Mercy: Second Chance Military Romance Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  NOTE

  THANKS

  Get Notified

  ONE - Mercy

  TWO - Mercy

  THREE - Tyler

  FOUR - Tyler

  FIVE - Mercy

  SIX - Mercy

  SEVEN - Tyler

  EIGHT - Tyler

  NINE - Mercy

  TEN - Mercy

  ELEVEN - Tyler

  TWELVE - Tyler

  THIRTEEN - Mercy

  FOURTEEN - Mercy

  FIFTEEN - Tyler

  SIXTEEN - Tyler

  SEVENTEEN - Mercy

  EIGHTEEN - Mercy

  NINETEEN - Tyler

  TWENTY - Tyler

  TWENTY-ONE - Mercy

  TWENTY-TWO - Mercy

  TWENTY-THREE - Tyler

  TWENTY-FOUR - Tyler

  TWENTY-FIVE - Mercy

  TWENTY-SIX - Mercy

  TWENTY-SEVEN - Tyler

  TWENTY-EIGHT - Tyler

  TWENTY-NINE - Mercy

  THIRTY - Mercy

  THIRTY-ONE - Tyler

  THIRTY-TWO - Tyler

  THIRTY-THREE - Mercy

  THIRTY-FOUR - Mercy

  THIRTY-FIVE - Tyler

  THIRTY-SIX - Tyler

  THIRTY-SEVEN - Mercy

  THIRTY-EIGHT - Mercy

  THIRTY-NINE - Tyler

  FORTY - Tyler

  FORTY-ONE - Mercy

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  ABOUT AUTHOR

  MERCY

  Bad Boy Military Romance

  by Abbi Hemp

  Copyright © 2016 Abbi Hemp

  All rights reserved.

  This is dedicated to every woman who has had a dream to become a full-time fiction writer - and done something about it.

  This novel contains adult language, situations, and themes. It is meant for adults only, please.

  Thanks for reading and supporting an indie writer.

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  Mercy

  ONE

  Mercy

  Someone is following me.

  As the thought hit me, I stopped walking and glanced over my shoulder. At the far end of the market, I saw four men carrying weapons.

  Are they after me? Maybe leaving the base on my own wasn’t such a good idea.

  Panic set in, but I took a deep breath while thinking of my best option. I continued forward a few steps, trying to blend in with my covered head. While not in a Burqa, I didn’t look out of place.

  After a few steps, I noticed a strange old man in traditional garb staring up at me from the shade of his booth.

  “Can I help you?” he asked in English, surprising me.

  “Some men are following me.”

  He motioned with his hand.

  “Step inside out of the sun and have a seat.”

  His shop – if you could call it that – seemed innocent enough. Shelves full of candles filled the walls. He sat cross-legged on a mat near the entrance.

  Not all locals are bad guys, I reminded myself.

  “Thank you. It’s so hot out today.”

  “Scorching.”

  I stepped into his booth and sat down on a wooden box across from him.

  “What is a woman like you doing here by yourself?” he asked, studying my face.

  “I’m a journalist working on a story,” I said. “About FOB Rushmore, the base near here.”

  “I know it well,” he said, nodding his head. “It’s not safe for a Western woman like you to be alone here.”

  “Yeah, I snuck out today on my own to talk to locals without the military around. I thought I might get a better story.”

  “My name is Abdul-lateef,” he said. “And you?”

  “Mercy Jones.”

  He smiled, showing a mouth with a few missing teeth.

  “What a beautiful name.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “No problem. It’s good for people to hear the truth about Afghanistan. Are you an honest reporter?”

  As his ancient eyes stared into mine, I shifted in my makeshift seat.

  “I would say so.”

  He nodded solemnly.

  “Would you like water?”

  “Sure.”

  I watched as he leaned over and dipped a metal cup into a bucket of water next to him.

  “Do you have a bottle?” I asked.

  He tilted his head and stared at me.

  “This water is clean. Look.”

  After taking a sip, he offered me the cup.

  “I’m sure it is, but I have a stomach problem,” I lied. “And I need bottled water.”

  Outside, I heard an angry male yelling in Pashto.

  “They’re looking for you!” the old man said, standing up. “Come with me. I’ll hide you.”

  I stared further into his booth as he held out his hand.

  “Come, come. We must go.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Everything in Afghanistan is not as it seems. I can help you.”

  My internal freak-out meter went off the charts.

  “No thanks,” I said, stepping outside the booth.

  He frowned, looking hurt. I scanned the market for any signs of the Taliban faithful.

  Where did they go?

  “Come, come,” the man said urgently. “Trust me.”

  “Sorry, I trust no one.”

