Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) Page 6

  ***

  “With all due respect Lieutenant, I’ve been in this motherfucker since it started. If we don’t get them out of here and protect them, they’ll be killed five minutes after we pull out,” I said.

  “We don’t have the ability to protect them,” he said flatly.

  “We do have the ability,” I said, raising the tone of my voice slightly. “It appears one of us doesn’t have the desire.”

  He shifted his eyes from me to the girl and back. “How do you know she’s telling the truth? She’s what? Ten years old for Christ’s sake?”

  “Kids and drunks are the two most truthful motherfuckers on earth, Sir,” I said.

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not a good enough reason.”

  I fixed my eyes on his and glared my best don’t fuck with me glare. “I’ve been shot six times. Six, Sir. I’ve survived two bomb blasts, killed four snipers, and fifteen other insurgents who were trying to kill either me or my Marines, while you, Sir, were humping your desk. The only fucking reason I’m standing here alive right now is because I know things other Marines don’t, you included. The girl is telling the god damned truth.”

  As he narrowed his eyes the muscles on his jaw flared. “Humping my desk, Staff Sergeant?”

  I tightened my jaw and shifted my eyes to meet his.

  “That is correct, Sir. Humping your desk. I understand rear echelon Marines are needed, but it’s the front line Marines, Sir, who are required to live and breathe this shit. And no one who’s spent the last five years sitting behind a desk with their cock in their respective hand is going to tell me right from wrong on the front lines,” I said through my teeth.

  “War hero or not, Staff Sergeant, I could have you demoted for speaking to me in that manner. I am an officer, and need I remind you, although you are a non-commissioned officer, you are an enlisted Marine, not an officer. You will address me with respect, and you will…”

  “How many times have you been shot? How many battles have you fought in? How many Marines did you hold in your arms while you waited one motherfucking minute too long for a Corpsman or a medevac? How many of your officer brothers died, Sir, in your god damned arms? Shit, Sir, how many times have you even fired your fucking weapon?” I interrupted.

  The muscles in his jaw loosened, and he stared back at me blankly, remaining silent.

  That’s what I thought.

  “I’m not sure I can trust an Iraqi girl to…” he began.

  I shook my head from side to side. “My reputation is on the line, Sir, not yours. Radio the Battalion Commander, Sir. Advise him this girl can lead us to the men who murdered the Marine sniper unit. See what he says. If you don’t want to radio him, don’t. We’ll pull out. But be advised, Sir. My daily report will be accurate, truthful, and detailed. And in it, Sir, I will not only detail the girl’s message to the Terp, but mine to you – including your denial of my request to find the men who murdered the six Marine snipers, Sir.”

  He inhaled a long slow breath through his nose, studied me, and eventually exhaled through his mouth. My fuck off glare didn’t change one bit.

  “Get me a radio in here,” he shouted to the Corporal guarding the door.

  He left the room and spoke on the radio in private. Five minutes later, he returned with a whole new attitude. I stood in the corner of the room facing the door, holding the girl’s hand in mine. With her mouth full of candy, and her mother and father waiting for a response from the Battalion Commander, I shifted my eyes to meet the Lieutenant’s.

  His face stern and his eyes fierce, he shifted his gaze toward each Marine in the room. “Be advised, we are to protect this family at any and all costs. Staff Sergeant Jacob, advise the family they will not return to these quarters. Search the premises thoroughly and secure the weapons. After the family gathers their personal effects, escort them out the rear of the residence and to the vehicles. Any effort to detain this family is to be met with deadly force. Staff Sergeant Jacob, that little girl is your responsibility.”

  “Aye-aye, Sir,” I said.

  I turned toward the interpreter. “Tell them what he said. Tell them we’ll protect them, and they’ll more than likely be given a new life in the United States. And tell the father I’m sorry for what he’s gone through, but tell him I’m personally going to make sure I make the men who did this to him pay for what they did.”

