The Brajj Box set: The Brajj

By Jacqueline Patricks

"Highly recommended, especially if you are a fan of Dr. Who or Stargate." Readers Favorite

"Dreams of the Queen is one of the most unique "other world" books I've read." Pavarti Tyler, bestselling author of Chalk

"I was addicted from start to finish." Bibliophile Ramblings

A WORMHOLE TO ANOTHER WORLD

A TEAM OF SCIENTISTS AND SOLDIERS

UNIMAGINABLE EVIL, UNEXPECTED MYSTERIES, UNENDING DESTINY

AN EPIC ADVENTURE ACROSS TIME AND SPACE

Read the science fiction trilogy from the nominee for Top Female Author of 2017 by The Author Show. Awarded the IndiePENdent's Seal of Good Writing, Dreams of the Queen is the first book in The Brajj Trilogy, a multi-genre, sci-fi thriller.

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Dr. Cass Baros is haunted by dreams of an alien world and will do anything to find it.

Relentlessly, she works her science team and her fiancé, Dr. Julian Saunders. Captain Lewis' military Spec Op team joins the scientists. Egos clash and agendas cross. Trapped, the team is plunged into a dangerous adventure beyond their control. They struggle to unravel millennia old secrets in an alien world where nothing is what it seems, especially the aliens.

Dr. Baros and her team are tossed between allies and enemies, genius and madness, and a betrayal frightening enough to cause the destruction of worlds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacqueline Patricks
• Release date: Apr 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393690863

Jacqueline Patricks

You don't read a JACQUELINE PATRICKS story, you EXPERIENCE IT! Nominated by The Author Show as Top Female Author 2017, PAN member of the Romance Writers Association, a staff writer for Art Houston magazine, a volunteer with Houston’s Writespace, and a winner of the Seal of Good Writing from the IndiePENdents for her first published novel, Dreams of the Queen, Jacqueline Patricks’ passion for writing began early in life. Before she published, however, Jacqueline traveled a winding path through the U.S. Army, college, over twenty years in 911 as a paramedic, professional teaching, and all the exciting adventures in between. She currently resides with her husband and four parrots and hopes to meet Mark Twain someday since he understands parrot people. “She was not quite what you would call refined. She was not quite what you would call unrefined. She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot.” – Mark Twain

Book preview

The Brajj Box Set:

Captain Lewis’ Broken Dreams

Dreams of the Queen

Nightmares of the Queen

Destiny of the Queen

by

Jacqueline Patricks

To my husband, Brad, for his love and support,

My best friend, Debbie, for her enthusiastic reading,

My family’s unwavering interest and reading.

And especially all my loyal readers and fans.

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Copyright © 2021 by Jacqueline Patricks.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

All characters are fictional. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely accidental. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Written by Jacquelin Patrick

Cover by http://www.ccrbookcoverdesign.com/

Jacqueline Patricks/Crazy Bird Publishing/First Printing

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www.jacquelinepatricks.com

Brajj Box Set Table of Contents

Prequel: Captain Lewis’ Broken Dreams

Book 1: Dreams of the Queen

Book 2: Nightmares of the Queen

Book 3: Destiny of the Queen

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www.jacquelinepatricks.com Website and blog

Prequel Short Story:

Captain Lewis’ Broken Dreams

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What do you think, Sergeant? Captain Charles Lewis asked quietly into his voice-activated microphone without taking his eyes from the well-lit encampment below.

I think we’re fucked, sir. Lars nodded toward the tents sprawling over a quarter of a mile in diameter. It’s larger than reported.

Looks like intel screwed up again.

Yes, sir. Good thing you decided to scout.

Yeah, he said without enthusiasm. Good thing.

They’d been assessing it for several minutes via night-vision and the goggles cast everything in a sickly green, even the sergeant next to him. But Lewis didn’t need to see Lars to recognize his bulk or his bald scalp hidden beneath his Kevlar helmet.

Lewis shivered. The last of the sun’s warmth had fled the desert, and the longer they laid on their stomachs the more the cold sand leeched his body heat. His mind flashed to Caroline’s warm naked body spooned against him. He could do with a bit of her body heat right now. Focus on the mission, Lewis.

Right. He’d worried the mission was fubared twenty-four hours ago when they failed to convince any of the locals in the nearest village to join them against the suspected terrorists. They admitted to the camp’s existence, even pointing out the direction, but clammed up on the details and refused to fight. None of the villagers ever said terrorist when they spoke of the camp, and he’d considering aborting the mission but decided to at least scout the camp first.

You think any of the intel is spot on? Lewis asked, trusting Lars’ grizzled opinion above all others.

Is it ever, sir?

True. He chewed the inside of his cheek. He needed to decide. Infiltrate and destroy, or abort. The ten other members of their A-team waited at the base of the dune behind them, and the longer they hesitated the worse their odds of success.

Sergeant, this whole thing feels wrong.

Yes, sir.

Armed men walked the perimeter. A few women clustered around one the numerous campfires and appeared to be cooking. All the women were dressed in burkas, and one was stirring a large pot over the fire.

Lars shifted his weight forward on the crest of the dune. Looks damned domestic to me, sir.

Doesn’t mean they’re not terrorists.

Lars paused before he said, No, sir.

Equal opportunity and all, right?

Yes, sir. Lars didn’t sound convinced.

Hesitant, Lewis studied them. The intel was probably correct. Women could be terrorist as well as men. Then the woman stirring the pot knocked something over and the pot fell, spilling its contents into the fire. A large man shouted at her in Arabic saying, ‘Ya Kalb’ and ‘Ya Sharmoota’.

She cowered, covering her head. He grabbed a stick from a pile of firewood and beat her back until she collapsed. Her robe fell back, revealing the manacles chaining her wrists together. He grabbed her, knocking her head covering loose and partially exposing her face and long black braid. She screamed, cursing him and tried to cover her face and hair as he dragged her into a tent a nearby tent. The woman’s screams continued. The other women outside the tent froze and cowered as if trying to be invisible.

Shit. Lewis closed his eyes against what his imagination conjured for her, and a snake of rage coiled in his gut. The man had called her a dog and a bitch. He wasn’t taking her out for tea.

This ain’t no terrorist camp, sir. Lars pulled back from the edge of the dune. Probably sex traffickers.

Lewis ground his teeth. Yeah. You as pissed as I am?

More. Lars drummed his fingers on the stock of his M4 carbine rifle.

Agreed. So now what?

Abort, sir?

