by Ronie Kendig
The fear she exuded tipped things toward “bad” with Brian. No woman should feel threatened like that. “Guess you heard for yourself. She doesn’t want someone wet behind the ears and inexperienced.” Again, he angled in between them, feeling Fekiria’s hands on his back. The position pinned her in a corner, but he’d rather have her there than within reach of the slimy webbed hands of the frogman.
“Warned you once: hands off.” Jaw jutted, eyes narrowed, the challenge was clear. “You want a fight with me, fine. But grow a brain and leave her out of this.”
A greedy gleam hit the man’s brown eyes. “You want a fight?”
No. No. Any other day, he would’ve shown this punk his knuckles, up close and personal. But…Captain Watters. He’ll run you up the pole so fast… “What is with you, man? How did you even make it past the psych team in BUD/S? Treating a lady like that, stepping in on a guy—you sure don’t have honor.”
The punch flew hard and true with a string of expletives that would singe the ears of more reputable sailors.
Brian’s teeth rattled as his neck snapped back. Pain radiated through his head and neck. The weight of the punch threw him against Fekiria, who pressed her hands against his deltoids and whimpered.
Adrenaline spiraling, Brian lunged.
“Agreed.” Dean Watters roughed a hand over his face. If what Riordan suggested tonight held true, they were in a deep vat of boiling water. “I’ll do the same.”
Riordan gave a crisp nod. “It’s some kind of messed up when—”
Crack!
Dean pushed to his feet and pivoted as he glanced over his shoulder. A tangle of bodies broke a table. Glass shattered. Guests scattered amid screams and the telltale thuds of fists.
Sal Russo thumped a hand against Dean’s shoulder.
No need. Dean saw the six-foot Hawk haul a shorter, wiry guy to his feet by the collar.
Riordan cursed. “Knew it.”
Dean shoved forward as Hawk drove his fist into the SEAL’s face, who responded by throwing one of his own then slamming his shoulder into Hawk’s abdomen. The two went spiraling backward, Hawk’s fist pounding.
Built like a linebacker, Hawk hammered the guy. The SEAL somehow flipped Hawk. Pinned him and sliced a hand-blade against Hawk’s side. With a howl of pain, the demon within Hawk roared to the surface. Lightning-fast reflexes—so fast Dean wasn’t sure what happened—sent the SEAL flying.
Hawk dragged himself from the ground, holding his side, growling.
Titanis lunged, catching Hawk in a full nelson, giving Dean time to get in front of his guy. “Hawk! Stand down!”
Blood dribbling down his lip, right eye swelling, Hawk breathed hard but still struggled. The demon was blind to common sense. Only feeding off the fury within.
Dean got into his face. Eye to eye. “Stand down,” he growled against the din behind them. “You with me, Hawk?”
Green eyes flickered, as if stepping from some nightmare to a calm mind. He gave a sharp nod, and Dean met Titanis’s gaze with a signal to release him. “Get him out of here,” Dean said to Titanis and Sal, who led Hawk out.
Dean searched the room, surprised—and yet not—to find the SEALs gone. The owner rushed to him, shouting in Farsi. At a loss, Dean held up his hands and nodded. Started for the door, praying they weren’t looking to press charges or something. He turned at the door and handed the owner a card. Damages, if a claim was filed, would come straight out of Hawk’s pay and backside.
The gesture seemed to appease the owner. Feeling released to leave, Dean glanced around. A couple of broken tables. Glasses. And a whole lot of military personnel. One man with a crew cut and stiff posture eyeballed Dean.
So much for a low-key night.
In the frigid evening, Dean stalked to the vehicles, where the team huddled. Harrier crouched over Hawk, who sat propped against the bumper. “Move,” Dean snapped. What in blazes did Hawk think he was doing picking a fight with a SEAL in a hookah bar? Was the guy hell-bent on getting discharged?
Harrier straightened and stepped aside. “Think the SEAL broke a rib.”
“He fought dirty.” Hawk spit blood from his mouth.
Dean leaned into the vehicle and retrieved a zip strap. He pivoted and grabbed Hawk’s hands, noticing the bloodied knuckles. Looking his guy in the face, he cuffed him.
