Blind Fury

by Gwen Hernandez

  His own heartbeat raced. Jenna Ryan loved him. Him. The unreliable, womanizing, adrenaline junky. He slumped against the wall. No. She only thought she loved him. She didn’t know there was blood on his hands.

  She was in love with some idealized, heroic version of him that didn’t really exist. Better for her to know the truth. Better for her to realize her mistake before she had him believing that a woman like her could love a man like him.

  “I want to tell you anyway,” he said. “I’m planning to release it to the press, but you should hear it from me first.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded, releasing Jenna’s hand to rest his forearm on one knee.

  Where to start?

  She watched him intently, knees pulled to her chest.

  “As you know, all of this went down the day after we called you. I’m pretty sure it’s when Rob mailed you the pictures too, because he sent off an envelope on our way to meet the other guys.” Maybe he should stand. He needed to move while he talked.

  “We were in a convoy on our way to meet up with some local police troops we were supposed to train. The road was always dangerous, and we rolled hard down the highway, guns out, looking for IEDs, snipers, and ambushes. We were driving aggressively, ready to shoot at the slightest hint of a threat.”

  Jenna watched him with rapt attention, eyes wide. Rob had probably never talked to her about what they did. Or, more specifically, how they did it.

  He cleared his throat and paced the room, images swamping him as he got closer to the heart of the incident. “Just outside a little village area, the lead truck hit an IED. A small crowd of locals gathered while Rob and I raced for the burning truck.” God, he could smell it like he was still there. That awful, distinct scent of burning tires and plastic. And flesh.

  He wiped his sweaty forehead with a shaking hand and took a deep breath. “We’re always leery about villagers who linger near the road, because the insurgents will use women, children, even dogs to blow us up. The other guys had their rifles trained on the group, itchy with fear.”

  The movie in his head took over, and he was there again, barely aware of the words as they tumbled from his mouth.

  He and Rob met Dan at the smoking hull of the truck and pulled the injured men out. Two of them had died instantly, and Olszewski looked beyond repair. When someone on the team yelled, “Guns!” Mick started firing along with the rest of the team, covering Dan, who was applying a pressure bandage to Olszewski’s stomach.

  As he replaced an empty magazine, a sick realization quickly struck him. The locals had no weapons.

  He watched in horror as the Afghans tried to run. One by one they were mowed down, red blood staining the dirt and the victims’ clothes. “Hold your fire, goddammit!” he cried.

  A small boy dropped to the ground, writhing as he held his gut, screaming for his father. Mick started toward him, but another bullet hit the boy’s temple and he went silent. Bile rose up in Mick’s throat and he crouched low, spit onto the damp earth, and squeezed his eyes shut.

  What the hell were his teammates doing? Couldn’t they see these people were unarmed?

  Rising again, he ran toward Rob, who had stopped shooting and was sprinting toward the nearest armored vehicle. Thank God not all of the men had lost their fucking minds. Rob pointed to the Claymore shooter lying behind the tires of a black SUV. “You take him and Grizz. I’ll get Smitty.” He jerked his thumb toward the truck from which Smitty was cutting the frightened civilians down with a fifty-cal. “Someone has to stop this shit.”

  “Roger that.” Mick raced for the gunner at the end, yelling at the khaki-clad contractors who were scattered about looking for targets but not shooting. “Hold your fire, they’re unarmed. Hold your fire, goddammit!”

  They were in such deep shit. And he couldn’t even begin to let himself think of the dead or their families. They would come to him in his nightmares, but right now he had to focus. He reached the truck and leaped onto the hood. “Di Ferio! Hold your fucking fire. No one’s shooting back.”

  “Smitty said they had weapons.” Di Ferio glared at him, but stopped shooting and looked around, his face registering neither shock nor disgust. If anything, he looked disappointed.

  “Come on, help me stop it.”

  The big man hesitated, but then nodded and climbed down after Mick.