Lewis rubbed his chin. Dammit. To come this far and leave with nothing frustrated him, yet to unnecessarily risk his team because a few women were being abused, was it enough? They’d being going in blind. And if they were wrong? They could be anyone—religious extremist, nomadic tribe, sex traffickers, or maybe terrorists.

The woman’s screams continued to echo in the night, and Lewis knew the rest of his team would be getting restless at the sound. Their training and loyalty kept them rooted and waiting.

There’s no good decision here, Sergeant.

No, sir. Lars gave him a steady stare. Whatever you want, sir. I’ll back your play.

Roger that.

Lewis hovered on a decision when shouting erupted behind them. Instantly, he and Lars scrambled backwards from the top of the dune, then turned in time to see they’d been discovered. The rest of his Green Beret team was in hand-to-hand combat with several men dressed in robes.

Shit, shit, shit! Lewis half ran, half stumbled downhill, sand sucking at his boots.

I knew we were fucked, Lars said next to him, his grin showing off his teeth in glowing green to Lewis’ enhanced vision. Glee was evident in Lars’ voice. He was spoiling for a good fight.

The rest of his men were easily taking down the small band of local villagers, but more shadows appeared on the top of a far dune and the numbers were turning against them. Even a team as highly trained, well equipped, and extremely motivated as his could be overwhelmed under the wrong circumstances.

Time to go, Sergeant. Lewis yanked the satellite phone from his breast pocket and tossed it to Lars. Call for evac.

Done. Lars skidded to a halt, spraying sand.

Adrenaline kicked Lewis’ body and mind into high gear. He flipped the safety off on his M4 and without conscious thought aimed for the nearest attacker. A spray of green-tinted blood filled the air where the man’s head used to be, and Lewis’ team member stepped back, cleared from the threat.

Thanks, sir. His second-in-command, Lieutenant Sam Brown nodded, then faced the group of men racing at them.

Welcome, Lewis said, standing next to Brown as their team formed a defensive circle.

News? Brown asked.

Bad intel, Lewis said.

Shit. Brown shook his head.

Several other team members overheard their exchange and grumbled replies.

Focus, men, Lewis said, keeping his mind on the task at hand.

The man-shaped shadows rushed at them, yelling crazy things and cursing them. They killed many of the attackers quickly, keeping them at a distance to avoid more hand-to-hand.

Lewis cracked his neck, raised his M4 scope to his eyes, and growled. Finish these bastards.

Lars stood next to Lewis. Evac en route, sir.

ETA?

Forty minutes.

They made short work of the attackers, bodies piling up in the dunes and blood soaking the sand. In the darkness highlighted by his night vision, the pool of blood surrounding the bodies turned a strange shade of greenish-black.

Lewis’ ears rang in the aftermath and he knew their time grew short. The camp would’ve heard the commotion. He reloaded his rifle. Any survivors?

Got one. One of his men waved him to the far end of the pile.

Blood soaked the man’s clothing. This close Lewis flipped his goggles up and as his eyes adjusted his noticed the coloring and pattern of the man’s robe and head scarf, or keffiyeh. He was a villager.

Kneeling next the man, Lewis rested the butt of his M4 in the sand and leaned on it. Why did you attack us?

Stupid Americans. The man tried to laugh, and then coughed blood.

We’re here to help you.

Blood frothed in the man’s mouth. Don’t ... need... The man gasped once then stopped breathing.

Well, Lewis stood, this decision got a lot easier.

What decision, sir? Brown asked over the gunfire.

Lewis grinned and nodded toward the camp. "We suspect sex traffickers, not terrorists, and obviously the villagers are involved.

His men whispered among themselves.

So, we’re going wipe out the camp. One man in particular came to Lewis’ mind. If the locals didn’t want their help, wanted to continue their shady activities, then he’d personally show them different.

A chorus of soft ‘yes, sirs’ echoed from the team.

We move quick, two teams in flanking positions, kill as many as possible, locate any captives, and evac.

Metallic snaps of weapons reloaded and hushed hurrahs answered him. They crouched at the crest of the dune overlooking the camp. A buzz of activity filled the camp, men running between the tents and unseen women screaming. It was only a matter of seconds until they were seen.

Prisoners, sir? Brown asked.

No. Lewis stood. Wait. Find the leader. Keep him alive. Kill the rest.

They stood with him, several grinned. Yes, sir.

As one fluid, silent unit, they flowed downhill, keeping their steps light and controlled. They hit the bottom of the dune, and Lewis hand-signaled for each half of the team to split and circle the camp from opposite sides in a pincer attack. Potentially outnumbered and outgunned, each member of Lewis’ team was still worth ten traffickers on a calm day. And now his team was pissed.

Rushing one guard, Lewis released his M4 to hang from his shoulder, covered the guard’s mouth with one hand, unsheathed his knife, and drew it across the guard’s neck. Warm blood coursed over Lewis’ hands, saturating his fingerless gloves. It wasn’t enough death. Not nearly enough to satiate him tonight.

The campfires bathed light into his night-vision goggles, blinding him. He flipped up them up and blinked to clear his eyes. He hand-signaled to his men, and they swarmed around him while Lewis focused on one tent in particular. 

With so much adrenaline surging through his veins, cutting a path through the ragtag men proved easier than he’d anticipated. Pops of gunfire dropped anyone in his path, and he marched to the tent where he’d seen the woman dragged. Double shots, one to the chest and one to the head. Blood sprayed, staining Lewis’ boots.

Not yet dried and sticky, his blood-soaked gloves slipped on the trigger of his M4, so he readjusted his grip. Nothing moved in his line of sight. He paused, scanning for another target. Staccato gunfire surrounded him. Fighting clustered to his left and right but none stood between him and the tent.

Lewis zeroed in on his target. Taking short steps, he wove between small obstacles. Sweeping his M4 left to right and back again he kept his awareness sharp, ready for an enemy but none appeared. Approaching the tent, he slowed and lowered his stance.

This close to the tent flap, Lewis heard whimpers and cries over the random gunfire and screams of dying behind him. Heart pounding, he moved to the side of the flap. He eased his muzzle to the edge and peeked inside.

The light of the campfires filtered through the thin material of the tent, revealing dozens of women huddled together. Most wore chains on their wrists. Two guards walked a circle around the women. The woman beaten earlier sat apart from the group. Curled in a fetal position, laying on her side and motionless, she looked dead.

Pinching his lips in a flat line. Alone, he’d killed two men with his bare hands in the past, so armed he knew the odds were in his favor. The secret was to move fast and quiet. Silent and deadly.

He targeted the man farthest from him, held his breath, and moved quickly inside toward the closer man who faced away from him. A smooth pull of the trigger and the first man dropped before he knew he’d died. Lewis swung his weapon to aim at the second man closer to him.

