Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

I hold up my hand, silently bidding the reporters to sit and wait. Then I begin from the beginning. I speak of the failed raid. Of the many deaths. Of the explosion and sequence of events that follow.

  On the screens beside me is a slideshow with the pictures of each man who lost his life. When Darren’s face fills the screen, I nearly lose it. It’s the only moment when I don’t think I can go on.

  Then his face flashes off and there’s Hulk. Then Mike. Then all the others.

  Good men.

  The best of men.

  I look at Grace and she holds up a thumb.

  I turn back to the crowd of reporters and take a deep breath. Then finish the rest of my story.

  Later that day, I learn of Doss’ arrest as well as the arrest of his assistant and a member of the CIA. There will be more. There will always be more.

  We won this battle, but we’ll never win the war. The war will always be here. There will always be greed and evil. There will always be someone who wants what someone else has. That’s human nature. The desire to be right. The desire to have control. The need to win.

  And in that, there are no winners.

  Chapter 14 – Grace

  We stay in that pressroom for over an hour while Link fields questions and I answer a few of my own, after taking off the wig and putting down my hair.

  Then we’re escorted by some scary looking guys and sit through a series of interviews where we answer the same questions over and over.

  Four hours later, we step back on the plane and I go straight to the bedroom to change out of the dress and wash my face. Ten minutes later, I feel normal again. And I’m starving. I’m thrilled to learn that someone was kind enough to get us food. I even feel bad for mocking the espresso machine when the flight attendant makes me the most wonderful latte ever.

  The plan is to make a stop in Salt Lake City to drop off Tate’s men and pick up some others. Tate insists that we need protection for the next few days, at the very least. He wants to make certain the bond is released and there are no other bad guys in Washington or Russia or anywhere else who might want Link dead, this time out of spite or revenge.

  Tomorrow, we’re heading to Malibu to spend a day or so with his parents. His dad begged him to come once he learned we were alive and Link didn’t have the heart to tell him no, especially since the jet had to go back there anyway.

  I’m nervous about the visit.

  Well, I’m nervous about his mother, his brother and two oldest sisters. I’m really looking forward to seeing Camille, and maybe even his father. I’d wanted to go back to Tennessee and let Link make the visit alone, but he wants me with him. And, well, I simply want to be with him too.

  Fate is staying with my sister and little Lucas, and I wonder if I’ll ever get her back. By the time we left the farm yesterday, Fate and Lucas were tight. I can’t imagine giving her up, but can’t imagine separating them either. Guess the decision will be in Fate’s hand. I grin at my pun.

  On my third flight across the country in two days, everyone on board is more relaxed. Tate is sharing stories of the battles they fought together and it’s wonderful to see Link talking about his days in the army, the close calls they had, the crazy things they had done with a smile on his face.

  “What’s next?” Tate asks him and I perk up, interested in learning that too. I know we love each other and I know we want to be together, but I don’t know what that will look like. I don’t know where we would live or what we’d do.

  Link stretches his arms over his head. “Not sure. Impossible to go back into the unit with my face splashed on every magazine in the world. I’ve been so intent on getting fit enough to go back in, I’ve not thought of other possibilities. Maybe train new recruits, build the unit back up?” He looks at me. “Maybe just enjoy life for a little while. Need to chat with my commanding officer, see what my options are, I guess.” He smiles at me. “Maybe have a chat with this really tall girl I’ve grown rather fond of.”

  Tate rolls his eyes.

  “Excuse me, sirs,” the man named Deakins interrupts. “I have the wire transfer ready for the second payment to Mr. Andrews.”

  Tate and Link look at each other and I look between the two of them. Tate lifts a shoulder. “Your call, man. I’m perfectly fine with you telling him to kiss your ass.”

  I watch Link study the screen on the laptop Deakins handed him. A couple minutes tick by before he reaches and clicks a few buttons. “Better to keep him happy. We roughed him up pretty good. Ten mil buys a lot of salve. Hopefully, you’ll never hear from him again.”

