  “At what scale will we infiltrate?” I ask, hoping I get the answer I’m expecting.

  “The entire scale,” Finks says, looking at me and then around the room. “At this moment, JSOC is coordinating a joint strike between us, Seals, 24th STS and Rangers. We will be going in under the cover of Embassy support in Damascus. From Damascus, you will HAHO in and—”

  “Excuse me, Captain,” Blake Howard interrupts. “Why HAHO and not HALO?”

  It’s a good rookie question, I think, although I’m sure Howard would have figured it out on his own. HALO—high altitude–low opening—where we free fall very close to our landing zone before pulling chute and hitting ground. Under these circumstances, we’d be landing into the middle of a ticking time bomb and be placing our air fleet at risk as well.

  Instead, we will HAHO—high altitude–high opening—and pull our chutes as soon as we’re clear of the plane. We’ll then follow GPS coordinates to the LZ, which will be well outside the city. We’ll be floating in the air for about thirty miles.

  I catch the captain’s eye. “Sir, what are the rules of engagement for this mission? Everybody get to shoot back this time?”

  I snap my mouth shut. I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m tired of it. I’m tired of fighting the US Congress more than I’m fighting the enemy. There is stirring and curses all around me and the captain is not pleased.

  Finks looks at me blankly, but I don’t back down. I’m not afraid of dying. I have very little to live for except the men sitting beside me. I worry about them dying unnecessarily. Dying because some suits in Washington want to ‘win hearts and minds’, otherwise known as the, highly lethal, COIN strategy.

  “Men, I know you’ve heard rumbling about the new rules of engagement and counterinsurgency strategy. I assure you, it does not apply to us because we do not exist. Get in there and do whatever it takes to get back out. Understood?”

  I’m not in the mind to understand right now. “What about the Rangers? What about the Seals? What are their rules of engagement for this mission? Will their hands be tied behind their backs on this one too?”

  The men grumble, nod, cross their arms over their chest. We’re all fed up with watching good soldiers go home in body bags because of political correctness.

  When we first started fighting in Afghanistan in 2001, we lost 630 men between then and 2008. Then, Washington started dicking with the rules and authorized COIN—counterinsurgency. Within the next five years, nearly 2,300 men were draped in a flag. The number has been growing ever since.

  “That’s enough, Duff.”

  Damned right, that’s enough.

  I nod. This isn’t the place to fight that battle, we all have enough on our hands. We finish the briefing and push up and out of our chairs. We leave in an hour for the nearly thirteen-hour flight. The mission will begin five hours after that.

  “Two minutes to drop. Everyone ready?” The jump master jolts me from my meditation.

  I see Lt. White stand up and guide Darren’s squad to the ramp. “We’ll be right behind, don’t do anything stupid.” I slap him on his back.

  The rear bay door is now fully open and even at 31,000 feet, I imagine I smell the outside air mixed with exhaust. Not possible, of course, unless the O2 mask I’m wearing has failed. I check the gauges. I’m good.

  “One minute.”

  Creeping forward to the mouth of this flying beast, I gaze out at the night sky dotted with stars. We’re lucky that the moon is only a sliver.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  “Go, go, go.”

  Darren leaps, leading his squ
ad out the back. My squad and I are right behind him. The rush of falling ends almost immediately as I’m yanked backwards as the chute opens. I look up and see my squad stacking above me.

  I inhale and exhale long and deep while we glide to our coordinates. It’s fucking cold up here. Even with my polypropylene undergarments and the sharp spike of adrenaline, I feel the cold on my nuts and wish I’d followed through on inventing a nut sock.

  “All stacked,” Specialist Karl Wyman says in my earpiece.

  “Copy that.” I look at my GPS and double check our path. Twenty-seven miles to the zone. I slip my infrareds down and scan the area below us. I don’t have a good feeling about this. At this distance, I can’t see shit.

  “Kerry, Duff here,” I say to Darren who’s a good half mile in front of me. “Everything looks good from my vantage point. Let’s do this right and tight. Clear the zone in thirty.”

  “Copy that, Duff. Rangers are down and have the perimeter set. We’ll flank left.”

  “Copy that. We’ll flank right.”

  I check my altimeter. Twenty thousand feet and floating. “See you on the ground. Over and out.”

  The city of Deir ez-Zor is like Picasso painting. Recognizable, but also odd and out of place. Some parts are fully intact and some parts nearly destroyed. Every inch of it is covered with an unimaginable stench. The aroma of dead meat is everywhere.

  Past the Rangers who are holding our perimeter, we infiltrate the city and I lead my squad down the alley toward the safe house. Nobody is on the streets, but I still feel like we’re being watched.

  We leaked intel of a rescue mission, but dated it to occur the following evening. We hope the ruse would work. The streets are quiet. Too quiet. We can only hope the enemy is sleeping tonight, preparing for our raid tomorrow.

  “Wyman, be ready. One hundred yards,” I whisper.

  “Copy that.” I watch Wyman cross the street, looking for a place to climb. He’s our sniper, and I’m glad to have him covering my ass.