  As the interpreter began to speak, I gazed down at the girl. Her mouth filled with candy and her eyes filled with hope, she listened intently as he explained what we were going to do.

  “Tell them that I appreciate their courage,” I said.

  As he explained what I said, the little girl squeezed my hand and smiled. I didn’t speak her language, but I didn’t need to. Her eyes told me all I needed to know. She trusted me.

  She trusted me because I placed trust in her.

  Two days later, using a map we prepared based on the information we received from the little girl, we captured the insurgents responsible for killing the Marines in a raid of their hideout. Two of the insurgents were killed in the mission, one of which was killed for resisting, but only after he admitted to cutting the tongue out of the mouth of the girl’s father. The remainder of the men were detained, interrogated, and eventually sent to a P.O.W. camp.

  No Marines were injured and I was offered a promotion based on my intuitive nature, stellar performance in the field, and quick thinking. The promotion would have all but assured me free passage through the remainder of the war without being harmed.

  I denied the promotion.

  Because real Marines don’t hump desks.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Fall 2012, Wichita, Kansas, USA

  Twelve years after the war started, and only after the last infantry Marines were shipped out of Afghanistan, I returned to the United States. With a chest full of medals and a soul full of pride, I landed at an airport and was met by no one other than a man trying to sell me cell phone service.

  There was no celebration, no parade, and no welcome home banners. The aisles in the airport were not lined with appreciative citizens. No one shook my hand for playing a large part in keeping the country free of terrorists. Not one person patted me on the back for the pieces of shrapnel I would carry with me for the rest of my life, or for the bullet holes my body was riddled with.

  After giving my country and the residents in it all I had to give and watching so many of my Marines die attempting to do the same, I felt as if the country wanted to believe the war didn’t even happen.

  I knew better.

  I lived with the recollection of it every moment of every day.

  I did my best to put the war behind me and focus my attention on the one woman who supported me unconditionally throughout the war, my wife. My escape from the day to day difficulties associated with civilian life was riding my motorcycle, and I soon found comfort in riding in a motorcycle club with a few old friends and some men I never met, but quickly grew to trust.

  Teddy reached up, wiped the bottom of his beard with a napkin, and turned toward Erik and then to face me. As he placed what was left of his hamburger onto his plate, he cocked one eyebrow and leaned into the edge of the table.

  “This fuckin’ hamburger’s the biggest son-of-a-bitch I ever seen. I fuckin’ swear, how in the hell can an establishment sell a burger like this for five fucking bucks and make money?” he asked, shifting his eyes back and forth between Erik and me.

  Teddy was six foot two at least, and weighed probably 260 pounds. His beard was full and an easy four inches long, covering his entire face. His club name for years fit him well, Bear. In a recent drunken stupor, he had wrecked into a long line of bikes in front of a bar, and knocked all of them over, earning the new club name of Crash. He was a practical joker, uneducated, and as funny as any comedian. He was also trustworthy, and I gave him the same trust I gave my Marine brothers.

  I nodded my head toward his mug of beer. “What’d that mug of beer cost?”


  He gripped the handle and raised the glass into the air. “This big fucker? Six bucks. But god damn, look at this monster.”

  I swallowed the bite of burger I was chewing on and chuckled as I studied the glass mug. The walls of it were an inch thick, and the bottom of it was two inches thick. The interior of the mug, if filled to the top, might have held twelve ounces of beer. On the outside it appeared to be filled with much more beer than it was.

  “So, they make money by charging fools like you six bucks for twelve ounces of beer, but they deliver it in a cool mug,” I said, laughing as I spoke.

  “Bein’ over there in that sand pit for the last ten years fucked up your sense of measure, Brother. You’re probably thinking in centimeters and meters instead of inches and feet,” he said with a nod of his head. “This fucker’s twice the size of that bottle.”

