Sins and Saints (Taking Flight Book Two)

By S. Marie Rose

What kind of man abuses the mother of his child? I can't claim to be an expert on the whole love thing but I'm pretty sure he was doing it wrong. And her? What was she thinking? Staying with him for all those years. Beautiful. I never thought that about any woman until I laid eyes on Charlotte. She's the kind of girl you don't forget no matter how much you try to sweat her out of your system. Charlie Cole is under my skin and if I don't do something soon there's no way I'm gonna be able to stop myself from getting her under me in general.

Going toe to toe with Johnny Cruz was a cakewalk, not falling in love with his wife? Well that was a bit tricky. But what happens when the only woman I've ever loved learns the truth? What happens when the only light in my world sees the darkness? What happens when she sees the saint for the sinner he really is? I can't lose her. I just can't.

Charlie and Deklan's story is just getting started in the second installment of the Taking Flight Series. Told from Deklan's point of view, Sins and Saints will take you on a roller coaster ride full of emotion. You'll get to know Deklan as the quintessential alpha, a man who believes in love as much as he believes in the Easter Bunny and watch as he transforms into a man who would do anything for the one woman he has no right to fall for. Questions will be answered and the lines between what's right and wrong will be crossed leaving Deklan to wonder if being a saint is worth it, especially when being a sinner is far less painful.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. Marie Rose
• Release date: May 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463918524

S. Marie Rose

Who is S. Marie Rose? It's simple really...she's just a girl trying to do something that makes her happy. A mom trying to do what's best for her children and a woman that after years of silencing her dreams has finally decided to take a chance. S.Marie Rose is a Romance author from CT. She's dedicated to her two crazy little boys and running a non-profit program for individuals with intellectual disabilities. Her first book Doves and Demons is a full length romantic suspense novel that kicks off the Taking Flight Series. Loaded with twists and turns and so many "OMG!" moments, readers are in for a wild ride with this suspenseful trilogy.

Book preview

Always find time to do whatever it is that makes you smile

Love, Mommy

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEDICATION

PART ONE (THEN)

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PART TWO (NOW)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THReE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY oNE

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

chapter forty one

chapter forty two

chapter forty three

chapter forty four

chapter forty five

chapter forty six

chapter forty seven

chapter forTY EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE

CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

connect with me

acknowledgements

about s. marie rose

PART ONE

THEN

PROLOGUE

My name is Deklan Bentley….

I never used to believe in fate.

Even less in hope.

If FATE were a person, he’d be an asshole and HOPE would be his psycho little brother with questionable behavior toward small animals and family pets.

That is until her.

Until the light she carried in the darkest days blinded me. Until the fire in her eyes branded my soul. Until she bulldozed through the layers upon layers of steel and titanium around my heart with her crazy hair and wide-open brown eyes.

Until I found her.

Until I loved her.

Until I lost her.

Before her, I was content living my life on middle ground, not bothering to see higher places and doing my best to avoid lower ones. Staying in the middle meant the drop down was shorter, the lack of distance of course, making life more bearable.

Bringing myself to that level of weightlessness, where I just let the wind blow me in whatever direction it deemed fit was not only off the table, it was completely foolish. Letting the chips fall where they may—just plain stupid. Trusting in some sort of higher power to lead me down an uncertain path—really fucking dumb.

Sure, I got myself in trouble, did some things and made some decisions I shouldn’t have, but because I never chanced a climb to the very top, I never knew what it was like to fall so far down.

Until, I did.

Mostly, the top is for the idealists, dreamers. People that believe in the good of man. The kind of person that wishes upon stars, throws coins in fountains and blows out birthday candles with a zest for all things impossible. So, with a backpack full of sunshine and deep pockets full of rainbows, they set out for the very highest peak, setting themselves up for failure, rejection and inevitable pain.

It’s hard to break those fucking climbers. The number of times they dust themselves off and ascend the mountain top of optimism is almost unthinkable. But when they do break? When they finally see that no matter how many times they climb, they just keep falling? Well, then there isn’t enough left of them to put back together. I made that very climb once and for that I’ll never be the same.

At the highest point, the air was so thin it did things to my brain, clogged up my thoughts and made me forget who I was. I turned into a delusional son of a bitch. Made friends with Fate and gave far more bro-hugs to Hope than I’m comfortable admitting. I put all my shiny eggs in a giant basket of wishful fucking thinking, and it was all because of her.