  A cry came from the middle gunner and Mick looked up just in time to see Rob jerk back as a dark blot spread across his chest. Mick faltered mid-step, unable to comprehend what he’d seen. Had Smitty really just shot Rob?

  “No!” Mick yelled as his best friend tumbled to the ground, where he lay in a crumpled heap. He raced to Rob’s side and covered the gaping hole in his chest, but blood seeped between his fingers, insidious and unrelenting.

  Rob knew he was going to die, and with his last breath, he asked Mick to spare Jenna the knowledge of what the team had done and how he’d died. When Rob’s heart stopped and the tension left his body, Mick felt his own rage bubble up through his veins like fire.

  He sprinted toward the middle truck, his strength almost superhuman as he sprang onto the armored vehicle and reached for Smitty.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you!” he yelled, catching the man by surprise and pulling him away from his gun. Without another thought, he swung Smitty around and smashed his fist into the man’s face again and again until someone pulled him back. He struggled against the hands that gripped his arms.

  “Mick, stop. He’s out, man,” Dan said in a low voice. “I get it, but he’s out. Killing him will only make things worse.”

  Mick unclenched his fists and breathed heavily as his vision cleared and his pulse slowed. Smitty lay unconscious across the windshield, his face swollen and red, blood trickling from beneath his right eye. Had he done that?

  High-pitched cries and low groans filtered through the dust and smoke, nearly drowned out by the ringing in Mick’s ears. The civilians lay scattered in an arc alongside the road, many of them dead.

  Just like Rob was.

  Mick tore out of Dan’s grasp and stumbled off the truck, nearly taking a header into the mud, and ran from the carnage.

  Oh, God. Tremors shook his body uncontrollably. All those innocent people. How many had he killed? He let out a guttural yell and dropped onto his hands and knees as his stomach rebelled. He puked until he was dry and then rolled onto his back, closing his eyes against the relentless sun and the heinous evidence of what he and his teammates had done.

  He wanted the desert to swallow him whole. How could he live with what he’d done?

  Jenna sat riveted to the floor, watching Mick pace as if in a trance, seemingly unaware that tears were streaming down his cheeks. Her heart pumped wildly as the story played out in her mind’s eye. So much agony and pain crossed Mick’s face that she wanted to reach out and touch him, but instead she could only sit in horror as the realization of what he and Rob and their team had done sunk in.

  There had to be some mistake. Rob would never hurt anyone. That’s why he’d worked so hard to be a PJ. He wanted his part in the war to be saving people. But Mick had no reason to lie about it now. God, what had they been thinking? Weren’t they supposed to wait until they were fired on before shooting?

  Easier said than done, though.

  She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, dizzy from the barrage of emotions. If only she had been able to convince Rob to come home sooner. She’d give anything to bring him back.

  Her own tears splashed onto her shirt and wouldn’t stop flowing. Rob, her beautiful, honorable brother had been gunned down by his own teammate, and the wound of his loss was as fresh as if she were hearing about it for the first time.

  At the time, Mick had thought it was a horrible accident. A misunderstanding in the heat of battle. But after Jenna found the pictures, he must have realized that it could have been murder. A cover-up. But he and Rob hadn’t wanted her to know that they had innocent blood o
n their hands, even though they’d tried to stop the massacre as soon as they realized what was going on.

  The worst part was that she didn’t want to know the truth anymore. The horror of it had overwhelmed her senses. She could almost hear her mother saying, “I told you so.”

  “Jenna?” Mick stopped pacing and crouched in front of her, keeping his distance as if afraid of her reaction.

  She watched his hands as he watched her. He’d brought her to ecstasy with those hands. And he’d killed with them. Her gut clenched and she sprang to her feet. She raced into the bathroom and shut the door, hovering over the toilet bowl that gleamed blue in the glow of a nightlight that had been left behind.

  Her breath came in staggered gasps, and she swayed on her knees, but her dinner didn’t force its way up, so she sagged against the wall, the cold from the tile floor seeping through her pants and making her shiver.