  Tate’s jaw tightens and he leans back in his chair. “Yeah, hopefully. That or we just gave a very intelligent man enough money to seriously go rogue.”

  Link nods. “Thought about that too, but a man like that will get his hands on the capital he needs and hate will make him do it faster and harder. If we fulfill our end of the bargain, it might help.”

  Tate cracks his knuckles. “Yeah, we’ll go with that.”

  The next morning, we get to sleep in before getting back on the plane to Malibu with Tate and three additional men who will be our security team. It’s early afternoon before we touch down in Malibu and step out into the warm midday sun.

  I’d worn the red wrap dress again, wishing I’d thought to buy additional clothes. But the dress makes me feel pretty and I need the extra confidence to face his mother. I don’t have to worry with the rest of his family today. There will be a formal dinner tomorrow evening. Yippee.

  A limo waits for us at the private hangar and Link greets the driver with a surprisingly long hug. The man, George I remember from the few times I met him, wipes his eyes as he closes the door. Link wipes his too.

  As we drive through the Malibu estate gates, Link wraps his arm around me. “This is where it all began.”

  “I know. I remember driving through these gates the first time for the interview, trying to convince myself that getting the job didn’t matter.” I look up at him. “What if I’d flubbed the interview and I’d just driven back out of those gates to the next assignment? If I was just living my life, never having the chance to get to know you?”

  “I’d be dead right now if that had happened,” he says with what sounds like total conviction. “I wouldn’t have stepped away from that bullet, if I’d lived that long. I was in a bad place. A really bad place. Then this beautiful angel came along.”

  “For fuck’s sake, you two,” Tate groans from the front. “Can you please save that horse shit for later?”

  “Bubble buster,” I mutter and give the back of Tate’s head the stink eye. Link grins even bigger and Tate just lifts a hand and flips him off.

  Before George has even pulled to a stop, Camille comes running from the large double doors, a huge smile on her face. She yanks the limo door open and climbs inside, throwing herself on Link’s lap, circling one arm around him and the other around me.

  “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she says into his chest. “I thought it was bad when you were hurt. This was agony. Seeing the remains of the house, thinking you had died inside it. Then not knowing where you were. Torture.”

  Link hugs her tighter and kisses the top of her head. “I know. Things went out of control really fast and we just had to go. I promise to never do it again.”

  She punches his arm. “You better not. And you better not lie to me again. Owns a construction company, my ass.”

  He gets her in a headlock and I can just imagine these two as children. Two free spirits in a stiff and formal home, getting in trouble at every turn.

  The thought causes me to grow sad. There are times I actually forget I can no longer have children. Forget that I’ll never yell at them to hush up or kiss a skinned knee. Never watch them wrestling in a car like these two are doing.

  Pushing the thought from my mind, I scoot away from the pair, step out into the sunny day and look up at the mansion again. This time, it’s not quite as forbidding.

  Turning back to the
laughter coming from the car, Tate steps up beside me. “You feeling okay? You look pale.”

  I begin to tell him that I’m fine, just a little tired when he becomes intently distracted by Camille’s butt in her little shorts as she backs out of the car. Still laughing, she gets out and turns to run and plows right into Tate’s chest, hitting him so hard, she bounces back a couple steps.

  Tate reacts quickly, planting his hands on her shoulders to steady her and I, with my front row seat at this little show, have the pleasure of seeing the look of pure astonishment morph into pure attraction on her face.

  “Who are you?” she whispers.

  “That’s my friend, Tate,” Link answers for him as he climbs from the car. Then his smile fades as he notices the two of them looking closely at each other. “A man, Cam. You know, with a penis.”

  I watch her eyes flick down and back up before a grin lifts a corner of her mouth. “A penis, huh. That might end up being my favorite part.”

  I stifle a laugh and Link’s jaw drops. “Wait a minute,” he says. “Did he just knock the lesbian out of you?”