  I stepped away from his booth, trying to blend in with the locals. If I made it to the edge of the market, I could find a taxi driver to take me back to FOB Rushmore. It was one of the older forward operating bases still in operation in Afghanistan.

  A man’s voice yelled out. I walked faster, hoping to get away before they caught up with me. When I reached the only entrance and exit into the market, I saw two other men with long beards and guns looking at the crowds.

  Act calm. You got this.

  The rest of the people around me scattered, leaving me exposed. One of the two men with guns pointed in my direction. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I rushed toward a battered, barely-yellow taxi a few hundred feet away. Go, go, go! I saw one of the men rush forward out of the corner of my eye.

  Before I reached my chariot to safety, a rough hand grabbed my shoulder. I whirled around and kneed the man in the nuts. He cried out, bending over in pain. I rushed forward. The other man grabbed me around the waist from behind and lifted me into the air.

  “Let me go!” I screamed. “I’m American!”

  Foul smells hit my nose as the man laughed. As I struggled to get out of his grasp, the other man walked over, a serious scowl etched on his face. I thought he would hit me. Another man ran up behind him and threw a bag over my head.

  The darkness freaked me the hell out. I screamed again, kicking and wiggling to get away. All the men were yelling, but I had no way to know what about. Were they Taliban or henchman of some local warlord? Not knowing terrified me even more.

  I stopped struggling as I realized it wasn’t getting me anywhere. One of the men m
oved my hands behind my back, tying them tightly. Panic spread through my mind as someone pushed me from behind and yelled. They did again a moment later.

  “I’m going,” I yelled as I took a step forward.

  What the hell is going on?

  My pulse quickened as I walked blind. The sounds of the market were clearer with my vision cut off. The men who had grabbed me were talking, but I did not understand what they were saying.

  This is it. My life is over. I’ll never see my dad or anyone again!

  I told myself not to give up until I had no other options. Even then, I might keep fighting. The stories I’d heard about what they did to kidnapped women terrified me.

  “Allah Akbar!”

  At the familiar cry of martyrdom, I heard gunfire and men screaming in English. What they were shouting wasn’t clear, but I had to act.

  I turned and ran to the left, hoping I got away and didn’t run into the gunfire. The hood over my head wasn’t helping, but I had to do something.

  Gunfire continued ringing out as I slammed into a wall, hitting it with my face. I dropped to the ground and curled up in a fetal position, hoping for the best.

  As the shots died down, I heard American soldiers barking orders. I struggled to my feet and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Help! I’m an American!”

  “Mercy? Is that you?” Tyler, a soldier from FOB Rushmore, asked.

  “Yes!” I said.

  Panic still had control over my body as I shook. My knees buckled underneath me, and I fell to the ground. Strong arms caught me. The hood came off, and I saw the most amazing man in the world.

  Our eyes locked. All the chaos around the market faded into the background for a split second that seemed like an eternity. He smiled, white teeth standing out on his dirt-covered face.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I am now. How did you know I was here?”

  “We didn’t know you were here. This was supposed to be a routine check-up on activity at the market.”

  “I’m so glad you came.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  I frowned, my heart still pounding.

  “Let’s get you back,” he said as he untied my hands. “There you go.”

  I rubbed my wrists, looking around the market.

  “Is anyone…dead?”

  He nodded somberly.

  “Let’s get out of here before something else hits.”

  I grabbed his arm and followed him back to the Humvee convoy on the edge of the market.

  TWO

  Mercy

  I sat in back of the Humvee as it roared down the dirt road toward FOB Rushmore, one of the few forward operating bases still open in Afghanistan. Tyler sat in the passenger seat up front.

  “You snuck out without your escort,” he said, bending his torso to look back at me. “You’re damn lucky. The bad guys were about to take you to the desert and turn you into a sex slave.”

  I took a deep breath and stared out the side window. My stomach churned.

  Why the hell did I come to Afghanistan in the first place? Oh yeah…

  “Are you even listening?” he asked.

  “I am, but…”

  “No damn buts about it. You made a bad situation worse. If Harris and I hadn’t arrived at just the right time, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

  “Thanks, Harris,” I said to the driver.

  “Not a problem,” he said, jolly as ever.

  “It’s foolish for you to even be out here,” Tyler added.

  “It’s not foolishness.”

  “Whatever,” he said coolly, his assault rifle nestled in his arms as he scanned the horizon.

  Ugh. He’s so infuriating!

  “Thanks for saving me. I appreciate it.”

  “Just doing my job,” he said, shaking his helmet covered head.

  I sat back, wishing my head would stop hurting so damn much.

  “Were they Taliban?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Damn straight they were,” Harris said.