Fate told me that with her I had everything. Hope said that without her I was nothing.

I am no longer speaking to either.

Those lying little bastards of positivity had me convinced and they didn’t just let me down, they tossed me off the highest peak, laughing and pointing as my giant body flopped along each rock and banged against each boulder.

Until her, I had always stayed in the middle because it made sense. I’m a logical person. Or was. It’s all past tense now. I didn’t feel more than necessary, and I didn’t care more than needed. I believed enough in some type of higher power to be cautious but not enough to stop me from seeking justice. A self- proclaimed vigilante. The judge, jury and the executioner had nothing on me, and I fucking loved it.

Because what I knew then and what I still know is this…there may or may not be a God, we may or may not get to see that providential white light or pass the pearly gates and run directly into a realm full of long lost loved ones and innocent children that never should've died to begin with, but until then we’d have to battle evil.

Our fight against all things sordid is everlasting, and many aren’t equipped with either the balls for combat or the stomach for revenge. If that meant I had to sacrifice my seat next to Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King and my grandfather’s one-eyed brother Mervill, then so be it.

Some people aren’t strong enough to go toe to toe with the devil. Some people aren’t brave enough to withstand his wrath.

I was not those people.

Evil was my adversary which meant conquering it was my mission. Until the day she walked, or should I say stumbled into my life.

Until everything changed.

I’d been to hell before. Didn’t just get the T-shirt to commemorate my experience but picked up the magnet and a postcard as well. And nothing will ever compare to what it was like to watch her walk away from me.

I’d survived war, had my body ripped to shreds by shrapnel, and went head to head with the nastiest drug lords and kingpins this country had to offer, yet listening to the agonizing sobs that left the lips of the only woman I’d ever truly love did me in.

I’ve bled for my country, for my men and for my family, but I only lived for her.

Before her, Evil was the blight of my existence just as much as it was my push to keep moving. Fighting it meant I had purpose. Destroying it meant I had power. Scrapping with the Devil was a small price to pay to ensure that those less fortunate got a chance. For the ones that had no voice I roared, the ones that were too weak, I carried.

I’d always lived off adrenaline. Things that’d make the average sucker piss themselves, were no more than a challenge for me. A challenge I was hellbent on winning. But I wasn’t stupid in my decisions. Confident, yea. But not stupid. I knew what I was capable of and believed in my abilities. I didn’t think I was impenetrable, I just never let anyone get close enough to try.

Physical pain was doable.

Emotional pain was not allowed.

Now my goddamn heart was bleeding. Another sign that I climbed too damn high, exceeded the mountain top and headed straight for the fucking clouds—and I did it all for her.

As my feet pound the pavement below, I put much needed distance between myself and the life that just minutes ago had slipped through my fingers. Her cries seem to go louder as each mile passes. The heartbreaking sounds become my motivation, forcing me to sprint faster. Run harder. Sweat beads along my hairline before spilling down my face, obscuring my vision and muddling my thoughts. How the fuck did I turn into this? Internally broken and irrevocably shattered. A lovesick fool that would die to stop the pain I’ve caused, surrender to the devil himself to see her smile again.

And that—my willingness to abdicate to all things wrong in the world— is what scared me most. I was a lot of things before her, but a sucker wasn’t one of them. There was a time when I used to be a warrior. When I used to be invincible.

Once upon a time I was motherfucking Superman.

Until she became my kryptonite.

CHAPTER ONE

The Aftermath

The constant beeping was driving me crazy. A noisy gong meant to remind me of my demise. Maybe not the sound of total finality but to me it was worse. It was the sound of change, the sound that things were different. It was the kind of clamor that repeatedly told me my life was over. The silence that came between the noxious reverberations telling me, but you still must live it.

I hurt—everywhere, although I welcomed the pain. Rejoiced in it. The minute I knew I lost my men, the exact second when it registered that I had failed —not only them but my country, nothing but agony was welcomed into my body. Because I knew, deep down in the heart I no longer had, that I deserved no less.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

God, how I wanted to rip that machine apart with my bare hands. Demolish the computerized reminder of my shortcomings into minuscule pieces. Not an easy task considering I could barely move my damn fingers, but I’d manage.

The gashes in my left arm were nasty and painful. A lot of my time was spent gritting my teeth as even the slightest movement hurt like a son of a bitch. My legs were no better. Just two days before, the tendons hung from the ghastly wounds like overcooked noodles, soggy, weak and useless. I was told they pegged me as a goner upon arrival and as I took in the sight of this German shithole hospital, I wasn’t sure living was the overall best option.