  Quickly glancing at Tate’s face to see his reaction, I’m only rewarded with the slight widening of his eyes.

  Camille’s grin grows broader. “Bisexual, Link,” she says, her eyes not leaving Tate.

  Tate steps closer to her and I hold my breath as I witness the pull between them grow stronger. I don’t dare look at Link who, from the corner of my eye, has both hands covering his face.

  “Bisexual, huh?” Tate says. “That sounds like fun.”

  Link groans, turns in a circle, his hand slicing through his hair. I grab his hand and pull him away, giving him a ‘there there’ pat on his arm.

  “Can you believe that?” he says when we’re on the porch.

  I look back and see that Tate has Camille backed up against the car. Link starts to look back too and I stop him. “Don’t do it, baby. Eyes forward if you want to maintain sanity.’

  He groans and opens the door, pulling me in behind him, but he doesn’t have time to lament over his sister’s love life because his father is there, holding his arms wide, hugging his son against his chest.

  Then she appears. Perfectly Chaneled. Perfectly groomed. Standing prim and proper in her perfect museum. “Lincoln, darling. So good to have you home. You had us quite worried, you know.”

  I just stare at her, a polite smile plastered on my face. This woman has no heart, just an iceberg sitting in her chest. She offers Link her cheek for a kiss. Then she turns to me.

  “Welcome back, Miss Johnson. We’ve heard that you’ve been quite helpful this past week.” She smiles and I feel the need to grit my teeth. “You’ll be pleased to know that we spoke to your employer and we’ve offered a rather nice bonus for the inconvenience these events must have caused you. And, of course, we’ll reimburse you for the items you lost in the explosion. We’ve garaged your vehicle as well and we can have George bring it around whenever you are ready to leave.”

  Well then. The bitch looks very pleased with herself.

  While my mouth works to formulate words, Link steps beside me and curves his arm around my waist. “That’s all very thoughtful of you, Mother, but Grace will be staying with me.”

  She looks ready to object, but her eyelashes simply flutter and she inclines her head. “As you wish.”

  Link’s dad claps his hands together and then comes to me, pulling me in for a hug. “Now that that’s all settled, how about a drink? Are you hungry? Or would you prefer to rest.” He places a hand on Link’s shoulder. “Game’s about to come on. How about we all meet in the family room and relax while the Dodgers kick some ass?”

  An hour later, Link and his dad are relaxed and enjoying the game while his mother sits stiffly in a chair. I’m tucked under Link’s arm, scrolling through his iPad and stealing drinks of his beer while Tate and Camille sit at the bar, chatting and laughing at whatever.

  After looking at my nana’s latest posts on Pinterest, I turn to Google for the latest news. The leading story is the scandal that continues to play out in Washington as dirty politicians continue to fall like dominos.

  Another story catches my eye—Two Hundred Syrian Refugees Found Dead. I click the link and gasp as horribly graphic photographs showcase the carnage.

  I click away and see a story on the plight of the Syrian children and how many are now orphans. They’re running, following the adults. They’re starving and dying. Another article takes the reader inside a Hungarian refugee camp and my heart breaks. When I get to the picture of a mother sobbing over the body of her dead infant, I begin to cry.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Link asks, pulling me tighter to his side.

  I slide my finger across the screen. A family sitting by a mass grave appears; three tiny crosses in front of them. “It’s so horrible, everything going on over there.”

  I slide my finger again. A dead child in an alley.

  Next is an old couple holding boney hands. They remind me of my great grandparents and I can’t help it, the tears grow thicker.

  “It is horrible,” he says. “Worse that anyone could ever imagine.”

  I slide my finger again. Three children. A boy and two little girls huddled on the floor, the boy staring straight into the camera lens. I touch his face then move my thumb to slide to the next brutal image.

  “Wait!”

  I look up at Link, not sure what I’m waiting for. He points at the iPad, his eyes wide, his voice thick, sitting up and turning at the same time.

  “Go back.”

  I slide back to the previous image and the boy and the little girls re-appear. He grabs the iPad from my hand.

