Badass - The Complete Series: A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  Now or never.

  “Sami!”

  The boy stiffens, then turns and I get the first clear view of his face. He looks at me with fear, then confusion, then growing recognition.

  “Mister?”

  It’s him. It really is him. By some miracle, he survived that terrible day.

  Being careful not to scare him, I smile and walk closer. In Arabic, I say, “Yes, it’s me. Mister. I’m so glad I found you.”

  I wish I could say he flew into my open arms, but this is real life and real life hadn’t been kind to this young boy. But he let us approach him. He let us sit with him. Let us give his sisters the bottled water and food I had in my pack even though he wouldn’t take anything for himself.

  “I never got to thank you for saving me that day,” I tell him in his language. He can speak some English, but not much. “I want to thank you now, if you’ll let me.”

  He cocks an eyebrow, the one with the scar I remembered. “How?” Still distrustful. Still expecting the worse.

  “I live in America and I would like for you and your sisters to come and live with Grace and me.”

  He looks over at his sisters and I follow his gaze. They’re both— Aya and Asil— sitting on Grace’s lap, both of them pulling strands of her hair and laughing when it springs back into a tight curl.

  She looks up at me and smiles as happy tears leak from her eyes. One of the girls wipe them away and pats her cheeks. “No cry,” she says in her tiny voice. “No cry.”

  “Take them. Save them.” He nods at his sisters, tears running down his face in streams. He pulls up the bottom of his tattered pants and pulls off the shoe that barely functions as one. Half of his foot is gone and a large section of his calf removed. Had he been in the states, the lower part of his leg would have been amputated. Instead, he’s battling, on a daily basis, an unimaginable amount of pain. “I’m only a burden. They can help you. They very good girls.”

  I swallow and look down at the boy, who is staring at the fingers twisting in his lap. “Sami, you are no burden. Look, we’re the same.”

  I wait for him to lift his eyes, then I raise the leg of my pants. His eyes grow huge as the metal is revealed. Huge with horror, which morphs quickly into understanding.

  He reaches out a hand, then pulls it back. “It’s okay. Touch it.” I smile as he strokes the cold metal, then raps it with his knuckles.

  I run my fingers through his hair and he doesn’t pull away. “The day we met, you said both of your parents had been killed. Do you have any other family? Anyone who might be looking for you?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes sad when he looks at me. “No one.”

  I hate to press, but I ask. “What happened to your grandparents? Aunts and uncles?”

  “They all die in a church. A wedding. My sisters and I weren’t allowed to go. We stayed home with other children. With babysitter. Big explosion and all family is gone.”

  Son of a bitch.

  “I’m so sorry, Sami. I can’t even imagine how horrible that has been. You’ve done a really good job taking care of your sisters and I’d like to take care of you, if you’ll let me.”

  He seems to think about it. “Live in America?”

  I nod. “Yes, with me and Grace.”

  “And Aya and Asil?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He seems to think about it longer. “Mister, you were wrong when you say you didn’t thank me.”

  I look at him, confused.

  “That bad night. When my leg was hurt, I woke up and I had the watch you gave me. I traded the watch for the doctor and medicine for my leg. There was enough to buy some food and to get us out of Syria to here.”

  My watch.

  I remember taking it off my wrist and giving it to him. I remember the look in his eyes as he accepted it.

  “So see, you already saved me. You don’t owe nothing else.”

  I swallow down the lump wanting to choke me. “Then will you come live with us simply because I really really want you to?”

  His small face crumples and he raises his hands to cover the emotion. I pull him to my side and let him cry.

  I look over at Grace and she’s holding tightly to the girls, a look of contentment on her face.

  After a while, he looks up at me and wipes his nose on his tattered sleeve. “I no burden?”

  God.

  Please help me do this right. Please help me be a good dad to this little boy. Please help me be a good dad to them all.

  I shake my head. “No, Sami. You’re a blessing. A bigger blessing than you’ll ever know.”