  I glanced at Erik. Although something seemed to be bothering him, he forced a smile and leaned back into his seat. The most sensible of the group of men I was riding with, and the president of the motorcycle club, he was a psychiatrist by education, but lived off of his wealth and didn’t practice medicine. Considering his education, it came as no surprise his club name was Doc.

  “Whether he’s measuring it in inches or centimeters doesn’t matter, Crash. The fucking mug is thick glass and holds very little liquid,” Erik stated.

  Teddy narrowed his eyes and stared in disbelief. “What do you know about beer? Shit, Doc, you don’t even drink.”

  Erik leaned forward and rested his tattooed forearm on the edge of the table. “I know if I took the radius of the interior of that mug in inches, squared the number, and then multiplied by 3.14, and then multiplied by the depth in inches, I’d have the volume. Then, smart ass, if I divided that by 2, I’d have the amount of ounces that cup held. Roughly speaking, that is.”

  “Well, I ain’t a fuckin’ rocket scientist or a fuckin’ doctor, Brother. I’m a biker, a fighter, and I know a good burger and a cold god damned beer when I see ‘em. But I also know you two fuckers are full of shit,” Teddy said as he drank the remaining beer in his mug.

  The waitress walked up to the side of the table and grinned as she pressed her hands into the sides of her hips. “Big burger, huh?”

  Teddy nodded his head. “Sure as fuck is. Good son-of-a-bitch, too.”

  “Can I get another beer?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she responded. “Anything else?”

  “Bring me another frosty mug,” Teddy said as he raised his empty mug in the air.

  “Bring him a new mug, would you?” I asked.

  She nodded her head and grinned. “Sure.”

  “So, Doc and I was talkin’,” Teddy said as he reached for his burger. “You been gone for a bit…”

  I shrugged my shoulders and stared.

  “You and Doc decided I’ve been gone for a bit? And I thought you said you weren’t a rocket scientist,” I said sarcastically.

  “No, god damn it, just listen. I wasn’t fuckin’ done talkin’. So Doc and me was talkin’, and we kinda decided we needed to have a talk, you know, like just bring you up to speed on…” He paused and leaned to the side, shifting his focus to Erik.

  Seated beside Erik, I turned to face him. Still maintaining eye contact on Teddy, he narrowed his gaze and relaxed into his seat.

  “What?” Teddy snapped as he tossed his hands in the air. “I don’t know what to tell him.”

  The waitress slid a mug and a bottle of beer onto the table. “Anything else?”

  “The check,” I said as I raised my index finger.

  She nodded her head. “Be right back.”

  “First things first,” I said as I poured my beer into Teddy’s empty mug.

  The mug held the twelve ounces of beer, and had an inch to spare. It looked identical to the mug of beer he was delivered.

  He stared at the mug, shifted his eyes to his new mug, and slid the new mug beside the one I had just filled. They were identical. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the two mugs.

  “How big of bottle is that?” he asked.

  I pointed at the label and held it between us. “Twelve ounces.”

  “No wonder this fucker’s got cheap burgers,” he murmured.

  As the waitress placed the check on the table, a guy seated three booths down from where we were seated raised his hand in the air and whistled a loud shrill whistle to get her attention. Still standing at the end of our table, she glanced in his direction and turned to face our table again, rolling her eyes as she faced us.

  He whistled again, this time louder.

  I pushed myself out of the booth and turned toward the whistler. As his eyes met mine, he slumped into his seat.

  I nodded my head toward Teddy. “You can finish your story when I get back.”

  “Stay here,” I told the waitress as I stood.

  “Oh shit,” I heard Teddy say as I walked away.

  I walked to the table, glanced at the two men who were seated across from each other, and fixed my eyes on the one who was whistling. Both were in their mid-twenties, looked like former high school jocks, and were dressed in hockey jerseys.

  “You lose your dog?” I asked as I folded my arms in front of my chest.

  “I was just, I was trying to just…” he stammered.

  I raised my hand in the air to stop him from continuing. I wasn’t interested in hearing whatever he had to say.

