Hard: Raw Heroes, #2

By Skye Jones

LUKA

I'm nobody's hero.

Hell, I'm not even a good guy.  

All I do is work, eat, train and sleep. Repeat.  

 

The only thing I care about is protecting those who matter to me.  

Other than that, I'm numb, walking through the world like a ghost.  

And guess what?  

That's the way I like it.

Then she comes along…

 

She's the last thing I need--and the only thing I want.

She's full of righteous indignation at the world—and at everything I stand for.  

Getting her is going to be hard work.  

But I relish this challenge.

Tearing down her walls and breaking her apart, I'll make her mine and take control.  

It's what I do.  

But when danger threatens to take her from me, I will unleash the killer I've tried so hard to tame.

 

Praise for book one in the series

Raw: Raw Heroes Book One

"All I have to say about this read is...WOW WOW WOW"

Amazon Reviewer

 

"So this book is so crazy but so crazy good!!!!"

Amazon Reviewer

 

"There are so many different things I can say about this book but the one that I mean the most is Just WOW..."

Amazon Reviewer

 

"What can I say about this first book by S.R. Jones???? It is freaking amazing and had me wanting more and WOW I just loved this book."

Amazon Reviewer

 

"Have Mercy! This is one of the best books I have read in quite some time."

Amazon Reviewer "

 

Ethan is just so wild and so different from the norm"

Amazon Reviewer

 

"Ridiculously hot and smart."

Amazon Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skye Jones
• Release date: Aug 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201111618

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Luka

It’s so hot. Not even the tiniest breeze stirs the arid air as we patrol through the dust-filled alleys of the small Afghan village. A group of men loiter against the wall a few yards down from us. Something about their body language puts me on high alert. The group of young girls playing don’t notice. They are too absorbed in their game. Their bright dresses flutter around them like butterfly wings as they dance. They are shards of colour in the beige landscape.

I heft my gun higher onto my right shoulder. The tension in the air grows until I don’t know if it’s the malice pouring off the men choking me, or the roaring heat.

The men do not move away at our approach. I gear myself for the inevitable stop and search because these bastards look shady as fuck.

In front of me, one of our group stiffens. I clock the movement and sense the same change in the air he does.

We’re accompanying a small team of Navy engineers, who will be defusing bombs and IEDs around here. Four men from the army infantry are with us. They will be part of the rebuilding group getting the village back to life. We want them to get eyes on the ground and see how the land lies. It’s meant to be a normal patrol, but it feels all wrong.

Corporal Richmond is a young recruit leading us.  He’s sweeping his gaze back and forth, on constant alert. Every now and again, the high-pitched call of our radios reverberates in the quiet around us. The sound jars in its monotony.

To my right, a heavy boot enters my line of vision, and I know Ethan, my friend and colleague, has flanked me. The engineers are bunching together, pulling in closer, a sign they feel the same change in the air we do.

A woman appears in a dark doorway, looks at us, and her eyes widen. Her gaze flicks between us, the local men lounging against the wall, and the girls playing. Time slows as she starts to shout at the girls, who still dance unaware, kicking up dust with their heels.

One of the children looks up and right at me. Her startling blue eyes are striking against her dark skin and hair.

Something catches my attention, an odd tingle, nothing more than a tiny frisson that makes every hair stand on end. The next second, the sand at Richmond’s feet explodes. It spurts from the ground like a geyser, and the Corporal is blown three feet to his right. The boom hits me, a wave of energy that knocks me from my feet. Richmond’s screams cut through the air and the girls are no longer laughing. They are screaming, too.

Bullets fly and chaos reigns. We are firing, and some of the engineers are, too. The men by the wall are firing. The girls...the girls are screaming and crying as they crash into one another to get out of harm’s way.

I can’t get a proper shot in. Not on my belly like this, sand in my face.. I stagger to my feet, and start to move towards the children. I need to cover them, get them out of harm’s way. The one with the blue eyes is looking at me, but something’s wrong. Her mouth slackens, and she holds her arms out wide as a dark, dirty stain blooms across her chest. The blood starts to drip down the yellow silk onto the sand.

