Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  I inhale.

  Home.

  Back at the truck, I offer to carry a bag when I notice he left a couple in the truck. He shakes his head and hauls them onto his back. “I’ll come back for them later.”

  Dread curdles in my gut. “No need for that. I can help. It’s not that far.”

  I move to open the door and he stops me. “Leave them,” he says sharply and turns away, clicking the key fob to lock the doors.

  “Don’t do this,” I say quietly and pick up the dog, putting her in my jacket.

  He blows out a breath, his back still to me. “Don’t do what?”

  “This. Pushing me away.”

  He’s silent and he pulls the bags farther up on his shoulders. I wait for him to say something. Anything. He doesn’t. I raise the flashlight so I can see him better. He squints into the light. “We’re wasting time. Show me the way.”

  Defeated, I take the lead and follow the narrow path down to the river. We both slip a few times, but we make it to the bottom relatively unscathed. When I step from the trees and the fishing shack is there, I’m not sure how I feel.

  Glad.

  Sad.

  Mad.

  Confused.

  Heartbroken because I know what he’s thinking. Know that he’s planning on leaving me here.

  Finding the key under the rock that is its hiding place, I climb the steps to the porch and open the door. Whew. It smells just as bad as the last time I was in here. I walk around and open the windows to let it air out a little.

  “This is really cool,” Link says, looking around the small space.

  I wave an arm. “This, my friend, is a shack. Smaller than a cabin, which is smaller than a house, which is smaller than a mansion. Are you feeling me?”

  He grins. “Yes. I’ll remember that.”

  Sitting Fate down, I let her explore while I go to the back and find the release that I need to press to push a murphy bed frame out of the way. “Tada,” I say. “Welcome to the hidey hole.”

  I step inside and Link follows. I go straight to some lanterns and light one, brightening the space.

  “Very cool.”

  Link walks straight over to the wall of guns, then to the shelves of supplies. Sleeping bags. Foam mats.

  “No secondary exit?” Link asks and I shake my head.

  “What you see is what you get.”

  He sits the bags he’s been carrying down, opens one up and pulls out a few guns.

  “What are you doing?”

  He glances up at me. “Keeping watch until sunrise.” He nods toward the sleeping bags. “You catch some more sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

  I swallow. He’s lying. “Then what?”

  “Still figuring it out,” he says, lying again. “Get some sleep. I’ll be outside.”

  Then he’s gone and I stand there, helpless. The slamming of the front door puts me in motion. I grab a sleeping bag and follow him out.

  He looks at me and even in the dim moonlight I can see his jaw clench. “I said to get some sleep,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’ll need to take next watch.”

  He’s still lying. I shake my head.

  Cursing, he places the guns on the old wooden picnic table and turns on me. He yanks the sleeping bag from my hand, tossing it to the porch. “What more do you want? I got you home. Isn’t that enough?” He steps toward me, fast enough that I involuntarily take a step back. “You want to fuck again? Is that what you want? Is that all you want from me? My money and my cock?”

  I shake my head. Stunned. My mouth opens and closes, but no words are able to come out. I know what he’s doing and I can’t find the words to make him stop.

  He advances on me again and I’m pressed against the cabin wall. He lifts a hand until it circles my throat, holding me there.

  “Don’t do this,” I finally say, lifting a hand to his face. “You don’t have to do this.” I stroke his cheek with my thumb. “Please. You can’t make me hate you.”

  He stills, his face growing even tighter, then it relaxes and he presses his forehead to mine. He kisses me and I pull him to me hard. “I love you,” I whisper against his mouth and he crushes me to him, splitting my lip again with the force of his kiss.

  I taste the blood and know the second he tastes it too. He pulls back so quickly, worry living on his face. “It’s okay,” I tell him quickly, knowing he’s blaming himself again. I wrap my hand around his neck, trying to pull him closer. Trying to make him forget.

  He looks away from me, grimaces and then lifts an arm, pulling my hand away. He doesn’t let it go. Instead, he twists the ring on my finger. Twists it and then lifts my finger to his lips, sucking its entire length into his mouth. I’m frozen when he meets my eyes again.

  He pulls my finger from his mouth, then kisses the top of my hand before twisting the ring again, this time slipping it over my knuckle. I cry out, “No. Don’t.” But it’s gone, enclosed in his fist.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, then steps back and twists off the ring circling his own.

  Tears spill from my eyes.

  “See these?” he says gently, holding them out on his palm. “These aren’t real. None of this is real. It’s never been real. Don’t you see that?”

  I try to snatch them away, but he closes them in his fist. He points at my shoulder. “That’s real.” He points at my lip. “That’s real.” He points at the guns. “Those are real.”

  Then I grab at his shirt when he turns from me, heading to the steps. “Stop. Don’t. Please don’t do this.” I get a handful of his shirt, but it doesn’t stop him. He yanks away from my grip.

  He walks straight toward the river. I grab his arm, pulling him back. “Please don’t.” I run in front of him, my hand on his chest, desperate to stop him.

  He sidesteps me and I nearly fall at the suddenness of the move. He’s at the bank now. His fist clenched tight against the ring. “I’ll call your parents and let them know where you are. You need to go back into the hole and lock yourself in. The Glock and plenty of ammunition is in the bag.”