Most of the day my limbs were numb, the rest of the time they hurt so bad I wanted to tear them off myself.

Nerve damage, they cautioned. That was my number one threat at the time— or so they said. Overconfident pricks. Fucking Doctors. They obviously didn’t know shit from shitake because the number one threat wasn’t nerve damage—it was me.

I was my worst enemy and the chunks of missing flesh on my arm and torso, left on the battlefield as trophies for our enemies would be a lifelong reminder of my inadequacies.

Out of the ten fingers I did still luckily have, only one cooperated regularly. So, I curled it around the call button and after two failed attempts, was finally able to push the fucking thing.

I was an invalid, but I deserved the title.

No matter. I couldn’t help but hold onto some sliver of sanguinity that my future wouldn’t involve a daily routine that consisted of pissing in a tin pan and having a grown man wipe my ass. Selfish, I knew it, yet I longed for the cool feel of porcelain when it came time to handle my business.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It just wouldn’t stop.

Sgt. Bentley? Tilda, my nurses’ voice broke through my thought bubble. A very welcome distraction. Her German accent slipped through her full, ripe, rosy red lips almost breathlessly, giving me a hint of all the things that mouth was capable of—and I liked it.

I liked it a lot.

Nothing better for the soul than a Gisele Bundchen look-a-like on her knees, begging for a taste of the one thing—Praise God, that still worked with no noted issues. And trust me, every morning when I opened my eyes to the proof of my intact manhood, I thanked Buddha, Jesus, Muhammad and any other deity that may or may not be floating around for sparing good ole’ Richard and the twins.

Clearing the cotton webs in my throat, I gave her one of my signature smiles. A sure-fire panty dropping grin. My voice box felt like it was being ripped to shreds every time I spoke, but Lord, it was worth the agony when it came time to proposition the sexy temptress before me.

Damn, Tilda. They shouldn’t let women like you work around men like me. You do realize you’re walking into the lion’s den every time you step through that door, right? What do you say, baby? How ‘bout you and me give this shitbox of a hospital something to talk about? I tossed a wink in her direction for good measure and prayed my dick didn’t spring a hole straight through the sheet draped across my lap.

It was hard not to get excited around Tilda, or any woman for that matter. All shapes, sizes, colors and creeds. If my sex-life had a storefront those exact words would’ve been etched in metallic gold calligraphy across the window. All are welcome, and satisfaction would always be guarantee, written on the bottom of each receipt.

The trick was in the smile. The swagger. The husky voice that dripped with desire. The low growl that promised ecstasy. It was all in the seeing but not staring. The glancing but not gazing. Giving just enough to make the experience mutually pleasurable but not enough that it promised ever after. I was no knight in shining armor, but I’d let them believe I was until it no longer suited my interest. Daughters beware, I was who your father warned you about.

Sure, I was an asshole but as Tilda purred in my direction, her struggle between remaining professional and just saddling up and enjoying the ride on my very own pony express, boiled ferociously beneath those dreamy bedroom eyes and all worries about being anything but inside her completely disappeared. I was gonna have this girl one way or another. Whether she had realized it at that point remained to be seen.

It wasn’t a secret. I developed a taste for the female anatomy early on in life. It was an incredible addiction to the womanly form. An obsession with the hunt if you will. Lucky for me, the same thrill I had chasing around young Daisy Conway at twelve still existed when it came to older, though sometimes barely legal women like Nurse Tilda.

You kid too much, Sgt. Bentley. You are very handsome, yes, but my work is very important to me. She tried to sound resolute and failed.

Miserably.

Honestly, she wasn’t fooling anyone. I’d seen poor men stare at food with less longing. Wrecked and barely existing, the fact that I still had it when it came to the ladies was a victory in my book.

What kind of nurse would I be to do such bold things as you suggest?

A fucking phenomenal one. The best damn nurse around if you ask me. I reached out, my good finger leading the way to trace the soft curve of her ass, casting my line and waiting for the bite. When she didn’t move away but rather leaned into my touch, my balls tingled with excitement.

Hook, line and sinker bitches!

Silly man... She hovered above, her mouth inches from my own. ...you are injured, barely able to move your hands but so confident that you can give me—what is it you say? A wild ride?

