Rev (Jack 'Em Up #4)

The Cupid Chronicles

Inked by an Angel
: Book I

The Halo Effect
: Book II

Wounded Wings
: Book III

Cupid’s Last Stand
: Book IV

Charlie’s Angel
: A Novella

Standalones

Elvis is a Keeper

Circle of Redemption
: A Tre Donne Anthology

Jack ‘Em Up

Burnout: Prequel
(Blake and Delilah: The Beginning)

Crank
: Book I (Blake and Delilah)

Torque
: Book II (Jesse and Rachel)

Hitched
: A Jack ‘Em Up Wedding (Jesse & Rachel continued)

Throttle
: Book III (Trace and Tori
)

Rev
: Book IV (Micah and Jewel)

Coming Soon:

Overdrive
from the upcoming Special Forces: Operation Alpha Kindle World

The Family Creed Series

***WARNING: This book contains content that may be triggers for anyone who has been abused or raped. Please read with caution.

To keep up with all the latest Shauna Allen news, please sign up for my
Angel Kisses Newsletter
.

You can also keep up with me on my
website
and not miss any of the fun
.

I bear the wounds of battle.

I suffer the scars of shame.

A shell of the man I once was, I survive now only to honor my fallen friends.

I have been hardened by war and fractured by guilt, but Jewel Jackson has found a way into my heart, and I’d die to protect her—even from myself.

I have been hurt. My body and my spirit have been beaten down.

I’m struggling to pick up the pieces.

To have a life.

To find my strength.

So what am I to do with Micah Christian—the only man who’s ever truly threatened my heart?

For you, my reader. Thank you for taking this journey with me.

Also, to everyone who suffers with battle scars of any kind, you are remembered.

Micah

T
he nightmares were always the same. The ear-splitting boom of tank fire. The acrid smell of smoke. Blazing heat. The ominous whizz, then silence, then slam of RPGs. The staccato
rat-tat-tat
of machine gun fire ripping overhead. The sticky tastes of sweat and fear, coating my tongue. The utter and complete darkness. God, the darkness. A blacker than black, hopeless kind of darkness. The kind that promised you’d never return home.

Grim Reaper darkness.

Then the screaming.

A primal noise. It is the truth of agony. The truth of terror. The truth of death.

Men don’t scream like that, but I heard it, over and over and over, reverberating painfully through my skull, making me wish I had died, too.

I woke up with my heart pounding, my muscles tight, my body drenched in sweat that smelled of panic and pain, the names of my fallen friends sealed on my lips, as if my mantra had the power to resurrect them from the grave. Yet, I am always alone, paying my penance in solitude. The way it should be.

Today, as the last vestiges of the dream left me in a fog, I rolled to sitting and stared at the hazy light of morning that filtered into my tent. I’ve come to this isolated state park in a last-ditch effort to chase my demons away without an audience, but so far I’m failing miserably.

I unzipped the tent flap and stepped out into the warmth of the late spring morning, stretching my arms up to the sun. My dog tags clanked across my chest and I gripped them in my fist. They lived shoved in my dresser drawer at home, but I dug them out this weekend, hoping that by some miracle, the bloody memories of Martinez and Franks would wash away and let me be.

As I dug through my pack for a water bottle and granola, it hit me again that it was all a fantasy. How could I have peace when I didn’t deserve forgiveness?

I was a murderer.

That thought spurred me into action like a razor-edged whip. I took off in a dead run down one of the heavily wooded trails. I climbed up the slope of a rocky ledge to stare out at the Texas landscape. Beautiful in both its soft and hard edges, I was swallowed up, invisible, as I looked down at the sheer vastness of the earth. Sweat rolled down my face and beaded on my lip, my breathing ragged as I sucked in air.

I had a few days left to sort my head out, but I was losing hope. I had great friends back home in Baybridge. Blake, Jesse, and Trace have been patient as my shit has crept up on me like a soul-eating fog. I’ve been a master of keeping a lid on things, but lately I’ve been screwing up and I ran away as it all came to a head. Small stupid mistakes at work. Forgetting to do things I’d promised. Dreaming of things I’d never have.

My buddies were all happy and living the dream with wives and growing families, while I was stuck in the trenches of my bloody past. Alone.

It was unfair to burden anyone with what I’d experienced, what I’d done. No one would look at me the same if they knew. I did not want their pity or their help. I just wanted peace. So I kept my head down, my mouth shut, my hands busy.