The swarthy man spun in place, his AK-47 arcing at Lewis. Ya Kalb!

Lewis recognized the voice.

The group of huddled women screamed and scrambled away from them.

Concentrating on his target, Lewis pulled the trigger in rapid succession.

The AK-47’s muzzle flashed, and Lewis ducked to the ground, continuing to fire into the man’s chest. Heat seared Lewis’ left thigh. He grunted in pain but maintained his defensive crouch while shooting. The man collapsed and writhed, firing wildly into the tent. The women’s screams faded beneath the onslaught of the AK.

What the fuck? someone said behind him and Lewis spun on his uninjured leg, weapon up, finger half squeezing the trigger.

Dammit, Brown. Lewis exhaled and lowered his weapon.

A mess of blood and guts, the man and his AK lay quiet.

Why didn’t you wait for backup, sir?

Didn’t need it.

Brown quirked a brow and nodded at his bleeding outer thigh. Really?

I’m fine. Lewis shifted his weight to stand but was yanked backwards by an arm around his neck. The women renewed their screaming and panicked, they trampled Lewis and his attacker.

Sir!

Lewis could hear Brown but couldn’t see him in the wave of women escaping the tent. The arm tightened around his neck, cutting off his blood and a wave of light-headedness hit him. He reached up and grabbed the attacker’s hair and flipped him end-over-end so he was on top, his hand around her neck.

Her neck. What...? It was the black-haired women who was beaten earlier. Without her burka, he saw the obvious swelling and bruising to her face. He released his grip and raised his hands. Sorry.

She spat and lunged at him. My man ... kill, she said in heavily-accented English.

What? He rolled off and knelt, his injured thigh burning.

You! She pointed at him and sat up, her face a twisted mess of hurt and rage. Kill! Then she pointed at the guard he’d fired on multiple times, more meat and blood after their close-quarters exchange of gunfire.

Your man?

My! She pounded her chest and spat at him again, this time her spittle landing on his cheek.

Lewis stood, keeping his weight on his right leg, and frowned. Who was this woman?

My! She yelled at him, then rocked back and forth wailing in grief so deep it carved out a part of him, digging through years of emotional barriers he’d built since losing his parents.

Look, ma’am, I didn’t mean-

My!

He flinched. Why did her anger, her grief affect him? He didn’t know her. Reeling, he backed away from his emotions, shoving them away.

Sir? Brown touched his shoulder. You okay?

Lewis glanced around, numb. Only the two dead guards, the grieving woman, Brown, and he remained. Where’d all the women go?

Sir, the choppers are five minutes out.

Roger, that. Lewis heard how flat his voice sounded. No command tone, no affect, pure, raw acknowledgment. Facing Brown, he shook off his emotional malaise. Evacuate as many of the woman as possible.

Um, sir, they left.

What?

The women, they, Brown turned his head toward the tent entrance, they ran into the desert. They’re gone.

Gone?

Yes, sir. We tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t let us near. Brown shrugged. It was a no-go, sir.

A weight settled on Lewis’ shoulders. A no-go. What have I done? He looked at the nearly empty tent again, his mind processing the last half hour, and then he grabbed the last woman’s arm to drag her to the helicopter.

Like a dog, she bit his wrist.

Dammit! He released her. His uniform protected his arm but the hollow place in his chest deepened.

She scuttled back like an animal, saying harsh things and spitting. He didn’t understand the words but got the gist.

Fine. Stay. Lewis hefted his M4 and limped from the tent followed by Brown.

The rest of his team waited outside in a casual defensive perimeter. A signal flare glowed red in the sand far outside the edge of the camp—a makeshift LZ.

All team members accounted for, sir, Sergeant Lars said. Minor injuries. Lars eyed his leg and grimaced as if he might say something.

Lewis spoke before Lars commented. Thank you, Sergeant. That same dead tone.

Yes, sir. Lars stepped back

The thwap thwap of helicopter blades reverberated in the desert air, and Lewis stared at the dark edge of the horizon lit red by the landing zone flare. He team’s excitement at leaving this place bled to him but couldn’t penetrate his emotional haze.

The woman’s wailing continued inside the tent and he wondered if she’d bother leaving with everything she loved dead or gone. He considered going back and forcing her to go with them. Glancing at the tent, he imagined dragging her to the helicopter much like her man had dragged her into the tent. He turned away. She wouldn’t come with them. She’d made her intentions clear.

He had to pull out of this hollow place before he fucked up and did something stupid. He needed to focus on important things and shake off the woman’s screams.

The helicopter landed in a storm of sand and his team moved with purpose toward it. The blades turned at full speed. The evac wouldn’t wait long, yet Lewis hesitated.

Brown turned back. Sir?

You think she loved him?

Brown blinked several times. I don’t know, sir. Maybe.

How can a person love someone who treats them like shit?

Brown shrugged. Love is funny, sir. Makes people do strange things.

Yeah. So, I’ve heard.

Sir, don’t do this to yourself.

I fucked up, Sam.

No, you didn’t. Intel did. Brown grasped his upper arm.

I should’ve aborted after we contacted the village.

You couldn’t have known, sir.

Lewis meet Brown’s sympathetic gaze. Couldn’t I?

Sir. Brown tugged him toward the chopper. We have to go.

Lewis refused to budge. Something felt wrong. He didn’t understand what, only that it needed to be resolved. He glanced back to the tent where the woman wailed.

Sir, you want us to bring her? Brown released him and moved toward the tent. We could-

He shook his head. What was the point? What was the point of any of this? Maybe he’d completed one mission too many and finally lost his edge. He’d reach his twenty in a few more years, maybe it was time to move on to serious things, adult things like Caroline.

She’d been waiting for him because she loved him and he didn’t understand that either. Maybe it was time to figure it out. He’d request a stateside assignment. Stay with Caroline and devote some time to a real relationship. He was thirty-five, more than old enough to be settling down.

Yeah. He’d do that.

No, I’m done here. Lewis grunted and slowly limped to his ride home.

Brown gave him an odd look, and then followed.

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Six Months Later

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Caroline, listen, Lewis said. It’s good opportunity.

You already have a great opportunity.

Where?

Ugh. Tears trailed down her face. Here, with me!

Working on base isn’t the same as a deployment.

Her voice dropped an octave. That’s not what meant.

What-

You said you loved me.

Standing in their living room, he froze. Her Southern drawl pierced his chest as if she’d yelled the words rather speaking in a disappointed tone. The sharp stab of emotion stunned him. Since the wailing woman, strong emotions had affected him strangely and he struggled to find the words she wanted.