  The Humvee bounced and jostled all of us as he sped down a dirt road toward FOB Rushmore. I’d only been embedded with the forward operating base for two days. As we headed back, I wondered if they would send me back.

  By embedding with the U.S. military, I had cut the costs for my Afghanistan trip down considerably. In exchange, I agreed to let the Army approve anything before I published it online. They could not stop me from reporting the truth though.

  The regulations and restrictions had turned out to be harsher than I ever imagined once I’d arrived, which is why I had snuck into Ghazni on my own. Several sources had given me information about a huge smuggling operation out of Afghanistan that involved members of the U.S. Army.

  I suspected everyone at FOB Rushmore, including Tyler and Harris. The two were best buddies from what I’d been able to gather. All the military types were usually close-knit groups, but I had thought I could get to the bottom of the story and find out if my sources were lying or not.

  “Why do you have to be so damn secretive, anyway?” Tyler asked.

  “I’m just a journalist doing my job.”

  Outside, I noticed a tall, metal fence surrounding the small military base, one of a few still in operation a decade after the war in Afghanistan had started.

  “The CO will want to see you,” Tyler said.

  “I can handle him.”

  He snorted.

  “We’ll see. You’ve got balls, though, Ms. Jones.”

  “Huge!” Harris added, laughing along with him.

  The laughter died down as we approached the entrance of the camp, the entry control point or ECP as they called it. I’d been getting myself up to speed on military lingo and jargon for two weeks, but I still had a long way to go.

  As we stopped at the outer gate, a fully armed soldier whose name I didn’t remember walked up and glanced into the back.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “The Taliban were about to take her from the city forcibly. We had a firefight and saved her.”

  I frowned but said nothing to correct his version of the events.

  “Damn,” the soldier said then stepped back and waved us on.

  When we reached one of the long, metal buildings with a rounded roof, Harris stopped.

  “This is you,” he said.

  I opened the door and climbed out.

  “Hey,” Tyler shouted out.

  I shielded the sun from my eyes with my hand and stared at him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t let him give you too much shit, okay? I’m glad you’re safe.”

  Despite my best efforts to mask my emotions, I smiled.

  “Thanks. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “You better,” he said then added. “And get that head checked out.”

  “I will.”

  After Harris drove away, sending up a cloud of smoke, I walked to the entrance of the building that reminded me of a huge metal shipping container.

  Captain Jeffries, the Commanding Officer of FOB Rushmore, would not be happy with me sneaking out, but if I was investigating claims against the military, I wasn’t able to work too openly with them.

  I opened the door and walked inside. While cooler than outside, without air conditioning, it wasn’t too comfortable. Tony Roth, His aide-de-camp, sat at a tiny, sparse desk.

  “Hey,” he said. “You made it back. Are you okay?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but I think so. I came here first. Jeffries wants to speak with me?”

  He nodded, his frail facial features so out of place in Afghanistan.

  “Yes, he does. You should go see the medic first.”

  “No, I want to get this over with,” I said as I walked past his desk.

  “Hold on,” he said, standing up.

  I kept going, opening a door that divided the two halves of the metal container. Captain Jeffries looked up from his desk. He frowned the moment he
saw me.

  “You wanted to talk?” I asked, standing near the door.

  “Do you know how much trouble you caused today?” he asked.

  “I’m just trying to do my job.”

  “And so am I. Sit down.”

  He pointed to the plain armless chair in front of his desk.

  “I need to go see the medic,” I said, changing my mind.

  “You were fine enough to come in here, you can sit down and talk a minute.”

  I sighed, annoyed, then walked over and sat down, my arms crossed over my chest.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he asked, shaking his head.

  “I needed to see Ghazni without soldiers with me. You guys frighten people.”

  “We save their asses is what we do.”

  As he scowled at me, I lifted a hand to my head and gingerly inspected the bandage.

  “Go see the damn medic,” he said. “If you sneak out again, you will be shipped back to the States. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah,” I said as I stood up.

  I turned and walked toward the door.

  “One more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “How did you sneak out? We’re secure here, so someone must have helped you.”

  I swallowed, not turning around.

  “Nobody helped me.”

  “Bullshit,” he said. “I’ll sort this out.”

  When he said nothing else, I continued forward. My headache had gotten worse since we returned. I hoped the medic would put my mind at ease or at least give me something to numb the pain.

  THREE

  Tyler

  When I finished my reports about the interactions with the Taliban in Ghazni earlier that morning, I left the CO’s office and headed to check on Mercy in the metal building that served as our medical center. We hadn’t gotten along well since she arrived, but I admired her fighting spirit.