Despite the desperate situation, I can’t move. My fucking legs won’t work, won’t carry me, and I can only stare in horror. A nasty chuckle grabs my attention. I turn to see the men by the wall. They are not lounging any longer. They are firing guns and laughing. And as they laugh, and everyone dies around me, the men against the wall open their mouths until they yawn as wide and dark as caverns.

I sit up wide awake, heart pounding, and realise I’m shouting. I’m sweating buckets and I push the duvet from my soaked body. Jesus Christ! Will the nightmares ever stop? I’d been lured into a false sense of security with the blessing of a few weeks of sound sleep, but it seems the therapy isn’t working as well as I’d believed.

Mouth tasting metallic and bitter, I flail around for the glass on the bedside table. I take a long drink and wash away the taste of blood. My tongue throbs. I must have bitten it. I feel more human as I drink some more, and the dream recedes. But the darkness starts to close in, and hating my fucking weakness, I turn on the bedside lamp.

It’s going to be light soon, but I won’t be getting anymore sleep.

One step forward, two steps back. I am so sick and fucking tired.

Talk about it, my therapist says.

Last thing I want to do.

Let your emotions out. Cry.

Cry? I would if I could, but I can’t.

All I feel is this simmering pissed off-ness at everything. A low-level hum of irritation, as if I want to crawl out of my own skin.

And now, I have to go to some class once a week and sit still for ages as someone drones on about some bullshit or other. All because I’m working with my friends, Ethan and Liam, and Liam seems to think it’s a good idea to make me the sap that trains the new recruits to our training program.

Ha fucking ha. I can’t even train myself not to have these nightmares.

I glance at the clock and wince. Five a.m., but I won’t be getting any further sleep, and the only thing that stops me from imploding into a black hole of fucked-upness is to move. So, I clamber out of bed and pull on my running shoes.

Another fine day begins.

CHAPTER ONE

Cara

I face the lift with utter dread. The anxiety climbing in my gut and turning my sandwich to a lead brick is kicking my behind and pissing me off.

I hate this. Hate I can’t even take a lift without freaking out. Since when did I become so pathetic? You can do this. It’s only a lift, for Christ’s sake.

I run my index finger around the back of my shirt collar, hating the moisture gathering there. When the doors ping open, my heart sinks further. Three large men fill the few square feet, all wearing suits, all laughing and talking loudly. Great, as if small spaces aren’t enough of a challenge these days, now I’ve got to step into this airless box and be crammed against three big blokes. I don’t do being in confined spaces with big men. Not since that day.

I eye the stairs to the right of the lift for a moment—only two flights up. Trouble is, my leg still hasn’t fully healed, and it throbs enough without the added effort of stairs.

Come on, bitch, grow a pair. I clench my jaw and make my feet shuffle forward into my own special version of hell.

Small spaces have become my nemesis the last few months.

As I press the button for floor three, a man stalks across the lobby and into the lift, making it officially crowded. I don’t even look at his face, but his height and broad build add to my nervousness.

Since when did I fear men? I  need to get a bloody grip.

The doors slide shut and I take a deep breath in. I do okay at first...at least until the doors seal and the lift jolts upward.

One of the group of men lets out a harsh bark of a laugh and punches the other on the shoulder. It sends him into me. A split-second of contact only, causing me a minor wobble on my feet but it’s enough. Too much like what happened before.

Panic takes over. My breath hitches and I can’t seem to get any air in. My throat won’t cooperate and loosen, and my heart’s starting to hammer.

Oh, great! I cannot be about to have a panic attack before the first lesson of the new term. With shaking fingers, I pull back the zip on my bag and look for the small bottle of pills I carry for these occasions. They’re only herbal, but I swear they help. And they are so tiny I can swallow them without water.

My fingers brush clumsily over my small hairbrush, my chewing gum, and my little leather purse. Finally, they land on the herbal valium. The downside is the time they take to kick in.

I shake out a pill and swallow it. I shake another out and keep it in my hand.

God. What if this damn thing breaks down and I end up stuck in here with these guys? One of them looks at me, and I want to hide from his full-on, confident male gaze. Something flickers in his eyes, like a recognition of my distress. And his lips twitch in amusement. Bastard.

