Release Date: March 10th
Models: Teale Shawn Murdock & Aaron
Lesue’
Sergeant Jeremiah Abbner died in the line of duty
serving his
country. Or at least that’s what the newspapers said…
The US Government handed him a new identity, and
strict orders not to make contact with anyone from his past. As far as society
was concerned Sergeant Jeremiah Abbner was dead, and buried six feet under.
Not having contact with his ex-wife would be
easy. She was a manipulator and a cheater.
Not seeing his daughter on the other hand would
devastate him…
Beau Morgan, aka Jeremiah, settles down in a
town far away from everything he’s ever known. Coping with the trauma he’s
experienced and discovering a new life Beau finds himself the most aggressive
he’s ever been. His blood simmers with rage while his fists are thirsty to let
it all out .
In the middle of his own living hell he never
expected to run into an old familiar face. And to top it off, one who
recognized him as Jeremiah.
He’s vowed never to love again, but as
circumstances land him in the arms of a woman, Jenni Lee, this time he may not
have a choice, as she rarely takes no for an answer.
Can Beau Morgan control his temper long enough
to settle into his new life? Or will resentment taint him forever?
Chapter 1
Streetlights
whiz past my peripheral vision as I roar down Main Street to the restaurant. The
familiar rage inside me begins to boil. Just the mention of that name can do
dangerous things to me internally. I never want to hear it again. Everything
was taken away from me with that name.
I
try to focus on Michelle’s face instead of the rage. She looked so different,
yet it was the same girl. I could tell from her tattoo. What a mysterious mind
fuck that girl is. I searched everywhere for her after the night she abandoned
me at the tattoo parlor. Her wrist. Holy fuck. It hits me if that’s Michelle, I
knew then she’d have a lump on her wrist, because I can guarantee she never
visited a hospital.
The
night we spent together was something magical. There aren’t many things in my
life I’d classify as magical—my gran’s baking, the birth of my child, and that
night with her. She had a serious effect on me, but ran. She literally ran off
into the night. I deployed two months later. End of story.
My
thoughts occupied me while loading the food and heading back to the reception.
As I step out of the delivery truck, a sound catches my ear. It’s not one many
would pick up on, but I do easily. Someone is being beaten. The darkness of the
night with the faraway lights makes it easier for me to detect the sound of
bones being beaten. I spent many nights this way.
The
ground is uneven, with little paths leading in every direction. Being
unfamiliar with the lay of the land is making it beyond difficult to maneuver
my way to the punches. A desperate plea sounds, making me damn near desperate
to find where it’s coming from. Instinctively, I reach for my gun, but only
find keys in my pocket. Army life is still so second nature that even after
years I find myself reverting to old habits.
“You
fucking cunt.” The voice becomes clearer, and the surroundings light up a bit.
Finally rounding a corner, I spot a petite blonde cowered down on the ground
with a brooding man standing above her. It’s clear by the sheer size of the man
he would be able to snap her neck in a second. The pale pink color of the
wedding party catches my eye, and instantly I wonder if it’s Michelle. There’s
way too much blonde hair. It’s not her.
The
blonde lifts her face up from the ground, and this is when I lose it. Blood is
flowing down her face, making her features difficult to recognize. Her hair is
pulled out of its fancy up-do. The man jerks her up by the hair to a standing
position.
Everything
inside me boils. Clearly, the situation is exactly what I think it is.
“You’re
going home with me right now, Jenni. I’ll fucking drag you if I have to.” The
man pulls the helpless woman closer to him, tearing her pink dress with the
action. “You’ll never hang around the Wilks boys again.”
Stepping
into the slice of light covering the duo, I ask, “Is there a problem here?”
I
feel the rage inside me boil further, if that’s even possible, when her brown
eyes reflect back at me. She’s beyond desperate and scared. I’ve seen this look
on civilians before, and every time it turns on a switch within me. I’m not
playing the hero card. It’s more like knowing the difference between right and
wrong and acting on it. It takes someone to make a stand.
The
blonde is pulled even tighter into the man, and the sound of her dress being completely
ripped from the top of her body fills the air.
“We’re
fucking fine, man. Leave.”
I
move in closer to the situation, watching her reaction as I do. Once I make eye
contact with her, I don’t break it. “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to the
young lady.” My gaze bores holes into her desperate eyes. “Are you okay?”
She
begins to speak, but the man rips on her hair again. This time is enough. I
don’t wait for an answer or another moan of pain from the woman. Before I know
what is happening, I step up and hammer the man in the face. Taken by surprise,
he lets go of the girl. I grab for her and push her behind me to safety. However,
my need to punish this man isn’t nearly satisfied. He’ll pay for every single
ounce of pain he’s inflicted on her.
My
fists fly into action, nailing him with each blow. Now the sound of crunching
bones is caused by me and well deserved. I leave him with one final kick to the
ribs. I’m fairly certain he’s unconscious, as his moans and begging have now
stopped. I wipe my bloody knuckles on the back of my pants before turning to
face the woman.