  “Please, don’t—” I’m sobbing so hard now, I can’t finish the sentence.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll throw them off your trail as soon as I get to Ft. Bragg. It’s me they really want. They’re only hunting you because of me. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

  “Please—”

  He’s still speaking toward the river his voice so low I can barely hear it. “It’s better this way. You’re better this way. You’ll thank me some day.”

  “No, Link. Never.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says and looks down at the rings in his palm. Then he makes another fist, pulls back his hand and throws.

  I crumple to the ground, sobbing, holding my hand to my stomach, terribly afraid I’m going to throw up.

  He turns away from me. Walks past me. I hear his footsteps for the longest time. Then the engine of his truck roars to life.

  He’s gone.

  He’s really gone. He really left me here.

  I lay my head on the grass and cry harder.

  Chapter 12

  “Do you know what time it is?” a woman’s voice shouts at me through her rusty front door. “Don’t you people care one shit about workin’ folk?”

  The door flies open and a blonde appears, pulling a robe closed around her naked body. Then she sees me and her mouth falls open in surprise. Her face transforms in an instant and she loosens the sash, letting the front fall open a little more, nearly revealing her tits. “Well, hello. What can I do for you, handsome?”

  I play on the attraction. “Good morning, beautiful. Sorry for the early hour, but I’m looking for Rob Henderson and I heard he lives here.” I give her a slow, full body sweep of my eyes. “Lucky man.”

  Her nipples tighten through the thin material and she pushes her chest out. “He’s … ah, indisposed. You people really should come by at a more proper hour.”

  “What do you mean by ‘you people’,” I
ask.

  She twirls a lock of her hair. “You know. The cops. FBI. Reporters.” She wrinkles her nose. “People lookin’ for Rob’s ex.”

  “Gotten many of those around here?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Too many. I think everybody’s overreactin’. They’ll find her holed up somewhere with that rich guy, although between you and me, I don’t know what he sees in the likes of her. Plain as a penny. Skinny as a rail. No body to speak of. Let me tell you, he’ll get tired of her soon enough and be lookin’ for someone more interestin’.” The sash opens a bit more.

  I grin at her and lean a shoulder on the doorframe, reaching out to touch the front of her robe. Her breath hitches and I make myself grin bigger. “Mind getting him for me? I’ve got a few questions for him too.”

  The bitch flutters her lashes. “Sure, you come right on in. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and get Rob for ya.”

  “Thanks, honey. Much appreciated.”

  I step into the cluttered mess. She bends down, aiming her ass in my direction, and picks up some money that’s lying on the floor. She also picks up a nightgown and tosses it into the corner.

  “Sorry for the mess. The FBI—well, I think they was FBI but I always thought FBI men wore suits, ya know. Was all fancy and all. Not these guys, but anyway. They was by here a little bit ago, which was why I was so grumpy opening the door.” She sends me a sultry glance over her shoulder. “Sorry ‘bout that. But, can you believe it, they—”

  “Shut up, Charity.”

  I turn to the man standing in a doorway in nothing but a pair of red and black plaid boxers. He’s my height, but going soft around the middle, even though he looks younger than me.

  He crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

  The woman pipes in. “Robby, honey. This nice man has some questions about—” She stops talking when Rob glares at her, his eyes falling to her chest. She hurriedly pulls her robe closed and says, “I’ll just make that pot of coffee.”

  Rob saunters to the ratty sofa and falls down on it, sticking his feet up on the coffee table and points at me to sit down on a chair. “So, how can I help you today?” he asks and I want to punch him in the face.

  “Just a few questions about your ex-wife.”

  He grins. “How much you offering?”

  My balls tighten. “Offering. What do you mean?” I look down and see more money on the floor.

  He leans his head back on the sofa. “You know. I give information. You give me money.”

  “You got information to sell?”

  His grin widens. “Depends on if you want to know where she and that rich ass dude might hole up if they happened to come in this direction.”

  I nod. “I’d be interested in that. How much?”

  He raises his hands, laces his fingers and puts them behind his head while his grin crosses the line to shit eating. “Hundred grand.”

  “Must be some pretty good intel.”

  He nods. “Oh yeah. The guys who left about twenty minutes ago sure thought so.”

  Badass (Book 5) — Redemption

  Chapter 1 – Duffy

  What. In. The. Hell. Am. I. Doing?

  With each mile, those words threaten to turn me around.

  I left her.

  I left her by the bank of a river.

  I left her for all the best of reasons, and now, fifteen minutes later, none of them make a fuck’s worth of sense.

  Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I remind myself of why I had to go.

  One. I keep hurting her. The first time I met her, I busted her nose. I’m the reason she was shot. I’ve left bruises on her arms. And today, I busted her lip.

  Two. She’s in danger because of me. Being near me puts her in even more. She could have been killed last night. Killed a dozen times already. Living is hard enough as it is, I couldn’t bear the effort of breathing if she died. Because of me.

  Three. I can’t focus on avenging my brothers if I surrender to her comfort. A hundred men deserve better than that.

  Four.

