Table of Contents
PROTECTING HONOR
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
EPILOGUE
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PROTECTING HONOR
By JESSE JACOBSON
CHAPTER 1
The gas light on her dashboard lit up like a beacon. Honor Carpenter groaned. It was late in the day, she was alone on the highway in the middle of Washington State, and it was freezing outside. She saw a green highway sign announcing, “Gas, Food and Lodging.” There was truck stop off the exit leading to Ritsville, Washington. She bit her lip and shook her head when she saw the rundown gas station attached to a dilapidated building called the Roadhouse Bar and Grille. Though it was still light outside, the full lot and flashing neon lights served notice that the bar was hopping. There were nearly a dozen big rigs parked in the giant lot along with two dozen more pickup trucks and various other vehicles. There would undoubtedly be a large number of truckers inside. The whole scene looked and felt intimidating to her.
The fuel light continued to glow ominously. She glanced at the clock on her dash and sighed. It was after 5:00 p.m. and the sky was already beginning to darken under a thick blanket of gray clouds. Her father and brother had warned her to keep the tank full and avoid truck stops after dark. She was over 30 years old now but they still worried about her. Despite her progress she was still a socially awkward, painfully shy woman, and she was driving across state late in the evening on a Friday night.
She had been determined to make this trip on her own. It was her decision over her father’s words of caution. Over the last few months the progress she’d made in therapy had been extremely encouraging. Remarkable, her doctor had said. She was feeling more confident and independent than at any other time in her life since… the event.
The event. That’s what her therapist always called it. She would be the first to admit that certain things triggered setbacks. Placing herself into a situation where she would be surrounded by several dozen strange men, was probably not a great idea.
She had little choice, however. According to her navigation app, the next closest town with a gas station was in Wheeler, 43 miles away. She didn’t think she would make it that far before running empty.
This will be okay, she thought. There’s nothing to worry about. She would just pull alongside the pump, swipe the outside credit card machine, pump her gas, and be on her way. Ten minutes, tops. Maybe even less.
She pulled into the station to the far-left side of the pumps, stopping beside Pump #6. An employee dressed in a stained mechanic’s uniform and tattered cap noticed her car and approached her. He was short, under 5-foot-9, and thin, with a patchy beard and straw-like blond hair peeking out from underneath his cap. Despite his weathered appearance, Honor thought he looked to be in his early twenties.
“Can I help you?” he said.
She noted the cloth name badge sewn to his shirt – his name was Butch.
“No,” she replied, rolling down the window a few inches, feeling the frosty air on her face. She forced a tiny smile, “I’m just here for gas. I can do it myself, but thank you.”
“Sure,” he replied. Butch leaned in, placing his left arm on the top of her car, peering in at her through the window. She could feel his eyes roaming over her long, raven black hair.
“Heading to Seattle?” he asked. He angled his head slightly as he tried to catch a view of her body through the window.
“Yes,” she said.
“This is a nice car. Dodge Challenger?”
“Yes,” she replied, hoping her short answers would discourage an extended conversation.
“2009?” Butch asked.
“2008,” she replied.
“Wow, I envy you,” he said. “Why don’t you pop the hood and I’ll check the oil and the fluid levels for you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she replied.
“You sure? It will just take a minute,” he said. “The weather out here is bad and you still have a few hours on the road. You don’t want to get stuck, do you?”
She thought for a moment; he was right.
“Yes, thank you. That would be nice,” she said, popping the hood’s latch from the inside. “I’m just going to stay inside the car until you finish. It’s freezing out there.”
“I heard that,” he replied. “This will just take a minute or two.”
True to his word, the youngster checked the levels, closed the hood and, gave her the thumbs up sign as he walked back to her window. She rolled down her window a few inches again, but made no move to get out of the car.
“Your levels are pretty good,” he said, “but with this weather, I’d highly recommend we add more anti-freeze. I have a special going on.”
“Do I have to get out of the car?” she asked. “I hate the cold.”
“Nope. It’s $10.99, plus tax,” he said. “You can give me the money, I’ll run inside and get the anti-freeze and put it in for you.”
“Thank you,” she said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a $20.00 bill.
“I’m sorry,” Butch said. “After 5:00 p.m. we only accept credit cards.” He nodded toward the bar. “We get robbed a lot.”
He smiled exposing a set of yellowed crooked teeth.
“Oh, I see,” she replied, beginning to get nervous. She pulled her credit card and handed it to him.
“I’ll be right back.”
He nodded and turned away, heading inside. Two minutes later Butch reappeared toting a yellow jug of anti-freeze. He handed Honor her credit card and receipt, and she popped the hood again. A few minutes later, Butch finished.