She’s
cowered back down on the ground with her face buried. Her blonde mane is
splayed out over knees and is dappled with spots of blood. I’m pretty sure
she’s past the point of being cleaned up to go back to the wedding.
“Are
you okay?” I mentally berate myself for asking such a dumbass question. Of
course she’s not okay. My hands fumble a bit before they finally grab for her
and rest on the top of her knee. I push away her loose hair before I find her
exposed kneecap, which is scraped up too. “What can I do?”
She
doesn’t respond with words. Instead her
body shudders as her tears flow. She’s beyond talking and clearly not okay.
“I’m
going to get you out of here.” I pat her knee, finding a piece of her flesh
that’s not damaged. I run my hand up and down this spot trying to comfort her.
“I’m going to pack you to my truck and take you where you need to go. Would you
like me to let anyone know you’re leaving?”
I
watch as her long hair sways back and forth, signaling no.
“No
to me helping you, or to letting someone know?”
She
slowly drags her head up to look at me, with her hair matted to both sides of
her face. Her left eye is swollen shut, while most of the blood has started to
dry up.
“Don’t
tell anyone, please. I need to leave,” escapes her cut lips.
Without
any further questioning, I stand and go back to the man who caused all of this
and give him a little more of what I think of him. This time the sound of his
bone crushing under my fist feels even better than last time.
I
don’t take long because I don’t want to leave her in too much pain and in front
of her assailant. Slowly and with more ease than I’ve used in years, I pick her
up in my arms. The top half of her dress falls away from her body, while the
skirt portion barely hangs onto her. She’s tense in my arms, not one bit
relaxed or comforted.
I’ll
never understand the urge to lay a hand on a woman. I’ve been pissed before at
the opposite sex, but using my fists to solve the problem has never even
crossed my mind.
With
each step I take toward the parking lot, I feel her become more panicked. Her
tiny hands grab at my biceps, clenching tight.
“It’s
okay. I’m just going to take you to my truck, and then to wherever you need to
go.” She finally makes eye contact with me, and I think she might believe I’m
not the enemy, but I want to reassure her. “I won’t hurt you. I can even call
the cops right now and get you help.”
Music
fills the dark night air as we close in on the parking lot. When she hears the
music, she begins to sob in my arms.
“Do
you want me to go get one of your friends?”
“No.”
Her
sobs continue as she clings harder to my arm, but the rest of her body begins
to relax a bit. I desperately want to keep talking to her, or even hold her
longer to show her I’m not the enemy and will never hurt her. I’m not sure how
to act in this situation. We are two strangers in a very difficult situation.
“Okay,
this is my truck. Are you sure you don’t want me to go get someone?”
This
time she struggles from my arms and tries to stand on her own. Of course her
fragile little body can’t handle it. I steady her and keep her from collapsing
to the ground. Her bare chest is exposed to the world, with a dainty, baby blue
bra covering her. I pull off my white button up staff shirt and cover her up
with it.
“Please
don’t tell anyone. Please? They’ll just think I’m an idiot.” She fiddles with
the hem of my shirt as she sits in the front seat staring at her feet. “And
they aren’t that far off.”
“Don’t.”
I grab her hand, stopping her from fiddling and berating herself. “Don’t you
dare think that way.”
“Beau.”
I turn to see one of my co-workers in a frantic state. “Where is the truck with
the food? We are almost out of everything. Boss man, Juan, is going nuts.”
Standing
in front of a co-worker in a white wife beater is somewhat awkward, though no
more than having a beaten woman behind me, but the last thing I want to do is
expose her to anyone. Before I have the chance to speak, a very red faced and
pissed off Juan joins the small crowd.
“Beau,
where in the fuck is the food?” He
pauses, with an odd expression covering his face. “Where’s the company
truck?”
I
nod in the direction where I parked the company truck, loaded and ready to go with
food for the reception. His beady black eyes follow my nod and then turn back
to me.
“And
what do you think you’re doing?” Juan throws his hands behind his head in a
fit. “Get back to work now, Beau, and get your fucking shirt on.”
The
woman behind me lets out a light groan as she tries to get out of the truck. Her
shoes are missing, dress ripped, and she’s obviously in an insane amount of
pain.
“Fuck
you, I quit.”
The
words come out effortlessly. The way I see it, there was no other choice. I
round the front of the truck, moving as fast as I can to get next to her. She
needs help.
“I’m
going to take you to the hospital.”
She
faces me with a desperate plea before any words leave her mouth. I know what
her next words will be, but the thing is, I’ve already let one woman in need of
medical attention escape me. I’m not repeating the same mistake. She will go to
the hospital.
I am an independent
author excited about releasing my first novel
very soon. A big dream coming true!!! I'm all country...the kinda country where
green grass grows and corn pops up in rows....love Miranda and her bad ass
music!!! Just a simple country girl getting one story out of her head at a
time...I always fall hard for a trucker style hat...especially if it's a John
Deere hat....loves me a good ol' farm boy!!!!!!
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