  Rationally, she knew that Mick deserved her sympathy. Rob too. They’d screwed up, but their mistake was understandable given the circumstances. And they’d ultimately done the right thing. Rob had given his life to save innocent civilians.

  Mick had made his promise to Rob out of loyalty and fear. Could he really be blamed for trying to keep it?

  She respected him for honoring his oath for so long, and she understood why he hadn’t wanted to tell her the rest of the story. But that was logic, and right now her emotions ruled. She couldn’t stop picturing the blood and hearing the screams and watching her brother fall to the ground, over and over again.

  And after all of it, Mick was here. Alive.

  And she didn’t know if she could forgive him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MICK WIPED HIS FACE and slid down the wall to the floor. He sat with his elbows propped on his knees, hands dangling, head leaned back against the cool surface. Retelling the story had been like reliving it. The fear and horror had come back in full force, wringing him dry like a sponge. Fatigue weighed him down and he closed his eyes, desperate for sleep.

  How would Rob judge him now? Had he done the right thing by telling Jenna? She had been determined to get the whole story, but would she blame him for letting her have it? He ached to hold her, give her comfort, and take some for himself. But she’d cut herself off from him.

  Her sobs echoed in the tiny bathroom and seeped under the door, each one like a knife through his heart. By giving her what she’d wanted from the very beginning, he’d likely pushed her away for good.

  That was better for her anyway, but selfishly, he’d started to think they might have a future together. With her, he could be a better man. The kind of man she deserved. But that was before she found out how screwed-up he really was. Before she saw the demons that haunted his nightmares.

  Mick’s father wouldn’t have been surprised by the mess he had made of his life. It seemed as if everything Mick had done or said as a kid had brought the sharp pain of his dad’s fist to his stomach or kidneys. Places where bruises were more easily hidden. At some point, he’d learned to hide his goals, thoughts, and true feelings. His mom, his teachers, and the girls at school had never bothered to look deeper. For most of his life, he’d preferred it that way.

  But Jenna saw through him somehow. Or at least he thought she did…

  Would she still love him now that she knew everything?

  This pain and confusion was the reason why he’d never opened himself up to a woman before. But though he’d avoided getting involved with Jenna for years, looking back on it, she’d gotten under his skin right from the start. Rob’s warning, and his own fears, had kept him from admitting the truth, but that didn’t change it.

  He loved her.

  What a damn shitty time to figure it out.

  When this ordeal was over, he could do what was best for Jenna. He could leave again. Until then, though, he had to keep her safe. And the only way he knew how to do that was to shine a light on what had happened—all of it—no matter how painful it was for everyone involved.

  He must have fallen asleep at some point because when he opened his eyes, Jenna was lying on the blanket in the center of the room. Facing away from him, she had wrapped herself into a ball.

  Crawling over to the blanket, he stretched out next to her, careful not to violate her personal space. Her back stiffened, but she didn’t turn or speak. He longed to mold himself to her, warm her with his heat, run his hands along her curves. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he couldn’t even begin to express. But nothing was adequate. Nothing could make this better. And without all his charm, he had nothing to offer.

  Still, he had to try to comfort her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted to protect you. I wanted your memories of Rob to be untarnished, because no matter what happened, he was the best of men. I would have given anything for it to have been me instead.”

  She sat up and faced him then. “Don’t say that.”

  He stayed on his side, worried she might bolt if he moved. “Tell me you haven’t thought it.”

  Her eyes dropped and she stared at her hands.

  Wow. That hurt even more than he’d expected. “It’s okay. I figured as much.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been lying here thinking about everything that happened, and I’m glad you’re alive. It’s not fair to blame you.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and looped her arms around them. “I did at first. I was angry. At you, at Smitty, at Rob for putting himself in danger. Rob was all I had left, Mick, and he knew it, but he still kept going back to that place to dodge bullets and IEDs and suicide bombers.

