Copyright ©2019 Paige P. Horne. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place, events and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or an information storage and retrieval system without the prior consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance or quotes for reviews.
No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.
Other novels written by Paige P. Horne include:
Close To Falling
Chasing Fireflies
Chasing Ellie
If I’d Known
Give Me Love
Give Me Perfect Love
Give Me Forever Love
Cover designer: Cover It Designs
Editor: Paige Maroney Smith
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Jace
2017
With a drink in hand, I sit at the One Flew South bar in the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport waiting for my brother to pick me up. If I’m being honest, I’m dreading this more than when I found out I was being booted from the Army.
I fucked up.
I chuckle to myself as I take a sip of my drink, because that’s not surprising.
That’s who I am.
I’m Jace Grant.
The fuck-up.
The boy my brother thought was a burden even if he’d never admit it. The kid who was too young to know what was going on but knew more than they all thought. And I’m the one my big brother left behind as soon as he was able, so I joined the fucking Army. I was good at my job, but I’m hell-bent on destroying a good thing, and so that’s what I did.
Maybe I’m a glutton for self-punishment. I saw an opportunity to fuck things up for myself and I went for it. Do I regret my decision? Nah. I only hate that I got caught.
When people say I regret doing that, I say you did exactly what you wanted to at the time; otherwise, you wouldn’t have done it.
I run a hand over my shaved head and look up at the TV, thinking back on my years in the Army Infantry. The news is on, a woman talking about a man robbing her at a gas station. Ice clinks against my glass when I take a sip.
I had some good times and I had some bad times and then some very bad times.
It was hot, dirty, and more than I ever could have imagined. I look down at my glass, circling the ice with the tiny black straw in it as my mind goes back to the beginning…back to the day my life changed in a way only a soldier would understand.
Chapter Two
Jace
2010
The bus nears Fort Benning in Georgia, loud and fuming. With a beating heart, I hold on to my bag and papers. This is the only thing I have now. I’ve left everything else behind and I didn’t tell a soul. There’s a note on top of a navy comforter, explaining that I just needed to go. I would call when I got settled. I stare out the window at gray trees under the moonlight. A lone car or two passes by the bus, which is filled with people like me.
Or maybe not like me at all.
I’m lost.
Trying to figure out where I fit in.
A man dressed in an Army uniform along with a Campaign hat stands up.
“All right, listen up. I am a drill sergeant. Anyone with a hat on like this or similar to this is a drill sergeant. From now on, you will address me as such. You will either say yes or no. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” we all say in unison.
“When we get off this bus, females will go to the right and stand in front of the yellow lines, and males will go to the left and stand in front of the yellow lines. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“You will hold your paperwork in your left hand and your bags in your right,” he orders. “You will have your heels together on the vertical yellow lines.” His voice is as rough as sandpaper and I can tell right away he’s a no bullshitter.
Nerves swarm in my belly, and my palms grow sweaty, but I have no regrets. This is what I chose to do, and I will see it through.
I’m away from it all now.
My brother left me, and now I’ve left him.
I’ve read how these boys will eventually have my back no matter what, and this is where I want to be.
“You will have two minutes to get off my bus,” he says. “Go.”
Other people no older than me stand up as the driver swings the doors open. With my papers in my left hand and my bag over my right shoulder, I follow them out.
“Let’s go. Let’s go,” I hear as I step off. The night welcomes me, and I think how sometimes it covers more territory.
In me, in the world.
It’s a dark place we live in, and sometimes it’s hard to see the light if it’s not in front of your face.
Some people are born with a natural ability to see the good in things. I am not one of those people.
On the outside, I am all smiles, but on the inside, I have demons, clawing at tissue and breaking blood vessels to expose the truth.
I’m good at sorrow
behind closed doors, and I’m the life of the fucking party. At eighteen, I feel like I’ve already lived a lifetime.
A small handful of men stand outside in an Army uniform, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t uneasy. One by one we exit the bus with our bags.
“Line up, motherfuckers,” one man yells. He’s shorter than the rest, but not by much. “I want four lines right now!”
We assemble into four lines quickly. “Hold your bags out in front of you and make it so you’re not touching the person in front of you,” another man calls out. He’s bigger, bulkier. “Raise your hands now!”