He grasped her hands. "I do.

She gave him a pained look.

Love you. He squeezed her hands. I do love you.

Breath hitching, she yanked her hands from his. Tell me again how amazing this mission will be.

Caroline.

Tell me again how much it’ll benefit us. She turned from him, circling their couch. How it’ll make our life so wonderful!

You don’t understand.

Then explain it to me.

I will! He followed her around the room like a damn puppy dog.

She spun on him. Really?

Yes! He reached for her again but she flinched away. Look, baby, I’ll get my twenty years in soon, then I can retire.

She rolled her eyes.

I swear. I’ll be retired, and I’ll have full benefits to support us.

We don’t need more money, Charlie. Caroline crossed her arms over her chest and glared. My dad has more money than your pension.

You think I want to mooch off your dad?

It’ll be our money!

It’s not-

If you’d ever ask me to, she sobbed and covered her mouth with a hand, to... Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them clear.

Oh shit. Lewis swallowed hard. He’d been meaning to buy a ring but never quite got around to it. I want to, I mean I know.

She sobbed again. God, I’m so stupid. Face flushed and blotchy, tears streaming down her perfect bone structure, she said, You said you wanted to move forward.

I do!

You said you didn’t want to go on anymore missions.

I don’t.

Charlie! She balled her fists at him, shaking in anger.

He threw up his hands to defend himself. I didn’t, I mean...

What do you mean?

Sagging, his shoulders slumped. He had no idea. He did want to move forward. Life with Caroline Whittington—swimsuit model wanna-be and daughter of Henry Whittington III, retail mogul of the Carolinas had dominated his conscious thoughts and midnight dreams for months. He spent most of his free time in her bed and they were good together. Was that love?

Baby, he gave her his best puppy dog eyes, you know this is hard for me.

Don’t, she backed up, don’t start. Explain.

I... His mind spun. How to explain what he barely understood. You know I never had an example of a good relationship. My parents-

Your parents died when you were twelve, no family, had to go into foster care, the Army is your only family. She huffed. I know. You’ve told me a million times.

He cringed at her flippant tone, and the beaten woman’s wailing echoed in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut. Damn, Caroline’s voice pulled things out of him he’d rather forget. Her emotions had been carving a deep hole in his barriers, and this latest dug hard. Memories of childhood leaked out, swirling inside his mind.

Charlie?

Being an orphan sucked, being an orphan in junior high sucked worse. Mourning his parents and always traveling from base to base, friendships hadn’t come easy to him. He’d been gangly and shy. Older, stronger boys beat him up because he was odd. So, he’d kept to himself until he aged out of the system and then followed his father’s path and enlisted.

Charlie? What’s wrong?

The Army had saved him—filling his life and replacing his family right out of high school. He’d worked his way up, earned his Bachelor’s degree through distance learning, got accepted to Officer Candidate School, and eventually Special Forces found him and life was good.

Charlie! Someone shook him.

No! He shoved the person, hard.

A feminine gasp snapped him back to the present. Caroline lay on the floor of their living, one hand wrapped around her neck as if it hurt.

Baby. He leaned toward her.

Get out, she said, low and quiet.

I’m sorry. He continued to reach for her. I thought you were, I didn’t...

She took a deep breath and sat up. Just leave, Charlie, before I call the police.

Biting back any further excuses, he nodded, turned, and stormed from their apartment, making sure to slam the front door on the way out.

-o-

Lewis sat at the bar of Fort Bragg’s officer’s club with Caroline’s voice drawling on repeat in his mind. The wailing woman was her background chorus. His fingers, calloused by years in Special Operations, caressed the glass of his fifth (or was it his sixth?) shot of Patrón Anejo. Nothing the but best for his pity party. Tequila burned a quick path down his throat, and he slammed the empty shot glass on the bar.

Tapping the bar, he nodded at the bartender. Another.

You sure? the wiry old guy asked, his eyes full of concern.

It’s the one thing I am sure about.

The bartender nodded with a knowing smile, you got it, and served him another shot.

Lewis rolled the glass on its bottom edge, leaning it at a sharp angle until its yellowish contents tested the rim. Another centimeter and the tequila would escape, his expensive habit wasting itself upon the worn out wooden slates. Back and forth. Back and forth. 

Pleasant warmth muted his memories along with his ability to balance and the glass tipped, nearly spilling, but he caught it in time. Back and forth, back and forth. Of course, he could’ve said no. The mission was voluntary. So, why accept? Things had been going well. Caroline had been dropping unsubtle hints about a ring on her finger, and he’d been considering buying her ring but hadn’t gotten around to it.

Life was good for now. Sex almost every day. Good money. Steady assignment stateside. Retirement on the horizon. He figured marriage would happen. Eventually. Right? Why rush it?

Then Colonel Prescott called this morning with the offer of an exciting new mission and Lewis’ heart raced with elation.

I thought you were done with missions!

He’d thought he was, too. He’d had a good run, racked up numerous deployments, gained plenty of experience and medals and scars. Now he was on easy street stateside—paperwork, training Fucking New Guys, guaranteed eight hours of sleep, three hot meals a day, and sleeping with the hottest women he’d ever met. Top it all with capital ‘M’ money—admission via wedding ring. Life category: candy from a baby. Participation requirement: arrive on time, be breathing, have a pulse, say yes.

He should’ve said no to Colonel Prescott. It’s official. I’m the biggest asshole in the universe. Caroline’s crying returned full force along with the beaten woman’s wailing. He chugged his drink, then flicked his fingers at the bartender in a come-hither motion. Make it a double.

You’ve already had several, sir.

Lewis gave him the same hard glare he gave the FNGs who failed to comprehend orders the first time and tapped a finger on the bar.

Obviously used to military grit, the bartender smiled wryly and shrugged. It’s your article 134 if the MPs catch you.

Yes, it is. Screw the MPs and their drunk and disorderly punishments. If he wanted to get drunk, he’d damn well get good and toasted until Caroline’s crying and the woman’s wailing blurred and faded.

Get out.

Standing in their living room, he’d opened his mouth to apologize again but no words expressed the turmoil in his heart. Should’ve been simple to sweet talk her, but simple had flown bye-bye and didn’t seem eager to return. He’d never struck her before, never struck any woman even accidentally. How did he apologize? What if she’d slammed her head into the corner of the end table or the bar?

Just leave.