  “She’s a woman, not a dog. Do you understand me?” I asked.

  He nodded his head.

  “Do you fucking understand me?” I asked through my teeth.

  “Yes, Sir,” he responded with a nod of his head.

  I uncrossed my arms and flexed my chest. “That’s better. Now, when she comes to help you, if she comes to help you, apologize. And don’t do it again. It’s rude, and it makes you look like an asshole. In the future, if you want the waitress, wave at her and smile. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir,” he said.

  I turned, walked back to the table where we were seated, and sat down.

  As I shifted my eyes toward the waitress, I tilted my head toward the whistler. “He wants to apologize.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a grin.

  As she walked away, I glanced at Teddy. “You were saying?”

  Teddy lifted his mug of beer and spoke over the top of the glass. “Doc?”

  “What the fuck is going on?” I asked, shifting my eyes back and forth between them.

  “I’m going to cut right to it,” Erik said. “Your wife. She’s been spending a lot of time with that friend of yours, Steve.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “He’s a friend. Hell, he’s my best friend. I’m sure he was just comforting her while I was gone.”

  Teddy lowered his mug, fixed his eyes on mine, and raised his eyebrows. I turned toward Erik. He shifted his eyes to the table, stared for a moment, and met my gaze.

  “You need to have a talk with her,” he said.

  As much as I didn’t want it to, my heart hurt. Regardless of what comfort she had found in Steve while I was away, I was sure we could get through it with a little conversation. What most men would perceive as inappropriate I would probably accept. I was away for a little more than a decade, and to think my wife wouldn’t seek comfort from someone would be foolish.

  “I’ll do that,” I said as I reached for my wallet.

  I opened the bill folder only to find the ticket had been paid. A cash receipt sat in the folder.

  “I was going to pay for this,” I said.

  Teddy nodded his head toward me. “Half a dozen bullet holes and a pound of steel in your ass? I think you already did.”

  “I appreciate it,” I said with a nod.

  “Appreciate what you done,” he said. “Just have that talk with your wife.”

  I lifted my beer and held it between us. He lifted his half-empty mug and clanked the glass against mine.

  “As soon as we’re done here,” I said.


  I wanted their opinions to be wrong, but if the war taught me one thing, it taught me to expect the unexpected.

  But in this particular circumstance, I wasn’t prepared for the unexpected.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Fall 2012, Wichita, Kansas, USA

  I sat across the street from the coffee shop and watched as Suzanne pulled in, walked inside, and met Steve with a hug. After a few minutes of sitting and drinking coffee, they stood, hugged again, and went their separate ways.

  Certainly nothing that would have alarmed me in the past, but considering the input from my brothers in the MC, I decided their meeting warranted a slightly more in-depth investigation. Still sitting in the adjacent parking lot on my motorcycle, I pulled my cell phone out and dialed Suzanne’s number.

  “Hey, Babe, where are you?” I asked.

  “On my way home,” she responded.

  “I just stopped at the gas station. Want to get a coffee?” I asked.

  “Actually, I’m pulling into the drive now, I’d have to turn around,” she said.

  That’s a lie, you’re two miles from the house.

  “Alright, I’ll be there in a bit. What’s for dinner?” I asked.

  “I was going to make burgers,” she said.

  “Sounds good, see you in a bit,” I said.

  “Okay, love you,” she said.

  “Love you, too,” I said.

  I hung up the phone, pushed it into my pocket, and sat on the seat of my bike staring blankly toward the western sky. As the late fall sun came to a rest along the horizon, I started my bike and took the short ride home.

  They were the longest two miles of my life.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Fall 2012, Wichita, Kansas, USA

  I wiped my hands on my napkin, reached for my glass of tea, and took a slow drink as I studied her. I didn’t want to believe anything had changed while I was away, and I still hoped it had not, but I was prepared to find out. I needed to have her full attention when I spoke to her, so my manner of questioning her needed to be more formal than informal.