“Anything else?” he asked.
She shook her head no and forced a small smile.
“There are other vehicles pulling in for gas,” Butch said, nodded in the direction behind her car. “This is usually a busy time of day. I’d appreciate it if you’d pump quickly before lines form.”
“I will,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Well, have a good night,” he said.
She waited for Butch to disappear inside. An old burnt orange pickup truck pulled alongside her, on the other side of her pump. She had seen a similar truck in her brother’s garage not all that long ago. It was a 1985 Dodge Ram with a short bed. It had a customized canopy attached to the back and she could see through its window that it was fully packed with boxes.
Pulling in behind the orange truck was a much larger bigger pickup, a full sized black Ford with oversized wheels, chrome trim and red-flame decals. The driver revved the engine before shutting it down. It sounded like an entire Monster Truck Rally.
Honor opened the driver’s side door. A rush of freezing cold air whisked into the cab of her car, reminding her that it was only 25 d
egrees outside. The weather forecast called for temperatures to drop dramatically after sunset. She made her way to the pay station as quickly as possible.
The driver of the monstrous black Ford opened the door and emerged. Honor saw that the driver was male, perhaps mid-thirties, with a thick mop of curly black hair, and a bushy, unkempt beard. He was perhaps 6-foot-1 and grossly overweight. Despite the cold he wore a sleeveless shirt that stretched over his large belly. His arms appeared both muscular as well as flabby. They were covered in oversized tattoos of skulls, knives, and large breasted women. His approach was a little shaky. Honor thought she smelled whiskey. Was he drunk, she wondered?
He stood behind her as she slipped her credit card into the machine. She tried to read the instructions but it was getting dark. She failed in her first attempt to program the machine.
“Having problems there, Little Miss?” she heard the man say. His speech was slurred. She definitely smelled whiskey. “Can you hurry it up? It’s cold out here.”
There was a mild sense of urgency to his voice and it triggered a small wave of anxiety in her. She did not turn to face him, nor did she answer. She tried again but the machine wouldn’t cooperate.
“What seems to be the problem?” the man said. “Have you never pumped gas before?”
The tone of his voice seemed to transition from urgency to irritation, causing Honor’s level of anxiety to heighten. Her heart began to race. Her hands began to tremble. Again, she ignored the man standing behind her. Again, she punched buttons and again she failed to get the pay station to cooperate.
“I’m talking to you, lady,” he said again, his voice sterner.
Nervous and flustered, she tried to program the machine once again. Again, she failed.
“Are you deaf?” he admonished. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, it’s freezing out here. Just step aside and let me go first. After that you can stand up here all night if you want to.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, finally. “Let me get my card back.”
Honor hit the cancel button but the machine would not return her card. The payment station made an annoying beeping sound every time she hit cancel. She could feel the growing impatience of the man standing behind her. Her level of anxiety rose.
She heard the door of the orange pickup truck open, then close. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced at the person who emerged. He was also large man, by her guess, over 6-foot-4 and at least 230 solid lbs. Even though he was wearing a thick coat she could tell he was strongly built, wide in the shoulder and narrow at the hip. She wanted to see his face but made herself turn away as he made his way to the pay station.
“Jesus Christ, lady!” the portly man in black yelled. “Get it done or get the fuck away!”
“There’s no call for that language,” she heard the taller man say as he approached. “Give her a minute.”
“It’s fucking cold out here, and she can’t work the machine,” the man in the black hat replied. “I’m freezing.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have worn a sleeveless shirt in this weather. You ever think about that? Maybe you should get back in your truck and wait until she’s done,” the taller man replied.
“Maybe you should mind your own business, asshole,” the heavier man said. He turned back to Honor and tapped her shoulder. She recoiled at his touch.
“Can’t you see you’re scaring her?” the taller man said. “Does that make you feel more like a man?”
“Hey, pal, this doesn’t concern you,” he replied, sternly. He turned back to Honor. “Look Miss, move out of the way or I’m going to move you.”
“No. You won’t be doing that,” the taller man said, emphatically.
“Oh, really? Who’s gonna stop me?” he replied.
“Look,” the tall man said, “I don’t want any trouble. I smell whiskey on your breath. You’re drunk. Why don’t you just calm down for a minute and let’s talk.”
“Piss off,” the large man said.
Honor heard sounds of a struggle, followed by punching sounds. She was frozen in fear and did not turn around. The heavy man gasped, then yelled, “Ow… shit!”
She heard the heavier man continue to make gagging sounds, followed by the voice of the taller man, “I’d prefer not to send you to the hospital tonight if I don’t have to, but I will,” he said, “that’s up to you. In ten seconds, I’m going to release the hold I have on your throat. If you apologize to this young woman and get back in your truck and drive off, you will be just fine. If you fail to apologize and fail to get back in your truck... well, that’s gonna upset me. Trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to upset me. Do you understand?”
