Locke
Page 7
“I didn’t want to tell you, but I think you need something to look forward to now that…well, now. I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” She smiles shyly and looks down at her hands.
A baby. Jesus. I can’t even provide for both of us, and now, we have someone else to add to the mix. Every spare dollar we have she spends on more clothes and shit. I never minded—if she’s happy, I’m happy. But now? A baby.
I sit there, running every possible scenario through my mind. I’ll be gone for the next six months at best. She can’t work two jobs that long. How the hell are we going to handle this?
“Aren’t you happy?” she asks, looking at me, her face oddly void of emotion.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, babe. I’m happy,” I lie. I love her, and somehow, I’ll make this work—even if I have to sell my soul to the devil.
Four days later, I kiss my girl goodbye and never imagine that everything I’ve known for the last seven years was just a small piece in the giant game that’s been playing against me. I leave distracted, worried, and—for the first time ever—afraid of what the future holds. I’ve worked so hard to give Mercedes a life she deserves. I should have known that the evil inside me would allow her to be tempted.
And unfortunately, when I need her the most, I’m denied even that.
Two months later, my war against my demons, the evil that I’ve always been told is deep within me, wins. And I’m left with even less than I came into this world with.
A broken man.
A broken man not worthy of anything pure in this world.
After all—everything I touch turns to shit anyway.
Chapter 3—Maddox—Past
“Johnson! Get fucking down! Morris, goddamn it, fall back!” I scream seconds before the earth shakes and a wave of fiery heat pulses through my body. Then I’m lifted off my feet and tossed like a rag doll.
When I’m able to clear my head a little, it sounds like I’m at the bottom of a tunnel and the air is whooshing around me. My eyes fight to open as I try to make sense of where I am. I can feel the sand blowing over my skin, prickling the exposed areas of my hands and face.
“John…” I struggle to get the word out, my lungs protesting and wetness bubbling up from my throat. I try to move my arm to wipe the annoying path it leaves when it rolls down my neck, but the second I do, it’s like the trigger my mind needs to let me feel is pulled. The pain that shoots from my arm seems to ping-pong around my body until it shoots out my head.
I try to speak again, but more wetness drools out the side of my mouth. Fuck! I have to get the hell up! Mentally telling myself that I need to man the fuck up, I use every ounce of strength I have to pull my body together. Each movement I make causes my mind to scream, demanding that I just lie the fuck down and let go. But something in the back of my head tells me that, if I don’t move now, it’s going to be too late.
Focusing my eyes around the dust-filled fog swirling around me, I briefly make out Johnson’s prone form just feet away. When I move to stand, I realize quickly why my body is telling me to just stop—my foot and a good part of my shin are all but hanging from my leg. I lie back and pull my belt from the loops, knowing that this is going to hurt more than I could ever imagine. Then I use what I can to secure my leg to minimize the damage. Inside my head, I’m screaming, but I know I need to do what’s necessary. What I’m trained to do. I have to stop a few times just to keep myself from blacking out—the pain is that intense.
When I can finally see through the dust and pain enough to make out the best path to Johnson, my body is on the edge of losing consciousness. The pain is climbing higher and higher.
With my leg useless to handle my weight, I flip to my stomach and make the painful crawl forward. It takes way too long to get to Johnson, and I know that, if I don’t hurry the fuck up, none of us will make it out of here. The car that exploded just seconds before could start a chain reaction with the two that are parked next to it. Not only that, but you can never assume that the area is free of more danger than just a car bomb.
The streets were empty when we made our way in earlier, but I saw the threat just seconds before the homemade bomb was triggered. Before I could scream out my warning—it was too late.
“Johnson, you hear me, brother?” I wheeze when I get to his side.
He doesn’t respond, and after checking for a pulse, I know he needs a medic immediately. Before I assess the situation further, I look around for Morris. He was closest to the blast, but until I know for sure, I won’t leave either of them behind.
I’m about to give up hope when I see him, and I know there is no way possible that he’s alive. There is a large piece of metal impaling him directly through the chest.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I crawl as quickly as my mangled body allows towards him and drag him back with me, moving away from the flames.
It takes me what feels like weeks in between bouts of vomiting my own blood, stopping numerous times during our evacuation to fire round after round at the camouflaged threat around us, and having to pause because my vision is starting to tunnel in and out, but I manage to pull my brothers for almost a mile before I hear the motor of an incoming truck. With no choice but to keep my path, I can only pray that it’s one of our own. They know by now that help was needed. With signals down, I was unable to call it in, but there is no fucking way they missed that explosion.
I vaguely hear orders being called out and feet rushing around. The only thing I can think is, Thank fuck they’re American, before I pass out.
Chapter 4—Maddox—Past
The first thing I feel when I start to wake up is pain. An unbearable pain I never thought possible is searing through my whole body. My eyes hurt, my arm is killing me, and my ribs and chest scream with every breath I attempt to take, but the worst pain is coming from my leg.
What the hell happened to me? I try to remember where I was last, but my head seems to be filled with nothing but dark holes. I attempt to open my eyes again, blinking fiercely at the pain from the bright lights.
I groan and try to move my arm to my eyes, coming up short when it smacks me in the head with a bone-crushing force. What the hell? Peeking through my eyelids, I see a bulky cast covering my arm from hand to shoulder.