  He begins to cry again and I pull him onto my lap, hold his face to my chest as he lets this round of anguish out of his thin little body.

  Soon, the girls come over to comfort their brother, patting his head and kissing his cheeks. Grace scoots next to me and the girls crawl back into her lap.

  Minutes pass before he speaks again, looking up, meeting my eyes. “We want to go with you.”

  There, in the hellhole of a refugee camp, I found my family.

  Epilogue – Grace

  Eighteen months later…

  “Push!”

  As the nurse begins counting, my sister bears down, trying to push the baby from her body. I hold her leg, giving her words of encouragement as she works to produce a miracle.

  “You’re doing so great, Faith,” I tell her and wipe her forehead, pushing her hair back from her face.

  “I can see the head,” Dr. Larkins says from between my sister’s knees. “Next contraction, really push and let’s see the rest of him.”

  Faith’s face grows tighter as another contraction builds and I resume my position as an official leg holder.

  “Push. Push. Push!”

  The counting begins again as my sister pushes with all her might, bearing down, red faced, grunting, nearly screaming with the effort.

  As I watch, a shock of dark hair appears from between her legs, then the external rotation begins and I see his little scrunched up face. I begin to cry as my sister gives another mighty push and delivers one shoulder, then the other. Then … whoosh … the rest of him comes slipping out in a rush.

  Faith is crying, breathing so hard and watching the doctor suction his nose and mouth before drying him roughly with a towel.

  “He’s so beautiful,” I tell her. And he is.

  Dr. Larkins hands the wailing little boy to a nurse at my sister’s hip who quickly bundles him and steps close to the bed. She leans, reaching him out to my sister.

  Faith smiles at him, but shakes her head. Then she looks at me and says, “Give my nephew to his mother.” The nurse smiles broader and hands me my son.

  When I hold my little boy in my arms for the first time, I can’t do anything. I can’t breathe. I can’t cry. I can only stare. Then he opens his eyes and stares back, his beautiful eyes the darkest, newborn shade of blue.

  From a great distance, I see flashes from a camera. I know it’s Camille snapping away.

  From a great distance, I hear Dr. Larkins say, “Want to cut the cord, Daddy?”

  I look up then, and watch Link step away from the corner he’d been holding up. I watch him watch me and our son. He takes the scissors and cuts where he’s instructed, tears pouring down his face.

  Then he walks to me, his face an agony of pure joy and takes us both in his arms.

  “Hi, Daddy,” I say to him and lean my head on his strong shoulder.

  “Hi, Mommy,” he says, kissing my forehead, lingering there. Then he looks down at his son and the tears begin again. It’s a long time before he can say, “Hello, Zane Darren Duffy. It’s very good to meet you.”

  The next couple of hours are a whirlwind of activity. The nurse takes the baby to the nursery to do the needed tests and assessments as well as give him his first bath. I thank my sister a million times for her most generous gift, for her complete selflessness. I still can’t believe she offered to be a surrogate.

  I remember
the day she was inseminated. I’d gone through the long process of daily hormone shots and painful egg harvesting while Link cheerfully jacked off in a cup. Then the doctors had joined the two together, freezing our little Duffys. Then the day came and I’d held her hand while they essentially shoved a turkey baster up her twat.

  It was over so quickly.

  When she was finished, we walked out to the lobby where Link was waiting. As soon as she saw him, she said, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

  Now, nine months later, we have a son. And he’s lying snug in his father’s arms in the hospital room we’ll be staying in for the next twenty-four hours. Link just stares at him, holding his little fingers. It’s the most remarkable thing I’ve ever seen.

  I look around the room. At all the flowers and balloons and stuffed bears we’ve been gifted.

  Every relative I have is here.

  Mom and Dad keep going back and forth between Faith’s room and this one, checking on her and checking on me. My grandparents all came in with loads of food. They brought Lucas in with them, so he could see his mom and new cousin. Fate ended up living with him permanently. He says that the little dog is his best friend.

