Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
The door opened and Lewis stepped inside. Sergeant Lewis—Devin’s closest friend and my superior. He began pacing, losing his shit. He kept looking down at me then shaking his head, repeating, “Shit!”
I watched him, numbly. They could lock me up. I didn’t fucking care. Those fuckers were dead. That was all I gave a fuck about right now.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Lewis stilled. His face was red, and his eyes darted from side to side like he was debating something in his head. “All those fuckers were killed in the raid. No survivors.” I blinked, unfeeling and uncaring as he crouched before me. “What the fuck were you thinking, X?”
“They hurt him,” I snarled. “They needed to die.”
“Your brother is the best fucking Marine I know, and, more than that, he plays by the rules, has honor in the flag. He would never have pulled a stunt like that if your roles were reversed. You know what could happen to you if this is found out?”
“I don’t care. They fucked with him. They deserved to die. Don’t give a fuck about what happens to me now.”
Lewis ran his hand down his face, exasperated. “Clean up. I gotta figure all this shit out. We all gotta get our stories straight. Forget this ever happened. Yeah?” I got to my feet, not saying shit. Lewis grabbed my arm and wrenched me back to face him. “Dev saved my ass more times than you’d know. That’s the only reason I’m going against every ethical and moral code here, X. I owe Dev, and after what’s happened, I’m sure as shit not gonna have you court-martialed.”
I stormed through the door, only to see the building that had held my brother on fire, flames licking high and smoke tunneling into the air. “Fuckers lit it up when we arrived, but we managed to get our men out first,” Sergeant Lewis said from behind me. I knew that was the cover they were using to hide my crimes.
But as I washed off the blood from my kills in a nearby stream, I couldn’t help but feel pride at the deaths. Those assholes had deserved to die. And if I’d had more time, I knew I would have done much worse . . .
I gasped awake and shot upright. I looked at the end of my bed. There they were. Lined up to visit me again. The fucking insurgents, dripping in blood, their innards falling out and throats slit. They stared at me with black voids for eyes. “Go away,” I ordered and scrambled to the head of the bed. But they didn’t move. They just stared. They always just stared.
And then I saw them come up behind, ripping my heart in two. These ones I cared about. “No,” I begged, arms outstretched. “Please. Please don’t come to me again . . .” My voice faded to nothing as they took their usual space beside the insurgents.
They all stared at me with dead eyes, their skin gray and crepe-thin. “Please.” I felt the last of my resolve, my strength, break. My cheeks grew wet as I faced them all, the terrors that hadn’t left me in years. My guilt come back to life. “Leave me alone,” I screamed. “Please . . . just leave me alone,” I croaked, no energy left, and tried to breathe.
The door to the bedroom flew open and Phebe came running in. “AK?” She looked about the room in panic.
“Take them away.” I pointed at the end of the bed. “Make them go away. Please . . .”
“Who?” she said softly.
“Them.” I pointed at each of their fucked-up faces. “The blood is all over the floor.”
“AK,” she whispered, then carefully climbed into bed.
“Where were you?” I asked as her hand came to my face.
“I was getting some water. I had only just left the room. But I am here now. Calm . . .”
I looked into her blue eyes, and confessed, “I killed them.” Phebe tensed beside me.
“Who?”
“Them,” I said and pointed at the end of my bed. “They hurt my brother. They nearly killed him, so I killed them too. I killed them like they deserved. But now they won’t go away. They never leave. Neither do they . . .” I pointed my shaking hand at the two people that haunted me most.
“AK, you are not making sense.” She moved closer to my side. She took my hand and squeezed it tightly. I looked down at her slim fingers in mine.
“He had PTSD,” I said, my voice barely loud enough to hear. “They took him to a hospital in the months I was still serving out the rest of my tour. I couldn’t see him—he was brought back to Texas. I didn’t know how bad it was until I got back home. And I came back to find my brother was fucked up . . . beyond fucked up.”