Unable to employ his usual charm and fed up with the situation, he’d did as told. He’d stood outside in the breezeway for a few minutes trying to clear his head, but the cheap front door hadn’t muted her crying. Well, sobbing really, and the pain was too much. So, he’d gone to the bar. That’s how their relationship worked. Caroline cried and he drank.

He sipped more tequila and the warmth spread. He probably should slow down before he passed out, but a night of spiraling blackness sounded better than his current state of mind. He threw his head back and poured the double down his throat.

Seconds later a wave of fuzziness hit him and the crying and wailing zoomed through a dark tunnel, farther and farther away. Elbows on the bar, he cradled his head in his hands. Finally. He hated disappointing her. She deserved better. She deserved a man who wanted to stick around for the long haul, wanted all the normal things in life. Wanted her for ... her.

For some reason, tonight’s drinking created a strange clarity in his heart. Colonel Prescott’s request had made him feel alive for the first time since he’d been stateside. All the pain and confusion he’d felt since the wailing woman evaporated for the duration of the phone call. Maybe, if he got back into the field, he could shake off the malaise dragging him down, and maybe get his life back on track.

He’d said yes immediately. Green Berets were made for adventure, battle, and challenges. He needed this special op. Oh, God did he need it, more than he needed air or food or...

The glass was empty again.

Damn it. Fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, Lewis contemplated ordering another and calculated which would rebel first, his liver or his stomach. Abdominal pains lasted longer than nausea and vomiting, but were easier to hide from Caroline. She always mother-henned him, then gave him her snarky ‘I told you so’ look when he drank too much—an all too common event lately.

A hand plunked a tall glass of water down, and Lewis flicked his eyes up.

No more until you finish this, the bartender said.

You my mom now?

Not unless you argue, sir.

Grumbling, Lewis chugged the water, then slammed the empty tumbler on the wood bar. Another double.

The bartender placed his elbows on the bar, leaned in close and whispered, Look, man, I don’t know you, but I’ve seen you in here often enough lately. Whatever’s going on, it ain’t worth this.

If I wanted a life coach, I would’ve ordered mineral water. Lewis heard his words slur, but kept a steady scowl. Their stare-down continued a few heartbeats.

Fine. The bartender stood, sighing. One more double, then I’m cutting you off, even if I have to call the MPs myself.

Lewis smirked. Too bad winning this battle didn’t inspire anything positive in his life. Swiveling the barstool, he checked out the rapidly filling club. Early Friday night and the place was warming up for its usual stress release of dancing, drinking, and general low-level mayhem generated by the younger soldiers and their dates.

The club had opened to the full population of the base a few years ago, so now the older and higher-ranking soldiers tended to congregate at their private residences unless they made large party plans at the club. If he ever got promoted to major, he’d be joining them.

Downside about being a major—the Army preferred its higher-ranking officers married. They claimed it inspired stability. As a captain, he escaped marriage as an official requirement, but he’d probably never make major without a wife. He snorted. Was his subconscious trying to get him promoted? Get him rank and stability? Shit, he didn’t even know what he wanted anymore.

Lewis sighed, one arm a triangle between the bar and his head. Stability—it sounded nice, but what was it really? White picket fences or steel cages? He thrived off chaos and danger. Never felt more alive than in a firefight. Razor’s edge of death had a funny way of heightening life. This sitting around working 8-5 and waiting for death was pathetic.

I’m the cliché of an adrenaline junky.

And she wanted him to give it up.

For her.

Lewis slammed the second double. The room spun and fuzziness transformed into numbness. Vision blurring, he knocked the shot glass over trying to set it down. It rolled in an angled circle, drops of tequila dribbling out in a thin line onto the bar. This is where he wanted to be. Too drunk to think clearly, too numb to feel, too everything to anything. Perfect.

He smiled and slumped over, head supported in one hand.

Done? The bartender wiped up Lewis’ mess.

Mm-hmm. He nodded. The room tilted but nausea held itself at bay. Familiar territory—it would stay away for a while before he sobered.

Colored strobes flashed over the dance floor, and bass waves of techno music vibrated against his chest. His toe tapped on the stool support without his permission. When was the last time he taken Caroline dancing? He liked it well enough but only went because Caroline loved it. He should probably take her dancing again.

Couples and groups flocked to the open area. It was easy to pick out the clean-cut soldiers from the civilians. Even female soldiers in civvies carried themselves differently than non-soldiers—straighter, more confident, longer strides. Soldiers could always spot other soldiers or former ones.

Former ones...

Damn it. He slapped his denim-clad thigh. He had to get back into the field even it was an unorthodox one. Prescott had given him authorization to pick his team, anyone he wanted—too great of a temptation for a Green Beret. Exotic location, specialized equipment, extra weapons, expanded training budget, whatever he needed—carte blanche. He’d never had such an offer. How could he refuse?

I love you, Charlie. I’ve waited. Why would you do this to me?

He gritted his teeth until his jaw muscles ached and closed his eyes against the cheerful lighting. He really didn’t deserve her. She was better off without him teasing her with promises he’d never keep. The numbness was starting to fade already. Too soon.

Hey. He waved to the bartender who raised his brows and frowned. They performed their visual tenacious two-step. Lewis won, again. Blissful numbness quickly returned. Over the next hour, they repeated this twice more, and Lewis kept himself at an impeccable level of numbness until the bartender finally cut him off.

Time to find a less squeamish server.

Lewis tossed a pile of bills on the counter, tip included, and stood. The room spun, and he gripped the edge of the bar for a moment. Steadied and balanced, he gave a jaunty salute to the bartender and pushed off. If the bartender said his good-byes, they were lost to the music.

Exiting through the glass door beneath an aging green-cloth awning, he stumbled around an approaching couple who laughed as they passed. Wrapped up in each other, they looked happy, content.

Eyes and arms firmly on his adoring lady, the man barely spared a nod of apology for Lewis. Sorry, man.

S’alright. Lewis twisted to watch them enter the club. A pang hit him hard in the chest where his heart thudded too fast. Tongue freakishly dry, he rolled it around his mouth searching for a bit of saliva. Pull yourself together. Regrets are for old people on death beds. You’ll never get old enough to regret.

He shook his head and slapped his face a few times. Better, clearer, sort of... Hand digging in his front pocket for his keys, Lewis walked a swerving path to his car. The rational part of his brain argued he was too drunk to drive, but it was small, muted, and outweighed by the tequila fermenting in his blood. In sight of his vintage Mustang, he tripped over his feet and staggered into a random car, setting off its alarm.

Shit! He jumped back and struck the adjacent car, which also had an alarm. Dueling whoop-whoops of discord assaulted him. He covered his ears, keys dangling from one hand and half-ran, half-lurched to his Mustang and ended up pinballing between the remaining cars.