We do so and I’m regretting even bringing a damn bag.
He walks up to a kid in line dressed like them.
“Where’d you get those boots, boy? Did you get those from Academy? Those aren’t Army-issued, motherfucker!” He gets right in the boy’s face, but the guy doesn’t flitch.
“Look at this skinny shit.” The shorter man walks up to me, his mouth so close to my ear, I can feel his spit spray when he talks. My blood simmers lightly beneath the surface. “You think you can be in the Army looking like that?” he screams at me. “You can’t save anyone, skinny fuck.”
Another man walks over to me. “Why are you smiling?” And I quickly realize there’s not regular speaking here, it’s all yelling. There are two men yelling at me now, and a third comes over.
“You got a reason to be happy right now?” he asks.
“No, Drill Sergeant,” I say.
“Stop smiling,” he says.
I do so and look ahead, my jaw clenching.
This isn’t going to be an easy ride.
Not one bit.
They walk away and pick on someone else, as the big bulky man says, “We will make it so you don’t have to think. We will tell you the whens, the hows, the whys. You won’t have to do a thing but follow our orders. If you do not follow our orders, then you will have to do push-ups.
“Place your bags on the ground in front of you and your paperwork on top of it.”
My arms scream as I put my bags down, my veins bulging from my forearms. “Males turn to your left. Females to your right.”
We do so. I look at the women in front of me. Their faces are emotionless. One girl’s hair is long and a drill sergeant yells at her to put it in a tight bun.
“You all failed the first task. I asked you to get off the bus in two minutes and you did not. Everyone get in a push-up position.
Shit.
“From here on out, this is called the front leaning position. The more you disobey me, the more you’ll be in this position. Start doing push-ups.”
____________
Basic training is torture, but I finish. We have Family Day and then I graduate. I get to go home for ten days after that. I’m nineteen now and I know I want to get my own place in the city like my brother.
After I find an apartment, I go out and buy some things to furnish it, like a bed and shit. I enroll in Infantry school because I know I want to be in the field. There I learn how to use small arms, anti-armor, or indirect fire weapons during combat. I become a trained killer. I also am no longer skinny. I grow tougher, and like the man who trained me, I become bulkier.
Like I thought, it isn’t an easy ride. My need to joke around gets me in trouble more times than I can count, and my arms hate me for it. I’m in the front line position a lot.
But I finally feel like I belong somewhere.
I no longer have my big brother watching over me. Now I have several brothers who would die for me and I them.
I graduate Infantry school and then I get my first assignment.
This is when shit gets real. My job, along with my team, is to search out and destroy the enemy and to respond to calls of help when our brothers need it.
I’m not sure you get used to seeing the shit I’ve seen; you just learn to accept the reality of it.
It’s war and there’s nothing pretty about war.
Chapter Three
On post in Afghanistan 2013
Blasting heat crawls into the post, causing sweat to slide down my back, making my pants looser and my attitude shittier. With over half a pack of smokes gone and one nut rubbed out in the corner of this tent, I’m waiting on Rocket Man to come and relieve me. I’ve been here for eight hours. Eight fucking hours.
The command tent radios me. “Keep an eye out for relief. They’re being inspected now.”
“Copy that,” I reply.
Moments pass by like a slug crawling up the side of a wall. I watch a cluster of buildings that we were hit from two days ago. Splitters of light pass through gun holes in the mud houses. We went in and fucked that place up, but there was a little movement earlier today, which has kept me on high alert.
“Give me a name,” I call out when I see someone approaching.
“It’s Rocket,” my boy says.
“Come about,” I reply. Rocket is a big-ass dude who’s into building rockets. Hence the name. During our downtime, back at base camp where the area is cleared of rebels, we go out to a field and watch him shoot some off. That’s the thing no one tells you about being over here. There’s a shitload of downtime. We spend it fucking with each other, playing poker, or working out in a makeshift gym. If we’re lucky, we even get to have a drink or two. It’s not allowed, but the boys sneak it anyway.
“Fuck, man, what’s up with all the energy drinks?” He looks around at the cans I’ve crumbled and tossed into a bucket for the hell of it.
