motherfucking kindergarten teacher.”
“Oh fuck ,” he said.
“No shit.”
“Cole, he’ll take another double.” Brodie rapped his big silver rings on the bar.
The whiskey burned my throat, but it wasn’t strong enough to incinerate my past.
Chapter Five
THE WHISKEY HAD DONE the trick. Cab home. Roll into bed. Lights out.
Whiskey didn’t keep the night terrors at bay, though. I woke to the sound of gunfire crackling in my ears, a rictus grimace on my mouth. Bile rose in my throat and I stumbled to the bathroom, half-blinded by brutal memories. Bent over the toilet, I dry heaved. Cold sweat covered my body. I shivered, heaving again. Nothing would come out. The past was hidden so deep inside it only rose up—wraithlike—in my sleep.
I’d refused sleep aids or any prescription drugs to help with my PTSD. You couldn’t find work if you were on narcotics, whether a doc wrote out the script or not. You couldn’t work if you weren’t stable in the field. And you sure as fuck didn’t collect pay if you weren’t active. So every person I’d lost, every day I’d assumed a different darker persona, every fucking mission I’d survived boiled to the surface during REM time.
Brodie Steele had once accused me of being unfeeling. Cold, calm, cool, detached. He had no idea. The dark calm came from knowing I couldn’t afford to get attached. Once again I was in danger of compromising my one underlying principle, because of JB.
I was trying not to get involved in any more life-threatening cases. The problem was I liked the high. I was a danger junkie, just like Walker. I kept telling myself I could be normal: raise my son, get on the MPPD payroll thing for good.
I needed Jack and Mel to be safe from my dirty past. I needed Jessica to know nothing about it.
I’d been deep cover inside Tampa Bay Outlaws MC for twelve months with only Walker as my outside contact. Everything went down with that club in the very worst way for all involved a mere two months before I relocated to Mt. Pleasant, hoping to find a permanent homestead and finally get off the X-Ops crazy train that threatened to destroy my humanity. I’d put out feelers for a legit position as an LEO. Vice, no more SWAT for me. I’d done danger day in and day out for near on a decade.
While I sat on my hands waiting for Chief Tilden to either pull the plug on me or deem me fit to redeem duty as Lieutenant, I thought about all the other job offers I could accept from underground networks, Walker’s just the latest. I ignored the temptation, at cost. The adrenaline rush needed another outlet. Fucking used to do it for me. Random, anonymous, faceless. That didn’t cut it anymore. Only Jessica interested me.
Walking into the bedroom after some serious tooth brushing and two glasses of water, I quickly changed the sheets. Night sweats accompanied the night terrors. The first time I’d slept peacefully through was after Jessica had come home with me.
I lay down, stiff as a corpse. As soon as I shut my eyes, I heard gunfire shots. Memories chased off any sleep headed my way.
****
“Tampa Bay Bitches, Kemosabe.” Walker fist bumped me. “RICO Suave is taking them down.”
“Shut the fuck up, cocky bitch.”
After a final run through the plan with Walker and his premature victory dance, I’d led the raid on the warehouse where Tampa Bay Outlaws stored their illegal gun shipments that night in May last spring. The docks had been quiet, only a distant foghorn booming across the misty silence.
I’d determined it was safe. I’d signaled my men to follow me inside. X-Ops mercs like Walker and me comprised the team: wraiths, ghosts, nightwalkers who dealt out silent death on a daily basis. Nameless warriors no one would miss, just like me. Except now I had Jack, and a reason to live.
The Feds had been unable to catch Vicente’s MC in the act. My employers had planted me into Tampa Bay Outlaws, trusting I’d get the job done with my
“Oh fuck ,” he said.
“No shit.”
“Cole, he’ll take another double.” Brodie rapped his big silver rings on the bar.
The whiskey burned my throat, but it wasn’t strong enough to incinerate my past.
Chapter Five
THE WHISKEY HAD DONE the trick. Cab home. Roll into bed. Lights out.
Whiskey didn’t keep the night terrors at bay, though. I woke to the sound of gunfire crackling in my ears, a rictus grimace on my mouth. Bile rose in my throat and I stumbled to the bathroom, half-blinded by brutal memories. Bent over the toilet, I dry heaved. Cold sweat covered my body. I shivered, heaving again. Nothing would come out. The past was hidden so deep inside it only rose up—wraithlike—in my sleep.
I’d refused sleep aids or any prescription drugs to help with my PTSD. You couldn’t find work if you were on narcotics, whether a doc wrote out the script or not. You couldn’t work if you weren’t stable in the field. And you sure as fuck didn’t collect pay if you weren’t active. So every person I’d lost, every day I’d assumed a different darker persona, every fucking mission I’d survived boiled to the surface during REM time.
Brodie Steele had once accused me of being unfeeling. Cold, calm, cool, detached. He had no idea. The dark calm came from knowing I couldn’t afford to get attached. Once again I was in danger of compromising my one underlying principle, because of JB.
I was trying not to get involved in any more life-threatening cases. The problem was I liked the high. I was a danger junkie, just like Walker. I kept telling myself I could be normal: raise my son, get on the MPPD payroll thing for good.
I needed Jack and Mel to be safe from my dirty past. I needed Jessica to know nothing about it.
I’d been deep cover inside Tampa Bay Outlaws MC for twelve months with only Walker as my outside contact. Everything went down with that club in the very worst way for all involved a mere two months before I relocated to Mt. Pleasant, hoping to find a permanent homestead and finally get off the X-Ops crazy train that threatened to destroy my humanity. I’d put out feelers for a legit position as an LEO. Vice, no more SWAT for me. I’d done danger day in and day out for near on a decade.
While I sat on my hands waiting for Chief Tilden to either pull the plug on me or deem me fit to redeem duty as Lieutenant, I thought about all the other job offers I could accept from underground networks, Walker’s just the latest. I ignored the temptation, at cost. The adrenaline rush needed another outlet. Fucking used to do it for me. Random, anonymous, faceless. That didn’t cut it anymore. Only Jessica interested me.
Walking into the bedroom after some serious tooth brushing and two glasses of water, I quickly changed the sheets. Night sweats accompanied the night terrors. The first time I’d slept peacefully through was after Jessica had come home with me.
I lay down, stiff as a corpse. As soon as I shut my eyes, I heard gunfire shots. Memories chased off any sleep headed my way.
****
“Tampa Bay Bitches, Kemosabe.” Walker fist bumped me. “RICO Suave is taking them down.”
“Shut the fuck up, cocky bitch.”
After a final run through the plan with Walker and his premature victory dance, I’d led the raid on the warehouse where Tampa Bay Outlaws stored their illegal gun shipments that night in May last spring. The docks had been quiet, only a distant foghorn booming across the misty silence.
I’d determined it was safe. I’d signaled my men to follow me inside. X-Ops mercs like Walker and me comprised the team: wraiths, ghosts, nightwalkers who dealt out silent death on a daily basis. Nameless warriors no one would miss, just like me. Except now I had Jack, and a reason to live.
The Feds had been unable to catch Vicente’s MC in the act. My employers had planted me into Tampa Bay Outlaws, trusting I’d get the job done with my
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