Chapter Nine

Briggs

She won’t look at me, and I can’t even handle that. But I know it’s for the best, though it feels like shit.

Fuck.

I’ve got to push those thoughts aside and focus. I have a job to do.

She’s married.

Why did I have to open my mouth and tell her about the mission? Regret-filled boulders sit on my shoulders as I eye her in the rearview and she keeps hers cast down.

Get it together, Briggs.

I can tell that the girls are a bit nervous, especially Mullins. So, I do what I always do when times get uncomfortably serious and crack a joke. Mullins slaps my arm with a laugh, but blondie in the back just rolls her eyes. One day those things are gonna roll right out of her snooty head.

We are nothing alike, but I’ve never in my life been accused of being a lousy judge of character. She’s the type of woman who puts family and country first, the kind that, if you’re lucky enough to find, you marry.

That’s why she’s already been snagged and married, dickhole.

She also has a stick up her ass ninety percent of the time. But that other ten—I pride myself on being the one responsible for making her smile. Well, except for this morning. This morning she was pissed. I meant what I said, I am sorry for the way I acted. And even though I’m positive there’s attraction there, I’m leaving it alone. I’m not going down that fucking road for any woman. It’s obvious she doesn’t want an apology or to talk to me at all, for that matter. And as much as I hate to admit it, it’s for the best.

But if I have to deal with watching her for the day, and she’s coming on my invite, she damn sure isn’t getting away with ignoring me. “Oh, come on, Scottie,” I say, putting the truck into drive. “That was good.”

I steal another glance as she purses her lips. “Wasn’t your best, Briggs,” she taunts half-heartedly. I know the fact that she’s speaking to me at all is just for show. She doesn’t want to raise suspicion, but the truth is, we didn’t even touch, and that took a fuck-ton of restraint on my part. I can’t remember a time in my life where my dick has been that hard. Her whimper alone will haunt me for years. I had to rub it out twice after leaving her, just to calm down. No, we won’t be friends anytime soon, not with that kind of fire between us.

Challenge accepted.

“What would happen if the pilgrims killed cats instead of turkeys? Mullins?”

“No idea.”

“Jones?”

“Not a clue.”

“Come on, Scottie,” I tease as she glares at me in the rearview. “What?”

I lock eyes with her in the mirror before answering, “We’d eat pussy every Thanksgiving.”

Her mouth falls open for just a moment, and I brace myself for the tongue-lashing she’s about to deliver. I think Scottie surprises us both when she snorts out a laugh. I damn near let out a sigh of relief. Finally. “That’s your worst yet,” she mutters as she glances back out the window.

“I’ll do better, I promise.” Briefly, she meets my eyes before giving me a solemn nod. It’s not much, but it’s something. I don’t need an entanglement with a married woman, and the last thing she needs is me. From this moment forward, I swear to stop whatever it is I started with my bullshit. Scottie really is a good woman. And in different circumstances, if she was free, I have no doubt she could change the game for me. But as things stand, it’s already over. I’ve got enough blood on my hands to deal with and don’t need that shit on my conscience.

Regardless of my new disposition toward the infuriatingly beautiful blonde, I would protect her at all costs. My budding relationship with these two women, and the bit of anxiety I feel rolling off them, only confirms my opinion that females have no place in combat. I’m aware of how they both feel, especially Scottie. She wants to get out and get her hands dirty…to be on the field, where the action is…to make a real difference. It’s not that I don’t think they’re capable. I’m not a chauvinist, despite what Scottie may think. But I’d never have been able to concentrate, knowing those girls were anywhere nearby. My need to protect them would hinder my own performance, and I am secretly thankful that they can’t come along on any other missions.

“What are they like?” Scottie asks no one in particular.

“Who?” Her question takes me by surprise. I was certain I’d have to fight for her every word with the way she’s been acting this morning.

“The Iraqi people. Do a lot of them speak English? Will they be happy to see us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jones assures her. “The kids come running right up to the trucks with their hands held out for whatever we’ve got.”

“They’ve gotten used to us,” I add, wanting desperately to be a part of the conversation. To smooth things over. “They don’t speak much English, but they understand the basics, and they’re definitely excited.”

“Can’t wait.” She releases a loud, relieved breath and once again falls silent.

My eyes continually scan the desert while the four of us joke around throughout the remainder of the hour-long drive. I feel more relaxed on these missions than usual, but I never completely let my guard down.

“How are your kids? Have you spoken to them lately?” I hear Scottie ask Jones behind me.

“They’re good. Mandy said the baby just took her first steps yesterday.” The regret is heavy in his voice, the same way Scott’s gets whenever she speaks of her family back home.

“What about you?” Jones asks Scottie, and I can’t help that my ears perk up.

“My little boy read me a story last night. He’s been having trouble with his Rs and Ns, and he’s finally getting it down. My husband is great. We’re thinking about having more when I get home. Trying for another baby.”

“Yeah?” Jones is smiling that goofy, fatherly smile as I ignore the jealousy that threatens.

You have no right, dickhead. None.

Listening to these two makes me grateful for my lack of ties. I’ve always known that this was the life I wanted. I don’t need anything or anyone holding me back. I am fueled by the fear—live for the adrenaline rush.

Though I fully realize the gravity of the situations I am being placed in, I’m essentially just a boy living out his childhood dreams…playing the ultimate game of war. I always wanted to be a hero. To get the bad guys. That may make me a sick fuck, but there have to be men like me out there. You don’t enlist into infantry without that inherent urge to shoot something and the desire to blow shit up.

I still have no idea why I admitted I had no one waiting for me when I get off the bus, but I guess some small part of me was beginning to realize I can’t do it forever—that it might eventually be nice to have someone waiting for me when I get home. To have the warmth of a woman—other than my Gran—to hug, and a home-cooked meal followed by an endless night of meaningful sex. I imagine that’s not so shitty in comparison to the free-for-all lifestyle I’ve grown used to. One day I’ll slow down and find my own Scottie. As if she’s somehow heard my inner ramblings, her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and for that moment, in the middle of the desert, I get lost in ocean blue.

“Shit!” I yell, yanking the steering wheel to the left as the truck explodes in front of us. The right side of our Humvee collides with Morrero’s, and the girls’ screams ring in my ears as we’re thrown back by the force of the blast.

I awaken on my back, bloody and bruised, with no recollection of ever leaving the vehicle. My stomach lurches, and I pull up onto my elbows and roll, vomiting into the sand just inches from my face. Rolling my tongue around in the aftertaste, I feel something hard and spit a chunk of a tooth into my hand.

I’m lost in a daze, my ears buzzing and periphery fuzzy until the sound of gunshots spraying into the air brings me back into the present.

I’d know the sound of those AKs anywhere.

We’ve been ambushed.