“Keeps me from doing cocaine,” I say.
He laughs, but he knows I’m being serious. I’ve scored some good shit out here in the desert land. But the Army frowns upon that kind of thing, so I try to keep my nose clear.
“All, right, man. It’s been a pretty quiet day. Enjoy it.”
Rocket gives me a look, like really, because all you could hear was gunshots popping around us.
“Yeah, I’ll just pop open a beer and relax, check out the pool in a few,” he says.
I laugh as I head out. “I just rented some new porn on the TV. Have yourself a bla…” Before I can finish my sentence, I’m shot forward when a loud explosion slams into my back. I land on the ground facedown. Blinking my eyes, I try to stop the ringing in my ears from the IED.
“Fuck,” I gasp, tasting dirt, trying to breathe in air, but it is smoke-filled. Smolder and fire bellow from the tent when I look back. I wipe the rocks from my cheek and jump up, running toward the tent to help Rocket.
I see him lying on his back at the edge of the tent. He is gasping for air like I was only moments ago. Running over, I quickly grab his legs and pull him from the burning tent. I grunt as I drag his heavy ass.
His face holds burns and his arm is on fire. I grab a towel I use to wipe sweat and smother the flames. Once he is in the clear, I get down and give him CPR. “Breathe, man,” I say. “Come on, Rocket.”
He inhales like he’s been at the bottom of a pool for too long and just barely makes it to the top.
“Thank fuck,” I say just as shots start in on us.
“Goddammit,” I curse, grabbing my radio. “COC. This is post four. We’ve got a man down and shots coming right at us!”
I get on the ground and grab my SAW.
“Roger that. We’ve got men coming in.”
“Copy,” I say as I start firing my gun. Rocket lies beside me in a shitload of pain. I see the men coming at me and I fire in their direction, Pop, pop, pop. I duck my head as the shots come back at me. Pop, pop, pop.
Sweat rivers down the side of my face. The dirt feels hotter than the fire coming from our post. The enemy nears, driving an old beat-up Nissan truck.
“Stay down,” I tell Rocket. With my gun, I jump up and walk around the burning tent, trying to stand away from it so I don’t get burned, but I also need its protection from flying bullets, even though it isn’t much fucking protection.
I adjust my gun and focus on those motherfuckers coming our way. I single in on the driver. With
one eye closed, I press the trigger. Whoosh. It soars and cuts through the front windshield, hitting the guy, causing the truck to lose control. The men in the back fly out as my brothers show up.
Pop, pop, pop. I watch, my heart beating against my ribcage like a wild animal. More shots are fired until the last enemy is dead in the dirt. I stare at them for what feels like too long before I get myself together and walk back over to Rocket. He looks like he is going to have some serious scars, but he is alive.
We both are.
“We got ’em, man. We fucking got ’em.
Chapter Four
Jace
(2017)
I take another sip of my drink, sucking my teeth as I think back on that day. Rocket had some severe burns, but as soon as he healed up, he got his ass back out there. I exhale as a woman walks in from the lobby, catching my attention. It’s summer and she’s proving it with a short skirt. I sniff and down my drink as she sits beside me.
She looks over at me, and I smirk. She looks away, signaling for the bartender.
“Coming or going?” I ask her.
“Stopping in, actually,” she says as the bartender walks up. “Cosmo,” she orders. “And I’ll go ahead and close out.” A stupid thought passes through my mind, like maybe I should offer to pay for her drink, but I’m not that guy.
She turns to me after handing him her card, crossing one long leg over the other.
“What about you?” She lifts a brow. “Where are you headed?”
I think about that for a moment. When I left for the Army, I was a lost kid, mad at the world. I’m still mad—that hasn’t changed—but I found myself.
For a moment I really did.
And now, here I sit, lost… once again, wondering where the hell I’m going to fit in.
But maybe now I’m a little worse off.
Maybe now there’s no way to fix me.
Where am I going?
Who knows?
I decide this stranger doesn’t need to know my story.
“Moving to New York and starting a new business,” I lie. I pat my front pocket to see if my smokes are there. Pulling the pack out, I place one into my mouth before replacing the pack.
Give Me Redemption (Give Me Series Book 4) Page 1