  “What is it, Link?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest. His face. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

  With a flick of his fingers, he enlarges the screen, then enlarges it again. The little boy’s face gets bigger, then bigger still. He’s beautiful. Dark eyes filled with determination. Perfect skin. The only flaw, which isn’t a flaw at all, is a jagged scar coming out from his eyebrow.

  Link is holding the iPad so tightly, I’m sure he’s going to crack the screen.

  “Link, what is it? Tell me. Let me help you.”

  He exhales a short little breath, then turns to me, his eyes filled with tears. “It’s him. I don’t know how. I don’t know why, but it’s him.”

  I’m on my knees, his face in my hands. “Who? Who is it?”

  He looks down at the screen again, his head shaking side to side in disbelief.

  I wait.

  I give him time.

  I offer him a prayer under my breath.

  Then he looks up at me and as a tear slides down his cheek, he says one word. “Sami.”

  Chapter 15 – Duffy

  “What the hell do you mean Syria doesn’t allow for international adoption?” I yell at my dad’s attorney over the phone.

  “Lincoln, I mean exactly what I said. Syria has not signed the Hague Adoption Convention. Adopting a child or children would be very difficult.”

  I jump on the word. “Difficult, but not impossible.”

  Henry sighs into the phone as I pace the room. “My understanding is that there has not been an approved adoption through the Syrian embassy, including the adoption of Syrian children, even through their US relatives.”

  “So they would prefer these children die than put them in non-Muslim homes?”

  “Lincoln, it’s not that simple—”

  “I don’t care about simple,” I yell into the phone. “If I can’t adopt them, then we’ll fucking foster them until the red tape is waded through. But you need to understand one thing. I will save that boy and I will save his sisters. I don’t care if I have to kidnap them and then live on a deserted island for the rest of my life. I will get those kids. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Lincoln, very loud and very clear. Just remember, the area is war torn; families have been ripped apart. He may have family there who want him, but can’t find hi
m. I can tell how much you want this, but you can’t take him from family if there is a chance they may be alive.”

  That stops me and I sink into a chair, still looking at Grace. “But Henry, I can’t let him starve in that place. They’re like rats packed into a barrel there. I can’t leave him alone there, scared and trying to take care of his sisters.” Grace blurs as my face grows hot, my throat thick. “That kid saved me, Henry. He saved me. He saved his sisters. I don’t know how, but he did. I’ve got to do something to help him.”

  Henry is silent for a moment. “Tell me again where the child is currently.”

  I run my hand through my hair. “The news article was about a refugee camp in Hungary. I can make sure he and his sisters are in Lebanon tomorrow. Then England. Then here. Anywhere. Make this happen!”

  Henry ignores my outburst. “Lincoln, I have a very serious question. Are you certain this is the same child you met in Syria?”

  I look down at the iPad, Sami’s face filling the screen. It’s him. I know it’s him. The scar. I’ve seen him in my dreams a hundred times. It has to be him. It has to be.

  “Yes.” I look at Grace and she’s watching me carefully, her fingers pressed to her lips. “I want to fly there as soon as possible,” I tell him and Grace begins to nod and points at herself. “I’ll be taking Grace Johnson with me.” Her face softens in relief and I see my mother stand up from the corner of my eye.

  “Lincoln, let me contact a Hague Adoption certified agency and learn more about this. As you can imagine, this isn’t my normal line of—”

  “Yes, Henry, I know. This is highly unusual, but I need you to make this work. I need it. I’ve never asked you for anything, but I’m asking you for this. For now, do whatever is possible to get them out of that camp. Get their bellies full.” My face grows hot again. “Keep them warm until Grace and I can get there.”

  “Lincoln, you’re not listening to me. Do you know how many children are there? How many camps? I have the screenshot of the child. One picture. It will be like finding a needle in a haystack. This one task, locating them, could take a day or two, at least. If they are still in Hungary at all, and there is no certainty with that.”