The little minx was testing me, and I was about to ace the exam. Why don’t you go shut that door Nurse Tilda, then I can show you all the things I can do to you without my hands. I bit my lower lip then raked my gaze over her body, careful to avoid direct eye contact.

As you probably guessed, I’d messed around with a lot of women in my thirty-one years. Seen every part of their bodies. Smelled the natural fragrances of their skin. I’ve learned the names of family members, best friends and enemies and became knowledgeable of the many secrets they otherwise swore to never tell a soul. It didn’t take much to find out what one liked best for dinner and whether another was allergic to shellfish. Whether they preferred the Red Sox or Yankees. Chocolate or vanilla. Bottom or hopefully the top. It was just some of the basic information I’d come to garner throughout my erotic journey. By the time it was all said and done, and I lay panting with an arm draped over my forehead, I pretty much knew the location of each freckle and shape of each birth mark, but I never once looked into their eyes.

Too intimate a gesture for something that would only happen once, maybe twice depending on her skill set. I never wanted to see the longing that always seemed to be present, the silent pleading for undying affection and everlasting love that I’d never be able to give. Not that I’d ever want to. I had two rules. The first; never get attached. The second; don’t forget the first. There would never be exceptions.

And still, despite the agreed upon disclaimers they continued to try to paint themselves in a light that would never shine for them. I didn’t look because it only took one time for them to ruin a good thing. Just once and suddenly I was privy to the uninvited plans for a future, the planning of my never-gonna-happen marriage and the naming of my never-gonna-happen children.

Pick me instead of them, their eyes always taunted pleadingly as they promised more pleasure than the last and more satisfaction than the next. Neither of which ever tended to happen.

You see, these women, no matter their protests, always wanted more. They always searched for a glimpse of humanity that didn’t exist within my soul. They wanted requited dreams amidst polygamous nightmares. Tropical islands amongst war torn countries. And above anything else, they longed to prove that they were different from the rest without realizing that it was that very unhealthy strive for diversity that made each of them exactly the same.

Truth is, I had an impressive number of notches in my bedpost and I barely had to look at them at all. Women just came to me. Flocked to me like lovesick seagulls. Stuck to me like blood thirsty leeches. There never seemed to be a shortage of willing participants and I capitalized on their eagerness to please any chance I could get. And I let them please me until their time was up. What it came down to was simple, women would always have a place in my bed, sometimes my bathroom, occasionally on the hood of my car but never in my heart. And that my friends, was how I planned for it to stay.

Hey, I never claimed to be a saint.

Chivalry may not be dead for some people, but it was a decomposing corpse left in the middle of a popular hiking trail for me. I’d always been that way. Women came, (pun absolutely intended) then they went. It was a simple process and it was how I liked things. Clear cut and routine. No strings. No drama. And if I had any say left in this godforsaken life of mine, it would stay that way.

When Tilda stalked in her own sensual way toward the metal blockade that separated me from the rest of the barely existing wounded warriors—my best friend Labs included, I felt normal for the first time in a long time. My German nurse was an erotic panther set out to feast, willing to risk her reputation— her career— for a one-time romp in the sheets with yours truly and hot damn I was ready for her.

Through all the naked skin and bared flesh, the subtle moans and feral groans, I knew I should’ve cared. Should’ve taken the higher road and been the honorable man I was brandished by my country and left her the hell alone. But I was a selfish bastard and so far from honorable a GPS couldn’t get me there.

As it was, Tilda was a much-needed reprieve from the demons I battled daily. Although I barely had a fully working conscience before then, my lack of morals and values went flying out the window when my sister Allie went missing.

Five minutes younger than me, and stubborn as a goddamn mule, she took a spring break trip with her girlfriends. They came back. She didn’t. To top it off, there wasn’t much I could do in the way of searching for her. I was being sent overseas. A top-secret mission that led me to that very fucking hospital bed and had some of my best friends— brothers, being shipped back to their loved ones in boxes, their bodies no longer resembling the men they once were. The acid in my stomach burned stronger as an image of what was left of each of them blasted through my thoughts.

My mind was fucked, and I truly believed it was destined to stay that way.

I joined the Marines at twenty as a naïve and pompous asshat. An irrational fucktard that was convinced the universe owed him something without having to do a goddamn thing to get it. I was dumb, but they worked the stupid right out of me. Drill after drill, mile after mile I made up for a life’s worth of poor decisions and turned things around.

