Page 1 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

PROLOGUE

Unconditional love was something I deeply desired, but until I met Alec Jacob I wasn’t sure actually existed. After meeting him and experiencing his ability to love first hand, I knew I could never live without him.

He was more kind than any man I had ever met, and as much as I expected his kindness to eventually diminish, it never did. The few who were foolish enough to cross him were always met with a warning, and if they chose not to heed it, were dealt with accordingly.

A predictable man in many ways and quite misunderstood in others, he was somewhat of an enigma. As much as we were in love and as close as we had become, I still found him to be the most intriguing individual I had ever encountered or expected I ever would encounter.

The first day I saw him ride up on his motorcycle I was attracted to him, but any woman would have been. His body was perfectly proportioned and his face was constructed in a way that any female would be drawn to him, but it was his mysterious eyes that provided a clear warning to proceed with caution.

And I did just that.

The more I learned about him, the more attracted to him I became. As handsome as he was, and as much as his chiseled torso made my mouth water, it was who Alec Jacob was that made him more attractive to me than any other man on earth.

He accepted me for who I was, never asked me to change one thing, and assured me he would always protect me from all of what was evil on this earth.

And the earth was filled with evil, there was no doubt in my mind of that.

Alec was a war hero and a highly decorated Marine. I was well aware not only that he had killed, but that he had killed many. Not all, as much as I hated to admit it, being a casualty of the war he fought in.

But as capable as he was of administering what he believed to be justice upon those he deemed to be the deserving recipients, he was not an evil man.

He was kind, he was caring, and he was loving.

And he was mine.

CHAPTER ONE

Summer 2003, Al-Anbar Province, Iraq

The days seemed to last forever and as much as I hoped I might be able to defend my life and the lives of the three men I was in charge of, I had no expectation all of us would make it home alive. My belief was that prior to the war ending, at least one of us would be shipped back to the states in a casket with a flag neatly draped over the top.

Deep in my mind, a picture was embedded. Taken from the tail end of a C-130 into the cargo area, the image was haunting. The sight itself, one coffin neatly positioned perfectly beside the other – each with an American flag covering the casket – was one of dignity, selflessness, sacrifice, and freedom. I fully realized the image should not have troubled me in the manner it did, but it tormented me nonetheless. As much as I was willing to fight, I didn’t want to be shipped home in a box or a bag.

There weren’t many assurances during war, but one remained true throughout all wars ever fought.

Men died.

Damned good men.

Truly believing any other option was possible, at least while in combat, was unrealistic.

I steadied my M4, glanced in Grayson’s direction, and gave a slight nod of my head.

He kicked the door right beside the makeshift lock. So many of the homes didn’t appear to be houses in a conventional sense. What seemed to be a commercial building may have an entire family living inside, most sleeping on a thin mat that had been tossed on a dirt floor. Other identical buildings may have half a dozen insurgents hiding inside, prepared to kill whoever entered without any warning whatsoever. Knowing what was on the other side of the door prior to entering was close to, if not totally, impossible.

Me again.

Keep my men safe.

The wooden door swung open with a bang, revealing what appeared to be sleeping quarters for six or more people. I entered first, with the other three Marines immediately following me. As my eyes darted around the room, a tingling sensation ran along my spine. Although there was no one visible in the room, there was something about it I didn’t like. With the buttstock of the M4 against my right shoulder and my finger indexed along the side of the trigger guard, I quickly scanned the room for any signs of life. The floor was covered with bedrolls, blankets, clothes, and supplies, but there appeared to be no munitions or occupants.

The stucco-like inner structure of the building was cracked, damaged, and dirty. The blankets, positioned around the perimeter of the open room, were the only sign of life. Even seeing everything the room had to offer, it was unclear if it was an insurgent hideout or the home of a local family. As I stood, staring at the pile of dirty bedding, the smell of stale sweat filled my nostrils, providing only an indication of the space once being occupied, but nothing more.

I felt like spraying the piles of blankets with a few dozen rounds from my weapon, making certain no one stood from the piles of rubble and shot me or one of my fellow Marines, but I knew better than to do so. If I did, there would undoubtedly be women and children sleeping under them, and I would find myself being court-martialed for the murder of civilians. As Cunningham was turning toward the door, mumbling something about yet another lost opportunity to cleanse the world of all living al-Qaeda, I noticed one of the blankets move slightly. I raised my left hand in the air and clenched my fist as I lowered the barrel of my weapon toward the movement.

With the room eerily silent compared to the sound of our entry and quick search, the passage of time seemed to come to a complete stop. I suspected to whoever was beneath the blanket, the same was true. As much as I hoped the person hiding was friendly, my first tour had taught me to assume everyone was a threat.

I fixed my weapon on the pile of blankets. “Raweenee edeek.”