Mercy: Second Chance Military Romance
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Authors: Abbi Hemp
Tags: #Second Chance Military Romance
BONUS CONTENT
MERCY
Bad Boy Military Romance
by Abbi Hemp
Copyright © 2016 Abbi Hemp
All rights reserved.
This is dedicated to every woman who has had a dream to become a full-time fiction writer - and done something about it.
This novel contains adult language, situations, and themes. It is meant for adults only, please.
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Mercy
ONE
Mercy
Someone is following me.
As the thought hit me, I stopped walking and glanced over my shoulder. At the far end of the market, I saw four men carrying weapons.
Are they after me? Maybe leaving the base on my own wasn’t such a good idea.
Panic set in, but I took a deep breath while thinking of my best option. I continued forward a few steps, trying to blend in with my covered head. While not in a Burqa, I didn’t look out of place.
After a few steps, I noticed a strange old man in traditional garb staring up at me from the shade of his booth.
“Can I help you?” he asked in English, surprising me.
“Some men are following me.”
He motioned with his hand.
“Step inside out of the sun and have a seat.”
His shop – if you could call it that – seemed innocent enough. Shelves full of candles filled the walls. He sat cross-legged on a mat near the entrance.
Not all locals are bad guys
, I reminded myself.
“Thank you. It’s so hot out today.”
“Scorching.”
I stepped into his booth and sat down on a wooden box across from him.
“What is a woman like you doing here by yourself?” he asked, studying my face.
“I’m a journalist working on a story,” I said. “About FOB Rushmore, the base near here.”
“I know it well,” he said, nodding his head. “It’s not safe for a Western woman like you to be alone here.”
“Yeah, I snuck out today on my own to talk to locals without the military around. I thought I might get a better story.”
“My name is Abdul-lateef,” he said. “And you?”
“Mercy Jones.”
He smiled, showing a mouth with a few missing teeth.
“What a beautiful name.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problem. It’s good for people to hear the truth about Afghanistan. Are you an honest reporter?”
As his ancient eyes stared into mine, I shifted in my makeshift seat.
“I would say so.”
He nodded solemnly.
“Would you like water?”
“Sure.”
I watched as he leaned over and dipped a metal cup into a bucket of water next to him.
“Do you have a bottle?” I asked.
He tilted his head and stared at me.
“This water is clean. Look.”
After taking a sip, he offered me the cup.
“I’m sure it is, but I have a stomach problem,” I lied. “And I need bottled water.”
Outside, I heard an angry male yelling in Pashto.
“They’re looking for you!” the old man said, standing up. “Come with me. I’ll hide you.”
I stared further into his booth as he held out his hand.
“Come, come. We must go.”
“I don’t know…”
“Everything in Afghanistan is not as it seems. I can help you.”
My internal freak-out meter went off the charts.
“No thanks,” I said, stepping outside the booth.
He frowned, looking hurt. I scanned the market for any signs of the Taliban faithful.
Where did they go?
“
Come, come,” the man said urgently. “Trust me.”
“Sorry, I trust no one.”
I stepped away from his booth, trying to blend in with the locals. If I made it to the edge of the market, I could find a taxi driver to take me back to FOB Rushmore. It was one of the older forward operating bases still in operation in Afghanistan.
A man’s voice yelled out. I walked faster, hoping to get away before they caught up with me. When I reached the only entrance and exit into the market, I saw two other men with long beards and guns looking at the crowds.
Act calm. You got this.
The rest of the people around me scattered, leaving me exposed. One of the two men with guns pointed in my direction.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I rushed toward a battered, barely-yellow taxi a few hundred feet away.
Go, go, go!
I saw one of the men rush forward out of the corner of my eye.
Before I reached my chariot to safety, a rough hand grabbed my shoulder. I whirled around and kneed the man in the nuts. He cried out, bending over in pain. I rushed forward. The other man grabbed me around the waist from behind and lifted me into the air.
“Let me go!” I screamed. “I’m American!”
Foul smells hit my nose as the man laughed. As I struggled to get out of his grasp, the other man walked over, a serious scowl etched on his face. I thought he would hit me. Another man ran up behind him and threw a bag over my head.
The darkness freaked me the hell out. I screamed again, kicking and wiggling to get away. All the men were yelling, but I had no way to know what about. Were they Taliban or henchman of some local warlord? Not knowing terrified me even more.
I stopped struggling as I realized it wasn’t getting me anywhere. One of the men moved my hands behind my back, tying them tightly. Panic spread through my mind as someone pushed me from behind and yelled. They did again a moment later.
“I’m going,” I yelled as I took a step forward.
What the hell is going on?
My pulse quickened as I walked blind. The sounds of the market were clearer with my vision cut off. The men who had grabbed me were talking, but I did not understand what they were saying.
This is it. My life is over. I’ll never see my dad or anyone again!
I told myself not to give up until I had no other options. Even then, I might keep fighting. The stories I’d heard about what they did to kidnapped women terrified me.
“Allah Akbar!”
At the familiar cry of martyrdom, I heard gunfire and men screaming in English. What they were shouting wasn’t clear, but I had to act.
I turned and ran to the left, hoping I got away and didn’t run into the gunfire. The hood over my head wasn’t helping, but I had to do something.
Gunfire continued ringing out as I slammed into a wall, hitting it with my face. I dropped to the ground and curled up in a fetal position, hoping for the best.
As the shots died down, I heard American soldiers barking orders. I struggled to my feet and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Help! I’m an American!”
“Mercy? Is that you?” Tyler, a soldier from FOB Rushmore, asked.
“Yes!” I said.
Panic still had control over my body as I shook. My knees buckled underneath me, and I fell to the ground. Strong arms caught me. The hood came off, and I saw the most amazing man in the world.
Our eyes locked. All the chaos around the market faded into the background for a split second that seemed like an eternity. He smiled, white teeth standing out on his dirt-covered face.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I am now. How did you know I was here?”
“We didn’t know you were here. This was supposed to be a routine check-up on activity at the market.”
“I’m so glad you came.”
“You’re lucky to be alive.”
I frowned, my heart still pounding.
“Let’s get you back,” he said as he untied my hands. “There you go.”
I rubbed my wrists, looking around the market.
“Is anyone…dead?”
He nodded somberly.
“Let’s get out of here before something else hits.”
I grabbed his arm and followed him back to the Humvee convoy on the edge of the market.
TWO
Mercy
I sat in back of the Humvee as it roared down the dirt road toward FOB Rushmore, one of the few forward operating bases still open in Afghanistan. Tyler sat in the passenger seat up front.
“You snuck out without your escort,” he said, bending his torso to look back at me. “You’re damn lucky. The bad guys were about to take you to the desert and turn you into a sex slave.”
I took a deep breath and stared out the side window. My stomach churned.