What the hell? He hit his driver’s door and struggled to insert the proper key without scratching his pristine paint. Vision doubling and ears screaming, Lewis’ brain skidded over coherent thoughts and actions like a rock skipping over water. Come on, come on!

Dual beams of light swept over the parking lot followed by the familiar growl of a Humvee.

MPs!

He wasted another second on the lock, then ducked next to his door. If they spotted him, they’d arrest him for being drunk and disorderly. If he could open his door, he’d slip inside and hide until they left. Might work...

The little bit of light was on the opposite side of his car, so he worked by touch. Key poised, moving closer, fingers protecting the door, he squinted to clear his sight, key threaded at the lock’s entrance.

Captain Lewis? said a man at the rear of his car.

Shit! Lewis leaped directly into the side mirror of his car, face-planting it at nose-crunching speed, then rebounded backwards. Pain exploded a half-second later before complete nothingness took him.

Sir? Sir? Someone shook his shoulder.

Lewis swam through layers of cotton back into the car-alarm cacophony. Ow. Pain hit a crescendo, and he pressed his right palm to his forehead. A wave of nausea followed. Well, of course the tequila chose this moment for its revenge. He’d never hide it from Caroline now.

Lewis rolled to his side in time to vomit all over the asphalt, splashing a bit on his sleeve. Great. He really liked this shirt. One of the few non-olive drab, non-camo, non-uniform, non-t-shirts he owned. Caroline always blushed and said it complimented his eyes, which he usually took advantage of by grabbing and kissing her until they ended up in the bedroom. Too bad it hadn’t worked tonight, otherwise he could’ve skipped the lone-ranger bar routine.

You don’t look so good, sir.

Lewis tried to speak, but his tongue felt hairy and sticky and tasted really, really bad. Rolling to his back, he squinted up at the shadow hovering over him and croaked out, Brown? 

Sir, what did you do? Second Lieutenant Sam Brown squatted, shaking his head.

Lewis thought maybe he heard a chuckle over the car alarms. Groaning, he covered his face with the crook of his arm. His nose protested. He really must’ve bashed the hell out of it if the warm liquid pooling around his nose and mouth was any indication. Don’t ask. How did you find me? He sounded stuffy too.

Caroline called, sounded worried, said you’d probably be out on a bender. Guess she was right.

Crap. Lewis lowered his arm. MPs?

Not here. Brown smirked. Not yet.

I heard a Humvee.

Ah, yeah, it’s mine.

What? Lewis groaned again as Brown helped him sit up and lean against his Mustang. Even in the dim light of the parking lot, Lewis saw Brown’s sheepish expression.

Brown studied the vomit-stained asphalt. I, uh, bought a used Humvee last week.

You did what? A civvie one?

Brown nodded.

Are you, Lewis laid his head back, I mean ... why?

Brown stood, shoes scuffing to and fro, and shrugged. I’ve always kind of liked them.

Has the rest of the unit seen it?

I’ve been parking in the far lot.

They stared at each other for several seconds, then Lewis barked out a rough laugh. Well, don’t let them see it. You’ll never hear the end of it. Still chuckling softly, Lewis held out a hand. Help me up.

Together they found an awkward balance allowing Lewis to stand mostly on his own. Lewis glared his displeasure, which Brown returned until Lewis relented.

Help me unlock my car.

Sir, you can’t drive.

I’m fine.

Sir, you’ve already smashed your nose.

No, shit.

You’re not fine.

Lewis glared at him amid the background of car alarms.

Sir, Brown rolled his eyes, I need to get you home in one piece.

Then you drive my car.

Sir, if I drive your Mustang and scratch it, you’ll kill me.

True.

And you’re not driving.

Lewis scowled.

"Can you please not fight me on this?’

You’re going to make me ride in your knockoff Humvee, aren’t you?

Brown slipped his arm a bit farther under Lewis’ shoulder, who didn’t fight it. It’s the best option, sir.

Lewis waved his free hand. Fine, fine. We take your knockoff.

As they meandered through the screaming cars, Lewis kept his head as still as possible to keep the nausea controlled. Warmth dribbled from his nostrils. He sniffed hard and wiped. Blood darkened his fingers. Carefully, he traced the bridge of his nose until he found the divot. Wonderful. He must’ve crushed it into the edge of his mirror. Wasn’t the first time he’d broken his nose, but he’d never put a dent in it quite like this before. He tried pinching his nostrils shut but the pain was too much.

Don’t worry, sir. She’ll still think you’re pretty.

Very funny.

Brown guided him to the passenger door, assisted him inside, then walked around to the driver’s side. Brown had left the engine and the A/C running, so cold air hit Lewis so sharp he gagged.

This might help. Brown handed him a bottle of water.

Where he’d dug it up Lewis didn’t know or care. Dehydration had set its painful tendrils in his body and he needed water badly, but the thought of putting anything in his stomach ... ugh.

Remember to sip it, Brown said as he twisted the cap, then handed it back.

He wasn’t a damn trainee. He knew how to deal with dehydration and hang-overs. He grabbed the bottle so hard a bit of water leaked from the loosened cap, then took several sips. Lukewarm and magnificent on his tongue, Lewis swallowed and waited. His stomach churned, but didn’t reject it. He several more drinks and rinsed his mouth.

You have a towel or something? Lewis pointed to his oozing nose.

Um, Brown rummaged through the center console, partially used fast food napkins?

Lewis snatched the handful and gently pressed them to his nose. Good enough, he mumbled through the wad of cheap paper.

Grinning, Brown put his Humvee in drive and pulled out of the parking lot. Geez, the kid hadn’t even bought a standard drive. Of course, military issue Humvees weren’t standard drive either, but somehow an automatic civvie model seemed even less manly.

Lewis rested his head back and closed his eyes. The odd sensation of blood trickling down the inside of his nasal cavity and throat made him reflexively swallow. Coppery tang re-tainted his tongue. To avoid more blood draining to his stomach, he should lean his head forward, but supporting its bowling-ball like weight was too much effort. He wanted to pass out and forget the last twenty-four hours.

Sir, if you need to throw up again, please let me know. Fear for his new upholstery beamed in Brown’s voice.

Lewis grunted, not bothering to comment. Like he’d ruin his lieutenant’s new-ish car.

If you want to sleep...

Sam, Lewis said, keeping his head back, eyes closed. You got a girlfriend?

Girlfriend? Uh, not lately. Why?