The friend pushes the guy again, and once more he stumbles into my space.

Hey. Quit fucking around. The gruff voice startles me. I turn to see the big guy who stepped in last talking over my head to the idiots clowning around.

Oh, no. Please don’t let there be a fight. I glance at Big Guy’s face, and he’s calm enough, but deadly serious. He’s also astonishingly good looking. Like the sort of man you see in high-end aftershave ads. There’s a hardness to him, though. Not in his features as such, but in the set of his jaw, and the cold in his eyes. Almost as if a granite shell exists around him that screams, don’t fuck with me.

The idiots don’t say anything. One of them rolls his eyes, but they all seem to take the measure of the man, and decide to tone it down a bit.

Are you okay? Big Guy asks me.

I nod, because I can’t speak right now. His eyes narrow a tiny amount, but he gives me a short nod in return and stares at the doors.

Finally, the damn lift judders to a halt and the doors slide open. I rush out of there and head straight for the big window in the hallway. I lean on the ledge, looking down at the sodden grey town below, and shove the extra pill, still in my hand, into my mouth, and swallow.

The rowdy guys stay in the lift. Tall, Dark, and Pretty gets out, but heads down the hallway away from me, without even looking my way.

I want to get as far away from the whole experience as possible, so I walk to the end of the hallway and push open the door to the ladies’ room. My face is pale, my eyes wide as I stare at my reflection.

I’ve weathered a lot in life. Losing Mum and Dad young didn’t break me, but then Dane, my ex, nearly did. And to add to the pile of steaming crap, a few months ago, my friend, Tristan and I were attacked by some thugs on our way home.

Tristan was amazing and fought them off but during the scuffle one of the men tripped and fell on me, breaking my leg. It messed me up, physically and mentally. I think it did the same to Tristan, too, because he’s been kind of clingy since. Texting regularly and calling all the time. Wanting me to move near him. It makes me feel guilty to pull away from him, but some days he’s too much.

I’d already decided to try and cool the friendship as he’d grown more controlling and...well, weird, as the friendship developed. But then he’d basically saved me, and how do you end a friendship in those circumstances? Now I still see him, but try to keep it much less frequent than before.

I scrutinize myself in dismay. The dark circles under my eyes make me look way older than my years, and contrast nicely with the pale glow I’ve got going on. I’m a mess pretending to be all put together. And later this week I must walk into a room full of young, aggressive men and teach them. And not any men. No, these guys are guests of her Majesty’s prison system.

I’m terrified it will take one look at them, sat there in the depressing, sterile classroom, and I’ll finally lose it completely.

I sigh, splash my face with water, dry it off with a paper towel, and exit the bathroom.

When I reach the classroom, I open the door to rows of empty seats. I want to kiss the boring blue carpet in gratitude. With an empty room, I can take a moment or two to compose myself before the class begins.

The room the university uses for the adult education group is airy and bright, and I let myself have a moment of I can do this ra ra ra shit as I come down from the anxiety attack. I walk to the window, legs more solid under me now, and look out over the rain-covered streets below.

The stone buildings of Harrogate shine as the weak sun hits their wet sides. No matter how long I live in Yorkshire, I think I’ll always be struck by the solemn beauty of the place.

A bright red shape cuts through the gray suited men and women below, and I smile when I look closer and see my colleague, Laura, rushing along, head down. Her umbrella shines out as a beacon of primary colored fun in the gloomy day. Red and covered in bright green apples, it always makes me smile.

Laura isn’t simply my colleague, she crossed the line to friend years ago, and sort of semi-adopted me, along with her partner Mags.

I know she’s worried sick about me. I don’t want her to be, but I can’t seem to get myself back to anything approaching normal. This time, working with Laura for the university, offers me a sorely needed haven from the stressful work at the prison. I don’t want her to try and make me take some leave from my job here so I act as if I’m okay. Trying to paper over the cracks with smiles and pleasantries.

I need to focus, so I grab my bag and open it, shuffling through the papers there as I do. I try to focus my tired but wired brain. I’m not nearly as prepared as usual, somehow the week has run away from me again.

