Saviour: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (Savior Book 3) (9 page)

Tight? Evidently Tank didn’t think it pertinent to inform his brothers about his recent moratorium on all things me. Scoffing at him I reply,

“Yeah sure. I’ll just call your brother up after he hasn’t spoken to me for more than a year, and say ‘Hunter, just thought I’d let you know I was nearly raped, and got beaten up behind Rough Shod. I didn’t get a look at the guy, but can you hunt him down and kick his ass for me’. Yeah, let me get right on that next time.”

Again, I should’ve thought about what I said first. The room goes deathly silent and Tank’s anger permeates the room. I get the sinking feeling that it won’t be long before he explodes in a way no one will be able to calm down. Not even me. Turning toward him I see Tank’s eyes are almost glowing with a mix of pain, hurt, and fury. I don’t get a chance to apologise for my bluntness when Kai, the silent one as I call him, speaks.

“What in the holy fuck is going on? You haven’t talked to our girl in more than a year? Fucking hell, Hunter why didn’t you tell us this shit was going on? If you couldn’t watch out for her one of us would’ve.”

The glare Tank turns on his brother would have set a lesser man reeling for the door, but Kai just matches it with one of his own waiting for an answer that doesn’t look like it’s forthcoming. Jas decides his opinion is necessary to add to the fray as well. Yay! Because that’s just what we need. Another fucking opinion about something that’s not any of their business.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I wouldn’t have said a fucking word to you brother if I knew you weren’t looking out for her anymore. What’s your fucking problem anyway? You too busy to look out for the people most important to you these days, huh?”

And then it happens. Exactly as I predicted. Tank rises from his chair so quickly it flies back hitting the breakfast bar smashing into splinters of wood.

“You fuckers know
exactly
why. Don’t act like this is a big fucking surprise to you. I told you this would fucking happen sooner or later, and it happened far fucking later than I thought it would. You kept that shit from me for fucking weeks Jas, so shut your fucking mouth,” he says finishing on a snarl.

He’s furious and my heart breaks for him. I want nothing more than to go to him and soothe him, but I won’t. This day’s been coming for a long time, so I’m not going to interrupt now. Not when we’re getting to the heart of the issue. Noah looks at Tank wide-eyed.

“This is because of that bitch? You’re not fucking serious…”

Cutting him off before he gets any further Tank bites out,

“Not. Now. You want to tear strips off me, fine. You don’t do that shit here though.”

Looking back and forth a few times between Tank and I Noah laughs.

“Priss doesn’t know does she? All this fucking time and you’ve never told her. You are a stupid motherfucker big brother. You’re on your own with this one too. I’d have your back in anything else, but you fucked this up, so you fix it.” Crossing his arms over his chest Noah leans back making himself more comfortable, giving me even more reason to think it is indeed dinner and a show.

Not wanting to be left out Brody nods curtly toward Noah saying,

“I’m with him. If this is why we’re here then you’re shit out of luck Hunt. I’m not bailing your ass out of this mess…”

Kai stands in an equally intimidating pose mirroring Tank laying his hands flat on the table. Leaning in he speaks quietly, but with no less anger than his brothers, but with a hell of a lot more sinister undertone.

“You guys can say it you know. We’ve given him enough time to sort his shit out. This should’ve been said years ago.”

Tank slams his huge fist on the table and roars,

“ENOUGH.”

Shaking his head in what looks to be disgust Kai ploughs on ignoring his brothers’ murderous glare.

“No! Fuck you Hunter. When we promised to keep our mouths shut about that shit you told us you’d tell her soon. Now we find out she’s been hurt, and that whole time, that whole fucking time Priss could’ve been with you and safe if you’d just fucking said something. What is your fucking damage? You know her,” he says gesturing to me with his outstretched arm. “Priss would’ve been okay if you told her about…”

“I said e-fucking-nough. This is not your fucking business.”

Before Tank can say anything else Kai’s next words slice through my chest like a knife through butter.

“Say it Hunter. Say the fucking words. Your wife. If you told Priss about your wife this wouldn’t have happened.” The world spins, I can feel myself falling, but before I hit the floor a strong set of arms catches me placing me on the couch in the living room.