Lewis slit his eyes open to see Brown’s hands strangling the steering wheel. Maybe no official girlfriend, but something in Brown’s voice piqued Lewis’ interest. Wondering if you’ve had to deal with relationship ups and downs between missions.

Sort of, sir.

What do you mean? Lewis slowly rotated his head to get a better look at Brown’s face.

Well, I might not have a girlfriend right now but I do have, um, family.

Family, huh? You close? Lewis studied him. There was more he wasn’t telling.

About as close as family can be I suppose. Brown glanced over. "I mean, we fight, but I’m used to it.

Used to it?

I’ve got an older sister and brother, and my parents, of course. I’m the baby. Brown rolled his eyes. So, they all like to tell me what to do.

That explains why you joined the Army.

Ha, ha, sir.

Around the wad of paper, Lewis smirked and sipped more water, then stared out the side window as his lieutenant and friend drove through the streets of Fort Bragg. Street lights flashed overhead, intermittently brightening the Humvee’s interior. It was pleasant inside, a bit cramped considering the size of the vehicle, but more comfortable than a real Humvee. It boasted all the extras of a normal car. Real Humvees didn’t even have stereos, can’t have distracted soldiers.

Did she sound mad? Lewis asked.

Caroline?

Yeah.

I think so. We didn’t talk long.

Hmm.

She was mad when you left, sir?

Mad as I’ve ever seen her. She ignored the shirt. He plucked at his favorite shirt.

Wow. What’d you do?

He shifted and glared. What makes you think I did anything?

Seriously? Brown’s eyebrows arched. I may not have I girlfriend right now but I know a few things about women.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Lewis balled up the bloody napkins and tossed them to the floorboard. I sort of broke a promise to her.

A big promise?

If you count me putting my career before our entire relationship as big, then yeah.

Geez, sir, I thought you really liked this girl. Brown waved and nodded at the MPs guarding the base exit.

I do! Lewis sat up straighter. His stomach had settled a bit but his head still swam if he moved too fast.

So?

So, he shrugged and fiddled with the label on the water bottle, I don’t know.

Their speed abruptly reduced, and Brown jerked his Humvee into the far-right lane. Are you nuts, sir? She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

How can you be so sure?

How can’t you? Brown continued to slow the Humvee, gradually pulling to a stop on the shoulder.

Uh-uh, Lewis waved a finger, I don’t need this from you, Lieutenant.

She’s crazy about you.

You think I don’t know? He slammed the bottle in the center console holder. I’ve wracked my brain for a way to make us both happy.

Brown jammed the gearshift in park, then twisted in his seat. Shit, you took another mission.

Jaw working like a dying fish, Lewis tried to find any other response before exhaling in a slump and nodding.

But you just got approval to stay stateside another six months.

Yeah. Lewis chewed the inside of his cheek. He met Brown’s bemused expression with a different sort of churning in his gut.

Does she know?

About the approval?

Brown nodded.

I haven’t exactly mentioned it to her.

Sir. Brown shook his head.

I know.

Why?

Why haven’t I told her? I was getting to that part but-

No, Brown said softly. Why aren’t you happy?

Oh, that. Lewis slumped in his seat. Was bored to death? Sort of. Did he hate his job? A little. Did he love her? Yes. But if he did love her, then why did the idea of a mission to an alien world excite him more than staying with her? Why did Prescott’s call make his blood rush for the first time in months? Why did it give him a burst of elation?

You can’t give it up, can you?

Lewis blinked out of his mental fog. What?

The rush. The missions. You can’t walk away from the adrenaline.

I can walk away. Hell, I did.

Did you?

I- Words stuck in Lewis’ throat again. He wanted to say, ‘I can quit’ but his earlier thoughts haunted him. I’m the cliché of an adrenaline junky. Add that to the Army being the only family he really knew and everything was suddenly, painfully obvious. How could he have fooled himself into believing he’d be able to commit to Caroline? He was damaged goods; therefore, fit only for the Army. A lifer. What the hell had he been thinking to get involved with her? With anyone?

Sir, I’ve watched you put on a smile every time I see you the last six months and never complain, but you’ve been drinking more than ever.

Every part of him sagged in defeat, and Lewis laid his head on the passenger window. Take me home.

Yes, sir.

Lewis heard the gearshift pop into drive and soon they were back en route to Fayetteville. Part of his mind recorded every second of the familiar drive while the rest drifted far away. Decisions had been made. Things had been said. Could he repair his relationship with Caroline? Did he want to? But to leave it all behind, to never see her again...

The trees blurred outside his window, and he stared until his eyes burned, then stared a little longer. Maybe if he didn’t blink he’d arrive home to a world unchanged by his stupidity, or maybe he’d walk into a parallel universe without Colonel Prescott’s phone call and he’d be free of difficult decisions. He could continue to live this pretend life.

Finally, he blinked.

We’re here, sir. Brown shut off the engine.

His apartment building looked no different than when he’d left hours—a three-story, Hardi-plank, cookie cutter, multi-family residence aglow under sodium streetlights.

Home sweet home. Pressure tightened his chest and he realized home never felt so fucking far away before.

Lewis opened his door and forced his legs to carry his weight. Thank goodness, they lived on the first floor because Lewis doubted he could walk up a full flight of stairs with a carousel for a head. Well, not without seriously injuring himself.

Brown approached him. I’ll make sure you get inside, sir.

Thanks.

This time Brown didn’t touch him, only walked close enough in case he lost his balance or tripped—a small concession to his pride. The sidewalk unwound before him like a dull gray ribbon. One arm out slightly for balance, Lewis fished his other hand in his front jeans pocket for his keys, hoping Caroline hadn’t changed the locks. Likely Caroline considered having them changed to spite him.

Gotcha! A few keys dangled off the Special Forces beret insignia that served as his keychain. Light glinted off the silver wreath and two crisscrossed arrows bisected by a dagger pointing skyward, all surrounded by a black ribbon with the silver words, ‘DE OPPRESSO LIBER’— To Liberate the Oppressed.

Lewis’ heart raced every time he read the inscription, and although he’d memorized it long ago, he preferred reading the ancient Latin on modern metal and enamel. Focusing his mind on the simple phrase always warmed his blood, made it buzz in his veins, reminded him of who he was and why he existed. These words defined him, gave him a direction, a purpose.

Where’d you get that, sir?

Lewis grinned at the blatant envy in Brown’s voice. Had it made when the pins broke. This insignia was the first one I earned with my beret. Sort of a good luck charm.

Cool.

Lewis rubbed his thumb over its smooth, worn surface. Too bad my luck has been running out lately.

Hmm. Brown nodded slowly. It’ll come back.