From there, I quickly made my way up the ranks. I had a tolerance for pain that was borderline freakish and a taste for enemies’ blood so strong, I practically salivated when we crossed adversary lines.

Proving my worth to my country and my resilience to terror, I became the man you counted on. The type of guy that had your back. Where people of the times cared mostly about themselves, I felt my need to protect others to the very core of my bones. I’d gladly keep the nightmares at bay even if it meant I had to live them myself.

I learned a lot in the first few years. One of the hardest lesson’s being that there was really no way to trick the inevitable. That no one, not one person, was immune to the wicked shit that was scattered all over this world. Sometimes even strewn across our own backyards.

No one.

Of course, It’s easy to think we’re exempt. To think that total devastation is meant for others but never meant for us. It’s natural to think so, even going as far as to convince ourselves that while we understand the logic behind a lightning strike, often times it misses more than it hits. Until it does hit. Striking right when we least expect, leaving smoldering debris in its wake. By the time we finally snap back from the sudden case of whiplash handed over by our good friend Life it’s too late. Because these things, these really fucking bad things, aren’t just touching us they’re devouring us. They latch on like ticks, embed themselves into our beings, and set out to steal our sanctity.

I’ve learned the hard way that adrenaline can get a person through some crazy ass situations. When your blood pumps and your heart races, and you can almost feel your body and your brain team up to complete the most important life mission yet…Survival.

Then, just as fast it consumes us, loading our psyche and our bodies with super hero strength and mastermind knowledge, the high simply fades and we’re left with the realization that at the end of the day we’re all just easy pickings for atrocity, unwillingly waiting to be tapped on in some fucked up game of Duck Duck Goose.

That’s when the shakes start.

The tears fall.

For first time in your life you realize, you aren’t safe, and you never were. The aftermath will always be there to kick you in the balls and make you wonder what the fuck you’re even doing here. What’s the purpose of all this shit?

Losing my sister was hard. Leaving my parents during their time of need was harder. Going back to them after all that time, bandaged and busted, was damn near unbearable. Regardless of how much I’d forced myself to acknowledge uncertainty, beat the idea of difference into my brain, change was never going to be easy, I just had to accept that.

I knew before I arrived back stateside that my father, a local policeman, practically lived at the station. Protecting and serving was more difficult with his only daughter gone and still he did his best to uphold his promise that was to keep the community safe. Even if that meant losing every part of what made him the man he was in the process. If he wasn’t working, he was out testing his own theories on where my sister went and with whom. Assuming, or should I say hoping, that she was still alive and refusing to listen to any person that attempted to tell him differently. The poor bastard became a shell of a man, grasping at the last bits of his rationality and waiting for a miracle. A miracle that we all knew— deep down— would likely never come.

My mother? Well, the woman who normally wore her Sunday best to the grocery store and smiled at everyone she passed was still around somewhere, you just had to catch her between bottles to find her. An inconceivable dependence that brought her to the point where she drank a fifth of Grey Goose like a grade school kid slurped on a juice box. She hated my father because he spent so much time looking for my sister and despised him just the same for not finding her. Dad was screwed either way.

And me?

Well, I didn’t grieve.

I couldn’t.

Instead I got angry. Blood boiling, close to completely blacking out angry. Life for me took turns that made me queasy and swept me up into this current avalanche of bull shit. Sometimes I could even feel the pressure against my windpipe, the air depleting from my lungs. And until I got clearance from one of the moronic d-bags that called themselves doctors, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do but suffocate.

While I waited to be deemed well enough to return home, and did my best to prepare myself for the long road ahead, I forced myself to forget about all of it and let my German accented nurse, who just so happened to use a bit more teeth than I preferred, fondle my balls as my best friend clung to life down the hallway.

In the face of the mess I seemed to be in, one thing I was sure of—Sainthood is for mother fucking pussies.

CHAPTER TWO

He’s ready

Bentley.

I looked up, even though I didn’t really have to. I knew that deep baritone voice anywhere. Shit, it practically haunted me in my dreams. It’s not that I didn't respect the man because I did, but I definitely didn’t like the fucker.

Colonel. That’s all he was getting from me until I could figure out what he wanted. You could never really tell with Colonel Flanders, a man that found little humor in rhyming references to the one and only Colonel Sanders. Besides, I was doing my best to bask in the mediocre afterglow that came from an even more mediocre blowjob. I had no patience for his antics.

How you holdin’ up, son?