Tank’s wife? Tank’s married? Holy fucking shit! Every conceivable scenario runs through my head. And I mean, every single one. Is she here in town? Stashed away somewhere. No. I’d know if she was. Blackwater is too small to hide someone. Unless it’s a dead body, and then only the MC would know where they were. Does he see her often? Obviously that’s easy an answer. He can’t possibly if he’s here and she’s wherever. Does he love her? Is that why he cut me out? As these thoughts invade my conscious, taking root, digging deep, I hear thuds and crashes coming from my kitchen. Standing on wobbly legs I make my way back in only to see Kai cradling his jaw, Noah fending Tank off as best he can, Brody attempting to pull Tank back from one side, and Jas the other.

Now I know it was stupid, I should never have put myself in the middle, but I had to do
something
. They couldn’t beat the shit out of each other, they’re brothers and I refuse to be the thing that comes between them. Reaching out to capture Tank’s arm, to do anything to calm him down, I’m met with an elbow to the eye. It begins to swell immediately, the heat and pain come within seconds of impact. I did however manage to achieve my objective, because the room goes silent. No more sounds of flesh meeting flesh. No more thuds of bodies hitting the cabinets. And no more grunts of pain. All five men swivel to look at me, and Tank’s by my side in an instant.

Even though he elbowed me accidentally, I still can’t bring myself to be scared of him. But that doesn’t stop me from taking a step back when he reaches out to touch me. That small movement. That small step. Puts a look of agony on his face I never want to see ever again. I don’t want to hurt him, I really don’t, but right now the pain in my eye is secondary to the pain in my heart. The pain deep in my soul at knowing Tank is married.

Stepping up to the freezer I pull out a bag of frozen vegetables wrapping it in a kitchen towel gently moving it to cover my poor injured eye. I address all of them when I’m done,

“I want you to leave. All of you. This is not safe for Tilly, and I don’t want this shit in my house. If you still want to see her while you’re here, fine, but you do
not
fight in my fucking house where she might walk in and get hurt.”

Taking a tentative step toward me Noah reaches out his hand, but again I step back.

“Fuck. I’m sorry Priss. I’m so fuck…”

“No!” I yell. “Get out. Now!” I don’t want then here anymore. I want time to process everything I’ve heard. I want time to myself. And I definitely want to do that alone with no one watching in a quite house free of Adams men.

Tank barks out,

“You heard her, get the fuck out. Go back to mine and I’ll be there soon.”

He’s sorely mistaken if he thinks I’m letting him stay. I don’t want to see him, much less talk to him right now.

“You too Hunter. I’m going to check this out,” I say gesturing to my eye, “In the bathroom, and when I come back every one of you better be gone. I swear to God, because if you’re not you’re all getting castrated with a plastic spoon.”

Locking myself in my bathroom which is attached to my bedroom, not the main bath Tilly uses, I examine my eye. It’s definitely going to be black come morning, and I can’t help but run through a list of excuses to give people. I don’t want anyone thinking Tank did this on purpose, because he didn’t. Regardless of explaining it was an accident the guys at the club will crucify him, and I don’t want that. Far from it.

The knocking starts softly at first, turning angrier the more time that passes without me answering him.

“Beautiful?” He calls gently. “Open the door please beautiful. I just want to see if you’re okay.” I don’t answer or make a move to fulfil his request. I know he’s getting frustrated when his voice starts getting louder. “Priss, unlock the door. Just for a second, and then I’ll go alright. Just let me see you.” I can hear the emotion in his voice, but I can’t be the one to help him this time. My feelings are too raw. I’m too angry. The knocking becomes banging, urgent demanding. But I still don’t answer. “Fuck Priscilla. I’m so fucking sorry.” I almost laugh. What’s he sorry for? My eye? Not telling me he’s married? Ignoring me for fourteen months? What? “I need to talk to you. There’s a fuck ton I’ve got to tell you. Open up so we can talk for a bit, then if you still want me to leave I will. I promise baby.” After a few minutes with no response from me, I hear what can only be Tank’s forehead hitting the door. Tears are rolling silently down my face now, and I feel lost. Alone. Eviscerated. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. “Don’t cry beautiful. Please don’t fucking cry when I can’t hold you.” He should have thought about that before keeping something like that from me if he didn’t want me to cry. What did he think would happen? That I’d tell him it was okay that he lied for years. Hell no it’s not okay. I don’t know if it will ever be okay. “Priscilla, listen to me. I’ll go. I don’t want to, but I will. I’ll be back though. We’re not finished with this, I’ve got more to tell you, and I need you to let me explain. It’s not what you think.”

You know in movies when the guy gets caught cheating, and they always say ‘It’s not what you think’? Yeah, well that’s what this felt like. Tank might not have cheated on me because we were never officially together, but I can’t help feeling like he had in fact cheated on me. And I can tell you now it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let him back into my house to talk to me. He’s broken my trust. He’s broken my heart, and I don’t think I can fix that. I can fix a lot, but not that. That’s too much. Too deep a wound.