“You’re freakin’ kidding me,” Hawk growled.
“You’re under arrest, Sergeant Bledsoe.”
CHAPTER 5
Camp Marmal, Afghanistan
18 December—0945 Hours
Two MPs stood guard outside the hospital room as Brian carefully threaded his arms back into his T-shirt, feeling like he was breathing fire. Taking X-rays proved painful—and icy cold, especially against the throbbing in his side. In striking Brian’s solar plexus and riddling him with agony, the SEAL also cracked a rib. Gingerly, he straightened and worked his way into the tactical shirt. The butterfly stitch over his brow pinched as he tugged down the shirt. Then another fiery stab in his side.
“Okay, Sergeant Bledsoe,” the doctor said, entering with his clipboard, “your rib is fractured but not a full break. You’ll be in pain for a while, so I encourage you to stay taped up for a week or so. No rigorous activity for a week, maybe two.” Over his BCGs, the doc glared. Why anyone wore Army-issued glasses, he’d never understand. They earned the “birth-control glasses” moniker ardently. “But since you’ll be reporting to the brig, you’ll have time to heal before ending up with extra duties, if not more.”
Brian bit his tongue. No good arguing with this officer. Digging his grave was a knack he didn’t need to hone more.
The doctor stepped back out and nodded to the MPs. “He’s all yours.”
Handed his pride and career in one blow, Brian cradled his left side and made his way out of the curtained room. The MPs considered him, and one produced a set of handcuffs.
“Seriously?” Brian wanted to laugh at them. “Do I look like I’m going to do anything?”
The scrawny specialist swallowed. “Maybe not, sir, but you’re trained to kill.”
“We’re soldiers,” Brian said with a growl. “We all are. Trust me—I can’t walk with this cracked rib if you cuff me. So, if you want steel on my wrists, you’ll need to carry me.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but you look like that after sparring with a SEAL. And I saw the condition you left that SEAL in, so…” Puny and scared spitless, the specialist nodded. “No trouble, sir?”
Shame, thick and heady, coated Brian’s shoulders. He shook his head and sighed. “Let’s…” He motioned with a finger. “Let’s just go.”
They made it across the base and to the detention facility with minimal jarring and exposure, but walking across that blacktop, past men he’d been in the trenches with—it was enough to humiliate the tar out of him. You know better!
Processed in, he stood in the space defined by bars and sterility. Dosed with four ibuprofen, Brian lay out on the thin gray mattress in the cell but still felt the pain of the cracked rib as if he’d been stabbed. He grappled with his future. If he had one. Captain Watters had vowed he’d put him out, strip him of his beret. For what?
A promise to a pretty woman.
The bugger of it all? He couldn’t tell his captain what started it.
But if he didn’t, his career was over.
Staring up at the ceiling, Brian groaned. Shouldn’t be surprised that his two weaknesses—women and fighting—would combine to take him down. There had to be a way to defend himself.
Right. Because you’re so innocent.
Behind bars was where he belonged. Just like his dad.
He thudded his head against the pillow as the light in his cell blinked out. Just like life—darkness. Cold darkness. How—how—did this stuff keep happening? Minding his own business, intent on keeping the code, keeping his word to the captain…and this. This was where he ended up.
Why did he even try?
He turned on his side,
though it lit fire through his lungs. He needed the pain. Needed to remember this night. Figure out some way to stop this. Sleep tugged at him, but he resisted. Ignored the writhing demons that lay in wait for him to succumb.
Weightlessness lifted and carried him into the void of slumber. First the darkness. Then the howling wind that slowly morphed into screams. Suddenly the weightlessness deadened his limbs, making them thousand-pound weights he couldn’t lift as he stood in that paneled hall.
Brian snapped himself awake, heart racing. Steadying his breathing did little to quiet the roaring in his head. The pain in his side throbbed. Easing onto his back, he once again stared up at the ceiling. Just one night—one uninterrupted night of sleep—was it too much to ask?
Arm over his eyes, he folded himself into a light sleep. Fighting hard to hold tightly to the conscious world’s tether, not to fall so heavily into slumber that the memories would invade.