  Shit.

  I don’t need a fourth reason. Those three are enough. But, still…

  You love her.

  You need her.

  And most importantly … she needs you.

  The voice is like a whisper in my ear, causing the hair to raise on my arms.

  The voice is right. The voice is wrong. The voice is wise and stupid at the same time.

  I did the right thing, leaving her. I know it deep in my brain.

  She needs you.

  The voice of my heart, the voice of my gut tries to convince me, but the voice of my brain is savage…

  You’ll fail her. Just like you failed everyone else.

  My face grows hot and my throat clogs up. My entire body wants to implode.

  I’ll fail her.

  That’s the root of it all.

  Because I’ve failed so many others.

  I see Darren on the chopper beside me, the medics performing CPR, tirelessly pressing up and down on his chest. I went to sleep. I wasn’t even there to comfort him, to talk to him, to make promises to him as his life slipped away. I closed my eyes. I closed my eyes to it all.

  Hulk didn’t even make it that far. He fell back in that damn alley, pieces of him going in different directions. I wore some of his blood on my face.

  Jackson was beside me. So close. So fucking close. Then he was gone too.

  The little boy, Sami, who had risked so much to help us. Gone. Without him, his sisters were as good as dead too.

  All of them gone.

  I pull the truck to the side of the road as the grief and terror of it all overtakes me. The snapshots of their faces flashing before my eyes. Snapshots of them alive. Snapshots of them dead. Snapshots of them dying. Snapshots of them blaming me.

  I’m going crazy.

  I feel my sanity slipping away, the piece of it I’ve clung to this past two months dribbling out like water from between my fingers. That’s the fourth reason. Grace doesn’t need to be with someone as fucked up as me.

  I clutch the steering wheel. Clutch onto something solid in a world where everything is out of control. Spinning like the vortex of a tornado.

  I don’t know what to do!

  Flinging the door open, I step out and breathe in some air, banging my fist on the truck’s hood. I hit the metal again. And again. And again. My hands are bleeding by the time the pain registers enough to make me stop.

  Leaving her was the smart thing to do.

  It was.

  The smartest thing. I need to get my ass back in the truck and keep going. I’ll get far enough away from here to create a diversion, pull the attention of the mercenaries back to me. I’ll get to Ft. Bragg and we’ll assemble a team and we’ll take these mother fuckers out. And then we’ll find the mother fuckers who hired them. And whoever hired them. I’ll search every corner of the earth until the root of this evil is annihilated.

  Yes, that’s what I have to do. Keep going. Not looking back.

  My decision made, I wipe the blood on my pants and get back in the truck, slamming the door behind me. Then I sit there, waiting for my hand to put the truck into drive.

  And wait.

  Shit.

  Opening the truck door again, I step out of the vehicle and pace along the side of the narrow road. I’m an asshole. A lowlife. She probably hates me right now. I was cruel in my attempt to push her away, to hurt her so much she would be glad that I left. In the moment, it seemed the only way.

  She needs you.

  Fuck!

  She doesn’t need me, but she does need someone. I pull out one of the burner phones from my pocket and check to see if I have a signal yet. It’s very early, the sky barely brightening with the twilight of the morning, but I’ll feel better leaving when I know her folks are on the way.

  Two bars. Enough.

  I get back into the truck and find the slip of paper Grace used to write down her family’s contact in
formation earlier today. I dial her grandfather first. It rings and rings and freaking rings, the sound tightening my jaw.

  Was he still asleep? Wake up, I mentally urge him. Answer the damn phone.

  Voice mail.

  I hang up and dial again. It rings interminably. Voice mail again.

  Shit.

  I dial her father’s home. Nothing.

  The hair raises on the back of my neck. A silent dread so consuming I nearly gag on its filth.

  Think.

  This could mean nothing. They could be sleeping. Eating breakfast. They could even be on the way to the shack to wait for Grace.

  Or it could mean everything. They could have guns pointed at their heads right now, being forced to reveal Grace’s location. Or they could be dead and Grace is sitting there waiting for no one. Or the wrong ones.

  She needs you.

  The voice again. Intuition. My gut.

  The voice has guided me through dozens of battles, told me to turn left when I was supposed to turn right. The voice is what made me a good soldier. The voice has saved my ass. Saved others.

  I need to listen to it.

  Slamming the door, I throw the truck into drive, and punch the gas, throwing up dirt as I make a three-point turn in the crazy narrow road.

  My gut twists.

  Something’s wrong.

  Something’s terribly wrong.

  And I left her to face it alone.

  Chapter 2 – Tate

  Rage slides through me as I stare at the cocky bastard lounging across from me on the ratty couch. One side of his mouth is drawn up into a smirk. His eyes showcase the ignorant selfishness lurking under his ‘good ole boy’ surface.

  In one move, I’m up from my chair and over the coffee table, hauling the fucker up by the throat. I spin him, crashing him backwards into a wall and pin him there, feeling his Adam’s apple wobble under my palm.

  “Where is your ex-wife?”

  I loosen my grip just enough for him to speak and he tries to fight back instead. I punch him in the gut, but keep him pinned to the wall. I wait until he can breathe again.