Read Online Fragged: A BWWM Military Romance by Paige Notaro - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paige Notaro
Tags: new adult romance
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vile things. I wanted to collapse the reputable image I’d constructed for myself.
Rosa’s face flashed over Lilton’s head. He was darker than her, but I couldn’t say what I wanted without meaning her, too.
The words remained as breath in my lungs.
“I’ll go to my father’s for a bit,” I said. I wasn’t angry at him anyway. I was just burning up inside with nowhere to breathe flame.
“Sounds alright, too. Just stay away from that gun.”
He gave me a severe look, then burst out in a laugh. “Sorry, Corporal.”
“I deserved that,” I said.
It hadn’t even upset me. It was good. Let him buy deeper into the lie until it became a well-worn truth.
I caught another taxi back to my father’s place. I wasn’t worried for my bike in the garage, but I did miss the feeling of its power under me. The Storm’s Soldiers might have become a thing I didn’t understand, but my bike stayed true to its nature.
The pills helped me doze through the ride, but dozing just brought Rosa back into my mind. I could almost open my eyes and see her face on the other side of the window.
Maybe it was a good thing that it lay so fresh. Her memory had saved me from destroying my career.
But not by reminding me who I was. It hadn’t even made me forget who I was.
Thinking about her made me wonder who I’d become.
True rest was hard to come by with that thought in my head.
The driver deposited me on a quiet tree-lined street northwest of Atlanta proper. I unlocked the house door, but stopped to look around and remind myself of all the ways it was different from Rosa’s street.
All I could notice was the sunlight. This was day, and that was night.
I went in and squeaked the door shut. The entrance greeted me with a wall of photos big and small over floral wall paper. I looked left towards the musty living room.
It looked much like the one where I’d fucked Rosa.There key difference was the white flag with the blood drop that was mounted on the far side. Underneath, a hand stitched banner read, ‘White pride, worldwide.’
Low murmurs rustled down the hallway - men’s voices. It seemed I’d stumbled in on a strategic session.
I took the long path to the back porch, through the living and dining rooms. I glanced over the flyers and images that blanketed the walls.
‘Close the gates.’ A picture of the statue of liberty with bars over it.
‘Stem the flood.’ The US map with a brown wave washing over it.
‘Will you fight for them?’ A dated picture of some white family.
There hadn’t been a single new one added since I’d been gone. The Soldiers may have changed. I might be something different than before I left. My father stayed constant.
My father’s organization was purely a political entity committed to the nationalist cause. They had suffered setbacks, too, but they continued unwavering.
That was the key to this, I realized. Not the obstacles or the diversions, but the choice to continue down the road once committed. All I had to do was refuse the seductions the world offered.
The storm clouds in my head lightened a bit.
I came out in the kitchen. Past the screen door, the sliding glass leading out to the porch lay open. My father and the Storm’s Soldiers president, Homer, sat on plastic chairs and spoke in soft voices.
They made an odd pair: my father, a white-haired, soft-spoken professor and Homer, a thick denim and leather lineguard, his bald head burned red by the sun. They were the soul and the body of the nationalist movement.
Right now, that made me the heart - the thing that kept us from dying.
I yawned open the screen door. They both snapped to me.
“Calix.” My father reached for my arm. “My boy, how are you doing?”
“Surviving,” I said, aimed at Homer.
He just tipped his head. I couldn’t even see his eyes through his dark shades.
“Good,” he said.
Good. That’s all he had for me after nearly sending me to my death. My calm erupted right back into
Rosa’s face flashed over Lilton’s head. He was darker than her, but I couldn’t say what I wanted without meaning her, too.
The words remained as breath in my lungs.
“I’ll go to my father’s for a bit,” I said. I wasn’t angry at him anyway. I was just burning up inside with nowhere to breathe flame.
“Sounds alright, too. Just stay away from that gun.”
He gave me a severe look, then burst out in a laugh. “Sorry, Corporal.”
“I deserved that,” I said.
It hadn’t even upset me. It was good. Let him buy deeper into the lie until it became a well-worn truth.
I caught another taxi back to my father’s place. I wasn’t worried for my bike in the garage, but I did miss the feeling of its power under me. The Storm’s Soldiers might have become a thing I didn’t understand, but my bike stayed true to its nature.
The pills helped me doze through the ride, but dozing just brought Rosa back into my mind. I could almost open my eyes and see her face on the other side of the window.
Maybe it was a good thing that it lay so fresh. Her memory had saved me from destroying my career.
But not by reminding me who I was. It hadn’t even made me forget who I was.
Thinking about her made me wonder who I’d become.
True rest was hard to come by with that thought in my head.
The driver deposited me on a quiet tree-lined street northwest of Atlanta proper. I unlocked the house door, but stopped to look around and remind myself of all the ways it was different from Rosa’s street.
All I could notice was the sunlight. This was day, and that was night.
I went in and squeaked the door shut. The entrance greeted me with a wall of photos big and small over floral wall paper. I looked left towards the musty living room.
It looked much like the one where I’d fucked Rosa.There key difference was the white flag with the blood drop that was mounted on the far side. Underneath, a hand stitched banner read, ‘White pride, worldwide.’
Low murmurs rustled down the hallway - men’s voices. It seemed I’d stumbled in on a strategic session.
I took the long path to the back porch, through the living and dining rooms. I glanced over the flyers and images that blanketed the walls.
‘Close the gates.’ A picture of the statue of liberty with bars over it.
‘Stem the flood.’ The US map with a brown wave washing over it.
‘Will you fight for them?’ A dated picture of some white family.
There hadn’t been a single new one added since I’d been gone. The Soldiers may have changed. I might be something different than before I left. My father stayed constant.
My father’s organization was purely a political entity committed to the nationalist cause. They had suffered setbacks, too, but they continued unwavering.
That was the key to this, I realized. Not the obstacles or the diversions, but the choice to continue down the road once committed. All I had to do was refuse the seductions the world offered.
The storm clouds in my head lightened a bit.
I came out in the kitchen. Past the screen door, the sliding glass leading out to the porch lay open. My father and the Storm’s Soldiers president, Homer, sat on plastic chairs and spoke in soft voices.
They made an odd pair: my father, a white-haired, soft-spoken professor and Homer, a thick denim and leather lineguard, his bald head burned red by the sun. They were the soul and the body of the nationalist movement.
Right now, that made me the heart - the thing that kept us from dying.
I yawned open the screen door. They both snapped to me.
“Calix.” My father reached for my arm. “My boy, how are you doing?”
“Surviving,” I said, aimed at Homer.
He just tipped his head. I couldn’t even see his eyes through his dark shades.
“Good,” he said.
Good. That’s all he had for me after nearly sending me to my death. My calm erupted right back into
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