But it pulled him.
Pulled.
She was there. Waiting. Walls lined with oak, their home had become a prison among exquisite appointments, marble floors, antiques, and gilded mirrors. All reflecting the wealth his father had attained. The wealth that meant so little when it couldn’t stop the unimaginable.
Blond hair matted with blood. Right arm grotesquely broken. Rivulets of crimson gliding down her neck and soaking her pale-pink nightgown. “Why? Why didn’t you help me?”
“I…I couldn’t.”
“You were my only hope of getting out…”
“Why didn’t you stop him?”
“You blame me?” Her sobs turned into wails. She lunged at him.
Brian snapped upright. Though logic said a fifteen-year-old couldn’t do anything against a grown man, he always felt he’d failed his mother. His dad had never laid a hand on her, but the verbal abuse translated viciously in his dreams. Cruel words bludgeoned her confidence.
Excruciating pain exploded. Dots sprinkled his vision. “Augh!” He froze against the torrent of fire searing his lungs. Screwed his face tight as he steadied himself. With gritted teeth, he lowered himself back down. A chill twitched his flesh. Cold. Why am I cold? Sure, it was December, but—the place was heated. Only then did he realize sweat drenched him.
Dragging the back of his hand over his face, he hauled in a ragged breath as he remembered the very real nightmare that had become his life. All he’d wanted in life was to be the hero. To be someone respected. Someone people looked up to. All he found in life was trouble. Now, Captain Watters would make good on his promise to, at the very least, bust him down a rank, if not completely discharge him.
Ten years in the Army down the drain. He loved being a Special Forces soldier. Being a Green Beret. Being elite.
Now what? Where could he go? What would he do? He was on his own. No home, no parents, no friends. Not outside Raptor. They were his family, his friends, his home. Without them…what?
“You’ll stay in here till I get back.”
Brian flinched, startled to find Captain Watters standing outside his cell. Lights on in the hall. Soldiers moving about. Was it already morning? He struggled to his feet, grinding his teeth against the shards of pain digging into his muscles. He stood at ease. Then his mind bungeed the words his captain had said. “Wait—what? I thought—”
“No, I don’t think you did, Sergeant.” Sparks shot from the captain’s eyes. “I gave you a warning. I told you what would happen next time you did something like this. For all the good it did, I might have well been talking to a wall.” He paced then turned back to Brian with his hands on his belt.
That was when the dress uniform registered. Where was he headed?
The captain leaned in. “I don’t get it. You are crazy-smart. Nobody can touch you with coms. You’re a kick-butt shooter. Why do you think I handpicked you for the team?”
Brian blinked. “You did?” He thought those decisions went through Burnett.
“You made it. You made the team. There’s nothing left to prove. And yet…this is what you do every time.” He scratched his head. “You’ve tied my hands. This can’t go unaddressed.”
“I understand.”
He cocked his head. “Do you? Because I sure don’t. What happened out there?”
Brian shoved his gaze to his boots. Swallowed. Hated that he couldn’t explain it, not without breaking a promise.
“Was it bravado? Had to demand more respect from someone beneath you?”
Brian snapped a look at the captain. Right. That’s what he would expect. That’s what Brian had done before. But not this time. And freak of it all—he couldn’t say a thing.
“You know what?” A disbelieving laugh preceded the captain shaking his head. “Fine—don’t tell me. In fact, I’m not sure I want to know. Not right now. I’m too ticked.” Captain Watters scowled better than the best of them. “I have to go before Ramsey when I get back and explain why a member of my team was involved in a brawl with a SEAL, damaging local property and injuring two innocent bystanders.” He sighed. “For now. I’ll leave you to your demons.”
The words nailed Brian between the eyes, haunting and torturing. The last words his mom said to him.
“You’re one of the best soldiers I’ve met, but your anger is jeopardizing your future with SOCOM and with the Army.” The captain shifted, his boots scuffing on the vinyl floor. “What happened out there? Help me understand. Convince me this wasn’t just you blowing off steam again.”