Crawling out of the bathroom once I know he’s gone, I heard the front door shut ten minutes ago, I huddle under my blankets and sob. Inside a minute I find myself wrapped in my sisters’ arms, and my sobs get louder. This should be me comforting her not the other way around. Stroking my hair Tilly says,

“It’s going to be okay sissy. We’ll make this okay, you and me. Remember we can do anything if we stick together.”

I used to say that to Tilly all the time when she was younger. When she thought things would never get better. When she was missing our parents’ desperately. When she was sad because everything changed I would tell her we can do anything if we stuck together. And it was true. We’ve made it through a lot. I can only hope that this will be another one of those times.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hunter

Awake and Alive – Skillet

              I’ve had this recurring dream, its nightmare really, since I came home from my last deployment. I never knew why I was having it until now. Now it makes perfect sense.

I enlisted in the Navy when I was eighteen, nothing more than a cocky teenager with an ego the size of Texas. Nothing lasts forever though, so basic training, SEAL selections, and endurance training coupled with every advanced training course that was possible to take kicked my ego, and overconfidence in the ass in less than a minute. Surviving that shit is supposed to prove that you can endure any, and all conditions. Torture, hand-to-hand combat, and interrogation are all meant to be a walk in the park after what we’d just been through. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

I met guys that experienced a number of war time atrocities, and absolutely
nothing
prepared them for a human beings capability for cruelty in the event of war. Needless to say I came back stateside after my first deployment with a completely new appreciation and deep respect for what soldiers are encountering during the ‘War on Terror’. Maybe all the training, the abuse by Drill Sergeants, and our superiors didn’t beat all the ego out of me, because I didn’t call it quits after that first deployment. No. I returned for four more. Spending sleepless nights wishing I hadn’t after each and every one.

Everything was fine throughout my first three tours, well as fine as being enlisted in the Navy during wartimes could be, it was the fourth deployment to Kandahar’s outlying provinces that fucked me up. That mission categorically changed how I view life. Where I was headed with mine if I ever got out. The dream stemmed from that mission, and I’d do anything to remove it from the highlight reel in my head.

We’d just bunkered down for the night in what used to be a house, but now resembled nothing short of ruins that would probably only withstand a strong gust of wind. My platoon, SEAL Team 3, and I were able to sleep anywhere, it never mattered much. You got sleep where, and when you could, taking shifts to keep watch, and scout for the enemy. A necessary part of the job, but one that meant even when sleep deprived for days you had to be on the ball so your team mates could catch what little rest they were dur. This wasn’t even the worst place we’d ever had to catch some Z’s.

James Falconi, or Plugger he got his name because as our only medic trained team member and he’d plugged up more holes in all of us than we ever cared to remember, and I took first watch between eleven-PM and three-AM. Watches were set up in four hour blocks with a minimum of two team members per watch. It’s easier to stay awake when you have an asshole throwing shit at you if you start to drift off.

Plugger and I took turns patrolling the area surrounding the deserted dwelling using our comms units to communicate our positions signalling the all clear in fifteen minute intervals. We didn’t see it coming, and to be honest I don’t think we could have done anything differently if we had. Both of us had done everything by the book. We’d followed all the protocols, and everything still went to hell in a hand basket faster than you can say, ‘fuck me’.

IED’s, or Improvised Explosive Devices, were our biggest threat over there. Most people think of landmines when someone says IED, that’s a falsehood and fucking awesome propaganda campaign meant to make the world feel more secure as they go about their daily lives. The fact is, IED’s can be made of anything. Ranging from homemade bombs, vests, and grenades; all the way through to landmines, triggered car explosives, or rudimentary missiles. The dangerous part of an IED is what they’re filled with. The answer is pretty much whatever the fuck they can get their hands on. Nails, glass, small pellets, screws, washers, fucking anything that will do damage. In our case what we were hit with was along the lines of a grenade filled with glass and ceramic shards. Not just one though, dozens of them, for hours, with little to no predictability. That was only the diversionary tactic mind you.

After the first explosion rocked our makeshift camp Plugger woke the rest of our team, and in seconds we took up defensive positions knowing infiltration would come next. The real threat when faced with insurgents, other than the insurgents themselves, is they tend to have little to no concern for human life happily using themselves as martyrs in their cause.