  When Papaw saw Link, he’d slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as big as could be. He really loves the new fishing shack and hidey hole Link built to replace the one we’d practically annihilated. He’s thinking about adding an addition.

  Natalie, of course, is here too, bringing a two-year-old Emma Grace and her growing big brothers. She’s so sweet. So delicate and I can’t believe how big she is. My heart still tweaks when I see her, knowing Ryland would be her same age if he’d been given half a chance to live.

  Link’s phone dings and he reaches for it on the table beside the chair, holding Zane tighter against his chest. He reads the message and then looks up at me. “They’re here.”

  My heart expands, knowing they’re so close and I stand, ready to welcome them. Even Link’s mother, who I now call Olivia.

  Believe it or not, we get along quite well now. Not close, but much better. She was a wonderful help to me during the wedding, helping me shop for a dress and making sure the flowers I loved were the focal points.

  Our wedding was beautiful. Held at sunset on the cliff, at the exact point I’d been shot. Link had worried that it would be too painful to have it there, but it was perfect. Exactly perfect.

  We honeymooned in Hawaii, then moved into the home he’d built us in Tennessee, just a few miles from my mom and dad’s farm. He used the same blueprints as the cabin in Colorado, two safe rooms and all.

  I love it. I still can’t believe I get to live in such a beautiful place. I can’t believe I have this beautiful life. A beautiful husband. A beautiful family.

  And friends.

  Link told Darren’s wife, Julie, that she should move to Tennessee too. And to his surprise, she did. We’ve become good friends and I keep her kids now and again so she can have a break. She’s dating now. Not seriously, but a date here and there. And she looks happy and content.

  Camille moved here too. Well, she lives here when she isn’t traveling the world. She and Tate still see each other when they can. I’ve been rooting for them as a couple, but, as she says, the timing isn’t right just yet. But I’m crossing my fingers. Maybe someday.

  The baby makes a noise and I watch Link briefly panic before little Zane settles back down. They look so sweet. He’s so big and Zane’s so small. They make the perfect couple.

  After much struggle, Link decided to retire from the army. He hated to. He had wanted to stay, but his celebrity proved to be too much of a hindrance. But he works with Tate sometimes, going out on secret missions and worrying me half to death. But I let him go because he needs to go. He needs to keep up his skills. He needs to feel useful.

  His post-traumatic stress is so much better, but will probably never be completely gone. The nightmares still haunt him, but less frequently, about once a week. He’s been seeing a therapist who has helped, but I think the stability of our life has helped him too. Plus, he’s very active in helping other soldiers get back on their feet, financially, emotionally or physically. Each one he helps seems to exorcise a demon or two.

  There’s a small knock on the door and Link and I look at each other, grinning as three smiling faces come running into the room, followed by Link’s mom and dad.

  “Mommy, Mommy. I’m a big sister now.” That comes from Aya, who’s now almost five. She picked up English so quickly, as small children seem to do. She’s climbing on Link’s lap, wrapping her little arms around his neck, kissing Zane on his forehead.

  Camille is snapping pictures like crazy from the corner.

  Right behind her is Asil, who was seven yesterday. We don’t know if that’s her real birthday because all of the children’s records were destroyed and we could find no family to confirm it. So, we’d simply let each child choose a date and made it his or her birthday. The system wasn’t perfect, but it worked.

  Last to come close is ten-year-old Sami, holding back just a little. He’s opened up so much since he came to live with us, and opened up even more when the adoption was complete. It was as if he’d been afraid to really love us until he knew he’d be allowed to stay.

  “He’s so little,” he says in English, but doesn’t get closer than a few feet. I lay my hand on his shoulder and he rests his head against my middle.

  “Do you want to hold him?” I ask and he looks up at me. His eyes are wide, but that little grin appears.

  “Yes, I would like that. Very much.”

  Meeting Link’s eyes, I take the baby from his arms and nestle his warm body against my nose. Link stands, a little girl in each arm. “Here you go, Sami. Take my seat.”