I hated when he called me that, basically because it was much less an endearment and much more of a way to shove his authority in my face. Also, a little factoid that he seemed to keep forgetting— I already had a Dad. Sure, he was rumored to be about two steps away from falling into the deepest end of the looney pool, but still, the only one that had true ownership of the term.

Oh, I'm hangin' in there, Colonel. Just another day in paradise. I swooped the better working hand in front of me, a sarcastic move to showcase the despairing room.

The smug comment wasn't appreciated but also wasn't discussed further. Surely, there was no need for reprehension as he was the one of the two of us that could plop his pasty white ass onto a toilet seat without the assistance of a male orderly named Adolf.

Yea…Adolf.

Refraining from making more useless small talk, he studied me carefully. I knew his ploy. He wasn't trying to figure out the best way to say what he needed to say. No, he was casting his Laurence Fishburne, Matrix eyes in my direction so I could come to the conclusion myself. This had always been a favorite game of his and I was getting really fucking tired of the perpetual mindfuck.

He's ready. I stated it as a question because I already knew the answer.

Ready may not be the best word to describe him. My superior paused, and I must’ve been on some real fucking killer pain meds because I swore I saw his chin quiver. Before I could ponder such an impossible concept that was the Colonel, an imposing figure that often-resembled Gary Busey too much to take seriously, being anything other than an emotionless robot, he continued.

He's asking for you though, so it's progress.

I nodded stiffly, trying to exude a level of confidence I certainly did not feel. Give me a woman, a gun, or a boxing ring and I'd fuck, shoot or fight. Give me this shit? This emotionally charged plot to a Lifetime movie? Yea, I'd have preferred Adolf shaved my scrotum with a ninety-year-old razor.

Knock. Knock, I hear you are ready for the visit, yes? Speak of the Devil. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. It's not that I didn't like Adolf, I mean his name certainly wasn't my favorite, but he was an alright dude. An ugly dude with a little too much acne for a guy his age that often smelled like bratwurst but still pretty alright considering we were in a German hospital and once again his name was Adolf.

Labs wasn’t going to be happy to see me whether they said he was ready or not and I was okay with that. I would’ve felt the same if the shoe were on the other foot. Neither he nor I could much tolerate pity and the last thing we wanted was to be stared at and thought of as less of the men we were. After all we had an agreement. We were warriors. Teammates. Goddamn Marines! And by all fucking means necessary we would make sure that neither one of us would forget it.

Sitting outside camp, it had been one hell of a fucking week. Two more bodies were heading back to the States soon, making a total of seven since the mission started. The fear of the unknown sat like thick smog between the rest of us leading way to several arguments and some dangerously explosive tempers.

Sure, my own team was still intact, but for how much longer? We hadn’t even gotten to the hard part yet and other units were dropping like flies. It was likely why we were all in pissy moods, maneuvering like zombies, trying to wrap our heads around all the twisted shit we’d witnessed thus far and figure out how the fuck we were going to be able to pull off the impossible. Relying on intel from natives was always a risk but sometimes the only choice. I had a funny feeling about all of it but continued to convince myself that no one would be dumb enough to cross us. Unfortunately for me, they passed out death wishes in the Middle East like fucking candy, making it next to impossible to get a handle on even the so called good guys.

This mission wasn’t my first and still I’d never seen so much blood, or detached body parts for that matter. The knee bone should always be connected to the thigh bone yet everything I’d witnessed the days before proved otherwise. It went beyond horror. Past all the things we’d prepared for. All the things we thought we knew. It didn’t take long before the entire assignment became no more than another crude reminder that war was dirty, sick and depraved.

It was also useless.

War offered no winners. No one side could claim victory when so much is lost in the process.

This day in general had been the roughest. The dust was settling, and we found ourselves amid a span of downtime that none of our minds needed. We had to stay alert and focused, though we couldn’t help but wonder who of those that remained would be next.

Labs tossed some sticks into a nearby fire while I sketched in my book, something I did to pass the time and keep myself focused. We stayed quiet. Neither he nor I willing to talk about the hypothetical tumors in our throats, the lumps that held all the emotion that came from seeing people you cared for turned into nothing but a pile of unrecognizable flesh.

We were exhausted. And it wasn’t just physically.

