Tina took Zane from my arms and tapped his nose. “No cussing, little man. Only grown men get to do that.”
Zane looked like he wanted to argue, but Tina gave him her famous stare that told all us Deyes men to shut the fuck up or face her wrath.
Zane huffed, but smirked at me when I threw him a covert wink. I could see the future now. Zane was just like me and Dev. A fucking Deyes man through and through. He’d no doubt follow us into the Corps. We’d all serve the flag, grow old, and that would be that.
Devin’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Go get your hog, kid. We’ll go for a ride, then barbeque, then we’ll make you the best sniper to ever fight for the red, white and blue.”
So that’s what we did.
And it was the best fucking day of my life.
Chapter One
AK
Hades Hangmen Compound
Austin, Texas
Present Day . . .
I undid the buttons of my jacket and tried to suck in some fucking air through the thick heat. The gate slammed shut behind us. I reached up and wiped the sand and grit from my face. My entire body felt as though it were made of it.
I could barely make my legs move, I was so fucking exhausted. I glanced down at my hand and saw the fucker shaking.
“You good?” Bones asked.
I looked at my spotter and closest friend. His face was white too, but I could tell he, like me, was manning the fuck up. A weird mix of adrenaline and guilt ripped through me when I thought back to the last two days. The sound of my bullets releasing from my barrel and slicing through the fuckers’ skulls. “Direct hit!” sounding from Bones beside me as I kept my eyes on my targets.
“Three,” Bones said, his gangly arms reaching up to take off his helmet.
I nodded in acknowledgment, but didn’t say shit. Wasn’t sure my mouth would work anyhow.
Fucking three.
Each one a direct hit.
Then I saw him, coming from his tent. He rushed toward me. “X!” he called. I stopped dead, my feet crunching the sand.
Bones’s hand came down on my shoulder. “See you later, yeah? Get some sleep.”
“Yeah,” I replied. Bones walked away, and I looked up at my brother.
“I heard on the radio.” Devin put his hand on my head before lowering it to my shoulder. My hair was gone now. Shaved. Jarhead through and through. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, then laughed. I had no fucking idea why I was laughing. “I’m good.” I looked around us—the tents, the Marines milling about, the trucks being loaded and unloaded. It was fucking weird—out there versus in here. Out of the gate and inside, two completely different worlds.
“Three.” I felt Devin’s hand fall away from me. “I got three of the fuckers.” I laughed again and felt a nervous smile pull on my face. But my heart was pounding. And my hand wouldn’t stop fucking shaking.
Devin put his arm around my shoulder and led me from the entrance of the base. “Come on, X. You need a drink.” I let Devin lead me to his tent. But even as he sat me down and handed me a whiskey, I didn’t let go of my gun. I could see him watching me with worry, but I didn’t care. I’d just killed three people. My first ever confirmed kills.
When my cup was empty, Devin filled it back up. “It gets easier.” He sat on the edge of his cot, right in front of me. I met his eyes. “From this moment on, it becomes second nature and don’t bother you as much. I promise.”
I took a deep breath and let his words sink in, hoping he was right . . .
The smell of bacon frying ripped me from my dream. My heart beat like crazy as I recalled that day. My hands shook as if I were back there in the dry heat. On that damn base . . . with Dev. Calm the fuck down, I told myself, trying to push the memory from my head.
It took five minutes for it to fade.
My eyelids felt like ton weights as I cracked them open and winced at the sun streaming through my window. I groaned and grabbed my head when the effects of last night’s tequila slammed into my cranium, yelling a huge fucking hello, remember me?
“Shit,” I growled as I kicked my legs over the side of my bed and waited for the room to stop tilting to the side. Once the rocking chair in the corner had stopped spinning in circles, I pushed to my feet and stretched out my stiff neck.
Something on my chest pulled tight. I looked down; I had fucking claw marks stretching from my neck to my groin. I’d slept in my jeans, clearly too fucking wasted to undress.
What the fuck had happened? I slammed into the bathroom and closed my eyes as I pissed about a quart of tequila from my system.
I moved to the sink and drenched my face with cold water, then swilled my mouth with mouthwash so it didn’t taste like something had fucking climbed inside and died. I pushed out of the door and followed the smell of bacon. Ash stood at the stove, already dressed in jeans and his Hangmen shirt. A fucking mini-Flame in my home. Tattoos, piercings, and those black-as-hell eyes.
He looked up as I entered the kitchen. The little fucker had the audacity to smirk at me. I gave him the finger and slumped down at the table. Two glasses landed in front of me: a glass of orange juice and a shot of tequila.
I groaned as I knocked back the Patrón, then downed the OJ until the glass was done. “Thanks, kid,” I said, then heard the little shit laughing.
“How the hell are you not this hungover, you little fuck? Last I remember, you and Slash were doing shots of Jameson with Vike.”
He shrugged. “I was. Just don’t really get hangovers.”
“I hate you,” I swung a lazy punch to the side, but the fucker just moved away.
I ran a hand over my eyes. The smell of food hit my nostrils, and I dropped my hand to see a full breakfast before me. My stomach growled in appreciation. Ash was still smirking at me, so I nodded and said, “Fine. You’re forgiven.”
“For what? Being sixteen and able to hold my liquor better than you, old man?”
I stuffed my mouth with greasy eggs and bacon and swallowed. “I’ll give you a pass. Only because right now it’d take too much outta me to knock you the fuck out.”
I hoovered my food then sat back, running my hand over my stomach. I winced when my fingers passed over the fresh scratches on my abs. “You know what happened here?”
Ash lowered his fork and wiggled his eyebrows. “Sure do.” He sat back and pretended to think. “She was about five foot nothing, bright-blue hair, and had the biggest tits you’d ever seen.”
I racked my brain trying to remember the club slut, but I could only grab hold of flashes of me fucking her over my bed in the clubhouse . . . and of her ripping the shit out of my chest when I flipped her over and started again.
That and her fake-ass whining. Club sluts. Whores should learn to just lie back and be good little cum deposits without all the fucking high-pitched mewling.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
Ash went quiet, then, looking up at me through his black hair, asked, “You remember what I talked to you about last night?”