A baby. Jesus. I can’t even provide for both of us, and now, we have someone else to add to the mix. Every spare dollar we have she spends on more clothes and shit. I never minded—if she’s happy, I’m happy. But now? A baby.
I sit there, running every possible scenario through my mind. I’ll be gone for the next six months at best. She can’t work two jobs that long. How the hell are we going to handle this?
“Aren’t you happy?” she asks, looking at me, her face oddly void of emotion.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, babe. I’m happy,” I lie. I love her, and somehow, I’ll make this work—even if I have to sell my soul to the devil.
Four days later, I kiss my girl goodbye and never imagine that everything I’ve known for the last seven years was just a small piece in the giant game that’s been playing against me. I leave distracted, worried, and—for the first time ever—afraid of what the future holds. I’ve worked so hard to give Mercedes a life she deserves. I should have known that the evil inside me would allow her to be tempted.
And unfortunately, when I need her the most, I’m denied even that.
Two months later, my war against my demons, the evil that I’ve always been told is deep within me, wins. And I’m left with even less than I came into this world with.
A broken man.
A broken man not worthy of anything pure in this world.
After all—everything I touch turns to shit anyway.
Chapter 3—Maddox—Past
“Johnson! Get fucking down! Morris, goddamn it, fall back!” I scream seconds before the earth shakes and a wave of fiery heat pulses through my body. Then I’m lifted off my feet and tossed like a rag doll.
When I’m able to clear my head a little, it sounds like I’m at the bottom of a tunnel and the air is whooshing around me. My eyes fight to open as I try to make sense of where I am. I can feel the sand blowing over my skin, prickling the exposed areas of my hands and face.
“John…” I struggle to get the word out, my lungs protesting and wetness bubbling up from my throat. I try to move my arm to wipe the annoying path it leaves when it rolls down my neck, but the second I do, it’s like the trigger my mind needs to let me feel is pulled. The pain that shoots from my arm seems to ping-pong around my body until it shoots out my head.
I try to speak again, but more wetness drools out the side of my mouth. Fuck! I have to get the hell up! Mentally telling myself that I need to man the fuck up, I use every ounce of strength I have to pull my body together. Each movement I make causes my mind to scream, demanding that I just lie the fuck down and let go. But something in the back of my head tells me that, if I don’t move now, it’s going to be too late.
Focusing my eyes around the dust-filled fog swirling around me, I briefly make out Johnson’s prone form just feet away. When I move to stand, I realize quickly why my body is telling me to just stop—my foot and a good part of my shin are all but hanging from my leg. I lie back and pull my belt from the loops, knowing that this is going to hurt more than I could ever imagine. Then I use what I can to secure my leg to minimize the damage. Inside my head, I’m screaming, but I know I need to do what’s necessary. What I’m trained to do. I have to stop a few times just to keep myself from blacking out—the pain is that intense.
When I can finally see through the dust and pain enough to make out the best path to Johnson, my body is on the edge of losing consciousness. The pain is climbing higher and higher.
With my leg useless to handle my weight, I flip to my stomach and make the painful crawl forward. It takes way too long to get to Johnson, and I know that, if I don’t hurry the fuck up, none of us will make it out of here. The car that exploded just seconds before could start a chain reaction with the two that are parked next to it. Not only that, but you can never assume that the area is free of more danger than just a car bomb.
The streets were empty when we made our way in earlier, but I saw the threat just seconds before the homemade bomb was triggered. Before I could scream out my warning—it was too late.
“Johnson, you hear me, brother?” I wheeze when I get to his side.
He doesn’t respond, and after checking for a pulse, I know he needs a medic immediately. Before I assess the situation further, I look around for Morris. He was closest to the blast, but until I know for sure, I won’t leave either of them behind.
I’m about to give up hope when I see him, and I know there is no way possible that he’s alive. There is a large piece of metal impaling him directly through the chest.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I crawl as quickly as my mangled body allows towards him and drag him back with me, moving away from the flames.
It takes me what feels like weeks in between bouts of vomiting my own blood, stopping numerous times during our evacuation to fire round after round at the camouflaged threat around us, and having to pause because my vision is starting to tunnel in and out, but I manage to pull my brothers for almost a mile before I hear the motor of an incoming truck. With no choice but to keep my path, I can only pray that it’s one of our own. They know by now that help was needed. With signals down, I was unable to call it in, but there is no fucking way they missed that explosion.
I vaguely hear orders being called out and feet rushing around. The only thing I can think is, Thank fuck they’re American, before I pass out.
Chapter 4—Maddox—Past
The first thing I feel when I start to wake up is pain. An unbearable pain I never thought possible is searing through my whole body. My eyes hurt, my arm is killing me, and my ribs and chest scream with every breath I attempt to take, but the worst pain is coming from my leg.
What the hell happened to me? I try to remember where I was last, but my head seems to be filled with nothing but dark holes. I attempt to open my eyes again, blinking fiercely at the pain from the bright lights.
I groan and try to move my arm to my eyes, coming up short when it smacks me in the head with a bone-crushing force. What the hell? Peeking through my eyelids, I see a bulky cast covering my arm from hand to shoulder.
