Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(186)

My jaw drops.

“I mean my place would be better, and safer, but Donald and I both thought there was a snowball’s chance in you agreeing to that one, so your place it is.”

That smug prick is grinning at me like this is hilarious. Like HIM of all fucking people moving into the guest room of MY apartment is the funniest goddamn joke in the world.

I don’t even respond, I just turn on my heel and march out of the bar. Guess I’m just fresh out of punchlines.





Chapter Four





Hudson




P A S T



I’m back in the broiling heat, the shrieking chaos and the pure, undiluted hell on Earth of war - back in Helman Province; back in Afghanistan.

My back’s to the wall, my pulse racing in my ears like a goddamn jet engine as I count to three before whipping around the corner and firing. The gun jolts in staccato, hammering pulses through my shoulder as I focus on the shelled-out office building where they’ve taken defensive positions. I barely even hear the mortar warning through my com before the Humvee forty feet to my left just fucking erupts in fire and light, and I can fucking feel the hot flash of death cross my face.

I’m screaming as I run, ignoring everything in my earpiece and barely registering the singing sounds of bullets flying around me as I pound the turf as fast as I can towards the raging, burning hull of the truck. I’m ten feet from it, the heat almost unbearable when I can hear Logan’s voice barking in my ear; ‘NOT Bryce’s Humvee.’

Yeah but who’s-

Later, I’ll swear to everything in this world and the next that I could hear the fucking bullet the second before it tore through my shoulder.

I’m down, face-down in the dust and ash as more metal screams over my head. And all I know in that moment is that despite every thought I have on freedom, and my country, and about good triumphing over evil, if I die there in that fucking desert, I’m going to have words to say to whatever God is waiting for me on the other side.



P R E S E N T



I grunt and blink the sweat out of my eyes as I swing again, feeling the rivulets of moisture drip down my face and neck to dribble down over the ink and scars of my bare chest.

The air burns in my lungs and my arms are on fire, but I just keep swinging; always swinging. The glove connects with the bag, every muscle in my arm screaming in pain and triumph at the perfect hit and the aching, numbing soreness I know will follow.

Some guys when they got back, they drank or fucked it away; like I used to. Other guys like Bryce took it worse and turned to self medication, and the whole dark, broken dream that comes along for the ride with that.

The fucked up part is, the pain never actually goes away. You can numb it a million different ways with drugs and sex and whatever else you can think of to distract you from the fact that part of your soul is missing, but it’s always there, right below the surface.

I swing again, swallowing the burning in my throat as I pant, pushing myself harder, longer; don’t stop, never stop. My breaths coming short and hard, my head swimming as I connect with the bag again, and again, and again - I connect with the bag one more time before the pain is so real I can’t actually lift my arm again, and I collapse onto the living room floor. I can barely breath, or see through the sweat, but I laugh as I glance at my stopwatch and realize I’ve been punching this damn bag for an hour straight.

I’m getting too old for this shit.

I also realize I was supposed to call Logan when I got home and let him know how things went.

Oh, yeah, you know, fantastic. Hey buddy, thanks for sending me into the fucking LION’S DEN back there with Reagan Archer.

I know he and Bryce have no idea what happened with Reagan and I that one time - the time I got so close to everything before I let it all blow away - because if they did they’d have probably killed me by now. Well, Bryce maybe, but Logan for sure. But, I also know neither of them are blind. I mean, I’d like to think I play things close to the chest, but you don’t go through what we went through without being able to read the other guys like an open book.



“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

I wince as I hold the phone away from my ear. Ok, I made two mistakes tonight. The first was taking Reagan Archer out to what was basically a thinly veiled date; the second - and maybe the dumber of the two - is telling Logan about it.

I’m supposed to be at Reagan’s, but after the way she stormed out like that, I knew pushing it by going over anyways was not going to lead to good things. So I’m back at my penthouse, with two of my guys keeping a low-profile guard on her building.

“Hudson, you’ve pulled some stupid shit, but this is beyond the fucking pale.” I can practically feel the venom leaking through the phone from his voice before he barks into the receiver again. “You fucking idiot!”