As Lewis inserted his house key into its lock, the door swung open, yanking his keys from his hand, and he froze, crouched awkwardly, eyes rolling upward. Wha-?

Charlie! Oh, um. Caroline gaped, glancing back and forth between him and Brown, who stood behind him. And Sam. Hi.

Caroline. Lewis straightened, running the words he needed to say through his mental filter. Then he saw her suitcase and the nausea in his stomach redoubled, becoming a full-blown acid bath while—ironically—his head cleared. What are you doing?

Her vague smile became a false one as she angled her head towards the large piece of rolling luggage she guided with one hand. You’re back earlier than usual.

What? Lewis grabbed his keys and stepped through the doorway, forcing her to back up. I’m what?

I’ll, uh, wait out here, Brown said, pointing randomly to the breezeway.

You heard me, Caroline said. It’s not even midnight, yet here you are. Drunk.

He slammed the door shut and tossed his keys on the side table. What’s that supposed to mean?

Please, she rolled her eyes, you’re a smart guy. How much tequila did you have this time?

Since when do you care if I drink?

I don’t, Charlie. Not anymore. She released the luggage, then crossed her arms and jutted a leg out with attitude.

Lewis pointed to her luggage. You’re leaving?

What do you think?

Why?

Dumb doesn’t suit you, so stop playing games and deal with what you did.

Lewis wet his tongue and cleared his throat. You’re leaving because I push you? I’m sorry! I didn’t-

God, she shook her head and her long hair flowed over her shoulders, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.

He stopped and stared. Then...

The mission, Charlie.

You’re leaving me because I’ll be gone for a few months? He leaned one shoulder on the entryway wall. Look, we’ll be training at Fort Bragg before we go.

Which will probably change, as usual.

I’ll have a lot of control this time. I’ll be stateside.

Is it going to be hazardous?

Well, he shrugged, probably.

Charlie. She approached him, a soft frown curling her mouth. Up close her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. She’d really sobbed. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore.

You won’t wait?

She shook her head. I’ve already waited. You leave for weeks and months, then come back and we pretend for a few months, and then you leave again.

It’ll be different this time.

No, it won’t.

You don’t understand. Captains don’t say no to colonels.

Whatever. She threw her hands up. You’re walking away from a safe training position, which you promised me you’d keep, so I’m done. She brows furrowed. I love you, Charlie, but I can’t do this anymore. She grabbed her luggage and walked to the door.

Caroline, wait! He pushed off the wall, reaching for her as she passed him. What if I promised this will be the last one. From what Prescott told me, the training alone might take up to a year.

She paused, their faces inches apart, and her eyes gained the sultry, hooded look whenever he invaded her personal space. Caroline wet her lips. Charles, I-

He didn’t let her finish. Lewis pressed his body against hers and kissed her. Fingers digging into her bare upper arms, he moved her backwards until they hit the wall. She groaned into his mouth and grabbed the back of his head to pull him closer. They didn’t need words to fix this. They never had.

She hitched a leg around him, and he slid it up around his denim-clad hip. They moaned at the intimate contact, kisses becoming frantic. He thrust into her heat barely hidden by her thin cotton pants, his jeans becoming uncomfortably snug. Temptation to take her rushed through him like a tempest, but his rational brain screamed to focus on her first. He needed to show her how much he cared. If she truly understood, then she’d be unable to leave.

Lewis unfastened her pants and slipped his hand inside. Damn, he loved her satin panties. Caroline whimpered and twisted her body to give him better access while he gently bit her neck. She clawed at his back and latched her leg tighter around his hip. He knew exactly where and how to touch her, slipping two fingers inside of her while his thumb caressed her sensitive spot.

Charlie, we can’t...

Yes, we can, he whispered in her ear. We’re good together.

She slipped her hands underneath his shirt and ran her nails over his bare chest. Goosebumps raised wherever she scraped. He groaned and used his weight and strength to pin her to the wall, freeing his other hand to push up her shirt. Slipping her bra down, he suckled her breast to peaks.

Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes drifting closed. God, Charlie. Her hips thrust into his hand, wanting more, and her hands tugged on his zipper.

With a swift motion, he lifted her from the wall and carried her to the couch, tipping her back over the arm.

She giggled and wiggled her legs in the air while he stripped her jeans and panties off. You’re terrible, she said with a tease in her voice.

Yes, I am.

Her eyes filled with lust, Caroline scooted up the couch and bit her bottom lip.

That was her signal. She was giving him the go ahead, so Lewis dropped his jeans and boxers and pulled off his shirt.

You’re still not forgiven, she said, pulling him down to her.

I’m not?

She hooked her legs around his hips and guided him to her core. Nope.

He slipped inside in one smooth motion, and she felt as amazing as the first time. Face lowered to her neck, he said in a gruff voice, I’ll take care of that, baby.

Oh, yeah? Her hands gripped the short hair at the nape of his neck. Fuck me like it’s your last time, Charlie.

Yeah, baby. He thrust fully, losing himself in her heat. She grabbed his ass and pulled him tight into her, and he followed her rhythm. Whatever the lady wanted, felt like living and dying at the same time.

Her breathing harshened and she tightened around him. Yes, yes, ah!

His hips thrust a few more times, then he groaned at the pleasurable, pulsing heat. Body relaxing, he rested atop her, catching his breath.

Damn, baby. He kissed her. That was fucking hot. They could make this work. He combed his fingers through her tussled hair. I promise this will be the last one, then I’ll do want ever you want.

Beautifully flushed and radiant, Caroline pushed him off. I’m sorry. This was the last time.

They sat up.

But, I thought...

Her smile was small and sad, and Lewis’ heart fractured open a tiny bit when she cupped his cheek. How long has it been since you told me you loved me without me saying it first and without hesitating?

How long? Shit.

She nodded, warm hand pressed to his face.

Uh, I don’t know. His admission felt more truthful than anything he’d told her the last six months. He felt it in his blood and he felt it in his bones. Denial was a bitch, but Caroline’s eyes held the truth, and it was ugly.

Never, Charles. You never have. Caroline pressed a soft kiss at the corner of his partially open mouth, then stood and grabbed her clothes.

Unable to reciprocate, speak, swallow, or even blink, Lewis watched the distance grow between them as she dressed and collected her bag. Luggage wheels clicking on the tile, she walked to the door with her head held high and her perfect hair smoothed down.

While he, naked and sitting on the couch, turned to watch her go.

She opened the door, her back to him. I’ll get the rest of my things next week. Please don’t be here.

Okay. He wanted to say more but nothing came to him.

"Take care of