With very few options for retreat, most of them were through unknown terrain and honestly we had no idea where the grenades were being launched from as yet or how many insurgents we were facing, it was smarter to defend our current position, wait out the attack. I wouldn’t have believed you if you’d warned me before this clusterfuck broke out that this would end up being our biggest mistake. But it was, and it was also one I’d deeply regret for the rest of my life.

By the following night five members of our eight man team died in the fire fight that lasted almost a full twenty-four hours. Only Plugger, Sarge our teams 2IC, and, I survived long enough to be airlifted out of the battle zone. There wasn’t even enough left of our fallen to transport back to their families and loved ones. Gruesome doesn’t begin to describe the scene the emergency Blackhawk crew heli-lifted us from. I relive those scenes every night, repeatedly in my nightmares. The screams. The terror. The blood. The confusion, and the pain, so much fucking pain.

I don’t see the whole dream in vivid detail, just pieces. Flashes of light. Sounds of explosions rocking our camp. The screams of pain. Arms. Legs. Blood. Fuck. So much blood. The bodies of our teammates. The men whose families had now lost a son. A father. A brother. A friend. A life cut short before its time. Soldiers.

We fought for justice for our fallen, Plugger, Sarge, and I. We fought fucking hard, but like everything else about that deployment it ended up being a clusterfuck.

We re-joined the rest of the U.S. armed forces at the military fortified compound in Kandahar, only to find out it was a similar story for our friends in SEAL Team 2. They’d lost four members of their team in an almost identical attack three days prior, so it didn’t take a genius to work out there was an information leak somewhere. And that explained a fuck of a lot that up until that point had remained unexplained. However, that wasn’t the most pressing issue at the time, so like a lot of other shit in the Navy it was set aside.

Making sure families of our fallen soldiers were informed, given a chance to grieve was more important, and also protocol. Two uniformed officers were dispatched to each family’s home to break the news of their loved ones passing. The horrifying wails of mothers and wives. The stoic, yet tearful faces of fathers and brothers. And the kids. Fuck me. The kids are always the worst hit with the news. Their faces hold so much hope when they see officers at the door, but morph quickly to utter desolation at the news their daddies are no longer of this world. All the more reason to investigate why these good men were ultimately led to their deaths, and make it a priority.

It was heartbreaking, but we never did find the source of the leak. We had our suspicions, but not enough solid Intel to go on to make any arrests or even go ahead and question the suspects we did have. After a six-month long investigation the outcome was ‘Of Unknown Origin’, a nice was to say we’ve got no fucking clue and can’t be fucked to waste the time to figure it out. Those of us that were there were never questioned. Our statements weren’t taken. The details our superiors knew were sketchy at best, only gathered from Intel received through battlefield communications at the time of the attack, which anyone that’s been into battle knows isn’t worth shit.

On returning stateside Plugger, Sarge, and I were given our discharge papers, our superiors deciding the three of us had served our country well however our services were no longer required. It was an honourable discharge, so at least we could get the fuck out without all the political bullshit involved with challenging the decision. We were each handed a card with contact details of our closest VA hospital, with the offer to be checked out if we felt we needed it. That was it. ‘Thanks for the eight-years you spent in hell. Here’s a piece of cardboard that we’re forced to give you. Use it if you want, but if not try not to kill yourself or anyone else would you, it doesn’t look good for the military’. Truth. That’s the line they fed us. Not surprising, I suspect it was standard operating procedure, after all we’re only a number on a file in a cabinet somewhere to the bureaucrats. Only as useful as our last mission, and look how that turned out.

Coming awake, hard I’m breathing heavy, covered in sweat, and swear I can still smell acrid burning flesh in my nostrils. Feel the blood covering every inch of my skin. The dreams are getting worse. Worse than ever before. Like I said I know why, but that doesn’t change a damn thing.

Doctor Burns said traumatic events, substantial change, and frequent variations to routine and sleeping patterns can trigger the dreams to escalate. Looks like he was right, because all of those things have led to each and every one of my dreams ending like this; me covered in a sweat, disorientated, smelling things I can’t possibly be smelling, and feeling dirty like I’d just crawled through the desert. Just like I had the night of the attack. Sleepless nights of late have meant that I’ve barely stepped foot inside Chasers. That I’m only eating to survive, not because I can taste anything. I don’t work out, because I’m pacing enough to take over where lifting weights left off. I check my phone for missed calls or text messages hundreds of times a day. And I’m fucking lucky Arrow reminded me Church was today, or I would’ve had my fucking ass handed to me later because I would’ve forgot about it completely.