  Sami climbs into the chair, doing so very well with his prosthetic. His injured leg had healed so badly and he was in so much pain with no hope of that pain being lessened. It was he who decided he would rather have it amputated. “It no more hurt,” he said at the time. “And I’ll be strong, like Link.”

  And he is strong. He works hard and makes good grades. He tried out for the basketball team and made it. At his last game, he scored twelve points and got six rebounds, then scored the winning basket. From Link’s reaction, and mine, you’d think he’d won the world championship.

  In our hearts, he did.

  As I move closer to him and lay his little brother in his arms, I watch him study the baby very closely. Then I take Aya from Link when she reaches for me, kissing her warm cheeks, snuggling her close.

  Link comes up beside me, hip to hip, his arm around my shoulder. I look up at him, and he lowers his lips to mine. Even with our busy, crazy, noisy life, his kisses still make my toes curl.

  The girls giggle and we break apart and I look back at Sami and the baby. Sami touches Zane’s nose, his ears and then looks up at us. “I’ll protect him forever,” he says and my heart expands in my chest.

  Link squeezes me tighter and then says to his oldest son, “I know you will.”

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  Dedicated to

  Master Sergeant Joshua Wheeler

  Thank you.

  RIP

  Sneak Peak of Jungle Fever (Book 1)

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  Badass: Jungle Fever

  Chapter 1-Tate

  “You suck!”

  I can’t hear the words, but they’re easy enough to read on Link Duffy’s lips. So is the scowl he’s shooting at some teeny bopper who just threw her underwear in his face.

  Before I can say ‘suck it up’ for the hundredth time, some little shit tries to get past me and I grab him by the scruff of the neck, hauling him back into the crowd of screaming teenagers, giving him a look so hard the kid nearly pisses his pants. Then the kid turns his attention back to the stage behind me, and his eyes grow soft and saggy with deep, unrequited puppy lo
ve as Ainslee Abraham, the hottest pop princess to ever hit the universe, gyrates her barely covered ass on the stage directly behind me.

  When I feel the pop queen running her hand through my hair, I don’t react. It’s the third time it’s happened tonight. I look over at Duff again, and the bastard is smirking. Ainslee leaves my hair alone and skips over to the other side of the stage.

  Son of a bitch.

  I’m the damn owner of Black Shield, one of the most respected security companies in the world. I’m a former Army Ranger, former Green Beret, and was heavily recruited for special forces and the CIA. I’ve killed men with my bare hands and can snipe a perp from nearly a mile away. I’ve jumped from a plane at thirty-thousand feet multiple times. I can fly anything that goes into the air. Dammit to hell, I survived sixteen bullets plowing into me at the same fucking time. I came back to life after I died on the table … twice.

  And here I am providing personal security to an eighteen-year-old who, to her credit, can at least carry a tune, but whose special advantage is that she has a body that is every boy’s wet dream.

  To my left, I pin a look on a barely dressed girl who seems on the verge of rushing the stage and she swallows before giving me her best ‘pleeeeease’ look. I shake my head and she pops out her lower lip, then pulls her damn little shirt up to expose her tits. I don’t lose eye contact with her. Don’t allow my eyes to flick down. I stare at her, giving her the same face I’d use on a terrorist I was extracting information from. Carefully blank. So blank the girl shudders and pulls her little top back down.

  What the hell is wrong with kids these days?

  Feeling exceedingly old-fartish, I scan the crowd again, searching for anyone whose eyes aren’t on the screeching star and her band behind me. Scan for the ones seeking to rush the stage. The ones about to throw something. The ones acting different than the hormone-induced teens around them. The idol worshipping little shits who are screaming at the top of their lungs.

  The music in the arena changes and the crowd goes ballistic in front of my eyes. I try to recognize the tune, but my mind is blank. I don’t listen to this pop shit unless it’s forced upon me in an elevator somewhere.