Brian felt his breath heaving. Curse his luck. The one time it wasn’t his fault—and he couldn’t clear his name. If only that stupid SEAL had kept his mouth shut and hands to himself.
“Look at you—so mad even now, you’re ready to fight me.”
Awareness flooded Brian that his hands were fisted.
“You’ve had an excuse for every bloody or broken nose you’ve handed out. I’m sick of them! A Special Forces soldier controls that fire, aims that fire at the enemy but never at one of our own.”
Insane! When goaded and baited, what man wouldn’t fight? That SEAL asked for it. Captain Watters just rode a little higher in the saddle than most soldiers. It wasn’t so bad—
“Count your lucky stars or whatever you believe in, Brian.” The captain shot him a glare. “And be very glad this review isn’t happening today because I’d sign on the dotted line for a dishonorable discharge.”
MITCH
When are you coming home, Daddy?”
Ella’s million-dollar question tugged at Mitch’s heart. “Soon, baby girl. How are you doing in school?”
“Okay, but I don’t like Henry Walters. He’s mean and picks his boogers.”
“Gross, nobody cares about that, Ella,” Noah chided from behind her, and then he leaned in closer, edging his sister out. “Dad, I made the honor roll!”
“Hooah,” Mitch said, his chest filling with pride. He held his fist toward the iPad’s camera for a fist-bump. Noah did the same. “That’s my boy!”
“You said if I did that, you’d take me to the range again.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Mitch laughed at his son’s tenacity. He’d already taught both kids gun safety and proper handling of a weapon. He took the approach that it was better to teach them proper handling and respect of a weapon than to hide it and hope they never found it. Curiosity bred danger in that situation. “I’ll get it worked out with Aunt Sienna.”
Noah pumped both hands in the air. “Yes!” He went into a full endzone touchdown dance.
Laughing, Sienna directed him away from the camera. “He’s been bugging me to Skype so he could tell you that.”
“I’m glad you called.” And he was. Something about her and the kids set his day right.
“Daddy,” came Ella’s sweet voice as she returned with a book in hand. “Can I read you a bedtime story?”
It was morning in Afghanistan, but he’d never turn down hearing his daughter read to him. She had skills she wanted to show off. After climbing into Sienna’s lap, Ella brushed her light br
own hair from her face and opened the book. She held up a hand to Sienna. “Don’t help me, Auntie Sie, I can do this.”
With a smile, Sienna nodded, casting a look at the camera, at Mitch. “Okay, Ella. It’s all you, sweetie.”
Something knocked loose in Mitch’s chest. He felt something he hadn’t since Ellery’s death. It both startled and worried him.
Focus on Ella. But his gaze lingered awhile longer on Sienna. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, her auburn hair hanging loose and free. In the years since Ellery’s death, her sister had stepped in and been a surrogate mother to Ella and Noah. She’d covered gaps when Mitch got deployed. Never complained. Always helped.
“Daddy?”
Mitch blinked. “Huh?” Had he been staring? “Did you fall asleep again?” Ella asked, exasperated.
“Well, it was a bedtime story, wasn’t it?”
“For me, silly,” Ella said with her adorable giggle. “Auntie Sie said it’s morning there. You gotta work, Daddy.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
“Okay, you two,” Sienna said. “Say night to your daddy then go climb in bed. We have an early morning. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Ella’s face grew large in the camera then blurred as a noisy kissing noise reverberated through the feed. “Night, Daddy. I love you!”
Mitch’s throat constricted. “Love you, too, baby girl!”
“I’m not a baby. I’m six!”
“Yes, you are. Now, off to bed,” he said, fighting the tears. He wanted to be there with them. Hold her and smell that strawberry shampoo in her hair.
“Night, Dad,” Noah said, once again fist-bumping the camera.
Mitch returned it. “Proud of you, champ. Warrior on!”
“You, too. Night.”
Choked up, Mitch turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose. God, just get me home to them. Don’t take me from them, too.
“Hey.” Sienna’s silky soft voice eased out of the speaker. “They’re doing good. You’d be proud of them.”
“I am proud of them. Miss them like crazy. Sucks to be away from them.”