  “After Jimmy died, I needed my brother more than ever, but he left anyway. Why couldn’t I be enough for him?”

  He wanted to hold her, but he didn’t dare. “We’re flawed, Jenna. Guys like us don’t know how to have normal lives anymore. When we’re over there, we hate it. When we’re home, we think we’re going to die if we don’t go back. When you’re used to every day being life and death, the peace and normalcy of home feels false. Meaningless. The rush of war is like a drug. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  She rested her chin on her knees and studied him, her features drawn in sadness. “When you and Rob were in the Air Force, I worried all the time, but I was proud of what you did. There’s honor in putting yourself in harm’s way to rescue others. I told anyone who would listen that my brother was a PJ. One of the elite.”

  Mick didn’t want to hear it, but he didn’t stop her. Hell, this was no more than what he deserved.

  A tear slid down her cheek, but she let it go. “I’m sure working for Claymore gave Rob the adventure and adrenaline rush he craved, but it was all about the money. Where’s the honor in that?”

  “He did it for Jimmy,” Mick reminded her. And to take the burden off her. But the decision had haunted Rob. He’d admitted as much to Mick once after a few drinks, but he’d never regretted doing what he thought was the right thing for his family.

  “You think I don’t know that?” she asked. “We both felt helpless watching Jimmy waste away in that coma. And if he’d lived, the expenses would have been staggering. But after he died, Rob could have come home. He should have.”

  “He tried over and over after Jimmy died. Hell, you know that. But by then, it was too late,” Mick said. “He didn’t know any other way of life. He was hooked.”

  “Like you,” she said.

  He nodded. “Like me.”

  “I know why Rob joined Claymore, but why did you do it? You could have stayed with the PJs.”

  Mick rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “Why does anybody go private? Money. I figured, hey, same thrill and quadruple the pay? What’s not to like?”

  “I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

  If he opened himself up to her, would it change anything? He’d still be a murderer. He’d still be a wreck. “In the military, the camaraderie, the sense of team and brotherhood can’t be matched. We’re all in it together, none of us can walk away no matter
how bad it gets, and any of us would die to save the other. You can do anything knowing the guys have your back.

  “Contractors, not so much. It’s every man for himself. We’re there for the rush and the money, and that’s it. It’s kill or be killed, and there were only a few men I trusted enough to risk my life for.”

  “It sounds awful,” she said, rubbing her face and switching to a cross-legged position. “The job doesn’t seem worth it just for a flashy car and upscale condo that you hardly get to use. Are you saving up for something?”

  His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “You know those bumper stickers that say ‘my son and my money go to MIT’? It’s like that, only it’s my brother.”

  She leaned forward, a questioning look on her face. “You have a brother?”

  “Two actually, but Adam’s a prodigy. He got into MIT, but couldn’t get enough financial aid to go, so my mom asked if I could help.” Had he managed to keep the resentment out of his voice? He hoped so. If anyone deserved a hand out of the trailer park, it was Adam. What torqued Mick off was that his mother had never advocated for him or Doug. Maybe if he’d had an off-the-charts IQ, she would have cared more.

  “And that’s when you quit the Air Force.”

  “Yeah. My service commitment was up. The timing was perfect.” He’d given up his dream for his brother’s dream. Because Adam still had the chance to be a whole person, a productive member of the population. He'd only suffered their father’s presence until the age of seven. He probably barely remembered the man.

  Lucky kid.

  Jenna looked sad. “I’m sorry I never asked about your family before. I don’t even know where you grew up.”

  “Dayton. And it’s not your fault. Family’s not my favorite subject.”

  She studied him for a few seconds, then yawned and lay back down. “We should get some sleep.” Slowly, wordlessly, she scooted back until she was pressed against the length of him. “It’s cold in here.”

  He took that as a hint, but not an outright invitation, and rolled onto his side, pulling her tightly to him. God, she was tempting, but he didn’t want to scare her away, so he left his arm slung over her waist but rested his hand on the blanket in front of her stomach.