Honor heard a gurgling noise, followed by a raspy, “Yes.” The heavy man sighed as he was released.
“Now apologize,” she heard the taller man say. “Be convincing. It won’t count if I’m not convinced.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she heard him say.
Honor stood face forward, still too scared to turn.
“She won’t even turn around and look at me,” the heavier man said.
“I’ve seen you and I don’t blame her,” the taller man said. “Now get on back to your truck and move on.”
“But I need gas,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Not my problem,” the taller man said. “Now move on.”
She heard footsteps, followed by the sounds of a truck door opening and closing again. The giant black truck rumbled to life.
“Fuck you, asshole!” the heavier man called out as the truck pulled away.
She had still not turned to face the man who had just saved her.
She felt a small wave of anxiety rush over her has the tall man approached the shared pay station and stood behind her, looming over her 5-foot-4 frame. She pretended not to notice him but her hands began to quiver. Flustered, she began to push the wrong buttons again, triggering one annoying beep after another.
“You need to punch in your pump number,” he said. His voice was deep, but also soft and mellow. The tone of his speech brought her panic down just a notch.
“I’m sorry,” Honor replied, not turning her head. “I’m not very good at this.”
“That’s okay, it’s not a problem,” he replied. “These things are always more complicated than they need to be. It’s asking you to punch the number on the pump you intend to use. You are at Pump #6. Just hit the number six and then hit enter.”
She looked at the display again but shook her head.
“May I?” the man asked politely. She saw his hand reaching around her and touching the buttons of the pay station. His hand was huge, powerful-looking. He punched the number 6 and the display read, ‘Ready. Return to your car and begin pumping.’
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.”
She smiled and turned toward her car. It was then she saw the face of the man standing behind her for the first time. Up close he appeared even larger than she originally thought. He smiled at her. It was a pleasing smile. She saw his face and instinctively smiled back, catching herself doing so and reacting quickly, suppressing the expression.
“It was my pleasure,” he replied.
Her therapist had coached her on body language. That’s how she knew the heavy man was threatening from the beginning. This taller man, however, was different. His body language was friendly, inviting. Despite his size, he was not intimidating at all.
The first thing that caught her attention about him was his eyes. They were magnetic - light brown, almost translucent, framed with dark lashes and thick dark eyebrows. His face and strong jawline was peppered with a 4-day old scruff. Sexy as hell, she thought. He wore a dark blue hat with an emblem she had never seen. It combined wings with a trident, a gun of some sort, and a boat anchor. Large block letters arched over the gold emblem spelling out SEAL TEAM.
She could tell that he knew she was nervous. He moved back a step as if to give her some breathing space. He smiled at her softly, displaying
a perfect set of white teeth, made to look even brighter when contrasted against his golden complexion. Even with his hat on she could tell he sported a closely cropped hair cut in the back and on the sides. He may have been the most attractive man she had ever met in person, she thought.
“You see there,” he said. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Hearing his soft, deep voice made her weak in the knees. She was always wary of strangers, particularly men, but this man was putting her at ease almost immediately.
She smiled reflectively, before catching herself. “No, it wasn’t. Thank you again.”
“Happy to help, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat slightly, revealing a full head of short, curly dark brown hair. “I’m Trevor, by the way,” he said, smiling. “Trevor Saunders.” The smile was warm enough to nearly make her melt. She hoped he didn’t notice her blushing.
He leaned in ever-so-slightly, smiling, “And you are?” he continued.
“I’m Honor,” she returned. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She felt herself reddening in the face. He smiled more broadly. She was sure he had noticed.
She walked to the side of her car and removed the gas cap, still standing less than ten feet away from this striking man, who was now processing his own credit card. She pulled the nozzle and began pumping gas into her car. She wanted to say something... anything to keep some level of verbal exchange going with this gorgeous man standing just a few feet away.
“How far away is Wheeler?” she asked, wondering what her father would say if he knew she was trying to strike up a conversation with a strange man in the middle of nowhere.
He looked down the road, as if using some mental gauge, before turning back to her,
“Wheeler is about 40 to 45 miles due west of here,” he said. “Is that where you’re headed?”
“No, I’m headed home to Bellevue,” she replied.
“In the Seattle area?” he replied. He whistled in surprise, “That’s a long way from here. That’s a good three hours away.”
“I know,” she replied.
“I would get on the road quickly if I were you,” he said. “Have you been listening to the radio?”
Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting Honor (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Trevor Saunders Series Book 1) Page 1