Ever the overgrown toddler, Labs moved around restlessly. Bouncing his knees, clasping and unclasping his hands. A giant ball of hyperactivity. All his nervous energy seemed to settle in his extremities as if moving constantly would expel the extra dose of pent-up stress that came from being in a foreign country with a target the size of Antarctica on his and all our backs. Eventually, once he couldn’t take it anymore, that same energy lost interest in his limbs and came spewing from his mouth.

"What are you working on now?" He asked, his leg still bouncing, giving me all sorts of unwanted attention. At first, I tried to ignore him. I didn’t like explaining myself to anyone, especially when it came to things I felt were personal.

"Did you hear me? I said what are you working on now?"

See what I mean?... Toddler.

I huffed out my annoyance and gave him a short answer, just enough to placate his nosy fucking mind and get him back to counting rocks or whatever dumb shit he tasked himself with.

"A bird."

More sticks and stones shuffled under Labs’ feet.

Stick

Rock

Stick

Rock

"Why a bird?"

I rolled my eyes and sighed. Questions were always frustrating. More so when you didn’t have the fucking answers yourself.

"Why not a bird?" My annoyance was obvious but not enough to keep Labs quiet.

"I don’t know. I mean if birds are your thing then go for it, I guess. Just weird that’s all. Couldn’t you draw something a little more—manly?"

I shook my head and refused to answer. I couldn’t tell him how much this sketch I was working on meant to me because for the life of me I couldn’t figure it out either.

You see, this image. This—vision —was constantly gliding through my thoughts and chasing away my demons. It started coming to me about a year ago. Innocent and pure, every time I closed my eyes it pacified my racing heart when the nightmares became unbearable. On the worst days, it provided comfort. In the most despairing hours, it gave me peace. I’d become addicted to this heavenly illusion as if I needed it to breathe, to live. I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t explain it. I just knew that every time It came to me, I felt alive. Yes, I was absolutely sure I was losing my mind. No, it didn’t stop me from continuing.

I couldn’t help myself as I skated the lead tipped pencil back and forth across the smooth surface of the page as if it was my only purpose, as if nothing else in this crazy world mattered. I let myself get lost in the process. Found comfort in watching the picture I saw so often in my mind evolve onto the blank slate before me.

Happy that Labs decided to give his voice box a rest for the time being, I focused on doing my best to capture the tranquility I felt every time I closed my eyes, making sure to replicate the image that was so strangely instilled in my otherwise callous and cement-filled heart.

The shuffling sounds coming from Labs’ antsy feet stopped and I knew my moment of peace was once again over.

"I didn’t think you liked birds."

Oh, For fucks sake!

I shut my book and slammed my pencil on top of the cover before leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. Out with it. This isn’t about what I’m drawing or whether or not I like flying fucking animals. What’s really the problem here? And don’t feed me some bullshit because I’m really not in the mood.

He stayed quiet, going back to throwing shit in the fire. If he wanted to avoid me so be it. If he kept his damn mouth shut, he could’ve run around camp naked for all I cared. I just wanted to be left alone.

With my pencil back in my hand and the sketchbook across my lap, I was eager to finish what I’d started and ready to put this whole goddamn day, this whole goddamn month behind me.

"I need… Labs started and his struggle with finding words caught my attention. If nothing else, he was by nature a chatty fucker. ...I don’t fucking know, really. Fuck, this is all just so fucked up! He ran a hand through his closely cropped hair in frustration, buying time and looking into the empty desert for the push he seemed to need to continue. Finally, able to gather his wits, he turned back toward me. Just— if something happens to me, don’t suddenly sprout a uterus or anything, America doesn’t need your areolas getting all soft and sensitive, okay?"

Ah. And there it is.

I shook my head at his typical off-colored way of handling a tough situation. Without looking up I responded, As difficult as that may be for me, I think I’ll manage.

Labs chuckled softly. I shifted my eyes back to him. To anyone else he looked fearless but to me, his best friend, the worry was unmistakable. He gave me a tight-lipped smile then a nod of his head before going back to throwing whatever debris he could find into the slowly dwindling fire.

Even from his profile, I could see his lower lids rimmed with the moisture he tried so hard to keep away. I watched as he closed his eyes tightly, squeezing them shut as if the childish gesticulation would erase the fear, the sadness and the fury. It didn’t work.

"I just... His voice shook. His eyes stayed shut tight. I just don’t want you to forget."

"Forget what?"

Reviews for Sins and Saints (Taking Flight Book Two)

[lilaboaz · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Omg loved loved loved this story! Excellent writing! This should be a major motion picture! When is the third book coming out?!