Hello, my lovely. Laura bustles in, shaking water droplets from her brolly.

Hey, Laura. How are you? I stand and give her a quick peck on the cheek. Nice outfit.

Her petite frame suits the purple artist’s smock she wears. As usual, an abundance of chunky silver bangles and rings shine on her fingers and wrists.

I’m well, my darling. She turns shrewd eyes on me and studies my face. But the more pertinent question is, how are you?

I’m good. It might be a lie, but I don’t want to admit otherwise.

There’s no shame in taking time to get over these things. You were attacked, Cara. Out of the blue, and through no fault of your own. She lays a hand on my arm. And on top of everything else you’ve gone through over the last few years? I’m not surprised you’re struggling a little. Don’t try to pretend nothing happened. If you need time, you take it. I’ve seen far too many people burn out in this job, without the added stress of what you’re dealing with. And you might need to speak to your supervisor at the prison. I’ve always worried about the work you do there.

I open my mouth to speak and she holds a hand up. I get why you do it, lovey. I understand completely. And I think it’s great you care so much about justice and rehabilitation. But you might find it hard to carry on with all that’s happened recently. And a heads up to your supervisor will mean they can help, if you need it.

She’s only speaking the truth, but I don’t want to think about it. Any of it. Not the attack, and not teaching at the prison.

I turn away from Laura and busy myself with some student enrollment packs. I don’t need this shit before a class, however well meaning. It’s taking me everything to keep myself going these days. To lock those memories out.

Behind me, Laura lets out a deep sigh, and I swear I can feel her eyes burning a hole in my back. Shouldn’t she be doing something useful? I turn and give her a pointed look as I sort the packs. She picks up a bundle of them herself, and with a softer sigh begins to flip through them. My muscles relax as I understand she’s dropped it...for now.

I focus on the room and let the bland walls and soft lighting soothe me.

Safe. Here I’m safe. I can push all the other stuff down and away, and become the professional I always was before that night.

Is this the teacher training group? A quiet voice floats in from the door, and I glance up to see a plump woman who looks to be in her late forties hovering by the entrance.

Are you wanting teacher training for those going to work in schools, or the class for the certificate to train adults in the workplace? I offer her a smile and it feels weird on my lips.

The adult training class, she says with a smile of her own.

I gesture for her to come in. Yes, you’ve found the right room. Come and take a seat.

Ten minutes later, most of the desks are occupied, and I couldn’t be happier. There are two men, but they’re both in their late fifties, and seem quiet and earnest. The types who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, not the types to go out and get drunk and beat up on random strangers. Or get rowdy in lifts. And, yes, I’m aware that at some point I need to deal with this lingering distrust of the male of the species I seem to have developed.

Right, let’s get this show on the road. Laura beams at me and turns to the room, clapping her hands. The students mostly look slightly nervous, which is to be expected on day one. Welcome all, to the adult education teacher-training course. If you turn to your packs and open them to the front page, there’s some boring paperwork we need to get out of the way, and then we can move on to the good stuff. Before we go any further, I’d like to introduce you to Cara.

She points one long, silver ringed finger at me. She’s one of the tutors on the course. You will be split into two groups. One group will be with me, the other with Cara. However, on occasion, we carry out joint lectures and tutorials, such as this. And, of course, you’ll all get to know one another a little better at the social next week.

Laura grins and I hide a grimace. The social is nothing more than the whole group taking to the pub for week two’s lesson, getting to know one another over a pint, or three. Normally, I love it. These days I can’t stand bars and pubs. Can’t stand being around people drinking. Although I do enough of it home, alone, at night.

If you’ll all please fill in your details on the front page of the welcome pack. Thank you, Laura says.

The group begins writing, heads down. Peaceful silence fills the room, punctuated only by the odd shuffle of paper or quiet cough. Moments later the door opens and a young man walks in. I take one look, and a big part of me–the freaky, easily spooked, post-attack part–hopes the guy has the wrong room. He’s the man from the lift. Not one of the idiots, but my sort-of savior. The pretty one.

He doesn’t fit our usual